TSBIRBV Ch 111(NSFW)

Chapter 111 Mission Complete (7)(NSFW)

A drowsy voice called out to Yegyeol.

Perhaps because he had just woken up, the tone was deeper than usual, and Yegyeol felt a chilling shiver run down his spine.

Haryang let his gaze slowly wander over Yegyeol’s flushed face.

His eyes lingered long on the rims of Yegyeol’s eyes, flushed a reddish hue like peach blossoms.

No, it was but a fleeting moment, though it felt as though it might have lasted an eternity.

“Tsk.”

Clicking his tongue softly, Haryang whispered,

“You seem uncomfortable, don’t you?”

His slightly lowered lashes carried a subtle implication.

It felt less like “Je Haryang” speaking, and more like words that might fall from the lips of “the Black Ghost.” Yegyeol was momentarily thrown into confusion. Yet, even if one had once been a Daoist, it would still be strange for a man to pretend complete ignorance of such bodily matters.

Reacting instinctively, Yegyeol pulled the quilt over his lower half and licked his dry lips.

“I—I will be quick in returning.”

This was a situation of an entirely different nature from that night when he had deliberately lured his elder brother to watch. To be lying side by side only to be caught in an erection—he could hardly protest even if treated like a pervert.

An alarming sense of impending ruin gnawed at him.

No. It was too soon to despair. After all, born a man, was it not natural to experience nocturnal emissions? At such a vigorous age, it was not uncommon to wake in the morning already aroused.

Convincing himself that it was nothing more than an embarrassing mishap, Yegyeol tried to calm his pounding heart.

Haryang’s gaze, half-dreamy and hazy as though still steeped in slumber, rested steadily on Yegyeol. Even in the darkness, where all the windows had been shuttered and it was unclear whether it was day or night, Haryang’s hand appeared starkly pale as it reached toward him.

Feeling his mouth go dry, Yegyeol swallowed hard and unconsciously shrank back.

“Come here. This elder brother will help you.”

Haryang gestured lazily with his hand. Yegyeol, staring blankly at that languid curve of his lips, needed several repetitions of the words before he finally comprehended them.

“E—Elder Brother?”

His voice came out strained, like an unoiled bicycle chain.

“Would it not be uncomfortable to leave it as it is?”

That an elder brother would offer to assist his disciple with such a matter—what kind of madness was this?

“I—I can do it myself. Please, let me do it alone.”

Even as he begged, there was no sign of his arousal subsiding. His body, well aware of the man who had already claimed it several times before, mirrored its master’s lack of patience.

“It’s fine. This much is well within what brothers can do for each other.”

Haryang’s voice was quiet, yet strangely composed. Yegyeol, unable to believe such words, only opened and closed his mouth like a fish.

Even if ten years could change mountains and rivers, when had the martial world of the Central Plains—once a gathering of rigid traditionalists—come to hold such loose standards?

“D-Do such things… happen often?”

“Even martial men of the Dao, when they see blood, often become excited. At times, the aftereffects touch the body as well.”

“Ah.”

So he was suggesting that the matter might be the result of lingering excitement from the slaying of Jangchil.

Distasteful though the thought was, it was not entirely unfounded. Yegyeol had seen enough demonic martial artists in his youth who, after a bloody clash, would drown themselves in alcohol, take drugs, or seek out partners for the flesh.

‘But for an elder brother to aid a disciple in self-gratification—would that not be a betrayal of every principle of loyalty and honor?’

The word “betrayal” struck Yegyeol like a bolt of lightning, and he came to his senses in an instant.

‘No. This is wrong.’

Surely it was Haryang himself who had begun this charade with the intention of transgressing against such principles. If he himself declared he would commit the deed, then why should Yegyeol stop him?

Yegyeol chose to boldly acknowledge that he had strayed from his original resolve.

“Then…”

Lowering his eyes in embarrassment, Yegyeol fiddled with the hem of his robe and whispered,

“Just a little. Please help me a little.”

