TSBIRBV Ch 59

Chapter 59 A Cornered Rat (4)

The red horse snorted with a rumbling whuff. It was the very steed that had aided in dealing with the demonic cultivator they’d faced on Mount Kunlun. Sliding from Yegyeol’s hand, Baembaem slithered out and rubbed its face along the horse’s muzzle before climbing atop Red Thunder’s head.

Ordinary horses spook at snakes, but being a spirit-beast, Red Thunder remained calm.

Do kindred spirit-beasts understand one another?

“It has been a while, Young Master Mun.”

A burly man at Red Thunder’s side bowed with precise courtesy.

“It’s been a while,” Yegyeol replied warmly to Hongyeo as well.

Behind him, Samrang traded a glance of greeting with the man. Jinyoung had said it: after escorting Young Master Mun to Mount Kunlun, Hongyeo had all but foretold his swift return.

A beast in human form, truly.

“Didn’t expect to meet Hongyeo here,” Yegyeol said.

“My lord’s errand just concluded, and I was crossing the Yangtze,” Hongyeo answered. “I was ordered to escort you to Qinghai without delay, as you have been away too long.”

“Ah,” Yegyeol chuckled awkwardly. “So that’s the arrangement?”

“I don’t know the guild’s affairs that well yet, so the stay ran long,” he added. “Has Senior Brother been worried?”

“In five days’ time, ask him yourself,” Hongyeo said, as square as his nature.

Five days to see Senior Brother—Yegyeol’s mood rose at once, and he let the stiffness pass.

“Come to think of it, there are goods that must go to Sichuan.”

“The cargo is already loaded.”

“Already?”

“The Jiaolong King brought it to us and left a message. Will you hear it?”

“Go on.”

“She asked when the ‘snake hunt’ will be.”

Reflexively, Yegyeol glanced at Baembaem perched on Red Thunder’s head. He knew the snake in question wasn’t this one, but a man with a spirit-companion startles despite himself.

“It will crawl out on its own,” he said.

Tang Seoak had cemented his standing in the clan even to the point of betraying Yeon Sosho, once his lover. If every path upward closed to such a man, what would he do next? The answer was easy.

Believing some due reward stolen, he would seek to earn a new merit.

Yegyeol smiled brightly.

His original plan had been simple. Use the Green Forest bandits who ruined Tang Seoak’s works and the Jiaolong Ship to bait Tang into the deep river. Once inside, Jiaolong divers would hole the hulls and deliver Tang Seoak alive into the Jiaolong King’s hands.

The “Black Ghost” tip had introduced a slight change: there was a traitor inside the River Alliance.

They could have removed Golden Dragon early, but Yegyeol had stayed Yeon Sosho’s hand. Properly used, Tang Seoak’s temperament could lure him into a subtler trap.

A man who betrays once could do it twice, thrice.

The base design remained: dangle Green Forest and Jiaolong as bait to draw Sichuan Tang. The only additions were Golden Dragon—and Namgung.

Calling Golden Dragon carried its own risks. But if Namgung appeared before Tang could even coordinate with Golden Dragon, then Tang Seoak would betray Golden Dragon.

The orthodox could not risk dirtying their hands in public view.

In secret, one might clasp pirates’ hands, but with a fellow Great House watching, no one would admit it openly.

To catch the Jiaolong Ship, Tang Seoak had used Golden Dragon’s oarsmen; once he turned on Golden Dragon, he’d kill those oarsmen, and then—with a holed hull—could neither advance nor retreat. Thus, even if he wished to pull away, he would be forced aboard the Golden Dragon Ship.

And if the Golden Dragon chief saw a traitor, he would not sit idle—then Namgung would lay suspicions upon Tang Seoak. At least Namgung Un would keep the man under watch—if he possessed even half the insight of Haryang in his prime.

Would Sichuan Tang keep in weight a man whom Namgung suspected? Unless Tang Seoak achieved sterling merit, only slipping remained. With power dearer than life, he would go hunting the Jiaolong King, exploiting even the love and hate of a past bond.

“I see,” Hongyeo murmured—quiet praise from a man not prone to great displays of feeling, and all the more sincere for it.

“I’ll deliver your words exactly.”

“Please look after me on the road,” Yegyeol said.

He stroked Red Thunder’s head, then offered his hand to Baembaem—but the golden snake only touched a damp nose to his fingertip and slid back, keen to catch up with its old friend.

“Red Thunder runs like the wind—hold tight,” Yegyeol said, clambering up with Samrang. Unconsciously, he began to hum. This deal had been, on balance, a solid success.

— — —

“Senior Brother!”

Leaping from the carriage, Yegyeol all but flew into Je Haryang’s arms.

“Careful—mind you don’t trip,” came the gentle chiding, as Yegyeol threw himself into the embrace with a guileless grin.

“It feels like ages since I’ve seen you…” he lied blithely, though he had met the Black Ghost in Sichuan, and again upon returning from the jujube-wood trials at the Yangtze.

“Since it’s been so long, shall we dine together tonight?”

“Yes.”

“We’ll withdraw,” Hongyeo and Samrang said, edging away. With a tactful retreat left behind them, Yegyeol strolled beside Haryang through the manor, stealing glance after glance at his face.

Partly because Senior Brother was beautiful, and partly because the Black Ghost’s face overlapped in memory, drawing his eyes back. The man before him was straight-cut, cool, a handsome blade; the Black Ghost was a bruiser—the look of a man who had rolled through the dregs of the unorthodox.

Haryang’s voice was smooth, low, enthralling; the Black Ghost’s was harsh and hoarse, like steel scraping stone. The latter called to mind a fairy-tale beast under a wicked spell.

Who had cursed him?

“You’ll pierce my face, staring like that,” Haryang said.

