TSBIRBV Ch 301

Chapter 301. Rumors of the Rivers and Lakes (5)

“My child.”

His face appeared benevolent at first glance—but Yegyeol quietly sharpened his senses.

He knew well that Baekyang Zhenren was far from the kindly figure he pretended to be.

“It has been such a long time since I last saw your face.”

The words should have carried warmth, yet an eerie chill swept between them, as though this place were not the humid heat of Wuhan but the cold peaks of Kunlun.

His tone was mild, but the gaze with which he scanned Yegyeol was frigid.

He had never truly treated Yegyeol as a disciple, but now—he looked at him as though he were nothing more than a stranger.

What a nuisance, Yegyeol thought inwardly, clicking his tongue.

Seeing that Baekyang had come accompanied by the Foremost Sword of Wudang, there was no doubt—this was no friendly visit.

“The last time I saw you, you were lying ill in bed,” Baekyang said with feigned sorrow. “The image weighed heavily on this old teacher’s heart.”

Yegyeol’s expression remained impassive.

“I even begged the Young Master of the Namgung Clan to find my lost disciple, but that young lord seems to have forgotten the request.”

If Namgung Un had remembered, Baekyang would’ve heard much sooner that someone named Je Haryang had entered the Dragon-Phoenix Assembly.

The moment that news reached Qinghai, Baekyang had fled Kunlun in a panic.

It was still too early for rumors to spread, but what if that man were to win the championship?

What if someone connected the name Je Haryang to the man who had disappeared twenty years ago and began digging into his past?

Then the name of Kunlun would be dragged through the mud.

For a sect standing at the front lines against the Demonic Cult, what greater humiliation could there be than to discover that its leader had once been a disciple of Kunlun?

The gossipmongers of Murim would have a field day.

It had only been twenty years—not a century. There were still many alive who remembered Je Haryang.

To Baekyang, this was nothing short of a cosmic joke—a cruel twist of fate.

When he finally arrived in Wuhan, he heard Je Haryang’s name erupt amidst thunderous applause.

Not of Kunlun—but an unaffiliated martial artist named Je Haryang.

Watching the man’s match in secret, Baekyang recognized him immediately—the young man the Heavenly Demon had once left in his care.

A youth who bore the same face and name as his former disciple—but went by Je Haryang, not Mun Yegyeol.

As he watched the man overwhelm Wudang’s disciples with a brutal, domineering style, Baekyang shuddered in spite of himself.

Even his seasoned eyes struggled to follow the young man’s movements.

When Yegyeol struck down the Wudang disciple and the golden afterimages of his energy danced through the air, Baekyang’s expression twisted in horror.

Demonic arts. He’s learned demonic arts—there’s no mistaking it.

When Baekyang had taken Yegyeol in, the boy’s body had been incapable of cultivating internal energy.

Even then, he’d been displeased that the Heavenly Demon had brought him someone who merely resembled his deceased disciple—let alone that he was useless for martial cultivation.

The dead one had been preferable; at least he could build inner strength.

And yet, this same youth was now a prime contender for victory in the greatest martial tournament in the realm.

How could that be explained by anything other than demonic power?

Baekyang had immediately contacted the Foremost Sword of Wudang.

“How did you find me?” Yegyeol asked, his tone rigid.

Given his recent behavior, it wasn’t surprising his former master had tracked him down.

“When I heard that Je Haryang had entered the Dragon-Phoenix Assembly and that he was favored to win,” Baekyang said gravely, “I cannot tell you how deeply this master was shaken.”

Yegyeol, who had long since exchanged one master for another, only looked faintly bored.

“I see.”

In all of Murim, how many truly understood the relationship between Kunlun and Je Haryang—or further still, between Baekyang Zhenren and his previous life?

Even Je Haryang himself, Yegyeol thought, had been unaware of their connection—at least until he came to Kunlun to retrieve him.

It wasn’t his senior brother’s fault. His master, Baekun Zhenren, had been a good man.

How could Haryang have known that his master’s own teacher—Baekyang—was such a twisted human being?

If Haryang hadn’t been taken away to the Ten-Thousand Great Mountains so soon, he would’ve eventually seen through Baekyang’s mask.

But that chance had never come.

Seeing Yegyeol’s cold indifference, Baekyang hesitated.

When Yegyeol had first arrived at Kunlun with Je Haryang, he had been calm and docile—quiet enough that Baekyang had mistaken it for meekness.

Now, faced with resistance, the old man inwardly clicked his tongue—but pressed on, attempting persuasion.

“He must have poisoned your mind against me.”

“Poisoned?” Yegyeol echoed, voice flat.

Baekyang’s tone remained almost tender.

If he’d been half this kind when teaching him to read, Yegyeol thought wryly, he’d have finished The Thousand Character Classic in ten days. Still, he listened in silence.

After a deep sigh, Baekyang spoke again, voice trembling with feigned emotion.

“My child… he’s using you.”

“…Using me?”

It was the first time Yegyeol reacted.

Sensing an opening, Baekyang continued, his voice low and coaxing.

“You once belonged to Kunlun. Why else would he enter you into the tournament under a false name? Why hide your true identity?”

Yegyeol pressed his lips together, shaking his head as though uncertain.

Baekyang nodded knowingly.

“He plans to make you famous first—then expose you for practicing demonic arts. That way, he can drag Kunlun’s name through the dirt.”

