TSBIRBV Ch 294(NSFW)

Chapter 294. Secret Tryst (6)(NSFW)

“Truly…?”

At the old beggar’s trembling question, Yegyeol rose wordlessly from his seat. His brown eyes shimmered faintly as he turned away from Jeok Nogae and stepped inside the building.

The old beggar covered his mouth, unable to call the young man back. His eyes reddened, yet no tears fell—only the weight of shame pressed against his chest.

[How pitiful,] came a voice through sound transmission.

Jeok Nogae snapped his head around. From the shadows between the bamboo at the corner of the courtyard, Haryang emerged.

His gaze was not on the old man, but fixed upon the door through which Yegyeol had disappeared—burning, fervent.

“I should thank you,” Haryang said quietly, “but… the words won’t come.”

When Jeok Nogae had insisted on seeing Yegyeol, Haryang had anticipated this outcome to some degree.

The disciple’s existence itself was a miracle.

If the old beggar couldn’t accept Yegyeol—if he doubted him—Haryang wouldn’t have been troubled. In truth, it would have benefited him.

The fewer people Yegyeol trusted, the better.

Yet the moment he saw that calm, unflinching look on Yegyeol’s face, Haryang knew this was not the outcome he had wanted.

“Go back,” he said. “I won’t see you off.”

His voice was low, but steady. Passing the old beggar without a backward glance, Haryang walked on.

Ever since the moment Yegyeol dipped his finger into the tea, Haryang’s gaze had been locked on him—unable to move, as though rooted to the earth.

A long-buried memory rose to the surface.

It was from the day he went to see Yegyeol again—the boy who had once saved his life. He’d only meant to watch from afar, one last look before leaving his mother’s household and foster family behind forever.

But when danger came for the boy, he had acted without thinking—stepping in, as Yegyeol once had for him.

When the young Yegyeol woke and said he would follow him, Haryang had been overwhelmed.

Was he glad? Of course not.

He was terrified.

He feared he had no power to protect what was precious. Without the reluctant protection of the man he called father, Haryang might not have survived his own youth.

So he had written the word “Kunlun” in tea for the illiterate boy to see—words that could vanish without a trace.

That he had done so out of caution was a lie he told himself. The truth was, he wanted Yegyeol to find happiness somewhere far from him.

And yet…

When he later saw Yegyeol upon the snow-covered mountain, he had known it was no coincidence—but even then, he hadn’t confronted Jeok Nogae about it.

For all his strength, Haryang was far more cowardly than he appeared.

He had never asked how Yegyeol had followed him that far. He merely assumed Jeok Nogae had helped him, thinking it convenient to believe so.

He didn’t know that Yegyeol had fought to remember those letters, that he had stood before the old beggar and written them again with trembling fingers.

He’s repeated my mistakes… and I’ve learned nothing.

Decades after the Kunlun Massacre, Yegyeol had appeared before him once more.

When Haryang saw the boy’s pale, lifeless face lying beside the river, fear gripped him again—the same fear as long ago.

Even now, when no one in the martial world could truly challenge him, he had felt as though he might lose Yegyeol again.

That was why he’d sent him away to Kunlun.

A pathetic excuse, born of cowardice.

Haryang slowly lifted his head.

At the dim landing of the stairs stood Yegyeol, leaning weakly against the wall.

“Don’t come,” Yegyeol said, sensing him without looking back.

“It’s me.”

There was silence.

Perhaps he hadn’t expected Haryang to follow so quickly—or perhaps he was struggling to steady his emotions. Haryang couldn’t tell.

“I thought… it was Elder Jeok Nogae,” Yegyeol finally said.

“Are you all right?”

The reply came without hesitation.

“I’m fine. I was the one who said something unbelievable.”

His tone was calm, too calm.

“I acted foolishly. Can’t be helped.”

He shrugged, and Haryang studied his face closely.

How much had he cut away at himself to wear that mask of serenity?

It was human to blame others—but Yegyeol always blamed himself first.

Haryang didn’t need to ask what had been done to make him like this.

The scars Yegyeol carried mirrored his own. Like reflections on still water.

“I should’ve been more careful…”

Those brown eyes were composed now, almost eerily so.

“The elder is just… old,” Yegyeol murmured. “His eyesight’s gone weak, that’s all.”

That he didn’t call it senility was Haryang’s small kindness.

“Old age? For a martial artist?” Yegyeol laughed under his breath.

“Martial artists are still human,” Haryang replied. “We only see a little farther, move a little faster, strike a little harder.”

The words, coming from the strongest man alive, were almost absurd. If any of the self-proclaimed heroes of the martial world had heard them, they would have fainted from indignation.

“Just…”

For a moment, Yegyeol’s voice broke.

Haryang instinctively reached toward him, but Yegyeol hid his face in the shadow cast by the wall.

