TSBIRBV Ch 129

Chapter 129 A Stolen Kiss (6)

Anger flared inside at the memory of rushing all the way to Wuhan to clean up what the previous sect leader had done—and then getting cut with a blade for the trouble. Still, now that his lord had decided to hide his true identity from that precious disciple, what could Samrang do? She could only play innocent and listen.

“But it wasn’t that the orthodox martial world escaped unscathed; the Mount Wuhun headquarters of the Martial Alliance had to be relocated to Luoyang.” Namgung Un finished his explanation while Samrang kept her silence.

“I see.” At least they’d succeeded in extracting facts about the Hwangbo family and the Uprising of the New Moon. Yegyeol ate lunch with Namgung Un, drank a cup of tea, and only then rose from his seat. Samrang sent a discreet message wondering if it wasn’t about time they left, but Yegyeol politely ignored it. In the present—without the luxury of an internet search for the Uprising of the New Moon or a Hwangbo genealogy—Namgung Un was as good a conversation partner as he could find.

“I’ll come again.”

“You’re welcome anytime.” Namgung Un rose and walked Yegyeol to the door. Smiling, Yegyeol turned and left without a backward glance. Namgung Un hesitated as if tempted to look back, then closed the door after Yegyeol vanished from sight. He breathed slowly.

He drew the satchel he had set aside toward him and took out letters exchanged with Baek Yang-jin. So—same name and outward appearance as the missing Kunlun disciple. Still, it can’t be the exact same person who vanished and then appeared as the head of the Cheonghae Trading Group. Namgung Un’s expression darkened.

He had come up Kunlun to retrieve a spirit-thing stolen by a spirit-demon and then learned that Baek Yang-jin’s disciple had gone missing. At the time, the name Mun Yegyeol meant nothing special to him. But when the hostage who had been held on the Dragon-Serpent King’s ship introduced themselves as Mun Yegyeol, he began to watch her closely. If this really was the Kunlun disciple who had disappeared—if she had been forcibly detained—he wanted to help.

“Lord Namgung, please take care of yourself.” That was the first time anyone had said that to him. The line came from a smooth, uncallused hand. Namgung Un wasn’t afraid of being surrounded by sword-bearing lackeys; he didn’t imagine he’d be killed outright—someone clever enough to be a Dragon-Serpent King would ransom him to the Namgung clan rather than murder him.

Fortunately, both Namgung Un and Mun Yegyeol were released alive from the Dragon-Serpent King. After that, Namgung Un and Yegyeol maintained some contact. The more he saw, the more Namgung Un thought the missing Kunlun disciple didn’t look like a pawn under someone’s control; she seemed too free and lively. If she truly had been forced into submission, she should have shown shadowed behaviors, moments of pain when orders conflicted with her will—none of which he saw.

If she wasn’t the abducted disciple, then perhaps—Mun Yegyeol was simply someone who shared the same name. It was a comforting hypothesis, and circumstantially, Namgung Un’s mind leaned that way. Yet even as he kept interacting with Yegyeol, he never dropped one thread of doubt: the habit of a prospective Namgung heir to leave no possibility unopened.

So when Yegyeol’s visits to Sichuan abruptly ceased, Namgung Un grew anxious. Although his father, the clan head, ordered him back to Anhui, Namgung Un had ridden straight to Cheonghae. Through informants in the beggar-network, he’d learned that Yegyeol came to the trading headquarters barely once every two weeks—hardly frequent enough. If Yegyeol really had been detained or threatened by someone as Baek Yang-jin suggested, Namgung Un feared he had missed his chance to rescue her.

He sent a letter to Baek Yang-jin asking for everything the elder remembered, but the reply contained little—only hints of indifference, anger, and betrayal. What can one do with such crumbs? Before Yegyeol’s arrival today, Namgung Un had planned how to extract her from the Cheonghae Trading Group. The unaccompanied appearance of Yegyeol—too calm—had unsettled him.

“Lord,” a subordinate said, pulling Namgung Un back from his thoughts. “One of the beggar-society’s low-ranked performers has gone missing.”