It was a sharp guess.

Huh. How’d he figure out the part about ruining Kunlun’s reputation? Yegyeol thought, slightly impressed.

He’d guessed the motive correctly, even if the mastermind wasn’t Haryang but Yegyeol himself.

“And why would he do that?” Yegyeol asked mildly.

“There’s a deep rift between your so-called protector and our sect,” Baekyang said solemnly. “Perhaps it’s karma—but to deceive an innocent soul into committing sin is unforgivable.”

Then his face twisted in mock agony.

“If the Martial Alliance captures you again, they’ll sever your tendons and destroy your core. Let me protect you, before it’s too late—for the sake of the bond we once shared.”

“Such…”

Yegyeol faltered, feigning shock.

What utter nonsense.

Before he could speak, Samrang’s voice cut sharply through the air.

“Wow, what a load of bullshit.”

Yegyeol smiled inwardly, grateful she’d said what he couldn’t.

While Baekyang rambled, she had edged closer to Yegyeol, keeping distance from Wudang’s sword master.

“No need to listen,” she hissed. “Let’s just get out of here!”

But the Foremost Sword of Wudang, Yonghyeon Zhenren, stepped forward.

“Nowhere to run. Your opponent is me.”

“Are you kidding me? Why is my internal energy—” Samrang froze, eyes widening.

“Wait. You… you used Mountain-Air Poison, didn’t you?”

A mild dose—but enough that she hadn’t noticed until now.

Baekyang and Yonghyeon, already having taken the antidote, looked perfectly calm.

Mountain-Air Poison was rare, and neither of them were skilled in poison techniques, so they couldn’t have used much—but it would last long enough for their purpose.

“Wow. Where’d you even get Mountain-Air Poison?” Yegyeol asked, sounding entirely too casual. “Isn’t that banned by the Martial Alliance?”

Samrang’s face twisted.

She knew Yegyeol was strong—and that his power didn’t rely on ordinary internal energy.

But in her world, every strength was rooted in qi. It was hard to believe even he could shrug off poison.

I need to signal the others.

Her mind went to the emergency whistle she kept for moments like this—but Yonghyeon gave her no opening.

Damn it. I can’t use Yegyeol as bait, but I have to get him out somehow.

Samrang forced herself to breathe evenly. She’d survive—she always did.

Among Je Haryang’s three lieutenants, Jinyoung handled administration, Hongye had beast-like instincts… and Samrang? She was the master of survival.

“Yong Master Mun, this isn’t the time to stand around!” she muttered under her breath. “These old geezers were stalling for time from the start!”

“Come here,” Baekyang called gently. “I couldn’t protect you before, but this time, I’ll keep you safe—from the hands of the Demonic Cult.”

As if to prove it, Yonghyeon pointed his sword only at Samrang, not Yegyeol.

The two must have reached an agreement beforehand.

I wonder if Mountain-Air Poison even works on espers, Yegyeol thought idly.

He drew on his power experimentally—and felt no hindrance at all.

As expected.

In a world without espers or guides, no toxin could sever his link to his own strength.

He sighed lightly. “Hmm… I’m afraid that’ll be difficult.”

“What?” Baekyang frowned.

Still back-to-back with Samrang, Yegyeol spoke lazily.

“I’ve committed a fair few ‘unforgivable sins’ lately.”

Let’s see—he’d ditched his old master, learned forbidden martial arts without permission, entered the Dragon-Phoenix Assembly under false pretenses, and beaten nearly every major sect’s prodigy.

Oh, and slept with his senior brother, then made that same man his new master—and slept with him again.

Even if you ignored all that, the fact remained: he was literally sharing a bed with the leader of the Demonic Cult.

If he returned to Kunlun now, he’d be lucky to only lose his tendons.

“If I go back, they’ll definitely cripple me,” he said with a bright smile. “So I’ll stick to my current plan—keep deceiving the Martial Alliance and stay intact, thanks.”

Baekyang’s face flickered with shock, but he quickly composed himself and murmured pityingly,

“The brainwashing runs deep. Persuasion will be difficult.”

Then, with false serenity, he added, “Still, I hold no resentment toward you. Our brief bond as master and disciple was enough.”

His tone softened, but his gaze was ice.

“But since you’ve become a servant of the Demonic Cult, letting you go before you sin further… is the merciful thing to do.”

Shing—

A white blade slid free of its sheath, its edge engraved with swirling cloud patterns.

Even at a glance, it was a divine weapon—a Kunlun relic.

Frosty energy, cold as the eternal snows of the mountains, rose along the blade’s edge.

“Do not resent me for being merciless.”

“Of course not,” Yegyeol replied cheerfully.

Golden light sparked in his eyes, forming wild, dancing trails.

“Please,” he said, smiling. “Be as merciless as you like.”

After all—this was self-defense.

 

Translation note:

I usually keep Zhenren untranslated in elegant English versions because:

1. It’s a formal rank title, not just a descriptor like “Taoist.”

2. It maintains the authentic wuxia vibe (like how we keep “Dao,” “Qi,” or “Wudang” untranslated).

But if you ever prefer, I can translate it contextually as:

• “Master Baekyang” (simpler, flows better for dialogue-heavy scenes)

• “Perfected Baekyang” (poetic/literary tone, more formal wuxia style)