TSBIRBV Ch 11

Chapter 11. Homeless, Templeless, and Now Guideless (4)

At the entrance of the manor, three travelers stood huddled together, their luggage neatly packed.

It had already been half an hour since they had prepared to depart, yet the one holding them back was none other than Je Haryang himself.

“The peaks of Kunlun are cold all year round,” he said, carefully adjusting Yegyeol’s collar. “Even if it feels stuffy, make sure to dress warmly.”

“Yes,” Yegyeol replied obediently, letting his senior brother fuss over him like a fidgeting child.

“You’ve yet to reach Qinghai, but there’s talk of an epidemic spreading up from the south. Be sure to boil any water before drinking it.”

Jinyoung, standing nearby, looked bewildered. Their small escort consisted of Yalü Hongye—a man from the northern steppe tribes, skilled in horseback travel and surviving the wild.

With someone like him in their party, there was little reason to fear disease or wild beasts.

Hongye, however, remained impassive, expression unreadable, as if unbothered that his lord was practically doubting his competence.

“If, by some chance, you become separated from Hongye and Jinyoung,” Haryang continued, “do not follow anyone you don’t know. Stay where you are and wait.”

Good heavens.

Jinyoung inwardly sighed.

Even when sending an eight-year-old on an errand to the neighbor’s house, one wouldn’t fuss this much.

“I’ll remember,” Yegyeol said brightly, smiling as if all these anxious warnings were nothing but affectionate chatter.

“If anyone threatens you while you’re alone,” Haryang added, lowering his voice, “just hand over your purse. Hongye and Jinyoung will find you.”

And Jinyoung saw it—the subtle way his master slipped a small pouch into Yegyeol’s robes as he spoke.

In all his years serving Je Haryang, he had never once seen the man act like this—not toward a woman, not toward his most trusted subordinates.

The Haryang he knew was cold, distant, as sharp-edged as the mountains themselves.

“Don’t worry,” Yegyeol said cheerfully.

It was impossible for an esper to dislike being fussed over by his guide—especially when that guide looked at him with such care. Besides, soon enough, this overprotective guide would be the one riding the emotional roller coaster of his life.

I wonder how long I can last away from him.

He had no idea. He’d never had a guide before, let alone been separated from one.

But if the news reached Haryang that the disciple he had sent back to Kunlun had fallen ill with some mysterious sickness—well, Yegyeol could already imagine it.

Je Haryang, who had risked so much to save his lost disciple after twenty long years, would not sit idly by. He would storm out of wherever he was, his guilt and protectiveness propelling him forward.

That can’t just be wishful thinking.

Clinging to that thought, Yegyeol crushed his fear of separation beneath his heel. Whether it was affection or guilt, something in Haryang bound him still—and that was enough.

He was, after all, being sent to Kunlun with two of Haryang’s closest men, both of whom held positions of clear authority within the trading company. Even so, Haryang’s worry showed no sign of abating.

And Yegyeol—though he feigned exasperation—was quietly delighted.

“Take care on your journey,” Haryang said at last, releasing him.

He straightened and looked toward the escorts.

“At the appointed place, Elder Baekyang Jin-in will be waiting. Watch the disciple’s condition closely. Don’t let him out of your sight.”

“Yes, my lord,” Jinyoung and Hongye replied in unison.

With Hongye’s help, Yegyeol mounted his horse. He had never learned to ride in his past life, and the beast beneath him was far larger than any simple packhorse. Yet, despite the awkward start, he found his balance quickly. Perhaps being reborn an esper had its advantages.

If I relearn martial arts… maybe I could even be called a prodigy this time.

While Yegyeol tilted his head in thought, Haryang’s eyes, watching his departing figure, grew darker.

He knew this was the right decision—sending him away—but even so, the reluctance gnawed at him.

He couldn’t tear his gaze from that retreating back. It felt, in some unbearable way, like watching him die all over again.

Let him go.

He told himself this firmly. He was no longer a wandering swordsman, nor even a humble hermit. It was time to let his disciple go.

“Ah.”

Suddenly, Yegyeol turned back. The raw emotion that had slipped through Haryang’s composed mask was plain to see—like a stag caught by a hunter’s arrow.

“I’ll be back,” Yegyeol said with a dazzling smile.

Haryang could not bring himself to correct the words. He only stood there, frozen, watching the one who was leaving.

“We’ll rest here tonight.”

At Hongye’s curt statement, Yegyeol nodded.

“Yes.”

Jinyoung was already off his horse, gathering twigs and dry branches for a fire. With Hongye’s help, Yegyeol dismounted and sat, watching them work.

It didn’t take long to notice that both men bore traces of martial training.

It made sense—merchants in the Central Plains always needed guards—but what stood out was that even Jinyoung, who looked more like a scholar than a warrior, moved with sharp precision.

Interesting.

He lifted heavy loads effortlessly and reacted instantly to every shift of sound around them. Back in Korea, that kind of physical control would belong to at least an A-rank esper.

“I heard you help Senior Brother with his business quite a lot,” Yegyeol said suddenly, smiling with disarming sweetness.

Jinyoung actually stepped back, startled. The polite tone, the formal speech—it was so unlike the brash youth who’d once tossed words around casually that he couldn’t help but stare.

He didn’t know, of course, that this change was because Haryang had called him “the boy.”

“What sort of work do you do in the trading company?”

Still looking wary, Jinyoung answered dutifully, “A bit of everything. I oversee operations, prepare reports for the master’s review, organize ledgers… it’s all numbers and paper, really.”

