TSBIRBV Ch 96

Chapter 96 Heaven above, Suzhou–Hangzhou below (8)

“Crooked Ear?”

Yegyeol doubted his eyes. Understandably so—this man looked so easy and well‑fed that it was hard to believe he was the scrawny heterodox drifter Yegyeol remembered. He seemed the sort who might be called “sir” anywhere he went, a mien that felt utterly unfamiliar.

It wasn’t only the features that gave him away. Portrait composites in the Central Plains aren’t as precise as photographs, but, like a montage, they capture key traits: this merchant lacked his right ear, and on the lobe of the remaining left ear was a large fortune mole.

“All my luck came from this ear, I tell you. The ear without the fortune mole got cut off and the one with it stayed—that proves heaven’s luck favors me.”

The swaggering voice rose vividly in memory. Yegyeol remembered because that was the threat he always heard on days he failed at begging.

“Shall I cut one of your ears, too? Then passersby will give coin out of pity. Maybe you’ll get lucky like me.”

At Crooked Ear’s threats, tapping their ear rims with a blade and smirking, the children burst into tears. Some were actually nicked by the edge, then burned with fever from those wounds and died.

Even then, neither Crooked Ear nor Pit Viper felt grief or regret. They only clicked their tongues that there was one less brat to send out panhandling and harried the rest.

“Heaven’s luck, my foot—though I guess there was something to it.”

In a Central Plains with a filthy low survival rate, the fact that a heterodox bottom‑feeder had lived to play merchant was astonishing.

He had been ace at counting money, sure—but since when did counting alone get a merchant this far?

“Gyeol?”

Haryang watched quietly as Yegyeol’s gaze cooled, then called softly. Tearing his eyes from the facial composite, Yegyeol said to Haryang,

“This merchant—I think I know him.”

Then, with conviction,

“No, I do know him.”

Haryang read something in his disciple’s eyes—a heat even stronger than when he’d spoken of the worker Old Huang.

Couple the distinctive traits in the composite with the name that fell from Yegyeol’s lips, and it was not hard to grasp who this man was to his disciple.

“…Crooked Ear.”

At the appearance of the villain Yegyeol referenced in the hallucinations and phantoms that had long dogged him, a smooth curve touched Haryang’s mouth.

As Jinyeong had once said, there was no proof the disciple before him was truly “real.” But Haryang cared nothing for proofs of truth.

Whether this was a monster completed by demonic secrets skipping across decades, or a spy crafted by the Demonic Six Houses or the orthodox to pry into Haryang’s private matters, or even the very disciple of twenty years past the heavens took pity on Haryang to return—what did it matter?

If, and only if, this alone—this Yegyeol before him—was the manifestation of his own frenzy.

“Do you wish to offer incense to him, too?”

Yegyeol rolled his eyes round and round. Having lived twenty years outside Central Plains sensibilities, he had no feel for how frank to be.

“More than that, I’d like to spit on his memorial tablet.”

This much should be fine, right?

He left out “I’ll just kill him myself,” and didn’t say he wanted “an unfortunate accident” to do it.

In the Central Plains, where two or three lives fly lightly when old grudges tangle, this was safely mild anger.

“It will surely be as you wish.”

Haryang’s hand gently cupped Yegyeol’s cheek.

Eyes closed in that warmth and cheek resting quietly against it, Yegyeol praised himself.

“Persuasion successful?”

It was not.

Unlike Yegyeol, who planned to muddle things and return to Cheonghae for another day, Haryang was a man who strikes the iron while it’s hot.

On his disciple’s word, Haryang meekly returned to the manor that day. After telling Yegyeol to turn in early, he spoke with the steward; then, at breakfast the next morning, he declared to Yegyeol,

“Is today’s timing all right?”

“Huh? Of course.”

Though he’d returned to something like the hometown of a past life, there was no one to meet. Even if there were, how could he refuse when his senior brother asked if he had time?

“A man named Zhang Qi says he can meet tomorrow. Since he’s in Hangzhou just now, it’s convenient.”

“Tomorrow?”

Zhang Qi was Crooked Ear’s name. Yegyeol only learned he had a given name now. Lacking the skill to have earned a martial name, he’d always only been called “Crooked Ear.”

“But… if the appointment is for tomorrow, why ask if today’s time is all right?”

Finding it odd, Yegyeol chose not to point out Je Haryang’s “slip” and took up another topic.

“Even if you put in a request yesterday, it’s surprising to be able to meet so fast.”

