TSBIRBV Ch 109

Chapter 109 Mission Complete (5)

“How?”

Yegyeol asked, eyes wide.

“The city lord will need someone to hold responsible—and if there’s a missing man, everything can be pinned on him.”

Haryang gently wrapped Yegyeol’s hand. It had been cold when they climbed to watch the city lord’s reaction, but now warmth reached even the last knuckle, all thanks to the wine Haryang had given.

“Do you hate him?”

“I do.”

Could “hate” capture this feeling?

Left too long in the past to wear down, the hatred remained jet‑black deep in Yegyeol’s chest, as vivid as the anger brighter than the crimson silk Gu Young‑ik had shown.

When Yegyeol’s gaze touched Zhang Qi, the man, sensing his fate, trembled.

He could not comprehend why a “steward” addressed a consortium master with honorifics, nor why Yegyeol declared he despised him, but one thing was certain: the Cheonghae master had extended a hand from the start to crush Zhang Qi.

“If you could finish him with your own hands—how would that feel?”

Senior brother’s voice sank lower, and the whisper tempted Yegyeol—yet a light dissonance passed through him.

“Old Huang died only recently. If not for Zhang Qi, do you not think your benefactor might still live?”

A chivalrous man does not mean unconditional benevolence; in mountain and forest of blades, upholding justice ultimately calls on force.

Even so, Haryang speaking of revenge felt unfamiliar.

The Kunlun Cloud‑Dragon he had known could not hold hate.

“But can a vessel be sound if it lets only one feeling out?”

It was no wonder to be startled that Haryang had changed while Yegyeol was gone. Twenty years turn the rivers twice. In that time, Yegyeol had even died and been reborn.

As Yegyeol became a 21st‑century esper, Haryang had changed too.

“What happened after expulsion from Kunlun?”

It had gnawed at him since their reunion.

If nothing else, becoming the Black Ghost proved Haryang no longer walked in sunlight. Urging direct action against Zhang Qi suggested a path bent toward heterodox or outer ways—almost certainly.

From what Yegyeol had seen, Je Haryang was still a martial man despite expulsion—and a master who could even use Huiguang Heart‑Speech. Unable to use Kunlun arts and unwelcome among the orthodox, where had he trained to reach this height? The answer was all but set: whether heterodox or demonic was the question.

Yegyeol did not intend to condemn whatever choice Haryang made to survive; he only faintly hoped it was not the Demon Church—the worst of enemies.

“Then… may we go to Seonye Workshop?”

A radiant smile bloomed on Haryang’s face.

“As already said.”

Reaching out, Haryang seized Zhang Qi by the collar and lifted him one‑handed.

“Do whatever you wish.”

In the bright moon, the austere beauty, like a brush‑ink painting, felt almost unreal.

As Haryang extended the other hand, Yegyeol stepped in and leaned into him; the firm arm around his waist gave a deep sense of steadiness.

With a stride, they were cutting through the night, Hangzhou’s myriad, splendid lights beneath their feet.

The sleepless brilliance of the Central Plains spread broad and far.

With each bound from roof to roof, merry voices mingled with song and instrument. Streets bright with lanterns thronged with pleasure‑seekers and barkers wandering as if day.

Unaware of the shadows walking high on dark roofs, they steeped themselves in innocent delight.

Yegyeol watched the undulating glow from below light half Haryang’s face while the other half lay sunk in night descended from the high sky.

He could have gazed down on the dazzling bazaar, but Haryang’s eyes, dim and heavy without a glint, looked toward some far place; Yegyeol, glancing at that lightless gaze, thought of a night sea, the moon so dark a boat could not be launched.

“This should be it.”

Crossing the black night with neither sail nor oar, they reached Seonye Workshop.

Lowered from Haryang’s arms, Yegyeol walked to the heart of the ravaged building. Haryang dragged Zhang Qi and tossed him at Yegyeol’s feet.

Dragged by the collar, Zhang Qi’s face had gone blue.

Yegyeol hauled him up by the collar. The Crooked Ear he had looked up at as a child had grown far stouter, yet could be shaken with one hand.

The man wasn’t lighter—Yegyeol had grown.

Savoring the feeling, he dragged Zhang Qi and slammed him into a hollow in the floor—once for holding dye, now reeking with pooled rainwater mixed with dye.

