TSBIRBV Ch 138

Chapter 138 A Stolen Kiss (15)

He had wanted to give his disciple a little more time, but it seemed the hour had been brought forward.

Not yet. Just a little longer.

Haryang decided to extend the final reprieve a little more.

When Jinyeong appeared in the study, she was faintly surprised to see Haryang already seated at his desk. Despite having passed the night awake, there was little change upon his face.

Handing over the reports he had already reviewed, Haryang asked,

“Where is Gyeol?”

“…That is…”

Jinyeong lowered her eyes.

“Samrang took Jeokroe early this morning. She said she was headed to Seonyeong City to meet with Namgung Gongja.”

“Ha… Seonyeong, of all places…”

That was where an assassination attempt had taken place only yesterday. At the break of dawn, his disciple had gone straight to that perilous city.

Gyeol must believe those assassins had come for Namgung Un, and so of course he would worry.

He knew it in his mind—it was merely anxious concern that had driven him there at a run.

And yet, an old unease stirred within Haryang and began to devour him.

Reaching out, he summoned Sammae Flame. The pipe, which until now had only lain idle, was lit.

He ordered Jinyeong:

“Empty the building.”

The moment her lord touched the pipe, she had already foreseen the next command. She bowed her head and withdrew.

Haryang slowly closed his eyes, then opened them again. But doing so did not dispel the hallucinations that seeped back into his vision.

The inner demons pulsed harshly, opening their jaws to swallow him whole.

Yegyeol still lived; even while turning his face from the Black Ghost, he lingered in the company of Namgung Clan’s heir; the Six Demonic Families had raised a hand to strike at his disciple; and at dawn, Yegyeol had rushed to Seonyeong to ascertain Namgung Un’s safety.

If you learned that man had been wounded because of an attempt upon your life…

Haryang’s gaze fixed upon the wavering smoke that rose from the pipe’s tip.

What would you do then?

He had no intent of finding out for himself. Haryang would not permit his disciple to incur a debt to any man but him.

“Haa…”

The fragrance rising from the pipe seeped into his frayed nerves. As the fog dulled his mind, Haryang rose to his feet.

Slowly, step by step, he walked down the corridor, leaving behind him smoke like drifting cloud-mist.

Upon the table by his bed had always been a stand prepared since the day he first ordered his pipe brought to him. He lit a candle, set the pipe upon the stand, and sank into the bed.

Leaving everything behind, he sought sleep with the aid of the drug.

Not yet could he loose the reins. Not yet.

But why…

As he retraced the moments before he slept, he mulled over the sense of wrongness that had haunted him since waking.

Why do I feel so light?

Using the pipe dulled his senses and made sleep easier, but waking brought only headaches. Samrang had claimed she had compounded it to avoid such side effects, yet she had never treated a martial artist burdened by inner demons. Unexpected results would hardly be strange. If all he suffered was a headache, without symptoms of dependency or addiction, it was fortune enough.

If he were to seek out a physician more learned than Samrang, perhaps there might be a way. But Haryang did not trust them. This was a realm beyond reason.

So he had continued to burn the herb, enduring the headaches as though they were a chronic malady.

That is why, when I met my disciple again and was able to sleep without the pipe, I cast it aside without hesitation.

As he sat slumped upon the bed, his gaze fell to a dent in the wooden floor.

The flooring of his chamber was deliberately soft—so that if anyone entered or furniture were moved, he would know at once.

With a mark this deep, something was dropped.

He bent down, heedless of his robes brushing the ground, and traced the hollow. Suddenly, Haryang sprang to his feet.

From the instant he awoke, the sense of wrongness had been circling back upon itself.

He strode from the building without hesitation and sought out Samrang. The mechanism she had set, which he would usually pass unbothered, triggered and shot hidden darts toward him. He caught them with his bare hands.

“Lord, why come without—”

It was not protest at his intrusion upon her private time, but a cry of alarm. Her devices, made as idle pastimes, had turned upon her lord.

Without rebuke or reassurance, he placed the darts in her hands and asked,

“Gyeol. What did my disciple do today in Seonyeong?”

Jinyeong knew her lord well. The moment he lifted the pipe, he would have cleared the surroundings. All within the manor were trusted retainers; none would dare defy him.

Then who would dare set foot in the Heavenly Demon’s bedchamber?

