TSBIRBV Ch 271

Chapter 271. Yongbong Gathering (11)

“I’ve prepared the payment.”

The Black Ghost’s hand came down over the bamboo scroll Yegyeol had been reading. The scar running across his knuckles looked hardened—impossible to imagine the pain that had etched it there.

“And what,” he murmured, leaning forward, “if I don’t wish to sell for money?”

The low whisper carried weight.

Yegyeol’s expression remained calm, but the faint tremor of his eyelashes betrayed him. The windless stillness of Dongho Lake couldn’t be blamed for that.

“…Then, what is it you want?”

The Black Ghost did not answer at once. He wetted his lips with a sip of tea, then lifted his gaze and spoke softly—

“I desire, Lord Mun’s night.”

“That’s not possible.”

The refusal sprang from him almost reflexively, like a muscle’s natural reaction to pain. It was abrupt, mercilessly firm—but the Black Ghost didn’t seem offended. He leaned closer still.

“I don’t mean the same thing I asked of you before.”

His lips brushed dangerously close as he whispered, voice low and hot.

“While I investigate the affair at Yegok Village—allow me to spend your night beside you. That time, together.”

By any rational measure, the proposal put the Black Ghost at a loss. He could have simply taken the money, saved himself the trouble, and still secured Yegyeol’s cooperation. But Yegyeol knew the trap nestled beneath the words.

“I won’t insult you by asking if that’s truly all you want,” Yegyeol said quietly. “You wouldn’t make such a request lightly, and I wouldn’t give that time away easily either.”

His mouth was dry, but he held his teacup tightly and went on.

“Still—something that cannot be divided or measured shouldn’t be placed on a merchant’s scale. Even if we tried, the balance would never hold. So please… take the money.”

“Then Lord Mun would never come to me again.”

The Black Ghost’s voice remained calm, yet there was a shadow of grief woven through it—so deep that even without visible emotion, the weight of despair was palpable.

Clever… Yegyeol thought.

He sounded like a man tormented by longing for a heartless lover who had vanished without a word. Yet the truth was, this same man had locked himself away in the Ten-Thousand Mountains, living a timeless life with him—unaware of the years decaying around them.

Haryang had sworn to trust him. And yet, here he was, testing that trust.

Guess my running away hurt more than I thought.

The flicker of raw emotion in those black eyes—thickened with longing, possessiveness, frustration, even obsession—burned into Yegyeol’s heart. It was dark, sticky, heavy. A prism of human emotion—anger, yearning, blind devotion—flashing in his gaze.

Yegyeol savored it in silence. He couldn’t claim not to fear it, but he was drunk on the intensity, the overwhelming gravity of that focus. It was almost intoxicating.

If I take one wrong step, it’ll be the end.

If he said, Do as you wish, he knew exactly what would happen. He’d be dragged into his Senior Brother’s embrace—and the story would end right there, a bad ending wrapped in bliss.

But… would that really be so bad?

It was the kind of trap that was obvious yet sweet enough to tempt anyone to step in.

“You’re right,” Yegyeol said at last. His tone was even, but his eyes flickered faintly.

“My bond with you means a great deal to me. But I already have someone I’ve given my heart to. I can’t say I’ve been entirely honest with him—but I won’t betray his trust.”

“Because betrayal is wrong?”

“Have you ever known me to fear wrongdoing?”

Yegyeol tilted his head slightly, smiling faintly. The expression was teasing, but a dangerous glint shimmered beneath it. Straightening, he continued lightly—

“It’s because I don’t want to be abandoned.”

“That man must not have given you much certainty.”

The tone was half amused, half probing.

Yegyeol shook his head.

“My Senior Brother isn’t like that,” he said softly. “This… this is just my own problem.”

His voice dropped to a whisper.

“I’ve been left alone too many times. I don’t think they were bad people… which means, in the end, the problem must be me.”

“Such a thing…”

Even as the Black Ghost, Haryang’s eyes betrayed disbelief.

“I just want to do well. Truly.”

It was one of the few times Yegyeol spoke with utter sincerity.

He knew the man before him was Haryang, yet because Haryang was pretending otherwise, he could speak truths he normally couldn’t.

“Even if he doesn’t want it—I want to give him everything I can.”

“Then,” the Black Ghost murmured, “returning to the Central Plains, investigating Yegok Village… all of it was for that man?”

“…In a broad sense, yes.”

Yegyeol admitted it faintly. His gaze dropped to his tea, which had long gone cold.

“I fail to see the connection.”

Haryang’s tone was vague, almost evasive.

The silence stretched. When Yegyeol finally reached to lift his cup, the man’s hand came down gently, covering his. He took the cup from Yegyeol’s fingers.

The warmth from his palm seeped into Yegyeol’s skin.

“It should be warm now,” he said quietly.

Yegyeol clasped the cup again between both hands. “It is,” he murmured, almost to himself.

The faint curve of Haryang’s eyes softened.

He had used Yang energy to warm the tea—just enough to make it pleasantly hot, not scalding. Any other martial artist who witnessed such precise energy control would have been speechless.

But all Yegyeol felt was a quiet flutter of his heart.

Really, it’s just tea. It doesn’t matter if it’s cold.

He might pretend to be detached, but clearly, the man couldn’t stand even small discomforts on his part.

“…I understand your position,” Haryang said finally.

