Guide of the Sichuan Tang Clan C47

Chapter 47

At Mujin’s entrance, every elder seated rose and performed a formal salute. Mujin merely inclined his head before taking his seat opposite Baekseon, at another place of honor.

“Sit.”

The way he gave the order—casual, unquestioned—made him look no different from Cheongwoo in Namya’s eyes. His martial power and pressure were less than Cheongwoo’s, but that might simply be a matter of age.

Or perhaps he’s deliberately concealing it.

Cheongwoo had been different. From the moment he first revealed himself as a successor, he had crushed everyone beneath him—elders older than himself, family members, even his own mother—stripping away their standing within the Tang Clan. As the eldest grandson with extraordinary skill, he had been an undeniable heir.

But now, Tang Mujin was not Cheongwoo’s son. He was the second son of the previous Clan Head.

If the collateral branches wished to put forward another candidate, they very well could.

It might even look better to crush a collateral candidate publicly.

Perhaps that’s what they’re aiming for.

Reinforcing the idea that collateral lines could never rival the direct line.

As Mujin calmly faced forward, Namya swallowed hard.

“…I’m not sure how much you overheard, but everyone here is concerned about the Young Master’s position.”

“……”

“Can you truly complete Mancheonhwau by the date you promised the Clan Head?”

Without a flicker of agitation, Mujin met Baekseon’s eyes. It was the gaze of a ruler—one eerily similar to Cheongwoo’s. After a moment, he nodded.

“I promise. I will complete Mancheonhwau by that day.”

“That alone is not enough.”

If Mujin failed, he would relinquish the title of Young Master, and the disgrace of lacking ability would fall squarely on Cheongwoo. That was something Baekseon could never allow.

Baekseon’s gaze slid toward Namya, seated at the side. Namya had his eyes closed, looking exhausted.

“If he fails, the blame will fall upon… Tang Namya’s son, Tang Eunmyeong.”

Baekseon’s eyes narrowed, serpentine.

“We can announce that the medicinal herbs Tang Eunmyeong administered the day before were flawed. That would buy the Young Master more time.”

“Baekseon.”

“That would not be difficult.”

For the first time since entering the meeting, Mujin’s expression hardened. He lifted his teacup as if to conceal himself, but the veins bulging at his temple betrayed him.

His jaw clenched.

Losing the title of Young Master mattered less than hearing Eunmyeong’s name spoken by that mouth. If he could, he wanted to tear those lips apart.

The pressure of Mujin’s grip cracked the teacup. The black flower painted on it split in two, as though cleaved by a blade.

“I understand that well enough…”

Thinking of Eunmyeong waiting in his quarters, Mujin took a deep breath. Regaining his composure, he raised his gaze. Killing intent surged in his eyes, as if he might draw his sword at any moment.

“Baekseon would do well to keep Tang Eunmyeong’s name out of his mouth.”

“Yes. As long as you maintain the position of Young Master.”

One corner of Baekseon’s lips lifted. Seeing that twisted smile, Mujin rose and left Wimungak Pavilion.

Bang.

The door slammed shut. The moment it did, Baekseon burst into laughter, clutching his stomach. Only then did Namya realize—

Baekseon was an exceptional negotiator.

He always bargained using the other person’s most precious thing.

“So the rumors weren’t false after all. To think the Young Master indulges in men—hah!”

Namya scowled and drained his tea. Even so, he found himself strangely unwilling to indulge Baekseon any further.

Though both were elders, Baekseon outranked him in age and position—but Namya was not the sort to swallow his words.

Tilting his head sharply, Namya spoke.

“Shouldn’t you hear my son’s side first?”

“What nonsense. The rumors are everywhere. It takes two hands clapping to make a sound.”

“Then they didn’t clap.”

His son was an idiot—but a precious idiot. Recalling Eunmyeong sitting hollow-eyed between Mujin, Cheongwoo, and Jeongho, Namya grinned.

“The Clan Head has his eye on my son too.”

In an instant, Baekseon’s face drained of color.

“I haven’t decided yet whose father-in-law I’ll be.”

Dropping the bomb, Namya poured himself another cup of tea. The soft sound of liquid filled the room.

Until Namya finished drinking and stood to leave, Baekseon did not move. Frozen, he grabbed Namya’s sleeve as the man passed.

“Truly… truly… the Clan Head said such a thing?”

“Why would I lie about something so dangerous?”