There was only one, ignorant of his true identity, who could approach her Senior Brother without hesitation—Yegyeol.

“He went to retrieve something he had forgotten with Namgung Gongja yesterday.”

His sudden appearance and pointed question might have seemed abrupt, but Samrang answered calmly.

“What thing?”

“A paperweight, carved of jade. He purchased it yesterday. As he needed it tomorrow, he hurried to Seonyeong to fetch it.”

She withheld the fact it was a gift—keeping half of her loyalty intact. She knew Yegyeol had wanted to surprise Haryang, which was why he had procured the item himself, rather than through the Qinghai Trading Group.

“…Bring it here.”

“As you command.”

Shortly, she returned with a small bundle.

Taking it, Haryang hefted its weight and loosened the knot.

Inside lay a paperweight carved with clouds. On closer inspection, a crack ran along one corner.

“…”

Would it be too much to think this was what had left the dent in the floor?

“…Heavens…”

Samrang’s murmur of dismay reached him through his brooding.

“He did not drop it even amidst the assassination attempt… how could this happen…”

She knew how desperately Yegyeol had sought the gift, how he had gone all the way to Seonyeong at dawn for its sake. His heartbreak was all too easy to imagine.

“Where is my disciple now?”

His face unreadably calm, Haryang asked.

“They say… he is in the bathhouse.”

That had allowed her to steal the gift without Yegyeol’s notice.

“Lead me.”

Suppressing her turmoil, Samrang set off.

The detached quarters where Yegyeol stayed had a bathhouse attached. Outside, a servant neatly folded his clothes and spirit-dog’s gear.

“Master.”

“How long since my disciple entered?”

“About half a shichen.”

Turning to Samrang, Haryang commanded,

“Wait here.”

He opened the door. Steam billowed out. Haryang stepped inside. Behind him, the door shut softly, but he did not look back.

Through the mist, a faint silhouette emerged.

Sensing the shift in air, Yegyeol turned sharply, asking,

“Who’s there?”

Amidst the drifting white vapor, Yegyeol came into view—

Brown hair damp and clinging to his nape, cheeks flushed, eyes wide with surprise. His naked form shimmered beneath the water’s surface, and his long, graceful neck arched like that of a deer.

“Se… Senior Brother?”

Realizing it was Haryang, he startled; his fingers whitened at the knuckles as they clenched around the wooden dipper.

But Haryang had no leisure for apologies or explanations.

Striding forward, he seized Yegyeol’s chin and turned his face this way and that.

That fair, unblemished skin—no wound, no scar.

Then why…

Why was this gnawing restlessness eating at him?

“What is it? Did something happen?”

Submissively yielding to the harsh, almost violent touch, Yegyeol looked up with worried eyes.

“You… came to me.”

Haryang’s lips trembled.

“You came to this Senior Brother?”

He could not simply trust what seemed whole and sound before his eyes. He knew well how quickly the marks he left upon Yegyeol’s body would fade.

“Eh?”

Yegyeol blinked, startled.

“Senior Brother? When?”

His expression and tone were guileless to the extreme.

Had the floor not been of soft wood, had he not seen the jade paperweight Samrang had brought him, Haryang might have been deceived.

“…No.”

If his disciple sought to hide something, it would not be easily uncovered.

“Truly, nothing has happened?”

Haryang stayed silent. He had come with no excuse prepared.

He was afraid.

He had wished to prolong the reprieve, to draw his disciple into his reach step by step—but what if Yegyeol already knew what a monster he was?

“…It feels as though I dreamt a nightmare I cannot remember.”

Trailing off, he met Yegyeol’s gaze, full of worry.

“The moment I woke, I needed to see that you were well.”

It was a statement heavy with meaning.

Caught in the depth of his lowered voice and gaze, Yegyeol faltered.

“Haha. What is that supposed to mean?”

His laugh, bright and youthful, rang through the steamy chamber.

“Now you’ve seen me, haven’t you? I’m perfectly fine, aren’t I?”

Resting his chin on his hand at the edge of the tub, he tilted his head playfully, as if to lighten the weight upon Haryang’s heart.

“…Yes. That you are.”

A faint laugh escaped Haryang.

“It seems yesterday’s events left this Senior Brother far too burdened with worry.”

Sliding his fingers over Yegyeol’s damp cheek, Haryang whispered,

“To see you unharmed gladdens me.”