TSBIRBV Ch 297

Chapter 297. Rumors of the Jianghu (1)

Tang Segi took a deep breath before the door of the annex.

The day before, he had left the guesthouse at the request of none other than Elder Jeok Nogae, the Grand Elder of the Beggars’ Sect himself.

He had asked for privacy, saying he needed to speak with Lord Moon—no, with his lord—alone.

Coincidentally, Hero Peng had also received word from his younger brother, the head of the Peng Clan, and had gone out with Tang Segi.

Still, it did not feel like coincidence at all.

Later, while resting in another inn, a message arrived from Jeok Nogae. He asked that Lord Moon be left alone until the following day if possible.

Even through the short letter, Tang Segi could sense the turmoil in his words and felt a dull ache in his chest. Something complicated had happened, he was sure of it.

Though the annex was rented under his name, Tang Segi still peeked cautiously past the door, searching for any shadow within. But there was no sign of life.

Clearing his throat softly, he called out,

“L-Lord, are you inside?”

The mornings at such a fine inn were always quiet. The innkeeper, eager to please the young heir of the Sichuan Dang Clan, had ensured no other guests were allowed near this area.

“Just a moment.”

Yaryul Hongyeo appeared, a chicken tucked under one arm and a food box held in the other.

Wrapped neatly in cloth like an infant in swaddling, the chicken gave soft clucking sounds as it tilted its head curiously.

“…That chicken—?”

“I brought it for breakfast.”

“Huh!”

Tang Segi sucked in a sharp breath. For some reason, the muscles in Hongyeo’s arm looked especially menacing today.

He wouldn’t possibly mean to… cook it himself, would he?

“The merchant said it lays good eggs,” Hongyeo added calmly, as though guessing his thoughts.

Such uncharacteristic kindness from him went entirely unnoticed by Tang Segi, too busy patting his chest in relief.

“Goodness, you startled me.”

“Did I?”

With a soft answer, Hongyeo passed him and entered the annex. He placed the food box on the table and began arranging the meal.

“I’ll help,” Tang Segi offered quickly, unable to stand idly by.

As he fetched utensils, he noticed Hongyeo opening one of the boxes and carefully deboning a piece of fish.

“So you’re eating first?” Tang Segi asked.

Given that he’d been up early, it wasn’t surprising. He must have errands to run.

Hongyeo had arrived with Yegyeol, but they rarely stayed together; he hadn’t joined the martial conference, after all. Perhaps he simply had business in Wuhuan, Tang Segi guessed vaguely.

But Hongyeo shook his head.

“No. I’m preparing breakfast for the young lord upstairs.”

Tang Segi’s expression twisted slightly.

Why go that far?

“He doesn’t like fish, does he?”

“I wouldn’t say that. It’s simply troublesome to eat. Too many bones. They crush when removed and mix with the flesh—it ruins the texture. And it’s tedious to keep spitting them out.”

As he said this, a faint smile crossed his face before vanishing—like a mirage over desert sands.

Then he fell silent again, focused entirely on his task. His brows drew together slightly, his gaze fixed on the tip of the chopsticks as they worked with remarkable precision.

But midway through, a small piece of white fish crumbled apart.

Without a hint of irritation, he pushed the bowl aside and reached for another piece.

There was no sigh of regret, no trace of annoyance—only calm repetition.

“Why start over for such a small mistake?” Tang Segi asked.

“If my skill is lacking, I must compensate by practicing.”

Even as modesty, it was hard to call such work clumsy.

Tang Segi frowned.

“But it’ll taste the same regardless.”

“Even if the taste is the same, the appearance is not.”

The second attempt went perfectly.

He set the chopsticks down and ladled clear broth over the pale flesh, murmuring,

“I imagine you understand the wish to serve only the best to someone precious, Young Master Dang.”

“Ah—? W-well, yes… perhaps,” Tang Segi stammered, face flushing.

For some reason, he suddenly thought of Hwangbo Yulhui.

Embarrassed by his own sentimentality, he fell silent.

Meanwhile, Hongyeo quietly drew the failed dish toward himself and concealed it between the food boxes, as though not wanting anyone across the table to see it.

Strange…

As his thoughts settled, Tang Segi realized how unusually quiet Hongyeo was today.

For a man of such large build, he normally filled any space he entered. Yet now, unless one paid close attention, it was almost possible to forget he was there at all.

As he was turning this strange feeling over in his mind, he suddenly felt a gaze on his back.

When he turned, he nearly jumped.

