TSBIRBV Ch 292

Chapter 292. Secret Tryst (4)

Eon Chaegwol’s Blue General leapt ahead, three times faster than the man’s Red General. The tension that had been choking his throat exploded into exhilaration, a rush of sharp, intoxicating joy surging through him.

The weight of his losses—the money, and the priceless jade token he had staked—seemed now to propel him forward, urging him on rather than holding him back.

“Faster…! Faster!”

His eyes gleamed feverishly as he shouted, calling out to his grasshopper again and again.

Half the distance to the finish line was already behind them.

The Red General chosen by that fool of a man was still barely a quarter of the way there. That thing’s no grasshopper—it’s a turtle, Chaegwol thought smugly, a sneer curling at his lips.

Maybe I’ll even give that brat a little bonus.

The boy had done splendidly.

The louder his voice rose, the more eyes turned toward the table. Spectators crowded around, eager for entertainment, cheering as the insects bounded forward.

“Go, Blue General! Go!”

“Now that’s a jumper!”

“Let’s see how this ends!”

Some slapped Chaegwol’s shoulders in encouragement, remembering how the young master of the Eon Clan would sometimes shower coins around when he was in a good mood.

Should’ve just gone for the grasshopper races from the start, he thought, clicking his tongue.

The thought of reclaiming all his losses—and taking his opponent’s fortune on top of it—made his heart pound wildly. Tonight, he’d quit gambling for good and spend the night at some fine pleasure house.

But then, something felt… off.

The faster Blue General moved, the higher it began to jump.

No way…

A prickle of unease stirred in his chest.

And then, in the next instant, the blue-winged insect soared.

“No! No, come back! Come back, damn you!”

His frantic shout echoed uselessly as the grasshopper flew right over the low barrier enclosing the table.

Like a fool, Chaegwol lurched forward, arms flailing, chasing after it—an unseemly sight for a martial artist.

But it was already too late.

Gasps rippled through the crowd.

“Unbelievable…”

“He’s lost.”

The grasshopper landed calmly on the floor beyond, still hopping forward leisurely—if that had been part of the table, it would have easily crossed the finish line.

“This can’t be… this can’t…”

Eon Chaegwol collapsed where he stood.

And at that precise moment, the Red General reached the finish line, its shrill chirping ringing out in triumph.

“Well, that concludes our final round,” said the man, picking up the lone jade token from the pile of winnings.

“I’ll be taking this.”

Chaegwol shut his eyes tight.

“I’ll be taking this.”

Haryang—disguised as the scarred gambler—turned the jade token over in his hand, scanning the crowd.

Yegyeol, watching from the sidelines, suddenly had a very bad feeling.

Wait… surely he’s not going to…

Was Haryang planning to scatter the winnings among the gamblers here?

It would destroy Eon Chaegwol’s spirit completely—but even so, it seemed like a waste.

Yegyeol darted forward.

“I’ll take care of that!” he said quickly.

The Black Ghost paused, slightly startled by his sudden appearance from the shadows.

“…Very well. Don’t leave a single coin behind.”

The way he agreed so smoothly made Yegyeol puff up with pride.

Once again, guarding Senior Brother’s purse with my life.

His Senior Brother was the kind of man who’d gift someone the finest trading fleet in Qinghai without hesitation—utterly generous, utterly unbothered by trivial sums.

But Yegyeol was a petty man by nature. He disliked seeing Haryang give anyone else so much as a coin.

“You’ve won so much, sir! You’re amazing!” he declared loudly, pretending to be nothing more than an eager servant.

Eon Chaegwol, still sprawled on the floor, turned red from neck to temple. His veins bulged as his rage boiled over.

Yegyeol ignored him completely.

“Goodness, there’s too much to fit in your pouch! I’ll fetch a proper sack from the attendants!”

He strode off cheerfully, shaking down a few of the den’s workers until he returned with a tough leather bag.

By then, the spectators had dispersed. The floor, once littered with coins, was empty save for the boy cleaning up with a rag.

The cloth darkened as he wiped—someone must’ve coughed up blood.

If Senior Brother had actually thrown that money around, they’d need a whole bucket to clean it up, Yegyeol mused wryly.

His brown eyes gleamed as they turned to the pile of winnings. The reflected gold shimmered in his gaze as he swept every coin and note into the bag.

Haryang stepped forward to help, but Yegyeol shot him a fierce glare that made him instantly withdraw his hand.

“Let’s head back,” Haryang said quietly.

“Yes.”

With everything collected, Yegyeol hefted the sack into his arms. It was so full it nearly reached the size of his torso.

