TSBIRBV Ch 143

Chapter 143 The Oldest (5)

Impossible.

And yet, Yegyeol could not stop the tightening in his chest.

“Since the neck is a vital point, wouldn’t anyone flinch?”

Judging from the way he was probing, there seemed to be no proof. Yegyeol decided he would deny it to the end.

“Then perhaps it is you who are too defenseless.”

Haryang whispered.

“Me?”

“When I do this…”

Raising his other hand, he encircled Yegyeol’s throat. The sensation was chillingly familiar, and Yegyeol lowered his eyes.

“Even when I seize you like this, you remain still.”

“Well.”

Yegyeol answered with a calm face.

“Senior Brother would never hurt me.”

At the innocent trust shining in his gaze, Haryang smiled.

“Of course.”

His hands slipped away like serpents.

“I was curious, since even when you said it tickled, you didn’t react strongly. It didn’t displease you?”

“Not really. But Senior Brother’s hands are warm.”

Boldly, Yegyeol took his hand and pulled it to his face. Watching him awkwardly stoop, caught between yielding and resisting, Yegyeol pressed his cheek into his palm, laughing inwardly with a vicious joy.

Danger? What danger.

Danger was not Haryang. It was beings like Yegyeol himself—

Those who harbored dark desire in their belly, who lured confusion and obsession from others without an ounce of guilt.

Men like Haryang, who could neither resent nor hate, who fretted every waking moment over whether he might have harmed his disciple—what danger could such a man pose?

“My hands are cold…”

Clinging like a sun-warmed cat, Yegyeol made Haryang’s touch grow tender. Perhaps even if he knew this was ploy, he would not refuse.

“This room is little used, so it seems poorly heated. Should I have a brazier brought in?”

“No, it’s fine. I only cling because I like Senior Brother’s warmth.”

Even though these were the very hands that had once tried mercilessly to kill him, Yegyeol’s gaze toward them was filled only with tenderness.

Before long, their steps brought them before Yegyeol’s chamber.

“Then, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Haryang turned to leave.

At that moment, Yegyeol caught his sleeve.

He had barely taken a step when he felt the tug, and turned back with a look of surprise.

Should I say it’s nothing and let him go?

After a moment’s hesitation, Yegyeol suddenly spoke.

“…Thank you for being born.”

As though shoved by unseen hands, he blurted it out, then instinctively checked Haryang’s face.

It was as calm as when he had first received the gift.

“…”

In truth, Yegyeol had long hesitated to say these words.

Until recently, perhaps he might have—but he had read in Haryang’s nightmares that the man had once wished to die. To say “thank you for being born” to one so broken he even resented the benefactor who saved his life—wouldn’t that be a kind of violence?

But still.

Yegyeol held his breath, awaiting his reaction.

If not for meeting you, I wouldn’t even be here.

He didn’t know what Haryang saw through him. Not only affection and gratitude, but resentment and regret too, all carefully hidden.

Even so, Yegyeol was a life that Haryang had once saved.

“Yes.”

Haryang pulled him into a fierce embrace. For a moment he let go, then again crushed him close.

“…Yes.”

With his face buried against the man’s shoulder, Yegyeol wondered what expression Haryang was hiding in that embrace.

But when he was released, the man’s face was so calm it was impossible to guess.

“Sleep well.”

His touch brushed Yegyeol’s ear and fell away. Yegyeol waved lightly.

“Senior Brother too, have sweet dreams.”

A faint, almost invisible smile ghosted over his lips.

The blazing sun hung overhead as Jinyoung hurried across the courtyard.

“Hold it right there.”

Yegyeol was lying in wait on his path.

With Baembaemi perched on his shoulder, his eyes glinted with a sharp venom.

“Tsk.”

Jinyoung clicked his tongue faintly. He knew Yegyeol had business with him. The one who usually looked at him as one would a cow at a chicken had been seeking chances to draw near and speak.

Even knowing this, Jinyoung had been avoiding him—taking longer routes, leaving earlier, or dawdling late. He was especially careful to avoid areas where venomous weasels were known to roam.