“So that’s why he rejected all those… beauties… marriage talks…”

Baekseon muttered to himself, utterly stunned. Namya brushed his hand away.

“Let go. Before I report this to the Clan Head.”

Namya, like Eunmyeong, did not plan that far ahead. He left immediately, not looking back.

The rest would be for his son to handle.

Probably.

“Fuck—!”

Eunmyeong cursed aloud as he descended from the Sichuan Great Mountains after finishing his guiding. Thick fog blanketed the trail.

“I should’ve been back ages ago—where the hell am I?!”

With the sky overcast and visibility poor, he couldn’t see ahead. Somewhere along the way, he’d missed one of his markers; the symbols carved into the trees were long gone.

“He said he’d be back before sunset…”

Unaware that Mujin had already returned to the quarters and was tearing through all of Sichuan searching for him, Eunmyeong looked up at the darkening sky.

I need to get back before then—

—but his cursed sense of direction was still utterly useless. He’d gotten lost even inside the guiding center back home; mountain paths were a labyrinth.

“My legs hurt, I can’t see anything…”

Muttering to himself, he stepped forward—and his toe caught on a small pebble.

“Ah—!”

His leg buckled. The ground tilted sharply.

Of all places, he’d fallen on a slope. Eunmyeong’s small body rolled rapidly downward.

His robe and trousers tore, scrapes scoring his exposed skin. Blood streamed from his knee, yet he couldn’t stop rolling.

“Hngh!”

Only after slamming into a massive tree did he finally slow. Clutching his lower abdomen, Eunmyeong checked frantically.

Thankfully, everything was still intact. His chest ached sharply when he breathed, like cracked ribs—but he could breathe.

“Ugh… I really am a miracle. Me being alive is a miracle…”

Repeating the words he’d said to Seowon, Eunmyeong tried to stand—

The moment his hand touched the ground, dozens of throwing knives flew out from behind the tree.

Blades flashed in the darkness.

“Ah!”

Eunmyeong squeezed his eyes shut and curled into himself. He’d sworn to live longer this time! Thinking of the last image of his mother before coming here, he braced for pain.

But no matter how long he waited—

Nothing happened.

“…Am I already dead?”

Cracking his eyes open, he saw someone standing in front of him. A jet-black robe fluttered.

He murmured quietly,

“Grim Reaper…?”

“……”

“Sir…?”

Afraid he’d been rude, Eunmyeong hastily added the honorific. The Reaper didn’t move.

Panicking, Eunmyeong squeezed his eyes shut again.

“I—I’ve never been to the afterlife before, so I didn’t mean to speak casually…”

“……”

“Are you offended? Should I just stay here?”

“……”

“Hic… ugh… I’ll just stay here, then… I’m still—hic—young…”

Tears spilled freely. As Eunmyeong sobbed, the Reaper finally moved.

Leaves crunched beneath approaching feet. A cold hand lifted Eunmyeong’s chin—a familiar chill.

Do Grim Reapers feel this cold too?

Wiping his tears, Eunmyeong opened his eyes.

Someone was bent over him.

…My type.

Blinking rapidly, his vision cleared. A sharp jawline, stubbornly pressed lips, long eyes.

Perfectly his type.

But wait—besides Tang Mujin, was there ever another man who looked like this—

Like being doused in ice water, realization struck.

His eyes widened as fresh tears slid down. Mujin’s hand grew wet.

“You—what were you thinking?!”

A growl escaped Mujin’s teeth. The killing intent rolling off him was unlike anything Eunmyeong had ever felt. His breath hitched; his whole body felt squeezed.

It rivaled Cheongwoo’s presence.

Just his aura alone made Eunmyeong feel as though his organs were being wrung out. Shuddering, he sucked in a breath.

“How much do I have to bend to you before you’re satisfied?! How much—!”

Mujin’s grip tightened. Pain flared in Eunmyeong’s jaw.

With a strangled sound, Mujin pulled Eunmyeong violently into his chest.

For the first time ever, Mujin’s body was shaking.

He had searched everywhere—Eunmyeong’s house, Cheongwoo’s chambers, the training grounds. Hearing from Namya that Eunmyeong often climbed the mountains, he’d rushed here without hesitation.

Only after holding Eunmyeong did his frantic heart begin to slow.

His head felt numb, his mind on the verge of collapse—yet this could not be a fleeting feeling.

Even Mujin could not control it.

Biting his lip, he stroked Eunmyeong’s hair with trembling fingers.

At last, his tightly sealed mouth opened.