TSBIRBV Ch 313

Chapter 313. The Bird Leaves Its Nest (5)

It burned—hot enough to sear.

Yegyeol traced that untouchable heat with his fingertips, his slow breaths brushing against the man’s cheek, tickling the palm that cupped it. The tension radiating from Haryang was so taut, so vivid, it felt like touching a bowstring drawn to its limit.

Yegyeol, forgetting all petulance, smiled in quiet satisfaction.

“You startled me.”

The words came out like a reproach, yet his voice was honey-sweet.

Haryang, softened by that tone, smiled faintly and lowered his head to press his lips against Yegyeol’s.

“Mmh…”

It was a deep, consuming kiss. Haryang’s lips carried the faint fragrance of the tea he had drunk that morning—fresh, slightly bitter, and inexplicably intoxicating.

Yegyeol met his desire without hesitation.

No matter how many times they shared this, the mingling of warmth and breath—of tongues and the slick exchange of saliva—always sent a shiver down his spine.

When his body began to tip backward, Haryang’s hand slid into his hair, steadying him, while the other arm wrapped firmly around his waist, holding him secure.

“Haa… ahh…”

Haryang cradled him close, one arm supporting his back, the other stroking gently—tender, almost paternal, as if soothing a child. The sweetness of it nearly erased the memory of their kiss.

Yegyeol, eyes half-lidded in haze, brushed his fingers along the man’s face before leaning forward to plant a soft kiss on his cheek.

“Daytime really is annoying,” he murmured. “It’d be better if night were all there was.”

His voice dripped with longing.

They’d only come out to run an errand—if they didn’t return soon, others might start wondering. Still, part of him wanted nothing more than to tangle himself in Haryang’s arms and lose the day entirely.

He almost thought, Would it really be so bad to disappear for a while?—but no, he couldn’t. There were too many things left undone.

“When we return,” Haryang said softly, “shall I bring the night to the Azure Pavilion for you?”

Yegyeol blinked.

The thought—how could one tie night to the ground?—flitted briefly across his mind. But then he thought, if it’s him… he might actually manage it.

He couldn’t help but laugh.

It was the sort of foolish, romantic promise lovers made—like plucking the stars from the sky. Yet he found himself wanting to believe it.

Utterly smitten, he thought, amused by himself.

“What’s so funny?”

“Nothing,” he said. “I’m just… happy.”

Haryang sighed quietly. His hand drifted along Yegyeol’s waist, and in his gaze shimmered a quiet seduction.

Since the day they had crossed that line, something about Haryang had changed. The air around him seemed richer now—deeper, mellower.

How could Yegyeol even describe it?

It was like the lush bloom of a summer flower—radiant and heady. Like autumn fruit at the peak of ripeness—dark and full.

Ah, just a little more—just a little longer—

He wanted it, badly. But he couldn’t give in. That was the most excruciating part of his grand design.

To have to turn this down… I must be insane.

If any of his old colleagues heard him now, they’d say he was too blessed to be pitied.

Still, swallowing his frustration, Yegyeol changed the subject.

“So… the manor wasn’t the only thing you bought in Wuhuan? You have shops too?”

“Shops?”

He glanced around the opulent space. What else could he call it?

“The Black Spot,” Haryang said calmly, “also handles goods that can be sold openly in daylight.”

His voice was steady—dispassionate, almost casual. It would have sounded perfectly normal… if he weren’t still holding Yegyeol on his lap.

As his fingers smoothed through Yegyeol’s tousled hair, they brushed lightly against his earlobe, deliberate in their feigned accident.

Yegyeol flinched, and Haryang’s eyes curved in quiet amusement.

“This place,” he said softly, “is where such goods are kept.”

Even in a formation-shielded pavilion, open on all sides, he teased him without a shred of shame.

How was one supposed to deal with such a perfectly composed scoundrel?

Yegyeol wet his lips.

“So this place is supposedly a business? If not for your invitation, I wouldn’t even know it existed.”

His tone was calm, though it trembled slightly at the end.

“It’s not open to just anyone,” Haryang replied, voice low and meaningful.

Indeed, even the formation surrounding this pavilion hinted at secrecy.

“If I hadn’t asked for somewhere private,” Yegyeol said slyly, “would you have brought me here at all?”

“Most likely,” Haryang murmured, “I would’ve chosen somewhere more… public.”

He let out a breath—half sigh, half confession.

Yegyeol pressed further, unrelenting.

Even faced with his teasing expression, Haryang didn’t scold or evade.

“…Because being alone with you,” he said simply, “makes me greedy.”

No reproach. No hesitation. Just the truth.

It was something Yegyeol already knew, but hearing it still made his heart blossom.

Haryang’s hand found his hair again, stroking gently. Though it was long since smoothed, Yegyeol leaned into the touch anyway.

