OGHOU C37

Chapter 37

“What is going on, Innkeeper? If there is anything I can do to help, please just say the word.”

“Jzbll… zrrr…”

Cheongyeon bit down on his robe, stifling his groans as he scratched furiously at the earth. The thought of Jeha seeing him like this—hunched, trembling with heat—made his vision swim with dread.

It was all because of that water from the spring. The one Jeha had fetched for him in a leaf before they entered the mountain path.

In the original novel, Mount Hwiryong was a place suffused with extreme yang energy. The mountain’s vitality was so overpowering that people had once planted poisonous herbs in abundance, just to restore a semblance of balance between yin and yang. Even so, the land’s nature was not truly altered by such attempts.

And he had drunk water from its spring, without a second thought—naturally, the yang energy was now rampaging through his body. This had even happened to Somyeong in the source story.

Back then, surrounded by poisonous plants radiating yin, Somyeong himself had failed to notice the true nature of the mountain. He accepted water from Jeha without concern, only to feel his whole body soon surging with wild energy.

Of course, Somyeong’s body was far stronger and his self-control unmatched. As a physician, he could even regulate his energy by stimulating pressure points. But to suppress a sudden surge of yang was a hard trial even for a master.

That was the first time Jeha saw his teacher so shaken. It was the very incident that awakened in Jeha the confusing emotions he’d begun to associate with yearning for someone far above him.

When Shinwoo read this part, he had scrolled past with half-shut eyes—he had no interest in Mina’s odd obsessions with yin and yang and the heady, feverish prose these sections always held.

He never dreamed he’d regret not reading this BL novel more closely.

‘Absolutely not.’

He couldn’t, wouldn’t, let himself get tangled up in the protagonist’s love life. Cheongyeon gritted his teeth in silent resolve. No matter what his own symptoms suggested, Jeha could never be allowed to know what was really happening to him.

“Innkeeper… I’m so worried. Please, at least tell me what’s wrong—please?”

Jeha’s near-weeping voice echoed through Cheongyeon’s chest like a knife. Finally, he spat the robe from his mouth and, through shuddering breaths, managed a response.

“I-I… just need to rest a while.”

“Right there? Is it because of your fall? Can I come closer, just for a moment, to check—?”

“No! Stay away!”

“You keep saying not to come near… but what am I supposed to do…?”

Cheongyeon wished desperately for a bucket of ice water to pour over his head, to shock his body back to sense. It only grew hotter; his stomach ached, and madness felt only heartbeats away.

“Then, shall I fetch more water from the spring? You said you were thirsty…”

“No!”

“Not that either…?”

Please. Please don’t kill me twice in the same day.

He pounded his fist against a nearby tree stump and gasped, “The herbs… go fetch the herbs…”

“But Innkeeper, how can I leave you—?”

“Hurry… please…”

“…All right.”

Jeha hesitated but finally, reluctantly, turned and hurried away. When his footsteps had faded into the undergrowth, Cheongyeon let out a pained moan.

He fumbled for the sachet he had brought in case of emergencies, dumped the pungent spices into his palm, and breathed in their sharp scent, clenching his fists with desperate willpower.

Five years of living in a martial arts novel world—he could overcome this with discipline.

Jeha sped to the cave and gathered every herb his master had described, then raced back. The spot was eerily quiet—had the Innkeeper lost consciousness? Anxiously, Jeha called, “Innkeeper, I’m back. How are you feeling?”

“…You’re back?”

Thankfully, the brush shook and Cheongyeon emerged, stumbling. Jeha recoiled in shock at the state he was in.

“A m-monster…?”

“What was that?”

“N-nothing! Innkeeper, what happened to your eyes?”

Rubbing furiously at his crimson-rimmed eyes with a sleeve, Cheongyeon muttered, “My eyes… smell delicious.”

“…Excuse me?”

“I brought this incense for emergencies, but it turned out I was the one who needed saving. Heh.”

“Please, Innkeeper, get a hold of yourself!”

Staggering and half-delirious, Cheongyeon nearly collapsed against him. Up close, Jeha saw the bloodshot eyes and felt his heart ache—even now, the Innkeeper was struggling alone.

“Let me have a look.”

Jeha lifted his face, studying him for tears. Was he crying from pain, hidden in the bushes so no one would see?

“You truly are…”

“Mm?”

“I don’t know what to do with you.”

Cheongyeon blinked blankly. When Jeha pressed a palm to his fevered brow, he felt the temperature had finally begun to drop.

“At least the fever’s easing off now.”

“I want to go home…”

“Let’s go now. Shall I carry you?”

“No… I don’t want that…”

“…Alright.”

Supporting Cheongyeon, Jeha led him back to the horse, never once letting go of his waist—for fear he might fall, and simply to keep him close. As the exhausted Innkeeper slumped against him, Jeha’s worry melted into a soft smile.

“Does it hurt here?”

Jeha gently rotated Cheongyeon’s ankle as they sat on the bed, freshly bathed and clean, safe back in the inn. Now the bruises on his skin stood out, plain for all to see.

“No, that bit doesn’t hurt.”

“You just groaned.”

“…”

“What about here?”

“No pain.”

“Your finger twitched.”

Perhaps Cheongyeon only lied to avoid the acupuncture, or to keep him from worrying. Either way, Jeha scrutinized him closely. It was the first time since childhood he had seen the Innkeeper so injured, and the guilt gnawed at him—after all, it was his own recklessness that led to this.

“I wish Master were here.”

“Do you miss him?”

“I do. Dreadfully.”

If Master were here, every injury would have been seen at a glance and orders given promptly. Cheongyeon asked with a lopsided smile, “You saw him just yesterday—already missing him?”

“It’s been about a day…”

“Truly a devoted disciple. Excellent.”

“…Are you praising me? Or teasing me?”

Jeha let the words flow past his ear, steadying his hands. Master had always stressed the importance of accurate acupoint location.

“Be good to your Master. Always take care of him. Though I know you will.”

“What brings that on all of a sudden?”

“Just envy.”

“Envy, Innkeeper?”

“It must be wonderful—to have someone you can genuinely admire and depend upon.”

Jeha looked up, seeing a fleeting loneliness shadow Cheongyeon’s features.

“You could depend on someone too.”

“Who? Your Master?”

The words almost left him—depend on me—but Jeha checked himself and merely nodded. He never wanted his feelings to burden the man.

“I already owe so much to your Master. Even my good health now is thanks to him.”

“You’re hardly healthy at all.”

“…Are you being cheeky now?”

Strange—he felt a twist of jealousy listening to Cheongyeon talk about Master. It was the same ache he got seeing the Innkeeper talk with that Namgung brat.

“Anyway—hurry up and finish so you can rest. It’s late.”

“We’re not done yet.”

“There’s nothing else that hurts, I’m fine, I—ow.”

“It hurts here, doesn’t it?”

“Of course it does, you’re pressing so hard!”

Tuning out the Innkeeper’s grumbles, Jeha kept working, ignoring demands to be left alone until Cheongyeon finally drifted off to sleep.

“Are you asleep?”

He truly was, it seemed.

Studying that serene, sleeping face, Jeha removed the last needle and slipped from the room.

The corridors of the inn, thick with midnight darkness, brought back memories—crying in the Innkeeper’s arms after scolding from his Master, finding comfort in his quiet, steady warmth. He paused on the stairs, smiling quietly at the memory.

He barely wanted to move at all, but finally made his way to his own room. As he opened the door, he went stock-still.

By the pale light of the moon falling through the window, a masked man stood waiting—sword drawn and gleaming.