TSBIRBV Ch 325

Chapter 325. The White Lotus Cult (8)

Both Yegyeol and Namgung Un turned toward Haryang at the same time.

“This will take a while,” Haryang said calmly. “Let’s all sit.”

After tidying a few stray strands of Yegyeol’s hair that had fallen forward, he began speaking in that languid, composed tone of his.

“Not long ago, one of my subordinates sent me a letter. They’re currently tracking down the remnants of the fallen Wi family. Among them was one who had settled here in Wuhan — so I decided to come see for myself.”

Originally, it was supposed to be Samrang who investigated. But she had been occupied, tending to the growing fire Yegyeol had set with his rumor-spreading network, Seodongyo.

Rumors, after all, were like wild horses — once you loosened the reins for even a moment, they’d bolt and trample over everything.

And there were many who found it uncomfortable that the name Kunlun’s Soaring Dragon — Je Haryang — was once again being spoken of in the Central Plains.

Samrang was still diligently feeding wood to that fire.

“No one knew where the mistress of Huayeon Pavilion was originally from,” Haryang continued.

“The investigator reported,” said Namgung Un, “that based on her accent, locals believed she might have been from the western regions of the Central Plains. But…”

He trailed off, a faint frown crossing his face.

“People who work in establishments like that— their origins are rarely known, are they?”

And that was true.

Those who made their living in taverns and pavilions weren’t looked upon kindly by Central Plains society. No respectable family would want their daughters working in such places.

Those who couldn’t afford to be choosy, who had no other way to earn a living, took on jobs others turned away from.

“For that very reason,” Haryang said softly, “have you never considered that some might choose such places precisely to hide where they came from?”

Indeed, that was often the case.

“The mistress of Huayeon Pavilion,” he went on, “was born in the Ten-Thousand Mountains. Her parents were servants who had long served the matriarch of the Wi family. Their loyalty, passed down through generations, was rewarded — they were entrusted with managing certain external properties belonging to the Wi family. These were assets hidden even from the Cult itself. So when the Wi family fell, those holdings were never reclaimed.”

Namgung Un drew in a sharp breath.

Matters within the Heavenly Demon Cult rarely leaked beyond its walls. Still, it was known that the Cult was led jointly by the Heavenly Demon and the Eight Demonic Houses.

Over the years, word had quietly spread that the Eight Demonic Houses had become six, and that the first to fall had been the Wi family. Most dismissed it as rumor, but no one dared to confirm it.

Now, here was the very man who had reduced the Eight Houses to Six — the Heavenly Demon himself — confirming it to him directly.

The realization hit Namgung Un with a profound, shattering weight.

“Of course,” Haryang continued, “the Huayeon mistress and her family, who had been managing those assets, were thrown into chaos when their masters fell. But Huayeon Pavilion was already one of the three most prosperous establishments in Wuhan at the time. It seems she severed all ties with the Cult and continued her trade.”

From the gentle look on Haryang’s face, one might have thought he was discussing a simple business matter, not a corpse.

“If that’s so…” Namgung Un said hesitantly, “were they… waiting for their fallen masters to return?”

“Perhaps,” Haryang murmured, noncommittal.

But Yegyeol caught the flicker of truth behind his tone.

“They were trying to keep the fortune for themselves,” he said quietly.

A faint smile curved Haryang’s lips, as if inviting him to continue.

“When the true master returned, they refused to give anything back — so they were silenced.”

Yegyeol frowned. “But then why scatter the mark of the Demonic Cult? That would only draw attention.”

“Because the death of Wuhan’s most powerful hostess would cause a commotion,” Haryang replied. “They needed a diversion.”

Then, in a voice that only Yegyeol could hear — a whisper carried on soundless internal energy — he added,

[If you tell the hunters there’s a tiger in the hills while they’re chasing foxes, where do you think they’ll all run?]

Yegyeol pressed his lips together.

He knew well that there were still those in the Central Plains who opposed Haryang — remnants of those who had once rebelled against him. That was why they were here, after all.

He had come intending to stir the righteous sects into fighting those traitors, so that the Demonic Cult could simply sit back and watch them burn each other. But if those rebels were now using him as a pretext for their schemes, the irony was bitter indeed.

Worse yet — they might have realized that Haryang had left the Ten-Thousand Mountains and were trying to draw him out further.

Yegyeol bit his lip.

Even back when they lived in Qinghai, Haryang would occasionally return to Xinjiang for short visits. But this time, his stay in Wuhan had stretched far too long — longer than even the time they’d spent in Hangzhou during the Dragon and Phoenix Assembly.

Samrang and Hongye are there… the only reason Jinyeong wouldn’t be visible is—

He didn’t finish the thought.

Though the Wi family’s downfall had claimed another lord in the process, it was still dangerous for the leader of the Cult to remain away from home for so long.

Those who’d once aided the Wi family could start openly leaking information at any moment.

Ultimately, they had come to the Central Plains to uproot those traitors, but it was still a risk — one Haryang bore knowingly.

“More than that,” Haryang said quietly, “this serves as a warning.”

“To whom?” Yegyeol asked. “Ah— to the heir who’ll inherit the pavilion. But still… with Huayeon so publicly exposed, isn’t approaching them now far too dangerous?”

Haryang nodded slowly.

“There are others scattered across the Central Plains — those who fled with the Wi family’s treasures. Not all of them were traitors. Some hid so deeply they don’t even know whether their master lives or not. This… is also a message to them. A summons home.”

