TSBIRBV Ch 306

Chapter 306. Rumors of the Rivers and Lakes (10)

“Je Sohyeop!”

“Je Haryang! Je Haryang!”

“Heavenly Thunder Dragon! I am Gong Heewon, the vice master of Silver Shape Sect. Might I have a moment of your time?”

Much to Yegyeol’s dismay, the moment he stepped down from the stage, his path was blocked.

I thought it was bad enough before the tournament finals…

After winning, it was chaos.

“I heard you’ve inherited the martial arts of the Thunder Spirit Fist Master!”

“We are from Golden Soul Sect! Ours is the sect that carries on the Thunder Spirit Master’s legacy!”

“From the Jeonggeum Guild!—Hey! Stop pushing!”

The passageway was so crowded it felt like it had shrunk to half its width.

“Please, wait a moment. Just—please—”

Yegyeol, who despised being touched—especially by grown men—slipped sideways through the throng. Yet as soon as he escaped one grasp, another hand reached for him.

It felt like being ambushed by reporters desperate for an interview. His cheeks ached from forcing a polite smile.

How did Senior Brother deal with all this back then?

There was only one reasonable answer.

They were all too intimidated by him, that’s how.

He was wondering how to escape this mob, and more importantly, how to find a way to meet Haryang unnoticed, when a young man suddenly strode through the crowd.

“Excuse me. There’s someone here who wishes to meet Je Sohyeop.”

As the people parted, a familiar face appeared—Namgung Un.

He looked paler and thinner than when they’d first met, yet his eyes shone with clear, unwavering light.

“If everyone could give us a little space, please.”

A young master of one of the Five Great Clans—none other than the Namgung heir—had bowed his head in polite request. The aggressive crowd faltered.

“May I ask who it is that wishes to meet Je Sohyeop?” someone asked.

But not everyone was ready to back down.

There were too many who had been waiting for their chance to seize the rising star of the Murim.

A lone wanderer, unaffiliated with any sect, had won the Dragon and Phoenix Tournament—defeating the heirs of the Nine Great Sects and Five Major Clans, the usual champions. And to make things even more sensational, he’d revealed the inheritance of none other than the Thunder Spirit Fist Master, the strongest man of three centuries past.

To those desperate to strengthen their factions, this was madness—a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.

He’s unaffiliated…

If we can just win him over…

Then the world’s greatest martial art will belong to our sect!

None of them cared that Yegyeol himself had no such intentions—they were too busy gulping down delusions like sweet wine.

And then Namgung Un poured cold water over their fantasies.

“It’s Elder Jeokroe of the Beggar’s Sect.”

Yegyeol’s eyes widened in surprise.

The crowd, too, collectively hesitated at that name.

For in this era, the title Elder Jeokroe referred only to one man—Jeokroe Gae, the Supreme Elder of the Beggar’s Sect.

In this place, in this crowd, there was no one whose seniority or prestige could surpass his.

Those who held high status usually preferred to keep their dignity intact—they wouldn’t appear personally to meet a young fighter.

And since Namgung Un himself had come as the messenger, even those inclined to stir trouble swallowed their protests.

“Ahem. Well, we can’t interfere then. Remember the Silver Shape Sect, young hero!”

“I’m Geum Je-gyeong of the Golden Soul Sect. I hope we can build a connection, talented one.”

They all eventually chose to retreat.

After all, this youth not only wielded a legendary art, but was also associated with one of Murim’s oldest and most respected elders. It would be unwise to offend him.

“Our Jeonggeum Guild as well—we’ll be waiting for your visit, Heavenly Thunder Dragon!”

Their voices dripped with longing, and Yegyeol answered with a brilliant smile.

“Of course.”

He would never go.

When did I ever agree to this “Heavenly Thunder Dragon” title again? he muttered inwardly, before turning to Namgung Un.

“Please lead the way to Elder Jeokroe.”

He recalled the day he’d told Haryang that he wished to meet the elder. Jeokroe had replied that he didn’t have the face to see him yet.

After thinking it over, Yegyeol had sent another message, asking for help.

Haryang had asked,

Didn’t you want to meet him yourself? Bringing him to you wouldn’t be difficult.

