TSBIRBV Ch 101

Chapter 101 Heaven above, Suzhou–Hangzhou below (13)

“Hmm? Do you need something?”

Catching his gaze, and meeting his eyes, Haryang brightened and asked.

Yegyeol felt a little ashamed, wondering if he only ever sought Haryang when he wanted something.

“Just looking.”

“Ah.”

Haryang nodded.

Yegyeol’s insides churned for no reason. After all that help, how could someone smile like a spring breeze at such a curt response from an ungrateful brat?

Haryang reacted to Yegyeol’s every little move, always checking that nothing was lacking, eager—almost frantic—to be good to him.

It was such blatant kindness that his initial wariness at their first meeting now felt foolish.

Scowling at the young lord whose heart lay so bare, Yegyeol muttered,

“What kind of young lord doesn’t know to fear a gutter rat…”

What if someone fleeced him dry?

At the jab, Haryang hunched his shoulders. Flustered, fearing he’d hurt him, Yegyeol reached out—only to meet the young lord’s eyes even before his hand touched.

“W‑why?”

Frozen awkwardly, he heard a clear, bell‑bright laugh spill from the boy.

Feeling made fun of, Yegyeol frowned deeper.

“What’s so funny?”

“No.”

With a soft grin, Haryang whispered,

“If you worry about me, then perhaps you have opened your heart a little. Isn’t that so?”

“Ah…”

Maybe it wasn’t much of a secret.

But outed, Yegyeol’s face and the nape of his neck flushed scarlet.

He had thought the latches were tightly shut, but at some point he’d been facing Haryang with a wide‑open heart.

Unable to force out such saccharine words, he slid his gaze aside.

As if he’d expected as much, Haryang quietly rose. Wanting to stop him, Yegyeol blurted,

“I think it’s the amusement of a rich young lord.”

He immediately wanted to bite his tongue.

What “amusement”? It wasn’t even mere goodwill.

Goodwill is spent faster than one thinks.

The matron who found it pitiable that a child begged alone lost her smile after the third and fourth visit; after that, he avoided her, but when they met by chance she muttered, as if to herself,

“So the little beggars are as cunning as they say…”

Once, trying to meet quota, he drifted into the wrong patch to beg and got caught by that crew; a server secretly opened the back door as he fled. But the next time, the server had a livid bruise and, pretending not to see the boy, barked for customers.

A storyteller who used to let him eavesdrop on tales without demanding even a copper—he would rehearse the stories for patrons in the alley behind the teahouse: Xiang Yu and Yu Ji’s love, Zhuangzi and the butterfly’s dream. His frayed voice became the command of a general who once vied for all under heaven; his wrinkled hands became the slender, jade‑like hands of a fair beauty; then again the flutter of a butterfly roaming the sky.

But when Yegyeol had grown a touch familiar, what did the storyteller, calling him to fill his belly, say?

“Boy, I know a rich house that wants a bright lad like you.”

He whispered of silk in another world Yegyeol had never seen, of meat at every meal; of a kind father’s arms and a gentle mother’s lullaby. It was all so vivid and lovely that it was hard to break away from the imagining.

And so, even knowing Haryang’s sincerity, Yegyeol could only malign it.

“…Still, if possible, it would be good if there were many people like you in this world.”

He feared faith failing and hope breaking; this time he might not rise again.

“Even if it’s only amusement?”

“You let a kid like me know what it means to eat his fill.”

Yegyeol looked at Haryang steadily.

This at least was a truth that needed no hiding.

“That is…”

For once, the pliant‑mannered young lord was at a loss for words. His face slowly reddened.

Unwittingly, Yegyeol took in that fresh flush. He remembered Old Huang clicking his tongue, saying this red still wasn’t right when dyeing. Perhaps this was the very red he wanted—so soft and fine.

Beautiful.

Almost reaching out, Yegyeol clenched his fist tight.

To trifle with the young lord—had Haryang’s kindness driven him mad? He hurriedly changed the subject.

