TSBIRBV Ch 307

Chapter 307. Rumors of the Rivers and Lakes (11)

Yegyeol spoke with unflinching honesty.

Since Jeokroe already knew the circumstances, there was no reason to hide anything.

“You… this…”

The elder’s eyes reddened before his brow furrowed slightly.

“The Beggar’s Sect doesn’t have my Senior Brother,” Yegyeol added shamelessly.

There’s a saying—you can’t spit at a smiling face.

And so, Jeokroe’s rising anger melted away before it could reach his throat.

He shook his head helplessly, his shoulders sagging as an unfamiliar heaviness settled in his chest.

Even for a martial artist, Jeokroe had lived a long life.

He had buried more friends and disciples than he could count.

But to meet someone he’d once thought dead—

to speak with him again as if nothing had changed—

that was a sensation Jeokroe had never known in all his long years.

“So… you don’t regret going to Kunlun?”

“Not at all.”

Yegyeol’s reply was firm. Jeokroe pressed a finger to his brow, trying to keep his tears at bay.

“…I’d forgotten what kind of child you were. Brazen. Unapologetically so. Always fearless. Yes… that’s right.”

“Was I?”

Jeokroe smiled faintly.

“I must’ve clung only to the pitiful memories.”

Perhaps that was why he hadn’t recognized him—because he’d only remembered the frail, scruffy little beggar who’d once followed him around.

Now that child had grown into a dignified young man, even claiming victory in the Dragon and Phoenix Tournament.

“There’s something I’ve been meaning to say.”

The old man’s quiet gaze met Yegyeol’s.

“I’m glad we met again.”

“…Me too.”

A flush rose faintly on Yegyeol’s ears.

He felt… relieved. As though daring to come here had been the right choice after all.

“I should get going.”

He rose quickly from his seat.

Something about staying in Jeokroe’s presence made him oddly self-conscious.

Even when he deliberately acted cheeky, the elder didn’t scold him or raise his voice.

And unlike the others of the orthodox world, he didn’t look at him like a traitor for associating with the Heavenly Demon.

Yet it was precisely because of that gentle warmth that Yegyeol found it difficult to meet his eyes for long.

“You won’t stay a bit longer?”

Jeokroe, reluctant to part, tried to hold him back.

But Yegyeol still refused the tea he’d been offered.

“I’m going to see my Senior Brother.”

A strange expression flickered across Jeokroe’s face.

“That… Senior Brother of yours. Are you sure you’re all right with him?”

“Why?”

“No, never mind.”

Jeokroe shook his head.

He’d been about to ask if Yegyeol truly felt no fear—no hesitation—about being with the man who had become the Heavenly Demon.

But he realized how absurd that question was.

After all, hadn’t that mischievous boy been bound to Je Haryang long before the man had ever stepped foot in Kunlun?

If Haryang had joined the Wudang Sect, the brat would’ve followed him to Mount Wudang.

If he’d joined the Huashan Sect, Yegyeol would’ve begged to be taken to Shaanxi.

Now that I think about it, Jeokroe mused, Je Haryang once hinted that meeting the boy in Kunlun hadn’t been their first encounter at all.

“…The request you mentioned in your letter—

you’re planning to drag that matter of his back into the open, aren’t you?”

Yegyeol smiled faintly.

“What do you think?”

“I think you might be stirring up a hornet’s nest,” Jeokroe said plainly.

“I understand now that you didn’t use a false name in the tournament just for amusement. That’s… at least better than acting without a plan.”

Of course he knew.

He understood Yegyeol’s desperation—the way he’d do anything for his Senior Brother.

Even Jeokroe, who had only ever been a bystander, had felt a deep pang of sorrow over the fall of the Kunlun Cloud Dragon.

“No matter what reason Je Haryang had for rising to that position, people will only see the result. They’ll point fingers. They’ll condemn him.”

“Well, they’re already doing that, aren’t they?”

Yegyeol’s tone was almost casual.

After all, the Heavenly Demon was born to be hated—condemned for merely existing.

And Yegyeol hadn’t entered the Dragon and Phoenix Tournament to redeem his Senior Brother.

It was too late for that.

Je Haryang didn’t need saving.

He had already chosen to stand upon the mire with his own two feet.