But he knew it was only a matter of time before Yegyeol caught him. His disciple had an accomplice skilled at secret paths and shortcuts, and who could read the mind of a fugitive like the palm of a hand.

“You managed to find me.”

Sensing his words were only a token surrender, Yegyeol replied blandly,

“I learned the shortcut from Samrang. Poor Baembaemi suffered for it.”

The Millennium Thunder Serpent flicked its tongue with a sharp hiss.

Though small and almost cute, the spirit beast bared itself fiercely, emboldened by trust in its master. Watching it, Jinyoung’s head ached. Truly, master and servant were alike.

“So what in the world is this matter that made you hound me so relentlessly?”

“I want to consult you about Senior Brother.”

Calming Baembaemi with a stroke, Yegyeol’s tone grew grave.

Casting a glance at the sun and the shade of the building, Jinyoung excused himself.

“I must deliver this to my lord first. Please wait.”

“You won’t make me chase you again, will you?”

He shook his head.

“I won’t slip away this time.”

Realizing Yegyeol wasn’t after him for trifles, Jinyoung decided it best to resolve it swiftly.

“Be right back.”

Yegyeol plopped down on the ground where he stood. His sprawling pose was like a cat lazing in the sun, but in truth he was a tiger awaiting prey.

Spreading his arms wide, he lay flat and gazed at the sky. Blinking at the clouds, he felt Baembaemi’s tail tickle his cheek.

Catching its gaze, he saw worry in its bright, beadlike eyes. Strange how such expression could pass through a serpent’s gaze.

“Don’t worry. If he runs, we’ll catch him.”

In any case, Jinyoung was bound to return near Senior Brother.

But Baembaemi flicked its tail against his hand, as if to say that wasn’t the issue. The light slaps carried no pain, only a ticklish scold. Yegyeol raised his hands in surrender.

“I’ve just been quiet because I’ve had a lot on my mind lately, not because anything’s wrong.”

Of course, there had been issues—but in the end, things had worked out.

Je Haryang had strangled him, but he was alive. Though he’d declared he was no longer Senior Brother, he’d also given permission to keep calling him so.

Truth is, the reverse-guiding was more fatal than the choking.

Remembering the emotions that had poured into him then made his chest ache.

What on earth happened while I was gone? Who planted such agony in him?

I need to know what occurred before the schism.

Samrang, whom he saw most often, was not an option. Her twisted nature meant that as long as she found amusement, she’d turn a blind eye. There was no way to slip past her. Even if Yegyeol appealed to emotion, she’d just dig an ear and ignore him. Threats would be useless.

There was Hongyeo—quiet, reliable. But meeting him was rare, and with his loyal, upright character, he’d never betray Haryang’s secrets just because Yegyeol asked.

So Yegyeol decided to wring it out of Jinyoung.

Not because he doubted his loyalty to Haryang—on the contrary, he trusted Jinyoung’s wariness toward himself.

“I’m back.”

Jinyoung returned, face stiff.

“I’d like to speak somewhere private.”

“Then I’ll take you to my quarters.”

As Yegyeol rose lightly, Jinyoung’s eyes flicked to his grass-stained clothes, and a grimace crossed his face. He’d expected as much—seemed he had a touch of obsession with cleanliness.

“This way.”

He tilted his head.

Yegyeol, willing to humor him for the sake of information, was just about to suggest changing clothes.

“Let’s go.”

Apparently, Jinyoung wanted to get it over with as quickly as possible.

Cheerfully, Yegyeol followed. They came to a section of the manor he’d never visited before. The building was modest, neat, and a little shabby.

Inside, Jinyoung asked,

“Shall I serve you tea?”

Even between two who disliked each other, it seemed he would still offer hospitality.

“Cold tea.”

In the Central Plains, ice was rare, but Yegyeol had his reasons. What he was about to hear was bound to raise his temper; with hot tea, he’d surely scald his tongue.

Jinyoung arched one brow at the cheeky demand but said nothing, only turned to fetch it.

“What is it you want to know of my lord?”

Returning quickly with chilled tea, he posed the question.

Yegyeol sipped first before answering. It was a little astringent, but drinkable.

“Lord Mun?”

“…What nightmares does Senior Brother have? You know, don’t you?”