As his voice dwindled, Haryang pulled Yegyeol into his embrace. Drawn back against him, Yegyeol obediently removed his trousers.

His smooth, pale legs seemed almost to glow in the darkness.

“Now. Let me show you how to pleasure yourself.”

Haryang whispered into Yegyeol’s ear. At the sensation, like soft hairs bristling to life, Yegyeol shivered.

No matter how he tried to maintain composure, he could not easily adjust to exposing his body—his very sex—in front of Je Haryang, not the Black Ghost.

“Relax your body, lean back.”

Yegyeol slowly let himself sink against Haryang’s chest.

“Spread your legs… that’s it.”

A pale hand slid like a serpent, pressing gently upon his thigh before slipping between them.

“Hht!”

The touch of fingers wrapping around his pillar drew a sharp moan from Yegyeol.

“With one hand, you grip it like this, and move back and forth slowly. Too rough, and the tender flesh may chafe, so you must be careful. Once there is enough moisture… it’s fine.”

His voice, still lingering with drowsiness, dragged Yegyeol deeper into a swamp of desire.

Though unlike the scarred hands of the Black Ghost, Haryang’s long fingers carried a masculine vitality.

Yegyeol felt his mind scatter.

Those very hands that once held the wooden sword to demonstrate the Cloud Dragon Sword Technique were now wrapped around his sex.

Though it had happened many times before, witnessing it with his own eyes delivered a shocking jolt.

Pressed together, he could feel Haryang’s heartbeat. While Yegyeol’s own heart pounded wildly, his elder seemed comparatively calm.

“Now. Try it yourself.”

Haryang kindly guided Yegyeol’s hand to grip his shaft. Just as Yegyeol thought he would release him, Haryang laid his hand atop Yegyeol’s.

“Not too tightly. Like this… gently soothe it.”

The closeness was unbearable. It wasn’t just the physical embrace, but the intimacy of being taught how to pleasure himself.

Even their breaths sounded damp, as though soaked. It felt as though remnants of sleep still weighed down the air.

Sticky. Heavy.

Like syrup boiled for a long time over a low flame until it clung and thickened.

“Does it feel good?”

The boy who once sat at his bedside when he was sick, asking if he was alright, had grown into a man who now tended to his pleasure.

It felt like committing a sin far beyond what he had ever imagined.

“Y-Yes! Hhuhh… Hhup.”

Like a puppet, Yegyeol moved his hand as directed by Haryang. With his elder’s hand atop his own, even the pressure and rhythm were under his control.

Though slower than usual, the unrelenting pleasure drove Yegyeol to throw his head back, gasping. Haryang’s gaze, as he looked down at the disciple leaning on his shoulder, was plain and gentle.

He murmured as though to himself,

“In truth, I stayed by your side fearing you might have nightmares… but to end up giving this kind of help…”

“Hhngh… mm…”

It was like a dream. Dizzy with the forbidden, Yegyeol’s hips twitched.

Something deep within him cried to be scratched, to be filled. His head spun.

It had been weeks since he last met the Black Ghost in Hangzhou. Though he had constantly been beside his elder brother and nourished by his guiding presence, Yegyeol had quietly suffered from a gnawing dissatisfaction.

Tears welled at the corners of his eyes. His hips lifted, pleading, as though this alone was not enough.

Haryang, whether he understood or not, chuckled softly in his ear as if he were adorable.

“You’re starting to get the knack of it now.”

Unable to confess his torment, Yegyeol only nodded and worked his hand diligently.

“Hhh… hhhaat…!”

At last, Yegyeol climaxed with a ragged breath.

His body slumped limply, like soaked cotton. As soon as desire was released, sleep threatened to claim him. He bit his lips hard.

“T-The bed has been soiled.”

“It’s alright. I’ll clean it all, don’t worry.”

Haryang spoke kindly. Just as he rose to fetch something to wipe him down, Yegyeol suddenly grabbed at his robes.