“I just plan to grab the ankles of the ones who threw him into the mud and crawled out clean,” Yegyeol said. “That’s all.”

“So… you’re not doing this for justice?”

Jeokroe’s tone was half incredulous.

To think this boy would stand before one of the orthodox world’s elders and openly admit he meant to defame others.

He didn’t even bother with the pretense of righteousness.

Was he shameless—or simply honest to the bone?

“My Senior Brother’s a villain,” Yegyeol said simply. “And I’m his lackey.”

No grand cause. No justice.

“So I’m just going to vent a little anger.”

A small, spiteful, and utterly petty act of vengeance.

“Let the heroes of the orthodox world handle their own righteousness.”

He grinned.

Jeokroe let out a short, incredulous laugh.

“Venting your anger… You want help with that?”

“Just think of it as granting your late grandson’s dying wish?”

“You impudent brat!”

Jeokroe burst out, his voice booming—then immediately looked at Yegyeol in alarm, worried he might’ve startled him.

But Yegyeol only smiled, calm and steady.

When he was a child, he used to flinch whenever grown men raised their voices, Jeokroe thought.

But now…

Now, he truly could see that this boy had lived—grown—not merely survived, but lived as his own person.

The elder rubbed his face wearily.

“I’ve already decided to help you,” he said with a grumble. “The Beggar’s Sect’s been informed. I just wanted to make sure you were ready.”

“Oh…”

Yegyeol blinked, as if he hadn’t expected the elder to agree so easily.

Jeokroe gave a wry smile.

“Let’s just say you’re pushing me to do something I should’ve done long ago.”

Back then, he hadn’t dared involve himself in Je Haryang’s affairs.

He’d worried about the Beggar’s Sect, about its reputation, about the mouths he had to feed, about his lack of real power…

Excuses upon excuses.

“The older you get, the more cowardly you become,” he muttered bitterly.

Yegyeol smiled softly.

“If you were truly cowardly, you wouldn’t be helping me at all. So be honest.”

In the past, he never would’ve had the courage to say such a thing.

But now—he could.

Because even if he didn’t get the answer he wanted, he still had Je Haryang.

A little fall wouldn’t break him anymore.

“Just say it,” Yegyeol continued. “That you cared. That you wanted to reach out.”

“…You’ve grown cruel,” Jeokroe murmured, lips twitching. “You’ve learned how to tease old men.”

Yegyeol’s wide-eyed look was so disarming that Jeokroe couldn’t even deny it.

“Fine! You’ve got me!” the elder barked, flustered. “Yes, I was worried! So much that I hounded the Namgung heir for news of you!”

Yegyeol’s face brightened with a dazzling smile.

“See? Was that so hard to admit?”

Her radiant grin left the old man awkwardly looking away.

“When you get old—”

“—you get cowardly. I know.”

Before he could finish, Yegyeol stepped forward and wrapped his arms tightly around him.

“Stay healthy until we meet again.”

Jeokroe froze, stiff as a board.

No one—certainly not in the Beggar’s Sect—ever approached him with such warmth.

Even his first disciple’s hair had long since turned gray. Affection was a distant memory.

“…Grandfather.”

Yegyeol hesitated before saying it—but once he did, a weight lifted from his chest.

It felt as though he’d been waiting for this moment ever since their reunion.

“…Ah.”

Jeokroe ruffled his hair roughly, disguising the tremor in his hands.

Yegyeol puffed his cheeks and blew his bangs out of his face, and the elder couldn’t help but laugh softly at the familiar, lively sight.

“Thank you,” Jeokroe said quietly. “For letting this foolish old man see you again.”

“You’ll see me again soon,” Yegyeol replied with a grin. “Just don’t tell me you’re sick of me when that happens.”

“…I’ll think about it,” Jeokroe said, half-joking.

Yegyeol laughed and pushed open the door—

—and froze.

For a heartbeat, he doubted his eyes.

Standing where Namgung Un should have been was a man with a blue silk ribbon tying his hair.

Je Haryang.

He extended his hand toward Yegyeol.

“Let’s go.”

The door closed behind them with a soft thunk.

Je Haryang didn’t even glance back to see Jeokroe staring after them in disbelief.

“You came to get me?”

Yegyeol smiled brightly and darted forward, almost flying into his arms.

