TSBIRBV Ch 314

Chapter 314. The Bird Leaves Its Nest (6)

Yegyeol’s heart plummeted with a heavy thud. He hadn’t expected Haryang to speak so casually about dying in the Ten Thousand Great Mountains.

He lifted his gaze, wondering if he could glimpse what lay buried within the man’s heart. Yet the face looking down at him was bright—radiant, even. A quiet smile softened the curve of Haryang’s eyes, and the affection resting on his lips was so unmistakably genuine that no one could ever deny it. The happiness shimmering in his gaze was enough to steal the breath from Yegyeol’s lungs.

They had already crossed so many lines together—what was one more? And yet, Haryang’s expression, full of wonder at their merely clasped hands, looked as if he held the entire world in his palm. Yegyeol was struck speechless.

Why was his joy so pure? So painfully untainted?

“Yegyeol?”

Haryang’s voice broke the long silence. Yegyeol struggled to steady his breath, forcing his shoulders not to tremble.

“There’s no such thing,” he whispered. “If you die, I’ll go with you.”

“Ah.”

Haryang faltered, then laughed softly.

“I misspoke. Don’t trouble yourself with such thoughts.”

But there was something in that gentle tone that made Yegyeol’s brows knit together.

No way…

Even as an uneasy premonition told him not to pry, he couldn’t let it go.

“…You think I’ll die first, don’t you?”

Haryang said nothing.

Yegyeol’s gaze pierced him, sharp as an awl.

Finally, the man exhaled and gave voice to a truth he had long buried beneath layers of silence.

“More than that… I think I’ll live for a very long time.”

Time would reach Yegyeol far sooner than it would ever touch Haryang.

All those years he had spent struggling to die as a human had granted Haryang a cruel enlightenment. The ultimate realm that had freed him from mortality also stole from him the decay of age and the mercy of death.

No one knew when—or if—a transcendent martial artist died. The records were few, and by the time those who remembered them were gone, the masters themselves faded into myth. The few who perished had done so not by nature’s hand, but from inner demons or fatal wounds in great wars.

Is natural death even possible?

He didn’t know.

Of course, as a man, he must be mortal. But when that end would come—whether decades or centuries hence—was impossible to guess.

And still, I’ll keep living, he thought. Because that’s what I’ve always done.

Resignation flickered across his face, so faint it could no longer be called by that name. It had eroded over countless years into something colder, harder—like stone worn smooth by time.

To Yegyeol, it was a look almost inhuman.

He had never known.

Haryang had always seemed content, even joyful, when with him. Yegyeol had foolishly believed that perhaps the man had finally let go of the burdens of all those empty centuries.

But no—it was just that Haryang had learned to live with it.

To recall it hurts. To bear it is unbearable.

Though he seemed whole, Haryang was still bound by his own inner demon.

He’s strangled himself with his own hands, and still hasn’t realized it.

Yegyeol could hardly breathe. The man who never so much as twitched in anger now carried a heart so twisted it turned every sorrow, every rage, every despair into love.

No wonder his joy was so flawless—it was the last form left to him.

Reaching up, Yegyeol gently wrapped his arms around Haryang’s neck.

“I won’t leave you alone again,” he whispered.

The words were barely audible, but Haryang understood them easily.

“How?” he asked, curious and sincere.

He didn’t realize how cruel that question sounded. Yegyeol forced a smile.

“When I die, I’ll take you with me.”

Haryang’s eyes widened slightly.

Thinking he had upset him, Yegyeol hurried on.

“When I saved you—”

He tried to finish, but his throat closed up. Words tangled in his chest; there was nothing he could substitute to make it easier. After a long pause, he managed to stammer out a pitiful excuse.

“…You owe me your life. So give it to me. It’s mine.”

His hand, trembling, slid down from Haryang’s neck to his chest, resting above the steady beat of his heart.

“Give it to me,” he murmured. “Because it belongs to me.”

His lips were bloodless, but his eyes—those eyes glowed bright gold.

Haryang knew that look. It only appeared when Yegyeol drew upon that peculiar power—when he fought, or when he meant to kill.

Then what he’s saying now… must be true.

Meeting those golden eyes, Haryang licked his lips, overcome by an indescribable thrill.

