TSBIRBV Ch 93

Chapter 93 Heaven above, Suzhou–Hangzhou below (5)

“I pulled an all-nighter…”

With hollow eyes, Yegyeol sat up and splashed his face with a dry wash.

Sleep had been attempted. But whenever his eyes began to close, his senior brother’s words kept circling at his ear.

Shuffling to his feet, Yegyeol stroked Baembaem’s head as it played on a small bonsai. The tingling feel of the horn beneath his fingertips took the edge off his fatigue.

Baembaem’s tail curled around his pinky and rubbed lightly against him.

“At least you seem to have rested well.”

A trickle of golden current slid from Yegyeol’s fingertips into Baembaem.

It ate human food too, but it clearly looked fullest when he shared his power, so he passed some along whenever he could. Truthfully, there was also curiosity about how those sharply sprouted, cat‑fang‑like horns might change.

As Yegyeol enjoyed Baembaem’s affection, he heard footsteps coming down the corridor from the far end. Drawing his power back, he flung the door wide and called out,

“Senior brother!”

The one standing at the door was not Je Haryang, but the steward introduced the day before.

Naturally, Yegyeol had done it knowing it was not his senior brother. It was to emphasize anew that a disciple who could no longer use martial arts could not distinguish presences.

“Best to act weak in advance, habitually.”

“Have you risen?”

Bowing, the steward spoke, seeming a bit flustered at Yegyeol’s form of address.

“Ah. It’s you.”

Clicking his tongue with feigned regret, Yegyeol shot his question at once.

“Where is senior brother—my lord?”

The steward, hands folded respectfully, answered,

“He stepped out for a short while.”

“Already?”

It was barely morning. Which meant Je Haryang had left the manor at dawn, or earlier.

“I was told you would wake around this time, so breakfast has been prepared.”

“It’s fine.”

Yegyeol declined flatly. Without his senior brother, he felt no desire to sit down for a meal.

“Might as well eat some hardtack that tastes like crayons.”

Thinking of the martial world’s complete nutrition pill, he stroked Baembaem’s head.

“Do you know when senior brother will return?”

“No special word was left with me.”

Wearing a gentle smile, the middle‑aged man added,

“Since it is an acquaintance he has not seen in some time, one expects they will have much to talk over.”

With a soft hum, Yegyeol tilted his head.

“Well then—since it’s like this anyway, shall I slip out and buy clothes while senior brother’s away?”

They had planned to shop for clothes yesterday, but, too flustered, he had used travel weariness as an excuse to retreat early to his room.

Now that senior brother had stepped out, if he bought only what he needed, he might save senior brother’s purse.

“And then I’ll insist on going along when senior brother shops.”

With that, Yegyeol came to an ambitious conclusion.

“I’ll step out a moment; if senior brother returns, please tell him I went down to the market.”

“I will prepare an escort.”

He had found it odd that Samrang hadn’t been brought along; in the end, it seemed senior brother had prepared escorts even here.

Yegyeol nodded readily.

“I’ll wait.”

At last setting out for Hangzhou’s market streets, Yegyeol went with a long tail.

When Samrang was there, she alone sufficed; now there were fully four escorts at his back.

Had he not complained sharply that enough was enough, he might have ended up traveling with a servant and a horse as well.

“Where are the clothing shops here?”

“This way.”

The man who seemed the leader among the bodyguards took point and led the way. Following him, Yegyeol glanced around.

Hangzhou was Hangzhou, but the places he had lived were busy streets and the back alleys; the residential quarter of the wealthy felt wholly unfamiliar. So did the relatively clean and broad streets, and the attire of those they passed.

“From here, I know it.”

As the road widened sharply, Yegyeol realized the surroundings looked familiar. It was still the outskirts, but now close to streets where he had usually moved.

“The clothing shop was this way.”

Without hesitation, Yegyeol went on.

“Welcome.”

Welcomed by the shopkeeper, he entered and, without wavering, chose several outfits.

One white with blue embroidery to call back Kunlun days; one in yellow to look bright in senior brother’s eyes; and one in dark blue for when he needed to look sober.

“The colors are lovely.”

Inspecting the garments carefully, Yegyeol spoke; the shopkeeper answered with a smile,

“They are made from cloth dyed here in Hangzhou. The workshops gather only artisans, so the quality of dyeing is good, with no blotches.”

“I’ve heard Hangzhou’s dyeing workshops are famous.”

With a few well‑placed responses, even where they sourced the cloth came tumbling out. Among the names was a dyeing workshop familiar to his ear.

“Perhaps I’ll visit later.”

Feeling it was enough and moving to pay, he heard a voice behind him.

“The one beside it would suit you better.”

