TSBIRBV Ch 63

Chapter 63 The Bride Lies Sleepless (1)

“A stimulant?”

It defied ordinary sense.

“Yes, stimulants are sometimes paired with poison to falsify symptoms—but not like this,” Samrang said. “Here, whoever attempted the poisoning combined multiple killing venoms designed to ensure death while prolonging suffering, not to bring swift collapse. Why would they add a stimulant that could alter the poisons’ effects?”

Samrang’s family, while not on the level of Sichuan Tang, held deep lore on toxins.

Compounding poisons was trickier than cookery. Layering deadly venom upon deadly venom did not always yield a harsher result; even a mild toxin could transform entirely by combination.

Poison, like architecture, lived and died on design. It demanded delicacy—and expense. Mixing in a stimulant alongside such rare venoms violated common practice.

“They dosed the stimulant up to lethal range,” Haryang said. “Most, once they realize there’s been poisoning, focus only on antidotes—no one thinks to look for a stimulant.”

“How vile,” Samrang breathed. The method exploited a blind spot in human thinking.

“Heat left unresolved melts the viscera,” Haryang continued. “If it reaches the head, it drives a man mad. Leave it further, the heart stops.”

“Cruel,” she said. One relaxes, believing the antidote has done its work—then the patient dies.

“And because detox drives fever of its own,” he added, “the stimulant’s heat hides inside it perfectly.”

Efficient—to the point of being monstrous.

“If they used a stimulant at lethal dose,” Samrang said, “shouldn’t… arousal present?”

“How would a man wracked by pain so severe he cannot lift a finger ‘perform’? He can only suffer,” Haryang replied.

“To press the fever down, we’ll need a cold-natured remedy—yin-bearing, or frost-aspect.”

“Black Spot’s inventory lists Hundred-Year Ice Crystal,” Haryang said.

“Too pure, too strong,” Samrang objected. “Young Master Mun’s body won’t withstand it. Better to use ‘counter-poison’—han-dok. I’ll fetch a practitioner.”

“It must be a trained martial artist,” Haryang said. “Someone who can guide qi and blood.”

Qi-pulling and blood-guiding demanded vast inner strength, leaving the healer wholly exposed while driving inner force through another’s meridians.

“I’ll find one,” Samrang said. Her gaze flicked to Haryang.

Their lord sat by the bed, looking down at his disciple. Sweat-plastered strands clung to the pallid face nestled in the blood-red bridal robes.

The tableau begged pity—but Haryang’s expression remained neutral.

To Samrang, that was somehow more familiar.

“…There’s no time,” he murmured, almost to himself. Without turning his head, he gave his order: “Forget the practitioner. Bring the counter-poison.”

“Then… who will treat him?” she asked.

Haryang only brushed the damp hair from Yegyeol’s cheek and tucked it behind his ear. He did not answer.

But Samrang had understood. She lowered her eyes and near-fled the room. As he had said—time was against them.

— — —

“A stimulant…”

“Bring… a practitioner…”

“No time…”

Yegyeol floundered between fever and sleep. Even knowing he wasn’t in his right mind, they kept up the masquerade—Black Spot’s branch head and a client, nothing more.

Snatches of Samrang and the Black Ghost’s words drifted past like glimpses of a dream.

Even so, he gathered the shape of events. Not only poison but a stimulant flowed in him; Samrang meant to fetch aid. Senior Brother—pressed by time—had urged her on.

I should say no… he thought.

But his body sagged like soaked cotton, ignoring the will of its owner. Who to blame? It was the esper’s instinct—to drop the shutters and enter recovery the moment a guide arrived.

“Bear it a little longer,” Haryang’s voice came, clearer now, as if a curtain had been drawn aside. Without prompting, just as once asked long ago, he held Yegyeol’s hand—firm, steady.

Guiding flowed through that touch. If he could just endure a little more, only a little, his condition would ease.

The organs are regenerating—so it’s taking longer, he thought, eyes shut, observing himself—until a door’s opening made him flinch. Haryang released his hand and stood. Anxiety surged.

Samrang? he wondered.

He forced his eyes open, trying to parse the gray fog of his vision. Before he could, a black shadow fell across him. Instinct took over—his fingers clenched Haryang’s robe, holding tight.