“Oh? That sounds dire,” Yegyeol answered seriously. “What if you wrapped just your face in protective qi?”

“Gyeol,” Haryang said, a smile in the rebuke. “You do say amusing things.”

“But I want to keep looking, and you say your face will get holes. We must find a solution.”

“Cheeky imp,” he laughed, reaching to ruffle Yegyeol’s hair.

“I didn’t know you were so impish,” he teased.

“And I’ve always known you were kind,” Yegyeol volleyed, pressing his advantage—but Haryang only smoothed his hair once more, fond as if to a puppy.

Inside, dinner waited already. Yegyeol had expected as much, but seeing a table steaming with freshly made dishes still surprised him. He swallowed the thought—surely they hadn’t kept remaking food until he arrived—and sat opposite Haryang, chattering as he lifted his chopsticks.

He spoke of Tang Seoak; of the Jiaolong King.

“So—you met Yeon Sosho at last,” Haryang said, sliding a favorite duck dish closer, wearing an elusive expression.

“A bond, of sorts,” Yegyeol said.

“I’m glad you don’t misunderstand this Senior Brother.”

“Wherever, whatever you are doing—you are my only Senior Brother,” Yegyeol said, laying it on to warm the room.

But Haryang was never one to be lulled.

“Still—mind yourself, and avoid peril where you can. Had the one you met not been the Jiaolong King, but some truly ruthless sort, you might never have returned.”

Yegyeol wiggled his fingers.

“I’ll heed your care, always.”

Haryang took his disciple’s hand, stroking it lightly, then pushed more dishes—braised pork belly, five-spice meats—toward him. Though not a big eater, Yegyeol finished everything Haryang chose.

Seeking a shift in mood, he changed the subject.

“Ah—come to think—on this trip I met a prodigy named Namgung Un.”

“Namgung Un?” Haryang echoed, curious in a calm, mannerly way—more matching the conversation than burning to know.

“Samrang says he’s foremost among today’s prodigies.”

“I’ve heard the name—young dragon of the Azure Namgung, yes?”

Yegyeol nodded brightly.

“The more I watched him, the more he reminded me of you.”

Haryang’s eyes widened a touch.

“Me?”

“Not merely the renown of besting his peers. He is a knight-errant.”

“A knight-errant…”

“The kind who won’t abide injustice; who does right even if it carves his own flesh.”

Yegyeol recalled the siege on the Jiaolong Ship.

“He fought the Jiaolong King until he was a wreck; then, for the civilians’ safety, offered himself as hostage. It’s been a while since I’ve seen a martial artist practice chivalry so plainly—it left a mark.”

“You gild this Senior Brother’s face too much,” Haryang said modestly.

A thought struck, and Yegyeol added, half-teasing, “And now that I think on it—he’s also a young, splendidly handsome man.”

“A ‘handsome man,’ you say,” Haryang waved it off, reaction small; not embarrassed, but clearly keen to move past it.

But truth could not be palmed away like the sky.

“It’s true,” Yegyeol said. “I’ve never seen a man as handsome as you.”

It wasn’t a lie uttered to flatter a guide. Born anew in twenty-first-century Korea, he’d seen all manner of beauties—and felt little. Even at the Center, surrounded by espers whose power made them seem lovely, his heart had not stirred. Across both lives, only Je Haryang had seized his gaze.

“And so I realized something,” he said. Were they closer, his hand might have reached to touch that face.

“What?” Haryang asked.

“That I could recognize you, anytime, anywhere,” Yegyeol smiled.

For the sake of the gentleman who had been kind even to a pickpocket boy in Hangzhou, he had crossed the Central Plains to Qinghai. Later, when Haryang traded silk for white cotton and became a Kunlun disciple, Yegyeol had found him at once.

“I didn’t know my disciple had such a silver tongue.”

“There is more you don’t know about me than you do,” Yegyeol said lightly.

Let’s see. He truly had died in the Kunlun Massacre, then was born far in the future in Korea as an awakened esper. Baembaem was a beloved companion—but it was he who called the lightning. He was, furthermore, constantly plotting to steal Senior Brother’s purity; the ultimate goal was to commit an unprecedented “knight-slaying” with Haryang’s consent.

“You are the Central Plains’ finest prodigy in name and truth—but I was just a Kunlun disciple,” he said aloud.

Above all, he had known Je Haryang even before Kunlun: in Hangzhou’s streets, where the gentleman’s kindness had saved him.

“Well,” Haryang murmured after a beat, “whatever I was in those days you remember—many years have passed.”

Years. A decade changes rivers and mountains; he had been gone twice that since rebirth. It would be stranger if little had changed.

“Perhaps, Gyeol, I know my disciple better than you know me,” he added—words that might have felt too pointed, softened by his tone.

“You always give me confidence,” Yegyeol said.

“I only speak the truth,” he replied.

The quiet voice seemed to thrum not in his ears but in his chest.

“You are truly precious to me,” Haryang said. “Never forget that.”

Yegyeol bowed his head, words gone. Their bond was unchanged, his hopes still far from realized—yet emotion swelled.

“Raise your head,” Haryang coaxed.

“So… embarrassing,” Yegyeol whispered, voice disappearing. How did one smile, or cry, or frown—he could not recall. A few sentences, and his composure had fled.

“We have been apart long enough. Show me, now, the face I have missed,” Haryang said.

A faint sound escaped Yegyeol. Truly, Senior Brother had changed—perhaps a lot.

“I can’t resist you,” he breathed, and slowly raised his head.

His eyes were crumpled, on the verge of tears; his lips bore a smile too bright to hide. The odd pairing made him seem like a child wanting to run and unable.

Crushed by ungovernable feeling, Yegyeol was defenseless.

Haryang’s hand came down on his short, unchanged brown hair.

“Good boy.”

— — —