TSBIRBV Ch 319(NSFW)

Chapter 319. The White Lotus Cult (2)(NSFW)

“It feels like it’s about time to head back.”

Still half-asleep in Haryang’s arms, Yegyeol mumbled faintly. His body ached, and with his clothes in their current state, he clearly needed a fresh set.

At his words, the man stirred slowly.

“Stay here.”

As Haryang began to rise, Yegyeol looped his arms around the man’s neck from behind and murmured teasingly,

“What if someone passes by? What if they come in here…?”

His voice, laced with languid mischief, carried a faint, intoxicating sensuality.

Haryang knew full well it was a deliberate tease, yet he was suddenly seized by the urge to turn back, to pull Yegyeol into his arms again and lose himself in him.

Even at the height of his youth, he had never before been so helplessly undone by desire. Everything about being with Yegyeol was strange—unfamiliar—and too sweet.

It was the first time he had ever tasted something this beautiful, this devastatingly tender.

“No one will come here,” he assured him softly.

Even while looking at the “tiger” who claimed to fear hunters, Haryang’s gaze remained tender, almost reverent.

He brushed back Yegyeol’s hair, pressing a few lingering kisses against his lips before finally rising to leave the pavilion.

When he returned, he carried a basin of warm water and a clean cloth.

“Ah…”

As the senior brother grasped Yegyeol’s wrist and began to wipe his arms, the heat of the soaked cloth seeping into his skin drew a sigh from Yegyeol’s lips. Haryang’s touch traveled down from his neck, across his bare chest, to the hollow of his stomach.

Yegyeol shivered and tried to curl up, laughing softly at the ticklish sensation. Haryang pressed a kiss to his forehead, coaxing him in a low murmur.

“There, there. Be good, hm?”

Persuaded by those kisses alone, Yegyeol melted back into the man’s hands.

Haryang’s expression, as his fingers retraced every mark he had left, was not lustful but painstakingly gentle—like a sculptor absorbed in perfecting his final masterpiece.

It was a face Yegyeol almost wanted to shake—just to see it come undone.

When Haryang’s hand slipped lower to clean between his thighs, Yegyeol parted his legs almost proudly. The pale traces of what had spilled from him glistened along his skin.

“Here, too,” he whispered.

It was an invitation so blatant even an innocent man would have recognized it for what it was.

Haryang’s expression remained utterly calm as their eyes met. When Yegyeol’s gaze turned provocative, Haryang lowered his head without breaking eye contact.

Yegyeol blinked, startled, when instead of the cloth, warm lips parted between his thighs. He instinctively tried to pull away, but Haryang’s hand had already closed around his ankle, holding him still.

A soft, wet tongue traced slowly along his inner thigh, drawing goosebumps across his skin. Yegyeol clutched his mouth to stifle a gasp, his body trembling. Though he tried not to close his legs, his knees came together of their own accord.

Haryang’s serene face never changed, even as he meticulously cleaned him with his mouth. His tongue moved with quiet precision, coaxing the tender flesh until it was slick and flushed again.

“…Nngh, ah—mmph…”

Yegyeol’s body arched as he bit his lip, tears glimmering at the corners of his eyes. It was still daylight—the scene almost indecently clear.

The sight of Haryang’s calm, scholarly face bent low, his mouth moving sinfully, was something Yegyeol couldn’t look away from. He wanted to close his eyes—but couldn’t bear to miss even a moment of it.

The sensations were completely different from when Haryang had been inside him.

By the time the man finally lifted his head, his lips were glistening wet.

“You have so much water in you,” Haryang murmured, voice low. “And yet I failed to notice.”

Yegyeol flushed so deeply he couldn’t bring himself to meet his senior’s eyes. His face burned crimson.

He was ruined. Absolutely ruined.

For the rest of the cleaning, he behaved meekly, having learned—thoroughly—what reckless teasing could lead to.

The gentle warmth of Haryang’s guiding energy seeped into him again, making him drowsy.

