TSBIRBV Ch 50

Chapter 50 An Ill-fated Relationship (7)

“Shall we call this operation off?”

At the time, Tang Eonbo was engineering a trap to ruin the Yipseon Sect and Okhyeong Sect.

If Qinghai Trading’s loyalties had shifted because of Sichuan Tang’s blunder—then let the other sects make the same mistake, and the blame spreads evenly.

Persuaded by Tang Seoak, she was already sowing rumors of his presence near the Yangtze. Yet it was then she heard that the new Guild Master of Qinghai, Mun Yegyeol, would be joining the caravan.

Tang Seoak paused, then finally said:

“No. I think we can continue as is.”

He lifted his teacup with hands long skilled in poison, but his bearing was serene, like a gentleman-scholar.

“Why so?”

“If Qinghai’s young master finds himself in peril—and Tang rescues him—the goodwill gained will be immense.”

Truthfully, Tang Seoak cared little if Mun Yegyeol died.

He had accepted the talk that as a new guild master the boy had not yet fully consolidated power. Still, it nagged him that Jin Sam’s behavior had grown strange ever since Mun’s arrival.

At first, Seoak thought Jin Sam’s antics mere ambition to please his betters. Yet Jin Sam was no man to abandon all he enjoyed in Sichuan just because of promotion to Qinghai. Surely, he had left some tether behind—if only with Seoak. Now, silence. No word at all.

That left Mun Yegyeol the only one who might answer Seoak’s suspicions.

Too convenient…

Seoak knew well he himself would have removed an inconvenient pawn in just such a way.

Once suspicion bloomed, everything stank of it. A life spent weaving plots made the man cautious and doubtful—and restless to test the boy who played docile.

“The Jiaolong King may move herself. She will surely sic her pirates to sever the caravan’s legs. She bears me hatred, so anything with Tang’s hand in it she will strive to ruin.”

Seoak lowered his eyes like a fragile scholar.

“Perhaps a modest flotilla of her Alliance will appear. You, Eonbo, give the caravan Tang’s flag, then slip ahead. Change clothes. Watch, and if Jiaolong herself comes… then all who try to escape—kill them.”

A single fleeting fling of passion had long shackled him. This, Seoak resolved, was his final chance to excise Yeon Sosho from his story.

“Cousin…” Eonbo asked anxiously, “if we truly meet the Jiaolong King, she’ll hear of this trap.”

Seoak’s voice dropped.

“I cannot disgrace Tang anymore for my own affairs. If trouble arises again from her, our clanmaster’s patience ends.”

He bit his lip lightly and clasped her hand.

“And then—what of you, Eonbo? You who dirtied your hands all this while for me? You will be cast aside with me.”

Emotion swelled in her eyes.

That he should care more for a cousin-subordinate than the great clan itself overwhelmed her.

Seoak remembered well how much she had wagered for him. She had not gambled wrongly.

“My cousin…”

People mistook his talents. They thought him adept only at venom, negotiation, strategy. But Tang Seoak’s greatest gift was his silver tongue.

“If witnesses remain, claim we tried to sink the Jiaolong Ship but failed. Casualties were unavoidable. Everyone will understand—the enemy was Jiaolong herself. Who could fault us?”

The scheme really was simple.

Tang riders, stationed as vanguard, “noticed” the trouble and rode to the rescue.

Yes, there would be deaths. But then Yipseon and Okhyeong would be too stained to escort Qinghai again. Tang, who stood against Jiaolong, would seem hero.

“But if too many die, won’t this spark outright battle with river pirates?”

Eonbo fretted that things might spiral beyond their grasp.

“If it grows that large, the clanmaster himself acts. He is restless anyway, chafing with disuse. Better he seize the chance to throw Tang’s power outward than scold me.”

For an ambitious collateral like Seoak, bloodshed meant merit.

“And if Qinghai’s master is caught up in it—shall we rescue him?”

Eonbo thought of the boy the cousin had entertained at dinner. He had entrusted everything—caravan, escorts, himself. He would be the greatest victim.

Not that she was fond of him. Simply—she needed Seoak’s firm answer.

“No need to overexert.”

Seoak’s thin smile spread.

“The guild master changes once—why not twice more? What difference?”

Now on the river, Yipseon and Okhyeong fighters were hauling hostages to safety. But to Eonbo, they were nothing but guild soldiers.

If they brought outside ships, they must be runaways returning. Nothing else.

She did not know the Azure Sky Corps existed. She merely saw swordsmen spirited away captives and assumed them the rival sects.

So she kept her distance, loosing fire arrows as if according to plan. Jiaolong’s arrival had been an outside chance—but they had prepared even for that. In her logic, killing hostages was only the next step of their scheme.

Tang must change.

The Sichuan clan, rotting long in its Chengdu roots, was stagnant water. Collaterals like her never rose.

She knew it well: medicines, poisons, fine steel—all reserved for the direct line. Leftovers for the rest. Her choice of merchant-born mother had doomed her place.

The Tang Clan is a beast that fattens on its own blood. I escaped its maw once—why did you throw yourself back in, Mother?

Bitter, she turned further toward Seoak. He had shown her a way. Wielding the severed arm of Yeon Sosho brought him approval from Tang’s master. He gave responsibility even to the collateral.

Perhaps, she thought, she too had worth.

To her, he was salvation. His desperation, his ambition—she cherished it.

Now, seeing the flames upon the waters, she smiled at last. This was vindication.

Until—

From the Jiaolong Ship, a man appeared.

His white robes were disheveled, soaked in blood—but with the aura of a young immortal, undimmed.

Her eyes narrowed. Ominous dread clawed her chest. Few prodigies in the world can stand so tall.

And indeed—

“Azure Sky Corps, heed your young master!”

The voice, resonant with inner strength, drowned all screams.

Namgung Un had arrived.

Even wounded, supported at one arm by his steward, he raised his other hand, caught a fire arrow in flight, and snapped it in half. He ignored burns, ignored pain.

Silence rang—awed silence.

“First squad: draw the fleet together to river’s center! Second squad: rescue survivors! Third squad: form the perimeter and shield against fire arrows!”

“By your order!”

Bathed in fire’s glow, his figure unburnt, Namgung Un seemed a storm-god descended.

Even Tang Eonbo’s heart thudded at the sight.

“…The Thunder-Sword Dragon, Namgung Un.”

Her lip split under the pressure of her own teeth, and blood welled.