Most would flee from their own reaper. The legend said Dongfang Sakh tricked death itself, extending his life three thousand times over.

But before his own death—finally, inevitably—Haryang felt only ecstasy.

So you’ve come for me, at last.

He had faced death countless times, but never had it been so sweet.

He’d had many enemies, before and after becoming the Heavenly Demon. Killing him would earn eternal glory.

But the only one with the right to claim that glory wore a face twisted with despair.

I should tell you it’s all right… that you don’t have to bear that burden…

His disciple. His lover. His student.

He should comfort him.

And yet—

He couldn’t.

Haryang stared into those golden eyes, unable to close his own.

He studied them, the way one might trace the lines of a sacred wound—eyes so pure they seemed incapable of cruelty, even though they had just spoken of killing him.

Yegyeol would never take those words back.

He knew it without needing to hear it.

A tremor rippled through his body. The love he thought had already reached its limit sank even deeper, taking root in his very soul.

All notions of right and wrong, all faith and reason, had long since been shattered. What remained had twisted together into something wholly new, a balance reborn from ruin.

Only when he gave everything—until he had nothing left—did Haryang feel light again.

“Then so be it,” he murmured.

His hand brushed Yegyeol’s ear, voice thick with dreamlike tenderness.

“You should be the one to take it.”

A faint, blissful smile touched his lips. In the shifting sunlight, the moisture glimmered on his cheek, and Yegyeol—dazed—reached out to wipe it away.

The wetness clung to his fingers like dew. It took him a moment to realize—it was a tear.

He couldn’t think. His mind was blank.

The man he had always revered…

The man he had admired beyond measure…

Was crying.

“I held on,” Haryang whispered, lips trembling with the weight of his tears. “Because I wanted to give it to you.”

His smile was bright, but it cut deep.

“Thinking that… makes me happier than I can bear.”

Some ruins, Yegyeol thought, are too stubborn to crumble. They stand so long that you forget they were ever destroyed.

He leaned in, tasting the salt of Haryang’s tears on his tongue—like touching a crystal of salt in the desert.

When he pressed a kiss to the corner of those wet eyes, Haryang realized how parched he’d been all along.

“Hold me,” Yegyeol whispered.

Haryang’s face twisted for a moment. His chest felt too full—his hunger overflowing, impossible to leash.

“…Haa.”

He buried his face against Yegyeol’s shoulder, inhaling deeply. Then, with steady arms, he lifted him and laid him upon the stone table at the center of the pavilion.

The sunlight streaming between the pillars grazed Yegyeol’s cheek. His expression, softened by the warmth, seemed far too tender for someone who had just uttered such a terrifying promise.

Haryang’s lips descended upon the pale skin of his neck, exposed between loosened folds of cloth. Yegyeol’s arms coiled around him like serpents—or like ancient vines, grown and tangled for a thousand years.

When Haryang drew back the fabric to reveal his chest, he pressed his mouth to it. The small, pink buds were round and firm—like ripening cherries—and the sound that escaped Yegyeol’s lips was soft, sweet, and helpless.

“Ah… haah…”

The sharp pleasure coiled through Haryang’s body.

Each time his mouth teased the sensitive flesh, Yegyeol’s body trembled, arching into his touch. Instead of pushing him away, his fingers buried themselves in that sleek black hair, urging him closer.

Haryang’s mind flickered back to the nights long past—to the hidden place where a veiled bride had once opened her legs to him in darkness. To the fevered restraint it had taken not to break him apart completely.

But now, in broad daylight, that same bride lay beneath him—eyes open, meeting his gaze, voice trembling with eager moans.

Love and possession intertwined like warp and weft.

How will we ever endure this…

Smiling bitterly, Haryang’s hands slid down.

The fabric encasing Yegyeol’s body split apart like silk torn by a blade, yet his skin remained untouched—smooth and flawless.

“Mmh…!”

Yegyeol’s breath hitched.

As Haryang pressed closer, something hard brushed against his thigh. The realization of what it was sent a thrill shivering through him.

Even with the formation distorting sight and sound, the pavilion was open on all sides. Anyone could pass by—someone might even approach.

The thought alone made his mind scatter.

Noticing the turmoil in his lover’s eyes, Haryang’s lips curved slowly.

He had already thought of a way to draw all of Yegyeol’s attention back to him.