“A cruelly efficient method,” Yegyeol muttered.

Namgung Un’s face darkened, his voice trembling slightly. “To kill someone… for that reason?”

Haryang smiled faintly.

“People die for reasons,” he said, “and people die for none. Those who die for justice, and those who die to a blind blade — both only have one life to give.”

His tone was so dry it couldn’t even be called cynical.

“The mistress of Huayeon Pavilion was killed because she was more useful dead than alive. That’s all.”

Namgung Un clenched his jaw. The air in the room hadn’t changed, yet it suddenly felt harder to breathe.

“My father… he said you— no. Never mind.”

Haryang didn’t bother acknowledging the confusion flickering in his eyes.

Instead, Yegyeol cut in lightly to defuse the tension.

“If you put it like that, you’ll only make Namgung-gongja misunderstand.”

He smiled brightly.

“What he means,” Yegyeol said, “is that dwelling too much on death — letting it consume you — will only break you, Namgung-gongja. You’re not the kind to fall easily, but once you do, it’s hard to stand again.”

It was the kind of interpretation only Yegyeol could offer — half empathy, half trickery.

Haryang looked at him for a long moment.

And though he said nothing, there was no way he could refuse that shining gaze that seemed to say, See? I’m right, aren’t I?

After a pause, Namgung Un finally spoke.

“…So, the reason the master of the Ten-Thousand Mountains came to Wuhan — was it to find survivors of the Wi family?”

Given how much information Haryang had revealed, it wasn’t an unreasonable question.

But Haryang only smiled and took Yegyeol’s hand, pressing it gently to his cheek.

“I came,” he said softly, “to see my disciple win.”

He closed his eyes briefly, his expression so peaceful it made one forget he was the lord of the Demonic Cult standing in the heart of enemy territory.

Namgung Un’s gaze darted helplessly between them.

Finally, unable to contain the turmoil inside, he blurted out, “What exactly… is your relationship? Mun-gongja keeps calling you Senior Brother, but now you call him your disciple?”

He shook his head, as though trying to clear it, his hands clenched tightly atop his knees.

“Mun-gongja said he could prove you weren’t abducted if we brought the Great Elder of the Beggars’ Sect. And the Elder confirmed your identity — but he never explained… your connection to him.”

Yegyeol blinked slowly.

Ah, right. Even Old Man Jeokroe must’ve been confused too.

He remembered the old man’s face when he’d first seen him alive again — the way he’d gone pale as if seeing a ghost. Yegyeol had been so startled himself that he’d postponed explaining everything to Namgung Un afterward.

And Un, perceptive as always, had waited patiently for that explanation.

It’s fine now, Yegyeol thought. He deserves to know.

Not because it would benefit him — but because Namgung Un was trustworthy.

He was a man who admitted when he was wrong, who apologized and made amends. Even as a proud disciple of the righteous sects, once he’d learned the full truth, he had never again shown hostility toward Je Haryang.

Someone like that wouldn’t dismiss the truth as a lie.

“My name is Mun Yegyeol,” Yegyeol said quietly. “That, I have never lied about.”

His face was calm, almost serene.

“I didn’t join Kunlun for the first time this year. Baekyang Zhenren was my master once before.”

There was no sorrow in his voice, even as he spoke of the dead.

“And twenty years ago, on the day the Demonic Cult invaded Kunlun — the day of the Kunlun Massacre — I was there.”

He placed his hand over Haryang’s, their fingers intertwining.

“I died there, trying to save the Soaring Dragon of Kunlun, Je Haryang. But Heaven had mercy on me. I woke by the river at the base of the mountain.”

Namgung Un stared at him, forgetting even to breathe.

His face was pale with shock — but there was no disbelief in his eyes.

He really does take after my Senior Brother, Yegyeol thought faintly, smiling just a little.

“And there,” he said softly, “I met my Senior Brother again.”

“…”

“The man the sect abandoned. The man the Central Plains forgot.”

Namgung Un opened his mouth, then closed it again.

Accepting that Yegyeol had once been a disciple of Kunlun wasn’t so hard — Baekyang Zhenren himself had spoken to him of a lost disciple, and everything fit together now.

If Yegyeol truly was that man, then Je Haryang’s tenderness toward him made perfect sense. Even Old Man Jeokroe’s reaction that day now seemed obvious.

“I… I’ve heard too much,” Namgung Un said faintly, pressing a hand to his forehead.

But it wasn’t dizziness that afflicted him — it was despair.

If all of this was true, what place did he have between them?

To Je Haryang, Mun Yegyeol was the disciple who had died to save him.

To Mun Yegyeol, Je Haryang was the master the world had cast away.

Back in Qinghai, life had been simpler — happier, even in ignorance. He’d been the hero, rescuing the one he admired from the clutches of a villain.

But now?

He felt sick.

“I… should go,” he said weakly.

Crash!

Before he could even rise, a violent commotion erupted outside.

Yegyeol hurried to the window — and saw a man he recognized from Gyoryong Fortress.

Isn’t he one of Namgung Clan’s Changgung Flying Unit?

“Young Master! Are you here?” the man shouted as he burst through the gate, nearly knocking it off its hinges.

“What’s going on?” Namgung Un demanded, leaping down from the window frame.

The subordinate dropped to his knees, raising his head just enough to speak.

“Clan Head Namgung Akcheon— has been named the murderer of the Huayeon Pavilion mistress!”