TSBIRBV Ch 304

Chapter 304. Rumors of the Rivers and Lakes (8)

He could see Haryang’s presence.

It wasn’t bright daylight—on a night as dark as this, even the slightest focus of his senses made it easy to gauge who, and how many, were around him.

And Yegyeol had been using his strength while fighting Baekyang Zhenren.

Not long after Samrang had blown her soundless flute, his senior brother had arrived.

He couldn’t read Haryang’s expression through the darkness, but one thing was certain—while Yegyeol fought Baekyang Zhenren, Haryang hadn’t once stepped forward.

He had no intention of stopping me.

Yegyeol realized, with a faint chill, that it had been he who had personally killed Baekyang Zhenren.

No matter how much his life had changed, the fact remained—his former self had once been that man’s disciple.

He hadn’t wanted Haryang to see him do it.

His senior brother had been utterly devoted to his own master, Baekun Zhenren.

How would Haryang see him, knowing he’d killed a man who had once stood in that place?

Even so, Yegyeol hadn’t stayed his hand.

Because deep down, he wanted to know.

To confirm it.

He smiled bitterly.

He knew there was no need for it, and yet—he couldn’t stop testing the man’s affection.

It wasn’t the same as a cat bringing its owner a dead mouse as a gift.

The cat meant it as kindness.

Yegyeol, on the other hand, acted knowing it would displease him—only to feel disappointed when it inevitably did.

But I can’t help it.

Haryang emerged slowly into the silver wash of moonlight.

Even as he faced that grim scene, his beautiful features were utterly untroubled.

Serene, poised—an unearthly being untouched by filth or fear.

Even when he was the Black Ghost, he had carried that same divine grace, that tranquil magnetism that drew the gaze and refused to release it.

“Senior Brother.”

The words rolled off Yegyeol’s tongue, drying his lips as they passed.

In that moment, he recalled the day he had first bowed before him—the Nine Bows Ceremony.

In a martial sect, one offered three bows to the sect itself, three to its founder, and three to the master one would serve henceforth.

Yegyeol had given all nine to Haryang.

He had no sect anymore. Kunlun had abandoned Je Haryang.

So Yegyeol offered his three bows for the sect to the man who had rebuilt his martial path with his own hands.

Haryang’s master, Baekun Zhenren, had long been dead.

So the three meant for the founder went to Haryang as well.

And finally, the last three—those meant for his own master—Yegyeol also gave to Haryang.

Thus, his Nine Bows were complete.

Every thread that bound him to this world began and ended with Je Haryang.

Yegyeol smiled brightly at the one person who connected him to life itself.

“I must look a bit of a mess right now.”

Would Haryang abandon him for this?

Not because Yegyeol doubted him, but because he doubted himself.

Even knowing there was no reason to test him, he still did.

His tongue wet his lips nervously.

Haryang said nothing as he approached.

His calm, thoughtful face was unreadable as his hand went to his waist.

Yegyeol straightened his shoulders, forcing himself not to flinch.

Haryang drew his sword.

He knelt beside Baekyang’s corpse and turned it over.

The burned fabric of the Taoist’s robe had torn, revealing his chest—where a lightning-shaped scar had seared itself deep into the flesh.

Anyone could see the cause of death, and the mark that caused it, were one and the same.

“This will leave traces.”

The pale blade gleamed as it slid from its sheath.

With surgical precision, Haryang drove it into Baekyang’s chest, just beside the heart.

Yegyeol’s shoulders jerked involuntarily.

His expression was calm, almost absorbed—as if carving a sculpture rather than desecrating a corpse.

That cold detachment only deepened the uncanny, inhuman quality of Je Haryang.

He carefully cut away the burned flesh, erasing every sign of lightning.

Yegyeol didn’t look at Baekyang—he watched Haryang’s face, searching for intent.

When Haryang finally withdrew his spotless blade, he dropped something by the body.

A glossy jade pendant.

Yegyeol recognized the pattern.

That’s… Un Chaegwol’s jade token.

It was the same one that had been used to secure the secret ledger—he’d thought there’d be no need for it anymore.

He hadn’t expected to see it emerge from Haryang’s sleeve.

“Senior Brother…?”

He couldn’t hide his confusion.

“The Wudang’s foremost sword joined hands with a Murim Alliance elder to bring down Je Haryang,” Haryang began softly.

“But when the truth of their plot surfaced, the elder had to face judgment.

In desperation, he turned to the Wudang sword for help—but the man pretended ignorance and turned away.”

His voice was low, steady—pleasant even, if one ignored the dark narrative weaving beneath it.

“The elder, cornered, sought refuge with the Jinju Un Clan.

He claimed the Wudang sword held evidence that could expose them—and that if it came to light, their already-precarious standing would crumble.”

The way he spoke—measured, magnetic—demanded to be listened to.

“The Jinju Un Clan, pressed by his pleas, sent men to silence the Wudang sword.

But he was not alone—and in the ensuing chaos, a Kunlun elder, Baekyang Zhenren, was accidentally slain by a stray blade.”