Namgung Un raised his head and asked if the missing man was the one who had asked him to look into the Cheonghae Trading Group. The subordinate answered no. The man had been begging near the inn and simply vanished. It was odd—but not necessarily something Namgung Un’s household should intervene in. Still, the man had been passing through the very route Yegyeol had taken.

“Keep a close watch on the beggar-network’s movements.” Namgung Un ordered. “Understood.”

Haryang exhaled slowly. Smoke from the reed incense wound and then dispersed. Half-closing his eyes, he raised the reed to his lips, inhaled the smoke, and exhaled again. The turmoil that churned inside him settled toward the bottom of his mind, where it would remain for now—suppressed, not diluted.

Jin-yeong entered quietly and found Haryang with the reed. The expression on his lord’s face had returned to that familiar, inscrutable blankness. Where Yegyeol’s Mun saw the gentle, almost black-ghost-like persona, this iteration of Haryang looked bored, as though the world were a slow, empty play.

“Mun returned?” Jin-yeong reported softly.

“Mun?” Haryang’s voice, muffled by the incense, carried a decadent resonance. “Ah—yes. He went to meet the young Lord Namgung of the Namgung family.”

Reports had come in; Haryang hadn’t forgotten them—only his feelings had buried the information a breath deeper than the surface, so recalling it took a small effort.

“She’s been busy,” Jin-yeong added. He watched Haryang’s long, pale fingers stroke the reed’s stem slowly. “It seems rather lonely.”

Haryang let a smile curl at the edge of his mouth—an expression that could be mistaken for delight at Mun’s happiness. Jin-yeong averted his eyes and reported what Namgung Un and Mun had done: mostly conversation—anecdotes from Namgung Un about his trip to Hangzhou, the romantic entanglements of the Sichuan Tang clan’s youth, and tales of clearing brigand hideouts when traveling alone.

As Jin-yeong spoke, Haryang’s gaze grew colder. He was annoyed that the Namgung heir could sit and merely prattle while even the beggar-network had to be engaged to get close to his disciple. If he had not kept his head steeped for so long in this incense, he might have acted on impulse.

Using a member of the Namgung clan’s direct line was close to sparking a confrontation with the orthodox sects—an act as reckless as instigating a large-scale clash. Why stop? the whispering voice asked in his ear. Haryang ignored it. Once, when he first learned his craft, he answered such questions carefully; he believed those choices would be temporary. Now his moral scale had long been unbalanced. Rather than listen to his own judgment, he moved by the rules he had set long ago.

The uncanny whisperings had been dormant but were flexing now: hallucination would follow, then frenzy, then full madness. He had ordered the reed incense to soothe him, but drugs alone could not quench that particular madness. His body might metabolize poison and antidote alike, but not the madness in his heart.

“Also… Namgung mentioned the Hwangbo family and the Uprising of the New Moon.” Jin-yeong said, pausing as if choosing his words.

Haryang’s face didn’t change; he murmured, “The Hwangbo matter can be investigated further—it’s permitted. It’s fine.” He sounded almost indifferent. Still, it was quick of Namgung Un to push such matters so neatly into conversation. Haryang realized with a quiet, private irritation that he had grown alarmed at how cheaply he had bartered the secrets he had wanted hidden—secrets he had been willing to die to protect—simply because his disciple cast one curious glance.

“Tell me what Namgung Un said about the Uprising of the New Moon.” Haryang asked.

“They said a trap the Demonic Sect set in Wuhun nearly brought the orthodox and unorthodox sects to mutual destruction, but thanks to Hwangbo Yulhui’s efforts, the Heavenly Demon withdrew and peace returned,” Jin-yeong recited.

“That’s all I need to hear.” Haryang’s voice was flat. The Uprising of the New Moon had a grand name, but the story was the old one: heroes pushing back villains. Still, if Namgung Un could hold Yegyeol’s attention that long, he had some skill as a storyteller.

Haryang watched the thin smoke blur the air, then turned slowly to Jin-yeong. “That will do. Bring me the letter Mun sent to the Black Ghost.”

“Understood.”