“Then, you’ll take the payment?”

“No.”

The refusal was firmer than before.

“Since you’ve spoken honestly, I’ll return the favor.”

He looked straight at Yegyeol.

“I cannot sleep.”

“…Pardon?”

“I’ve always been a light sleeper,” Haryang said evenly. “At first, it didn’t concern me. But as the sleepless nights grew longer, I began to wonder why.”

His voice was calm, almost tender.

“It began when we first shared a bed. Before then, I would collapse only when exhaustion overwhelmed me. But with you, I slept deeply.”

Something about his tone told Yegyeol it wasn’t an act—it was Haryang speaking, not the Black Ghost.

Back in the Ten-Thousand Mountains, Yegyeol had rarely seen him sleep. Haryang always went to bed later and woke earlier. The few times he caught him asleep could be counted on one hand.

“So even now… you still can’t sleep?”

“What do you think?”

The iron mask concealed any trace of fatigue. Even his true face, with its perfected form, would show none. Yet the mental toll of sleeplessness surely weighed on him.

“The physician said it’s a sickness of the mind. Funny, isn’t it? I’ve seen horrors beyond counting, but losing you is what robbed me of sleep.”

He said it lightly, but that only made the words cut deeper.

Yegyeol’s pupils trembled with pity.

So this is it. He’s going to try for the shared bed again.

At least he wasn’t the only one suffering from separation anxiety.

“If it makes you uncomfortable,” Haryang said softly, “I’ll wear shackles forged from Ten-Thousand-Year Cold Iron. I swear I won’t touch you improperly. Just… share your night with me.”

“Th-that’s…”

Yegyeol hid his trembling hands in his sleeves.

Sensing his hesitation, Haryang’s tone gentled.

“Take your time. Shall I bring fresh tea?”

Yegyeol shook his head quickly.

He thought deeply. He had refused and refused again—but seeing the unwavering resolve in Haryang’s gaze, part of him wondered if surrendering a little might not be so bad.

“All right,” he whispered at last.

“You may borrow my night.”

He bit his lip, guilt written across his face.

“After all, if you can’t sleep, I suppose that’s partly my fault.”

“Then I’ll consider myself lucky,” Haryang said quietly. The faintest smile reached his eyes.

“But I have one condition.”

“Name it.”

The Black Ghost’s tone was agreeable—unaware of the shock that was about to follow.

“I’ll be the one to wear the shackles.”

That, Yegyeol would never yield.

“…You, Lord Mun?”

The crack in his composure was almost audible. He hesitated for a long moment before asking—

“Do you not trust me?”

“I do,” Yegyeol said softly. “But I can’t trust myself.”

The confession struck like a blow.

But it was true.

He could restrain himself while awake, but if he turned to Haryang in his sleep—if instinct took over—what excuse could he possibly make?

Yegyeol had long since learned to doubt no one so much as himself.

This must be confusing for him, he thought wryly.

After all, he’d just sworn fidelity, yet spoke with all the fragility of a man already wavering.

He wanted to read his Senior Brother’s expression, to dig into his heart and see how the words landed—but he resisted. Showing that curiosity would only undo the delicate balance.

If only you’d just come with me peacefully to the Central Plains, you wouldn’t have to go through this, he thought with a silent grin. Half mischief, half strategy.

He wanted to begin merging Je Haryang and the Black Ghost—to make his Senior Brother drop the mask.

“Very well,” Haryang said finally. “I’ll prepare the shackles—for you.”

It was the answer Yegyeol wanted. Yet the faint reluctance in the man’s voice betrayed the storm beneath.

“That’s enough,” Yegyeol said with a stiff smile.

“But may I ask,” Haryang murmured, “why is it you can’t trust yourself?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

Deciding to end the conversation, Yegyeol drained the remaining tea in one long swallow. He set the cup down with a sharp tap.

“You should rest. You’ll need your focus for the next match.”

Against the backdrop of Dongho’s glimmering water, the Black Ghost rose and offered a courteous bow. He looked, Yegyeol thought, like a well-fed predator—elegant and dangerous.

“To your victory, then.”

At that very time, when Haryang had only just left the Ten-Thousand Mountains and arrived in Sichuan—

He had finished his preparations to move as the Black Ghost and was awaiting Jinyoung’s report on Yegyeol’s recent activities.

There was commotion beyond the wall.

Too soon for her usual timing—and too hurried.

Did something happen to him?

His heart dropped. Before Jinyoung could even knock, Haryang had already opened the door with a wave of his qi.

He burst into the room, almost stumbling, clutching an unrolled scroll in his trembling hands—an uncharacteristically flustered sight for one normally so composed.

“Calm yourself,” Haryang said. “What is it?”

The armrest beneath his fingers cracked with the force of his grip.

If our connection is exposed in the middle of the Central Plains—

The thought clawed through his mind. He cursed himself for letting the Gaebang and Namgung heirs live back in Qinghai.

Rage and dread tangled within him. If Yegyeol was endangered because of his own possessiveness, he would never forgive himself.

“R-reporting!” Jinyoung stammered, squeezing his eyes shut.

“The leading candidate for victory in the Yongbong Gathering… is Je Haryang.”

The brush nearly fell from Haryang’s hand. For a man of his skill, that was a first.

“Who—what did you say?”

“Je Haryang…” he gulped, “is the frontrunner to win the tournament.”