It had been an offer to simply bring the old man to him.

But Yegyeol had refused.

If Elder Jeokroe’s heart isn’t at peace, what use is meeting him?

So you plan to give up?

Of course not. I’ll ask a favor first—then repay that debt later. Once I owe him something, he won’t be able to refuse me again.

He’d spoken with conviction. Haryang had smiled faintly, then nodded.

And thus, with the Beggar’s Sect’s cooperation, he’d managed to spread the rumor of the “Kunlun Cloud Dragon.”

It had been meant as both a means to an end—and a little emotional provocation for Jeokroe.

He hadn’t expected it to work this quickly.

Even as he followed Namgung Un, his emotions felt complicated.

“Congratulations on your victory,” Namgung said softly.

Yegyeol inclined his head.

“I’m grateful to you, Namgung Gongja. If you hadn’t turned a blind eye to my true identity, I wouldn’t have been able to paint the picture I wanted.”

“You mean… winning under the name ‘Je Haryang’?”

At the mention of that name, Yegyeol blinked and smiled.

“I couldn’t keep it all to myself, could I? Everyone deserves to know.”

His voice was calm—but the weight behind it was sharp as a knife’s edge.

Namgung Un hesitated before speaking again.

“He seemed like… a good man.”

He bit his lip the moment the words left him. Even to his own ears, they sounded foolish.

But he had seen enough to know what kind of man Je Haryang was.

The Heavenly Demon isn’t only worshiped in the Ten Thousand Mountains, he thought.

If Je Haryang had been like the past generations of demonic masters—driven by brute strength and obsession—he would not have felt such fear, such awe.

He moves unseen through every layer of the martial world—high and low alike. He manipulates hearts and minds with quiet precision… utterly thorough.

Je Haryang had covered every gap Namgung Un had missed, even influencing sects like Bota Temple—a prestigious and incorruptible orthodox order not even part of the Nine Great Sects, famed for producing martial saints.

And yet, Je Haryang had moved them to defend Yegyeol’s name.

How he had done it from so far away, no one knew. Perhaps Jeokroe did—but even he hadn’t dared ask.

He’s a terrifying man, Namgung Un thought.

But for all his power, Je Haryang had not sought to conquer Murim.

He had used his influence only to clear obstacles from Yegyeol’s path.

The world could not be divided cleanly into good and evil—but Je Haryang seemed to stand somewhere beyond both.

And yet… the Heavenly Demon is supposed to be the embodiment of evil.

So why?

Why did this one defy everything Namgung Un had ever believed?

“I still think he’s dangerous,” Namgung said quietly. “But I don’t think he’d ever harm you.”

The certainty that usually filled his voice was replaced by unease.

Yegyeol smiled faintly.

Even a noble heir like him is shaken… Guess my plan worked better than expected.

“Namgung Gongja,” he said softly, “you can’t even imagine what kind of man he truly is.”

And with that, Yegyeol’s eyes gleamed—

because soon, he would make sure everyone learned exactly that.

As they walked, Namgung Un cleared the way for him.

Thankfully, none of those who approached held authority surpassing the Namgung name.

Silence fell between them as they arrived at the place where Jeokroe was waiting.

Out of consideration for Yegyeol, the elder had chosen a private residence outside the Alliance compound.

“This way.”

It wasn’t an inn so much as a modest home.

The moment the door closed, the noise from outside vanished.

Namgung Un guided him upstairs.

Through the open doorway, Yegyeol saw an old man seated by the window, faint light reflecting off his pale gray eyes.

Jeokroe turned his head slowly toward him.

“I’ll wait outside,” Namgung Un said, bowing slightly before withdrawing.

When the door shut behind him, Yegyeol felt his lips go dry.

He studied the old, lined face—and felt a strange ache in his chest.

…Elder Jeokroe.

When he had asked Namgung Un to bring him here, it had been with the intent to charm and persuade the man—to win him over, to secure his help in his plans.

He had wanted to test what feelings the elder held toward Je Haryang, and perhaps borrow that sympathy for his own goals.