He wrapped it with two more layers of spare cloth, worried it might tear. Without paper currency, coins carried weight—literal weight.

Not that I’d trust gambling house vouchers anyway, he thought dryly.

As they made their way toward the exit, Haryang spoke up.

“I should carry that.”

Yegyeol’s heart lurched in panic—what if someone overheard the “sir” in that tone?

He quickly glanced around. Fortunately, the gambling den was still noisy, a scuffle breaking out in one corner.

“It’s fine,” he said quickly, waving a hand. “It only looks bulky. It’s not that heavy.”

He meant it.

Thanks to his regained strength, he could easily lift the bag with one hand.

I’ve finally met my guide again—might as well put this power to use for once.

“Besides, it’d be weird if a servant made his master carry things,” he added.

After all, what Esper in the world would ask their guide to carry their baggage?

“…I see.”

Haryang paused, then nodded as if accepting that logic.

Huh?

Yegyeol blinked, surprised. He had expected the ever-considerate, endlessly stubborn Haryang to insist. But he backed down with almost suspicious ease.

Guess confessing about my strength that day after the lightning strike in Cheonghyeongjeon paid off, Yegyeol thought happily.

Maybe now, Haryang finally saw him as someone dependable.

“How did you win the grasshopper race?” Yegyeol asked suddenly, mischief flickering in his tone.

He wanted to see his Senior Brother flustered for once.

“Win?” Haryang tilted his head. “That was purely luck.”

“Really?”

He didn’t believe a word of it, but Haryang’s earnest nod was convincing.

“Even the greatest martial artist can’t move a grasshopper without touching it.”

“But don’t some martial arts techniques create wind?” Yegyeol prodded slyly.

Haryang’s lips quirked in amusement.

“If I’d used wind, my sleeves would have fluttered. And if I’d conjured a breeze, it would’ve lifted both insects—not just one. More likely, they’d have rolled instead of jumped.”

Yegyeol nodded along as though persuaded—but inwardly, he was certain.

Not wind technique… telekinetic energy.

He’d seen it before—Haryang using his inner energy for the most mundane tasks imaginable.

Heating cold food with his solar qi, drying Yegyeol’s hair, closing doors, fetching kettles—each act trivial, yet requiring flawless control of internal force.

He must’ve nudged the grasshopper mid-jump, just enough to change its trajectory.

For him, such delicate manipulation would’ve been child’s play.

“Oh?”

Lost in thought, Yegyeol realized they were almost at the den’s entrance.

The crowd had thinned to just a few stragglers—doormen, new arrivals, and those leaving with faces hollowed by despair.

How many gamblers ever truly walked out of a place like this as winners?

The more they won, the more their restraint crumbled, until only hunger for greater victory remained.

In the end, they all left like Eon Chaegwol—broke, broken, and ashamed.

Still, they’ll come back, Yegyeol thought. Telling themselves, just once more… next time, I’ll win.

But luck was a fickle mistress; she always betrayed the hopeful.

As he shook his head, his eyes caught movement near a column—someone speaking to the doorman.

Something gleamed on the man’s wrist.

Yegyeol froze, struck by a strange sense of familiarity.

The man was large—nearly as tall and broad as Hongyeo.

And on his wrist… a golden bracelet.

Wait. A bracelet?

At that moment, a small snake poked its head out from the man’s sleeve, flicking its tail toward them.

Beambeam.

Hongyeo?!

Yegyeol instinctively turned away, planning to pretend he hadn’t seen—but then remembered Haryang beside him and quickly tugged him behind the column.

“Mu—”

Haryang frowned slightly at being suddenly pulled aside. It was natural he’d be confused.

As if he didn’t notice Hongyeo before I did, Yegyeol thought irritably.

He covered Haryang’s mouth with his hand and whispered, barely moving his lips.

“Shh. Someone I know’s here.”

Only when Hongyeo finished speaking with the doorman and went inside did Yegyeol relax and turn back—

Only to find the Black Ghost’s face mere inches from his own.

In those dark eyes—depths tangled with too many emotions—he saw his own reflection.

Only then did Yegyeol realize just how close they were.

Closer than that night when they’d lain side by side on the bed.

I should move away…

But before he could, Haryang’s lips brushed against his palm.

At first, Yegyeol thought he imagined it.

But the soft pressure, the faint warmth pressing into his skin—it was unmistakably real.

He froze, staring.

There was no jest, no playfulness in Haryang’s gaze now—only pure, undiluted longing.

His eyes held him fast, left him nowhere to turn.

And slowly, deliberately, as if sealing a vow, Haryang’s lips moved again—

Pressing another kiss into his hand.

As though it were an oath.

As though it were… a beginning.