Though it had only been three days since they’d last seen each other, it felt like a lifetime.

Perhaps it was because he had finally achieved what he’d left the Ten Thousand Mountains to do.

He leaned fully into Haryang’s embrace.

Strong arms wrapped tightly around him as he nuzzled against that familiar chest.

The guiding current flowing between them soothed him like the warmth of clasped hands on a winter night.

Sometimes, it almost felt as though they shared their warmth rather than merely exchanged it.

“I won,” Yegyeol murmured.

The words burst out like a sigh he’d been holding forever.

He felt prouder than he ever had as a child winning a school contest—because this time, it wasn’t about pleasing anyone.

This victory was his.

He had completed the first stage of his plan perfectly.

And as he prepared for the next, he couldn’t imagine anything going wrong.

That confidence—all of it—came from Je Haryang.

“I was watching,” Haryang said.

Of course he had been. Yegyeol had never doubted it.

“It was the finals of the Dragon and Phoenix Tournament, you know,” Yegyeol said playfully. “Your disciple showed the world how great our martial art is. Shouldn’t you reward me?”

He said it as if it were the most natural thing in the world—like claiming a gift he’d already been promised.

Haryang chuckled lowly.

He couldn’t find it in himself to dislike that audacity.

A disciple’s occasional boldness only meant he trusted his master completely.

Leaning closer, Haryang brushed his lips against Yegyeol’s ear.

“Well then… what kind of reward should it be…?”

He’d give him the whole of the Ten Thousand Mountains if he could—but that world was far too stained for someone as pure as Yegyeol.

“If you didn’t prepare anything, I’ll choose myself,” Yegyeol said impishly.

“Oh? And what will you choose?”

Haryang smiled—not teasing, but indulgent, as though granting permission for anything.

“Something bad.”

He grabbed the collar of Haryang’s robe and tugged him down, his lips parting slightly.

“How bad?” Haryang murmured near his ear.

“Very.”

Yegyeol didn’t need permission to misbehave—but when granted it, he became unstoppable.

Haryang laughed quietly.

It was a strange kind of curiosity—refreshing, even thrilling.

Life had long been so dull.

“Do as you wish,” he whispered. “But this time, make it a truly grand misdeed.”

His mock-stern tone made Yegyeol laugh.

To think that this man, of all people, was the one encouraging him to be bad—it was almost absurd.

“Why?” Yegyeol asked.

“You always say you want this or that, but the things you ask for are so small,” Haryang sighed. “If this keeps up, your master’s dignity will be in tatters.”

Dignity. Yes, that mattered.

Yegyeol nodded solemnly, eyes glimmering with mischief.

“I won’t disappoint you.”

With that, he pulled Haryang closer by the collar and pressed his lips against his.

Soft lips bit, sucked, and parted.

Tongues met, breaths mingled, warmth turned feverish.

Yegyeol’s hand clenched tighter, dragging the man down by his robe—nearly gripping him by the throat of his clothes like a mischievous disciple manhandling his master.

Neither cared.

They kissed as if to make up for every hour apart—hungry, breathless, unrestrained.

Each tangled breath melted into the wet sounds between them, the air thick with heat.

Yegyeol looked up through hazy eyes.

Why does it feel this good?

It was hot—so hot he could barely breathe.

It wasn’t the most delicious thing he’d ever tasted, not like the fine delicacies of the Ten Thousand Mountains—

and yet, when he thought of Haryang’s kiss, his mouth watered.

He had tasted things far sweeter, saltier, spicier, and more bitter in his life—

but the only thing he ever craved to taste again was Je Haryang.

Reluctantly, Yegyeol drew back.

This might’ve been a Beggar’s Sect safehouse, but still—there were limits.

If an old man fainted in the next room, how would they even explain it?

“This is what you call something bad?” Haryang chuckled, amused.

The sight of his disciple pretending indifference while his eyes glowed with lingering desire was both adorable and pitiful.

“This is a mark you can’t take back,” Yegyeol said, feigning aloofness.

Haryang arched a brow.

“And what, exactly, are you planning?”

His tone turned mock-serious as Yegyeol gave him that sly, all-too-innocent smile.

“You’ll find out soon enough,” he said. “Just watch.”