After washing him completely, Haryang left for a brief moment, then returned with freshly prepared clothes he’d likely arranged earlier.

Yegyeol, basking in the sunlight like a rice cake gently toasted to golden perfection, didn’t move a finger as Haryang dressed him.

Despite Yegyeol’s lean frame, he was tall, his limbs long—but Haryang never once lost balance or composure while handling him.

When the man finally stepped back, satisfied, Yegyeol looked down at the fabric.

The color and design were remarkably similar to his old set, but the fabric—its luster and texture—spoke of far finer quality.

“The color’s the same, but… this fabric’s way too good,” he muttered.

Even a dullard like Peng Munhyeong might overlook it, but Tang Segi would probably notice.

After all, he’d once lingered around Hangzhou, claiming to be buying a gift for Yulhui—and had an eye for quality.

“It doesn’t matter if they notice,” Haryang said quietly.

“Doesn’t it?”

He smiled faintly, his tone heavy with meaning. “Why would it, when he’s the one who ruined his only disciple’s marriage prospects?”

“Ruined?” Yegyeol laughed. “You mean because I said I’d stay with my teacher forever?”

Haryang shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “Unless I misheard?”

Yegyeol tilted his head, intrigued by the question. “And if I said I wanted independence?”

“Then I’d say you still have much to learn. It’s not yet time for you to descend the mountain.”

He said it so naturally, without a trace of shame, that Yegyeol couldn’t help but laugh.

The more he resembled Haryang, the more he liked the thought that Haryang, too, had begun resembling him.

They lingered late, sharing a quiet meal together before returning to the inn by early evening.

Unexpectedly, another guest had arrived.

As Yegyeol entered, he stopped short at the sight of the man seated opposite Peng Munhyeong.

The resemblance between them was unmistakable—they were clearly of the same blood.

The younger man, likely Peng Muguk, looked smaller beside the massive “Fierce Tiger,” but his sharp eyes betrayed a clever mind.

Ah… the strategist type, Yegyeol thought.

Anyone wondering why the previous clan leader had passed over the elder son for the younger would find their answer in that face alone.

“Oh?”

Interest flickered in Peng Muguk’s eyes as he glanced at Yegyeol and Haryang.

“So this is the Heaven’s Thunder Dragon my brother speaks of so fondly?”

“That’s right,” Peng Munhyeong replied proudly, puffing his chest.

Though it sounded absurd—boasting of a sworn brother in front of his real one—neither man seemed to mind.

“It’s a pleasure, Clan Head Peng,” Yegyeol said, stepping forward and bowing. “I am Je Haryang, called the Heaven’s Thunder Dragon.”

He addressed one of the five great clan heads of the martial world with not an ounce of hesitation, his posture upright, his gaze unwavering.

“Je Haryang, the Heaven’s Thunder Dragon,” Peng Muguk repeated thoughtfully. “Even the name… it’s oddly similar to the Cloud Dragon of Kunlun.”

Yegyeol fought to keep his lips from twitching upward.

He rather liked this man.

“Pardon?” he asked lightly.

Peng Munhyeong laughed, answering for his brother. “I told you, didn’t I? That the Cloud Dragon once saved my brother’s village—and they named a child born that year ‘Je Haryang’ in his honor.”

“Ah… I see.”

Peng Muguk’s eyes lit with intrigue before he caught himself and smiled politely.

“My apologies, I should’ve introduced myself first. I’m Peng Muguk, younger brother of this brute here, and current head of the Peng Clan.”

“Please, speak comfortably,” Yegyeol said.

“Then I shall.”

Muguk accepted easily, studying Yegyeol with open curiosity.

Yegyeol took the moment to gesture toward his companion.

“This is my acquaintance from Qinghai—Yaryul Hongye.”

“Yaryul Hongye… why does that sound familiar?” Muguk tilted his head.

Haryang replied in a quiet, even tone, “I make my living handling horses. The work is similar to that of a courier or escort.”