“H‑how long will you stay in Hangzhou?”

When one spring passes, the coming winter must be met.

“…I don’t think I can stay long.”

At that, his heart dropped.

He knew these sweet, soft days would end; but he had assumed not today—not tomorrow.

“Why?”

“I made a promise to come here only if I made another.”

What promise could visiting Hangzhou possibly require?

Confused, Yegyeol looked at him.

“Will you come to Hangzhou again?”

“No.”

Unexpectedly, Haryang’s answer was firm.

“Wh‑where will you go?”

With a slightly complicated face, Haryang dipped a fingertip in tea and wrote on the table.

“崑崙”(Kunlun)

Illiterate, Yegyeol blinked, not knowing what it meant.

“Should I… say I can’t read?”

But he didn’t want to embarrass Haryang, who had shown such care. Instead, he burned the characters into his memory.

Fortunately, his head was a good one.

“Young master, may I enter?”

“Enter.”

To the nurse’s voice, Haryang overturned the cup. The characters written in tea vanished without a trace.

Though he couldn’t read them, Yegyeol almost sighed.

“I dropped this cup by mistake—please wipe it.”

“Goodness, young master.”

Bringing a dry cloth to wipe the table, the nurse shot Yegyeol a glare, assuming the kind‑hearted Haryang covered for a clumsy beggar boy’s mistake.

But Yegyeol hadn’t the time to spare her; he was watching Haryang.

“Why… hide it from the nurse?”

Catching his eye, Haryang brought a finger to his lips. Shh.

At the gesture, Yegyeol nodded silently.

All he’d ever done was receive from Haryang; keeping a secret from the nurse cost him nothing.

More than that—

“A secret.”

A secret shared just by Haryang and him.

He couldn’t even read what had been written; it might be nothing at all. But it pleased him that there was something he could do for Haryang.

So, even when they were alone again, he could not ask what the tea‑written characters meant. For it to be a secret, he had to “know.”

Not knowing this would be his only chance to ask, Yegyeol smiled brightly for the first time.

As ever, parting came more suddenly than meeting.

It was late night.

Sound asleep, he jolted awake. Something covered his mouth. Hands pressed nose and lips without a gap; air fled.

At this rate, he would suffocate!

He thrashed desperately, but the weight pinning him was crushing. As his struggles ebbed, tears glimmered in his eyes.

He’d always thought he might die miserably someday—so why, now, did it feel so unfair?

“Wait.”

At someone’s check, the grip on his throat loosened. Something sharp tipped up his chin. Tears ran down his eye corner.

Rolling his eyes frantically, he scanned around. Whatever was on the blade, it reflected no light. Two intruders in the room: one covering his mouth, the other observing.

“Is this scrawny thing really a rich family’s young master?”

A voice dripping doubt.

They were looking for Haryang.

“Didn’t that woman confess the young master was here?”

That woman?

He knew, at once, they meant Haryang’s nurse.

For an instant he wondered if she lived; about to sob, he forced his mind blank.

This was no cruel prank, no nightmare.

All of it was real.

“Now, little one…”

The man covering his mouth opened his own, as if to coax.

“You heard, didn’t you?”

Yegyeol’s shoulders trembled. The two killers—trained in martial arts, it seemed—used spoken words, not signals or inner‑voice transmission, solely to press him.

He believed, then, that they truly made their money by killing.

“Our target is not you. If you tell us where the real young master is, we will spare your life.”

The knife at his chin pressed harder. Flesh parted and bled, but he felt no pain.

Before removing his hand, the killer who had been choking him gave a short warning:

“Scream, you die. Try to signal anyone, you die. Lie, you die.”

Yegyeol answered with a blink.

Hands lifted; his mouth was free—but the blade still pointed at his chin.

“Now—who are you?”

The voice bore the leisure of one with the upper hand.

The very tone he had seen to the point of disgust from Crooked Ear and Pit Viper.

“M‑my name is Haryang.”