Standing on the stairs was Yegyeol.

Those golden eyes—piercing, unblinking—were fixed not on Tang Segi, but on Hongyeo behind him.

His expression was one of measured scrutiny, as if carefully weighing something.

Ah… perhaps it’s because of the chicken?

Yegyeol kept a pet snake. It had shimmering gold scales unlike anything Tang Segi had ever seen, even as one who’d handled venoms and exotic creatures all his life in Sichuan. It wasn’t venomous, so he hadn’t given it much thought—

But chickens, as everyone knew, often preyed on snakes.

He cleared his throat.

“What are you doing there, Lord? Please, come down.”

Hongyeo didn’t even turn his head as he spoke, as though he had known Yegyeol was there from the start.

“My legs…” Yegyeol murmured. “I don’t have much strength in them right now.”

It was such a flimsy excuse it bordered on comical.

But Yegyeol’s gaze, still locked on the man across the room, made it clear his mind was elsewhere—too preoccupied to come up with anything better.

If my guess is right…

“D-did you perhaps suffer torture in the underground cells of the Martial Alliance?” Tang Segi blurted out, eyes wide. He looked more like a startled rabbit than a squirrel now.

“No. I just… had a rather rough night,” Yegyeol replied with a faint shrug.

The implication in his tone went clean over Tang Segi’s head.

“Oh, dear. You must’ve been through quite an ordeal—your body’s still fatigued,” he said with sympathy.

“Perhaps so.”

A low chuckle drifted from behind them—it sounded very much like Hongyeo’s.

Their eyes met briefly, and Yegyeol caught the faint glint of amusement there.

“Come sit and eat,” he said.

“I suppose I shall.”

Despite claiming his legs hurt, Yegyeol strode briskly past Tang Segi and sat beside Hongyeo.

Tang Segi, flustered, followed suit. His eyes widened at the sight of the table.

Slices of grilled meat seared to perfection, glossy white rice, fruits carved into translucent flowers—all arranged with meticulous artistry.

It looked like a meal prepared by a master chef.

“Thank you for the meal,” Yegyeol said brightly.

When Tang Segi turned his head, he was so startled he dropped his spoon.

He hadn’t noticed before—but Yegyeol’s face looked… radiant.

“Your face—”

Before the spoon hit the ground, Yegyeol deftly caught it with his foot and placed it on the side table with a sharp clack.

“My face?” he asked.

Momentarily awed by the reflex, Tang Segi blinked, then stammered,

“It’s… shining. You look almost glowing.”

Indeed, his skin was smooth and luminous, like a freshly peeled egg—remarkably so for someone who’d just come out of confinement.

“Strange,” Yegyeol said easily. “I barely slept last night, yet my complexion is fine. Martial arts must work wonders.”

The lie came effortlessly. The ever-trusting Tang Segi nodded seriously.

“Indeed. The difference in stamina between a martial artist and an ordinary person is vast.”

“But poor diet still wears the body down,” Hongyeo interjected smoothly, cutting through their chatter as he set a bowl before Yegyeol.

It was a lavish meal for breakfast, rich in meats.

Lastly, he placed one final bowl before him—the fish he had painstakingly deboned earlier.

“You must take care of your health.”

The gentle tone carried a strange weight that made Tang Segi shift uneasily.

He wanted to think it was simple consideration—a comrade’s wish to offer a good meal after hardship. Yet something about it… felt heavier than that.

Perhaps it’s just because I watched him work so carefully on that fish, he told himself.

“Is it good?” Hongyeo asked softly.

He made no show of the effort he’d put into it, no hint of pride.

“It’s delicious,” Yegyeol replied, smiling faintly.

Only then did Hongyeo pick up his own chopsticks.

Tang Segi, however, couldn’t shake his unease. He kept thinking about the discarded bowl—the one filled with broken, uneven bits of fish hidden among the boxes.

“Yaryul Hero,” he said after a pause, “your skill at deboning fish is astonishing. The only person I’ve seen do it so well was my father. Perhaps you have a hidden talent for fine weapon work.”

He forced out a laugh to ease his nerves.

While Tang Segi spoke, Yegyeol glanced across the table at the man before him.

Perfect posture, precise movements—by all appearances, it was Yaryul Hongyeo sitting there.

“Hongyeo… has always been good with delicate work,” Yegyeol said quietly, his voice catching ever so slightly at the end.

Because what he saw before him was not Hongyeo—

but Haryang, disguised in his form.