“Ah!” Muguk clapped his hands softly. “Yes, I’ve heard the name. A rare talent, they said—moves faster than most masters using Lightness Techniques. I heard it’s near impossible to hire you unless you’re personally acquainted.”

He regarded Haryang and Yegyeol with evident fascination.

“We’ve had… some special encounters,” Yegyeol said brightly, stepping between them just enough to draw attention away from Haryang.

“Then, if you’ll excuse me,” Haryang murmured, bowing slightly before slipping away.

Even disguised as Hongye, he was still the Lord of the Heavenly Demon Cult. It would do no good to draw the Peng Clan’s scrutiny.

“A shy one, isn’t he?” said Peng Muguk, amused.

Yegyeol nodded gravely. “Quite reserved. He only takes requests from people he knows personally.”

“Ah, I see.”

Muguk nodded seriously, then turned to his brother.

“Brother, may I have a word alone with this young hero?”

“Hm? If you’re going to bully him, do it where I can hear,” Munhyeong said bluntly.

Muguk laughed. “Please, if you tattled on me to our mother when we were children, do you think I’d dare try such a thing now?”

Munhyeong grunted, mollified. “Fair enough. You’ve never been one to lie.”

Turning to Yegyeol, the massive man said, “He might act shady, but he’s not a bad fellow. Smart, listens well. If he says something rude, come tell me later. Understood?”

“Yes, sir,” Yegyeol said obediently.

He honestly couldn’t decide which was more impressive—that the head of the Peng Clan endured his brother’s bluntness with a laugh, or that Peng Munhyeong said such things without a care.

Still… from what I’ve heard, the Fierce Tiger dotes on his little brother quite a bit, Yegyeol thought.

“So then, Clan Head Peng,” he asked, “what business could one of the Five Great Clans possibly have with a mere late-stage cultivator like me?”

“Ah, come now,” Muguk chuckled, waving a hand. “We’re not such a grand clan as all that.”

His humility seemed genuine, almost rustic.

“And ‘mere late-stage cultivator’? Hardly. You’re the champion of the Dragon–Phoenix Assembly, are you not?”

His tone was friendly, even admiring.

Had Yegyeol not been the Fierce Tiger’s sworn brother, there was no way he’d be sitting across from the head of the Peng Clan now.

The martial world, it seemed, ran on connections—by blood, by sect, or by favor.

“I came,” Muguk continued, “because the Alliance is organizing a subjugation force—made up of the young heroes from the Assembly.”

“A subjugation force…?” Yegyeol repeated.

“The Central Plains are unsettled. Pirates, bandits—too much unrest. We need to restore order, win the people’s trust. It’s also a good chance for promising talents like you to make their mark.”

Muguk stroked his clean-shaven chin, studying Yegyeol as he spoke.

Despite being at the age where one’s sense of justice burned brightest, the young man before him remained remarkably calm.

Hmm. No wonder the Peng Clan’s expenses have been lower lately, Muguk thought.

His brother, though called the “Fierce Tiger” outside, was known within the Peng Clan as the Torch of Finances—for his habit of burning through the treasury with his collateral damages.

Their aunt, who oversaw the clan’s financial hall, often lamented that if not for the Peng Clan’s wealth, they’d have gone bankrupt years ago.

It must be thanks to this cautious young hero keeping my brother in check, Muguk concluded.

He was, of course, gravely mistaken.

The reason the Fierce Tiger hadn’t caused damage lately was because he’d been indulging in a rural “retirement life”—and later, nursing his first lovesick obsession.

And the “cautious young hero” before him had once destroyed more buildings in the Ten-Thousand Mountains than during the entire Great Demon War.

Unaware of this, Peng Muguk nodded decisively to himself.

Yes. This one will do.

He cleared his throat and leaned forward, voice turning earnest.

“If you’re willing… could you keep an eye on the Hwangbo Clan’s movements for me?”