But facing that disbelief—Jeokroe’s refusal to accept him—had shaken him more than expected.

He’d delayed this meeting for as long as he could.

After all, with the resources of the Hao Clan and the Demonic Cult, he could spread rumors without Jeokroe’s help. He told himself the elder wasn’t irreplaceable, that failing to win him over wasn’t such a loss.

So why had it affected him so much?

He didn’t quite know.

Perhaps it was because of that day in Hangzhou, when he’d gone to meet Elder Hwang—

and realized that those once kind to him would no longer be there when he returned.

He had brushed it off then. But now, something in him had softened.

Is it because… I’ve shared my heart with Senior Brother?

Knowing that someone loved him wholly—no matter what—had melted something in him.

It allowed him to let go of his old defenses.

He had learned to face the things that hurt.

And that was why he hadn’t wanted to see Jeokroe.

He had once regarded the old beggar like a grandfather.

If that man rejected him again—if he tore him open with doubt—it would wound him deeply.

But everything had changed since he’d struck down Baekyang Zhenren.

He had severed the last thread of his past.

After pruning away those roots, his spirit felt clear, steady—grounded in something new.

Now, his world held only Je Haryang.

Only him.

He hadn’t become immune to pain—but he’d gained the courage to face it.

“Will you have some tea?”

“No. I have to hurry back to brag about my victory to Senior Brother.”

Yegyeol plopped into the chair across from the old man.

“When your elder offers you tea, you drink it,” Jeokroe said, frowning instinctively.

Yegyeol chuckled.

“You haven’t changed a bit.”

“Eh?”

“I mean—you used to always tell me to eat. Even when I said I was saving it for later, you’d insist I eat another bowl tomorrow.

When I said I wanted to move quickly, you’d scold me for skipping meals and force me to eat so I wouldn’t collapse.

Breakfast, snacks, midnight meals…”

Like someone unloading years of pent-up grievance, Yegyeol rattled off story after story from their travels together.

Jeokroe blinked slowly, his gaze distant.

He remembered.

“Of course. I nearly fainted when you told me your age. You were so damn small—smaller than any beggar your age! I thought, what on earth has this kid been eating—or not eating!”

He raised his voice, frustrated by the memory, then caught himself, glancing nervously at Yegyeol.

But the young man was smiling, serene.

Jeokroe let out a long, trembling breath.

From the moment he’d seen the word “Kunlun” written in Yegyeol’s handwriting, he’d been forced to accept an impossible truth.

And now, that same boy sat before him, recounting those old days like no time had passed.

Why did I doubt him?

He’d looked with a closed heart from the beginning, meeting the boy not to listen but to deny.

No wonder he’d ended up wounding him—the child who had only been overjoyed to see him again.

“My stubbornness hurt you,” Jeokroe said quietly. “I’m sorry.”

His apology was simple, genuine.

Yegyeol shrugged lightly.

“They say the scariest part of growing old is losing your mind. If you’d gone around saying a dead kid came back to life, people would have thought you’d lost it. So… I get it.”

“Have you been well?”

Yegyeol swung his feet lazily.

“I think so. Not bad.”

He’d found his parents.

He’d learned to live under his own name—no longer like he was wearing someone else’s skin.

He’d gained a strength that martial arts alone could never have given him.

And most of all—he’d met Je Haryang.

“I really am… doing well.”

Seeing that smile, Jeokroe felt some of his guilt ease.

“For twenty years,” he said softly, “I’ve regretted it.”

“Regretted what?”

“Leaving that child behind at Kunlun.”

Jeokroe closed his eyes slowly.

He had hated Baekyang Zhenren with all his heart.

But he couldn’t deny his own share of blame.

“I was an old beggar, unfit to raise a boy. I thought you’d be happier at Kunlun.

‘Better to be called a Taoist than a beggar,’ I told myself.”

He shook his head.

“How could I have known the Demonic Sect would rise again? That Kunlun would drown in blood?

If I had known…”

“Were you sorry?” Yegyeol asked quietly.

The elder’s voice faltered.

And Yegyeol told him the truth.

“Even if time turned back—

I still wouldn’t have gone with the Beggar’s Sect.”