So, basically, office work.

Yegyeol tilted his head. The man clearly had the strength and reflexes of an elite fighter, yet he was doing administrative tasks? It was like seeing an Olympic-level soldier working a desk job at a small logistics firm.

If he were on a security team, it’d make sense—but paperwork? Bizarre.

This trading company is anything but ordinary.

He had taken Haryang’s claim of being a merchant at face value before, too stunned by the idea to question it further. But now, doubt crept in.

“We’ve prepared your sleeping place,” Hongye said, gesturing.

Following his pointing hand, Yegyeol saw a simple bed made of thick blankets and dry leaves. He sat down and found it surprisingly comfortable—almost like camping rather than sleeping outdoors.

“Thank you,” he said softly.

At that, Jinyoung’s expression grew strange again. The polite, gentle speech—it just didn’t match the arrogant boy who’d once shoved a dirt-covered flower into his hand.

“If anything is uncomfortable, please let us know,” Hongye said.

“I’m fine,” Yegyeol replied.

“Shall we maintain this pace tomorrow?”

“I think we could go a little faster…”

He glanced at Hongye. He’d said the same thing yesterday, but Hongye hadn’t budged. They’d stopped for camp well before sunset, too.

“Riding too long without rest will strain your body,” Hongye said firmly. “And it’s not easy to find villages along the way. Better to conserve strength.”

“Villages?” Yegyeol echoed, surprised.

It was strange.

“There’s not a single settlement on the road from the manor to Kunlun?”

For all Qinghai’s vastness and sparse population, it was odd not to see a single person—not even a farmer, not even smoke from a chimney.

If they weren’t deliberately avoiding people, then something else was wrong.

A merchant’s business depended on trade routes, on people. Why would Haryang build his manor in a place so completely cut off?

“When will we arrive?”

“By tomorrow,” Hongye answered.

Yegyeol nodded.

The road they traveled was wide and well-kept—three warhorses could run abreast without trouble. Yet no one else passed through. It was unnerving.

The more he noticed, the more suspicious it became.

Dinner that night was a warm bowl of porridge. Yegyeol tried to help with cleaning up, but both men refused, insisting he rest.

Their care continued all the way to Kunlun the next day. Even Jinyoung, who clearly didn’t like him much, showed no rudeness.

By the time they reached the mountain’s middle slopes, their steps slowed.

“This is as far as we can go,” said a white-bearded Daoist waiting for them.

At a glance, Yegyeol recognized him.

Baekyang Jin-in.

Seeing his old master again made the passage of twenty years suddenly real. His once-black hair was snow-white, his face lined with age. Even with all his cultivation, time had not spared him.

Ironically, Yegyeol’s first thought was not nostalgia, but awe.

Just how powerful is Senior Brother, then?

A disciple expelled from Kunlun would have had his energy core destroyed, his meridians severed—crippled for life. And yet, when Yegyeol met Haryang again, he had been perfectly healthy, not even a scar on his wrists, his movements as fluid as ever.

Even a master like Baekyang Jin-in had not escaped time’s grasp, but Haryang clearly had.

Yegyeol’s heart pounded. It felt like he had brushed against one of his senior brother’s hidden secrets.

“Master,” he greeted softly.

“Come,” Baekyang said, his voice low.

“Just a moment—I need to thank those who escorted me.”

Hongye dismounted and approached.

“I regret we could not accompany you farther,” he said. “Please, take care.”

He handed Yegyeol his pack. As Yegyeol leaned forward to take it, Hongye’s hand brushed his sleeve—slipping something small into his grasp.

[If danger finds you, blow this flute.]

It was a whisper of qi, a soundless transmission of thought.

Unable to use martial arts himself, Yegyeol simply blinked in acknowledgment.

Hongye inclined his head slightly before stepping back.

Then Jinyoung stepped forward.

“My lord said he will continue to uphold the Kunlun pact as before.”

“…I see. Thank you for returning my disciple to me,” Baekyang replied.

The words sounded polite, but his guarded expression didn’t soften.

Jinyoung smiled faintly and withdrew.

They began their descent without a single glance backward. To a stranger, their departure might have looked cold—but Yegyeol saw it for what it was: consideration.

“Come,” Baekyang said curtly.

If Haryang’s words were true, this was their first meeting in twenty years. Yet the elder didn’t even look at him.

“Yes, Master.”

Their footsteps—one old and steady, one young and cautious—echoed softly over the snow-covered path.

“I’ve never heard you speak that much before,” Jinyoung remarked.

“…Hmm.”

Hongye merely poked at the campfire, saying nothing.

Ever since they had left Yegyeol at Kunlun’s borders, he’d reverted to his usual, terse silence.

“About that flute…” Jinyoung began, narrowing his eyes.

Baekyang probably hadn’t seen, but Jinyoung had caught the flick of Hongye’s hand—had seen him give it away.

“That’s supposed to be a relic passed only to your tribe’s chieftains, isn’t it? What were you thinking, giving it to our lord’s guest?”

For Hongye, that flute was nearly sacred—an heirloom, a relic of his people, of the ones he’d loved and lost.

And now, it was gone—possibly forever.

Their lord clearly had no intention of ever meeting that disciple again. And soon, they would be leaving for Xinjiang.

“What did you sense?” Jinyoung asked.

But Hongye only stared into the fire, its glow flickering in his dark eyes.

Finally, he said, in a voice like gravel and smoke:

“We’ll meet him again.”

Soon.