He hadn’t meant to show such weakness, but his composure had already crumbled.

“I… I thought he’d accept me.”

Je Haryang—his teacher, his senior brother—had believed in him so easily.

Never once had he doubted. Never questioned how Yegyeol was alive. Never demanded proof.

Yegyeol had once struggled to find the words to explain himself, to correct misunderstandings—but in the end, he had turned away, pretending not to notice.

Now he understood.

That unshakable trust had been genuine.

Unconditional.

Haryang had tamed him in the cruelest way possible.

He had made Yegyeol—who had never leaned on anyone, not even his parents—learn what it meant to rely on another.

He had taught him what love felt like.

That tenderness, seeping into him in ways he hadn’t even realized, was both sweet and excruciating.

Perhaps it had made him weak.

But Yegyeol couldn’t bring himself to hate that softness.

It was the first time he had ever truly opened himself like this.

And it terrified him.

“I… miss you, Senior Brother.”

The words slipped out like a prayer.

Then, a single tear fell—and once it began, the rest followed in an unstoppable flood.

The dam broke.

Even with Haryang right there, the ache of longing twisted painfully inside him.

It hurt—that he could not reach for him freely, not after all the lies he’d built to keep him close.

Like a child, he wept, unable to stop.

He knew he should pull himself together, but emotion had already seized the reins.

“Yegyeol…”

Haryang started to reach for him, then stopped mid-motion.

If he held him now, there would be no turning back.

Desire would burn away reason; the Black Ghost and Je Haryang would become one and the same in that single embrace.

He should step away.

He knew he should.

But I don’t want to.

Haryang moved again—this time, not to hold him, but to lift Yegyeol’s trembling hand and press it against his neck.

He guided those wet fingers to the seam between the false skin and his own, pressing down so Yegyeol could feel the uneven edge.

Yegyeol froze, staring at him.

He remembered too clearly how he had worn and removed that same mask himself.

Without a word, Haryang closed his eyes.

Yegyeol’s shaking hand pulled gently, peeling the leather away bit by bit.

When the mask came down to his lips, Yegyeol’s fingertips traced the line of his jaw, then the shape of his mouth.

He tried to stay composed, but his breath came quick and uneven.

Even Yegyeol hadn’t expected Haryang to do this—to reveal himself here, now. He hadn’t dared to hope.

But of course, it was just like him.

His Senior Brother was the kind of man who could never walk past someone suffering without reaching out.

“…Gyeol-ah.”

The soft whisper brushed against Yegyeol’s fingers, trembling.

Yegyeol lowered his head and kissed him.

At first, it was only a fleeting touch, like a question. Then it deepened—slowly, feverishly—until their lips pressed and parted and met again.

He nipped lightly, soothing the sting with his tongue. His cold, trembling hand clutched Haryang’s face, unable to let go.

“…Truly? Truly now?”

Here, like this—was he really revealing himself?

Tears still clung to Yegyeol’s lashes as he looked down at the man before him.

Half the mask still covered his face, the visible half marked with the scars of the Black Ghost.

Yegyeol searched for deceit in those eyes, for some cruel trick to explain this—some illusion, anything to make it less real.

But there was nothing. Only raw, blinding honesty.

Haryang had chosen to bare his truth, even as Yegyeol had spent all this time hiding his own.

The weight of it hit Yegyeol like a storm.

He felt stripped bare, helpless—ready to give everything, even his life.

His heart pounded, molten and wild, words useless before the rush of it.

He kissed him again—this time deep, hungry, consuming.

When Haryang’s hands slid up his sides, gathering his robe, Yegyeol reached up and tore the mask the rest of the way off.

It hit the floor with a dull, wet sound.

“Ah… ahh…”

Yegyeol gazed upon his lover’s unmasked face—the first time since leaving the Ten-Thousand Mountain Peaks.

It felt like beholding a prince freed from a curse by a single kiss.

Except in this tale, the witch who had cursed him was Yegyeol himself.

Tracing the contours of Haryang’s face as if to memorize them, Yegyeol leaned down and kissed him again—deeper, slower, tasting his breath, his sighs, his heat.

Between each gasp, their mingled desire rekindled the cold air, setting his body aflame.

“Master… my Senior Brother…”

The discarded mask lay crumpled on the floor, ruined by haste and trembling hands.

With effortless strength, Haryang lifted him. Yegyeol wrapped his legs around his waist, clinging close as Haryang buried his face against his bared chest.

“Hh…!”

Sharp teeth grazed his skin, biting lightly at his chest before soothing it with a slow, deliberate lick.

As Haryang stepped up onto the next stair, something hard pressed against Yegyeol’s hips. He shivered as realization and anticipation rippled through him.

Locking his arms around the man’s neck, he whispered, breathless—

“Hold me.”