“That’s…”

Yegyeol could find no place for himself in that story.

“When things spiraled out of control,” Haryang continued, “the assassin fled.”

A faint chuckle.

“But the killer must’ve been rather foolish—to leave behind such evidence.”

“What if Un Chaegwol claimed he lost that pendant at a gambling den?” Yegyeol countered.

“The Alliance would never believe it. Who would wager their clan’s emblem at a game of dice?”

“If it were Un Chaegwol… maybe.

But with the Jinju Clan already under suspicion…”

Yegyeol paused.

That part of the plan might actually work.

“And what about the Wudang sword?”

“In a few weeks,” Haryang said mildly, “he’ll likely be found in a manor outside Wuhan—crippled, perhaps insane.”

His voice was gentle, almost affectionate.

“And the man accused of killing Baekyang Zhenren… will be the same post-tournament disciple who was wrongfully accused because of me.”

Haryang’s words trailed off, a faint smile playing at his lips.

There was something chilling in that quiet amusement.

“This feels strange,” Yegyeol murmured.

“Would you rather justice be served?” Haryang asked softly.

Yegyeol looked toward the unconscious Wudang sword master.

A man who had basked in fame while Kunlun decayed—celebrated as the world’s greatest swordsman.

He’s had his fill.

His gaze drifted to Baekyang’s corpse.

Once, that man had been his master.

He felt no affection—only the faint awareness that Baekyang had once been the thread tying him and Haryang to Kunlun.

Even while condemning Haryang, the man had pocketed every coin funneled through Qinghai Trading Company.

At least his twisted pride had kept him from stealing any for himself—he’d spent it all on Kunlun.

That, Yegyeol supposed, was something.

“No,” he said quietly, shaking his head.

“Nor I,” Haryang murmured.

His gaze turned toward Samrang.

“That’s the story that will be told.”

By now, her wounds bound, Samrang bowed her head in understanding.

Haryang took Yegyeol’s hand and pulled him along.

Yegyeol noticed Samrang didn’t follow—she was staying behind to tidy up, to stage the scene just as Haryang had scripted.

As they walked, Yegyeol searched for words.

In the end, he gave up.

He didn’t need to decorate his thoughts—he could just say what he felt.

“Master… I mean, Senior Brother, I thought you might be shocked that I killed your senior’s master.”

Haryang stopped abruptly and turned.

The alley back to the inn was silent, the moon hanging pale behind him.

The quiet pressed on Yegyeol’s chest, making his heart beat tight and fast.

Haryang tilted his head slightly, as if amused.

“How unexpected,” he said.

A faint smile curved his lips.

“I had always thought that the only master you recognized was me.”

The words, paired with that tilted gaze, carried a strange gravity—

not guilt, but something darker, more intoxicating.

“…You’re right,” Yegyeol said quietly. “That’s true.”

Instead of guilt, a strange lightness rose in his chest.

Haryang didn’t intend to share him with anyone—and that possessiveness, rather than frightening him, soothed him.

“You were watching, weren’t you?”

“I wasn’t there from the beginning,” Haryang admitted.

His hand brushed Yegyeol’s cheek.

The touch carried the familiar resonance of guiding energy, spreading warmth through his skin.

The cut from earlier…

The moment Haryang’s fingers touched him, the shallow wound on Yegyeol’s cheek began to close, as if it had never been.

Haryang hesitated, just for a breath.

He already knew Yegyeol’s healing was far beyond human—and that it had come with his reincarnation.

But to see the wound vanish instantly beneath his own hand? That was harder to dismiss as coincidence.

“Still,” he said evenly, masking his unease, “my disciple seems to take too much pleasure in danger.”

Yegyeol blinked and looked up.

“And that worries me.”

The depth in Haryang’s eyes far outweighed the gentleness of his tone.

“Don’t make wounds you don’t have to, my Yegyeol.”

He’d had plenty of explanations ready—how it was necessary to lower Baekyang’s guard, to test his composure, to seize an opening.

But when Haryang looked at him like that and whispered so softly—

every excuse dissolved.

“…I’ll be careful.”

Next time, I’ll end it fast, he thought.

If any bastard so much as looked at him wrong again, he’d show Murim what modern lightning could really do.

“There’s only the final match left,” he said, fidgeting with his fingers.

“You’ll come watch, won’t you?”

The question carried the same anxious sincerity as the invitation he’d once given the Black Ghost—but this time, it was different.

At Yegyeol’s nervous gaze, Haryang’s lips curved faintly.

“My one and only disciple has promised to bring me victory. Of course I’ll be there.”

He tapped Yegyeol’s cheek lightly, a feather-soft touch that made him flinch.

He felt a pang of guilt—technically, he did have two masters.

But then he remembered—

I never gave Baekyang a single carnation on Teacher’s Day anyway.

With a small smile, Yegyeol covered Haryang’s hand with his own, leaning into the touch and closing his eyes.

Now, his resolve was set.

“I have to see Jeokroe again.”