Only his voice‑point sealed, Zhang Qi’s limbs were free; he thrashed to escape, but Yegyeol kicked his chest as he tried to rise.

Without looking back, Yegyeol spoke.

“Senior brother—if you don’t mind, may I handle him alone?”

At least a last remnant of restraint told him to seek leave.

“Will you be all right alone?”

At Haryang’s worried tone, Yegyeol lifted his left arm; in the moonlight breaking through clouds, golden scales flashed.

Confirming his disciple could handle a mere drifter, Haryang withdrew into the dark.

“…I’ll be waiting. Call anytime.”

“Yes. It’ll be quick.”

Zhang Qi propped himself on the floor and raised his head. His face, blotched with dye, was full of questions.

Why? mouthed his lips.

“Seems you can’t recall who I am.”

Yegyeol cocked his head.

“Well, I have been eating and growing well.”

And reborn, at that. Suddenly rejuvenated—no surprise a dullard like Crooked Ear failed to recognize him.

He decided to offer a hint.

“No matter where I ran, whose shadow I hid in—you said you’d find me. Didn’t you?”

Zhang Qi frowned; watching horror slowly spread in those eyes, Yegyeol smiled.

“Long time no see, Crooked Ear.”

Crooked Ear mouthed something, but not a whisper escaped.

“The acupoint will loosen soon. Talking to myself is dull, so—good.”

“Hu… huh…”

Filth‑laden sobs trickled from Zhang Qi. Crawling on the floor, no “gentleman” remained to be seen.

“I think you understand the situation now. A ledger of your misdeeds is in the city lord’s hands. Wu‑Sam will be confiscated; you’ll be a wanted man. Troops sent to the Red Blood Sect will learn your past and…”

A ragged breath. Yegyeol gave him time to take it in.

Shock stings more when hot and cold alternate than with boiling water alone.

“They’ll know: ‘Master Zhang Qi’ never existed. From first to last, you were only Crooked Ear.”

A whimper came.

“No. Impossible. I—I…! Argh!”

Feigning anguish, the man sprang and lunged; a drifter who once lived rolling on the ground, Crooked Ear flung dye at Yegyeol’s face.

But a man not even of the second rate, let alone first—his movements were easy for an esper to read.

“Use your head.”

Sidestepping, Yegyeol kicked him down. Crooked Ear, plunged back into the vat, had his head dunked and lifted again and again under the foot on his back.

A man flailing to avoid drowning in a saucerful could not be an object of fear.

“S‑spare…”

“You taught pleading children a ‘truth of life’: that begging was no use. Yet when it’s you, the lesson doesn’t apply.”

“I—I was wrong. I was wrong. I did it because I’m unlearned. Hm? Truly.”

Tears or dye smeared his face as he supplicated; babbling between honorifics and familiar speech showed a mind half‑broken by fear.

“If you spare me, I’ll tell you where Wu‑Sam’s slush fund is. Hm? Please. My lord, please…”

“Mm.”

Yegyeol’s eyes gleamed gold.

“That’s not much of an offer for me.”

Current surged from his fingertips, washing the surroundings in golden light.

The golden snake poked its head from under his sleeve.

Unreal.

The first thing Crooked Ear felt was light to blind the eyes; then, as his sight adjusted, the scene overwhelmed enough to shove terror back for a moment:

A boy alone, shining like a sun against the night sky—as if a slice of myth had been pasted into reality. Even the snake coiled at his wrist felt like a symbol.

“Don’t bother begging—since you never repented anyway. You’ve lived like that, and you’d go on living like that. Die now or later—in the end, hell awaits.”

No… perhaps you’ll be reborn? Cocking his head, Yegyeol smiled.

“Whatever. I’ve learned you no longer frighten me.”

He could sweep this away whenever he wished.

Before finishing, Yegyeol gave BamBam’s head a last pat.

“BamBam’s still little—no need to watch this.”

As power rose, the golden snake, head poked out as if waiting, withdrew into the sleeve at his touch.

Once sluggish, the cool body coiled securely around his arm again. Before placing his hand into the dye‑water where Crooked Ear lay, Yegyeol offered a gentle warning:

“Patient, on three it’ll sting a little. One—”