“Senior brother?”

Perfect crime—failed.

Unable to suppress his chagrin, Yegyeol turned his head. Je Haryang stood there.

The street was crowded, and several escorts were around him; he had deliberately muted his senses, and so he had not noticed someone approaching.

“I nearly came too late.”

Though he spoke as if embarrassed, he smiled playfully, perhaps pleased to have found Yegyeol just as he tried to slip off to shop secretly. Yegyeol’s gaze was caught by that smile.

Perhaps from hurrying, or perhaps from a teasing wind, Haryang’s hair was naturally tousled.

His attire, too, was not as plain as usual—subtly splendid, like the young lord from Hangzhou they had met long ago.

“Mm. This junior does not understand what senior brother is saying.”

Trying to wriggle out of it, Yegyeol made a sly attempt; Je Haryang snorted a laugh.

“Really?”

He felt both chagrin and fond exasperation that Yegyeol had slipped out alone the moment he briefly stepped away—such a transparent heart.

“This color suits you. And this, too, looks good.”

Silks of various hues gathered in Haryang’s hands. He held a richly embroidered long robe up to Yegyeol’s face and, satisfied, hung it over his arm.

“S‑senior.”

Circling him, Yegyeol tried to take one—any one—away, but Haryang neatly evaded his disciple’s hands.

“The dragon embroidered here looks like Baembaem; let’s buy this one too.”

Beyond Haryang’s shoulder, the shopkeeper’s mouth gaped like a basin. The gold thread made it tearfully expensive.

“I—it’s fine, senior brother!”

Across a shop too narrow for two men to weave through, a perilous, almost‑caught chase played out.

“This color suits you, so we should get a set.”

“That’s the same silk as the one I chose earlier!”

How could he use the same excuse twice?

Yegyeol could not permit it.

“But it suits you so well…”

His senior brother’s eyes softened with a plaintive droop.

A guide’s unexpected beauty‑ploy rendered the strengthless, unprincipled esper weak.

“Ah—fine, fine, just that one more, and then let’s pay.”

Almost with a whimper, Yegyeol pleaded; Je Haryang, however, heard only what he wished to hear.

“I’m glad you like it as well.”

Suddenly, a reasonable suspicion flashed through the head of the foot‑stamping Yegyeol as he trailed Haryang.

“No matter how one thinks of it… he’s pretending to get caught, then keeping a perfect distance, isn’t he?”

Otherwise, how could an esper’s reflexes fail to catch up?

How could a martial artist pull such a trick on a commoner who hadn’t learned even a shred of martial arts?

“Unfair. Foul.”

But no matter how cheaply Haryang played it, there was nothing particular Yegyeol could do. Even if he flipped the table rather than merely playing foul, all he could do was let go and watch, pleased.

In the end, Yegyeol finished his martial‑world shopping wrapped in garments three or four times beyond his original intent.

“This should suffice for our stay in Hangzhou.”

“No matter how one thinks about it, this was a penalty for impudence, wasn’t it?”

At his worn and weary accusation, Haryang only smiled slyly.

Without a word, with a deep and gentle gaze that struck home, he sapped even Yegyeol’s will to press the point.

“The steward says you skipped breakfast. I know a place nearby that does five‑spice pork well; let’s go there.”

So it was a penalty.

Yegyeol tipped his head back and glanced at the sky. Meanwhile, Haryang, brisk as ever, ordered two escorts to carry the newly bought clothes back to the manor.

Feeling the guilt of a missed breakfast, Yegyeol looked at Haryang and suddenly remembered something.

“Just a moment.”

Hurrying back into the shop, he bought something and then patted the chair out front.

“Sit here.”

Haryang obediently moved to the worn chair. There was a brief rustle behind him. Curious what he was doing, he glanced back and saw Yegyeol with a silk ribbon in his mouth.

“Mm?”

Unable to speak, eyes rounded, Yegyeol jerked his chin forward. Je Haryang turned his head as told.

First, Yegyeol combed the tousled hair with his fingers, sweeping it into order.

Though the street was bustling and noisy, oddly, the whisper of hair slipping through fingers lingered at his ear.

Feeling an inexplicable calm, Haryang shut his eyes quietly.

“Good thing there isn’t a comb.”

Yegyeol quietly marveled at the feel of the hair between his fingers. Such lush, long hair.

Thinking that, in this Central Plains without hair dryers, his senior brother must spend a whole day drying his hair each time he washed it, a snicker almost escaped.

“Of course, with something like yang‑qi circulation, it would dry at once.”

Steadying his lips, twitching so as not to drop the silk ribbon, Yegyeol plied what craft he had and tied Je Haryang’s hair.

“There.”