After biting his lips several times, Yegyeol finally voiced the question that had troubled him.

“Other than me… have you ever given such teaching to another disciple?”

“Well.”

Haryang smiled awkwardly.

“To be honest… such practices do exist, but you are the first I have ever personally helped.”

He brushed Yegyeol’s cheek gently with the back of his hand.

“Will you forgive this elder brother’s lie?”

Haryang’s face wavered in and out of Yegyeol’s dimming vision. In a voice that was nearly swallowed away, Yegyeol whispered,

“…Only this once.”

A crimson glow seeped through the curtains. Evening was drawing near.

Since wiping down his disciple’s body that afternoon, Haryang had remained sitting silently by the bedside, staring at Yegyeol’s face.

Feigning drowsiness, in truth he was intoxicated by the scent of his disciple’s body.

When Yegyeol finally stirred awake with a groan, Haryang feared he might be unwell. But upon seeing the reddened rims of his eyes, he realized his disciple had been aroused.

Though Yegyeol had looked flustered when he suggested teaching him how to pleasure himself, the anxious anticipation Haryang had felt in the waiting gave way to a mounting eagerness.

In the end, Yegyeol surrendered his body to him. Half in resignation, half in trust, he leaned into Haryang’s embrace. That, to Haryang, was deeply gratifying.

It was not the first time he had soothed his disciple’s desire. Yet seeing Yegyeol yield not to the Black Ghost but to Je Haryang brought him a satisfaction greater than he had imagined.

The sight of Yegyeol calming his desire under his instruction lingered vividly in his mind.

Though Yegyeol, who had become so quickly accustomed to the Black Ghost’s rough penetration, could reach climax from that alone, he was strangely clumsy with self-pleasure. That contrast drove Haryang mad.

Never once had he moved with such intent, yet the disciple was already steeped in his touch.

It was a joy beyond measure.

Haryang retraced the journey from the beginning.

When first told they would travel to Hangzhou, Yegyeol had shown little attachment. Haryang, knowing it was his disciple’s hometown, felt a sense of incongruity.

Yegyeol seemed to hold no attachment to his past.

Haryang forcibly pushed aside the tale of the Asura Blood River Zombie that kept surfacing in his mind. He himself had confessed he bore little attachment to his own hometown, and in turn, heard an unexpected revelation from his disciple.

“Still… there is someone I am curious to hear news of.”

It would be a lie to say his heart had not plummeted in that instant.

This was proof that Yegyeol was not the Asura Blood River Zombie—but the disappointment he felt upon realizing this betrayed his own heart.

In his world, Yegyeol was the only one. But for Yegyeol, he could never be the only one.

Always bright and lovable, his disciple could fill his life with anyone, anything. Unlike Haryang, who desperately sought to fill every void, Yegyeol was of another kind.

Hwang Noya.

Learning that the man was already an old man brought Haryang some relief.

It had been nearly thirty years since Yegyeol’s days in Luoyang. For one who had not trained in martial arts, such time would surely have been more than enough to die.

Haryang’s heart eased.

For the first time, Yegyeol had spoken of a tie from his past. It was proof that even in those painful years, someone had cared for him. And yet Haryang could not simply rejoice. Only upon deciding that the man was surely dead could he allow himself magnanimity.

How despicable he had become.

Before Yegyeol, he had never known his own depths. With nothing precious to him, he had no reason to measure the abyss.

But his disciple awakened in him joy and sorrow, rage and fear, stripping him of his ignorance.

For one who no longer even felt shame, Yegyeol had given far too much. Was that not a losing bargain?

‘But you… you would not care about such things.’

Rising from his seat, Haryang reached out to Yegyeol’s sleeping face. Faint but steady breaths brushed against his palm like drifting dandelion seeds.

Even though he could hear the sound of his disciple’s beating heart if he listened closely, he still needed to feel with his own hand that Yegyeol breathed, to be at peace.

“Rest well.”