Then he asked, “Earlier, when you deliberately let Brother Peng misunderstand us—what were you thinking?”

Even faced with the blunt question, Haryang’s expression didn’t waver.

“Do you remember the secret ledger, Yegyeol?”

He nodded.

“I traced the labor costs listed there.”

“You’ve already deciphered the code, then.”

“It was indeed wages… but oddly enough, the funds led to a brothel.”

He spoke as evenly as if discussing the weather.

“There were several with the same name, but one near the Jinju estate showed unusual movement—close to the Yangtze.”

Yegyeol’s eyes widened. He hadn’t expected the investigation to have gone that far.

He’d seen firsthand how deep the Demon Sect’s network ran in the Central Plains, but this still impressed him.

The Demon Sect—detested by so many of the righteous—had laid its roots so thoroughly within their strongholds.

Or perhaps… he’s even using the Black Spot’s resources, Yegyeol thought.

“Who do you think was visiting that brothel?” Haryang asked.

Without any clear idea, Yegyeol threw out the first name that came to mind.

“…The impersonators of the Flood Dragon King?”

A wry smile curved Haryang’s lips.

Then he said a name Yegyeol had nearly forgotten.

“The Golden Fish Hall, Yegyeol. It was their martial artists who frequented it.”

“The Golden Fish Hall… weren’t they based along the Yangtze?”

He remembered—during his runaway journey to Wuhuan, he’d found a corpse drifting on the river.

The Flood Dragon King had said it belonged to a member of that sect, a righteous group that protected the fishermen and riverfolk of the region.

And hadn’t they recently sought help over the disappearance of villagers and the Nosabu incident?

He’d thought them victims—had he been wrong?

“I heard they were good people,” Yegyeol murmured, though his expression was conflicted.

He knew better than anyone that not all of the righteous were good.

“For the most part, yes,” Haryang agreed.

“But being an old sect rooted in the Yangtze, they have their own factions—each with its own interests.”

Yegyeol couldn’t help but be impressed.

He could take the ugliest truths of human nature—greed, rivalry, ambition—and phrase them so gently.

An individual might be good; a group, rarely so.

Then again, Yegyeol thought fondly, it’s in his nature to see the best in people. That’s just who he is.

He didn’t bother recalling that this same man had, only days ago, cut out the heart of his former mentor, Perfected Baekyang.

Haryang was, by nature, a man of sharp contradictions.

“So,” Yegyeol said, “even within the Golden Fish Hall, certain members were frequenting that brothel.”

“Exactly.”

He nodded, eyes warm.

“My disciple truly is remarkable.”

Yegyeol blinked, caught off guard by the sincerity in his praise.

If Je Haryang had been his master in a previous life, he was certain he’d have become the greatest under heaven by now—finishing the Thousand-Character Classic in a week, mastering the Four Books and Five Classics in three months, and probably scaling the Himalayas for fun.

As long as Haryang kept looking at him with that unwavering faith, Yegyeol felt he could do anything.

He wanted to live up to that faith—to be worthy of that gaze.

He was, truly, too good for this world.

“I think I finally understand why the Central Plains calls you a villain,” Yegyeol muttered suddenly.

“Hm?”

A faintly curious hum left Haryang’s throat.

“Because they need one.”

Yegyeol shrugged.

“The truth is, there are plenty of villains right here. But they cover up their own filth by shouting, ‘Look! There’s something darker, dirtier, and more terrifying over there!’—so everyone looks away.”

From the Corpse-Demon Fiend to Tang Seoak, from the frauds of the Qinghai Merchants to Perfected Baekyang, the Wudang Sword Saint, the Nosabu of Yegok Village, and now the Golden Fish Hall…

If he counted them all, he’d run out of fingers.

Haryang rested his chin lightly atop Yegyeol’s head, stifling a laugh.

What an unexpected way to see the world.

“An interesting perspective,” he murmured.

The vibration of his voice above made Yegyeol’s scalp tingle. He didn’t bother looking up.

Was that smile one of amusement—or quiet understanding?

No, Yegyeol thought. It’s something else.

“In truth,” he continued, “more Heavenly Demons have hidden themselves in the Ten Thousand Mountains than have ever invaded the Central Plains. Even you never planned to come here.”

A hint of disillusion clouded his gaze.

“Indeed,” Haryang said lightly.

He spoke the heaviest of truths as if it weighed nothing.

Without thinking, Yegyeol pulled their joined hands closer, threading their fingers tighter together. His smaller hand couldn’t fully cover Haryang’s, yet he tried anyway, as if to hold all of him in his grasp.

Gods, how could anything feel this right?

Haryang was quiet for a moment, then spoke softly.

“If it were only you, Yegyeol… I’d have long rotted away beneath the beams of the Azure Pavilion, content to linger there as its ghost.”