If I keep still, I’ll recover; better to knock me out, he thought absurdly.

But it wasn’t Samrang—nor the night-ally she might have found—who loomed.

“Hand it here—and leave,” Haryang said.

The Black Ghost, holding a white ivory jar, looked down at him. No emotion could be read on the unruffled face. He set the jar at the head of the bed, then reached for Yegyeol’s waist-tie and undid it.

Silk—soft as when Samrang had fussed with his finery—slid over his eyes, blinding him.

“Mm…”

Even with eyes open, he saw only red-tinged dark. He tried to rise, confused—but a firm, impeccably polite hand pressed his shoulder, laying him back.

A clink. Haryang leaned over him again.

So he brought medicine first, not a healer, Yegyeol thought, trembling at not knowing—until a shallow bowl touched his lips. He sputtered, unable to swallow properly.

Another touch—this time, skin.

Guiding—

With something like ice water, guiding flooded him—denser than ever. There was no mistaking it: Haryang’s own mouth.

A glacier plunged into the molten lake inside him. A faint sting rode the chill—like poison, but different.

Poison? he thought, dazed.

He had always imagined that if either of them committed “knight-slaying,” it would be himself. That Senior Brother—no matter the need—would initiate a kiss?

Don’t get ahead of yourself. This is rescue—like mouth-to-mouth. Don’t be an idiot, he told himself, clamping his eyes shut. Guiding isn’t sharing hearts.

But shock over a kiss was the least of it.

“I will render service,” Haryang said. The voice was harsh, metallic—yet the sensation that followed sent a shiver through him as his robe parted.

Soft hands—contrary to that rough timbre—traced his chest, cool against his fevered skin, circling a taut nipple with a press and pinch.

A guide’s practiced touch; a naive esper froze, not knowing how to respond. Reading the disarray that outpaced joy, Haryang’s hand moved lower.

If gentleness repelled, give something far stronger than half-measure pleasure.

“Nh,” Yegyeol gasped.

A hand slid beneath his skirts and took his sex in its grip. He blinked wide—but saw nothing.

Damn blindfold.

“Relax and yield. It will help,” Haryang said.

It already helped.

He ached to press closer, to be touched more—but his hands shook uselessly, strength fled.

Poison that melted his insides hadn’t fogged his thoughts—but Haryang’s purposeful touch did, with effortless ease.

He had heard that meeting a guide felt good. No one had told him it would be this stark, this invasive—sensation arrowing through flesh and nerve.

His whole body cried to be touched more. He should have known desire could hurt like this.

“Ah…”

Haryang’s hand slowly stroked along him. Gentle—careful—yet the provocation made his mouth raw with bitten-back sounds. The blindfold—he didn’t know why Haryang had covered his eyes—felt like a mercy.

The thumb teased the glans; the palm drew down the shaft—relentless. Somehow, Haryang found every spot that made him shudder. Each helpless sound, each involuntary arch, refined the touch further—until his vision reeled behind the redness.

“You needn’t hold back,” came the lower murmur.

Yegyeol shook his head. Embarrassment and excess—he wanted to flee, but could not form the words to stop.

He could not squander this impossible chance. Teeth grit, he branded every instant into memory.

Harsh, hungry wanting for his guide pegged his spirit to the present.

“Huuh… hah…”

Each breath ran hotter. Haryang’s hand worked him—cupping, rubbing, tugging.

Purposeful handling brought raw, unadorned pleasure. He had no mind left, like riding a runaway coaster.

Without meaning to, he thrust into the palm—like a rutting cur, shame be damned.

“Ah!”

A sound broke loose—half-cry. Heat flared; he spilled.

Haryang wiped the milky splash from red silk, chest, even his own face, unruffled. In the very midst of act, his breath stayed steady—cool.

No trace of arousal touched his features—only concern.

All he had done was, in the barest sense, service.

“Senior Brother…”

— — —

Footnotes:

• Counter-poison (han-dok) — A poison administered therapeutically in measured dose to suppress or balance another poison’s effects; risky but effective, especially paired with qi-guiding. 
• Hundred-Year Ice Crystal — A legendary yin-cold substance reputed to drop inner heat violently; too “pure” for fragile states, it can shock meridians and organs.