“Cheonghae Trading Company is skewed to the west of the Central Plains, isn’t it? When buying goods from the east, they often seek a broker—so when he said he could meet even today, I said we should.”

And Crooked Ear would just come running at that?

Even thinking Cheonghae’s name carried weight, Yegyeol was surprised by the scale at which Haryang kicked off matters.

“Straight‑through is a hallmark of a chivalrous man, after all…”

The Kunlun Cloud‑Dragon who never backed down before injustice still had that bent twenty years on.

“All right.”

Yegyeol could only stand by and watch his senior brother.

He’d crossed to the Central Plains before even getting a driver’s license; he was in no condition to drive a car with no brakes and only an accelerator.

Truth be told, he looked very happy.

Seeing his guide so delighted lifted Yegyeol’s mood too. Wanting to help in some way, he asked carefully,

“Is there something I should do?”

“Of course.”

Haryang’s expression grew quite serious.

“It’s something that can only be done by you. But… are you truly all right with it?”

Suddenly moved, Yegyeol thumped his chest and vowed,

“Leave it to me.”

Seeming touched, Haryang took Yegyeol’s hand. Feeling the warmth in their joined hands, Yegyeol’s chest swelled.

“Truly reassuring.”

And then… the guileless esper was swindled.

“Ha…”

Yegyeol, having washed his face dry, heard Haryang’s voice behind him.

“Gyeol?”

With a worried face, he asked,

“It’s hard after all, isn’t it? This elder brother has put too much on you…”

“No—no!”

Waving both hands, Yegyeol grabbed for the fabric sliding down. Since Zhang Qi would be met tomorrow, Haryang insisted that he must have a new set made to look the part of a proper trading lord.

“It’s something only you can do.”

“Are you truly all right with it?”

Add to that the serious face, and Yegyeol had toppled over; he couldn’t pull back. He had an esper’s pride; how could he promise a guide, then go back on his word in under five minutes?

The moment Yegyeol decided, merchants who seemed to have been waiting arrived and laid out bolts of cloth. Je Haryang inspected them with care; if he found even a single yard stained by color transfer, he sent that merchant away at once.

He would select the fabric himself and then have it cut.

“Feels like this happened once before,” Yegyeol thought.

Before him was a mirror—cloudy by Korean standards, but rare in size for the age.

For a senior brother who operated at the westernmost edge of the Central Plains, it was surprising that such a piece was prepared in a place he didn’t frequent like Hangzhou.

His shoulders were draped near to a rainbow‑jacket with swatches of every color, and on the other side, a craftsman clung, taking his measurements.

Submitting himself as ordered, Yegyeol hastily erased his woeful face when Haryang turned.

“Perhaps because your hair is light, bright cloth really suits you.”

Lifting a new bolt, Haryang murmured to himself,

“Men’s fabrics tend to be dark—what a pity. Now this pleases me.”

“We bought plenty yesterday—why have another set made?”

There were even some in the bright tones Haryang wanted; Yegyeol felt wronged.

“Wouldn’t it look strange if the owner of a leading western trading company wore already‑made clothes?”

Strange?

The man Yegyeol knew was Crooked Ear, not Zhang Qi; hence he had grave doubts about the latter’s taste and eye.

“Whatever he was before, now that he’s targeting Hangzhou’s dyeing workshops, he should at least know what cloth is used for which garments. He must know the difference between silk that grandees buy and the cloth commoners cut from—so he can decide what to sell to whom.”

Even as he said it, Je Haryang stepped close and held scarlet silk to Yegyeol’s body. Even in his breath, so near, there was the scent of winter.

Under that careful gaze, Yegyeol unconsciously held his breath.

By now, having his senior brother this close ought to be familiar; yet each time, he tensed like the first. Even though he had shared a bed with this man. No—perhaps he was more conscious precisely because he knew how thoroughly Je Haryang understood him.

“Guiding is sufficient…”

He had slept with the Black Ghost, and in Hangzhou had been with Haryang throughout. Other than feeding Baembaem power like feeding a pet, there hadn’t been even a crackle of static—guiding was beyond plentiful.

But perhaps a guide could only soothe the body’s heat; the flames in his head simply would not subside.

“A trap must be set with care, mustn’t it?”

After careful inspection, Haryang let his hand fall and smiled.

“That way, at the final moment, it won’t feel unfair to be taken in.”

In the smile’s wake lingered a chilly aftertaste.

“True.”

For some reason, tension drained cleanly from Yegyeol as he murmured,

“Truly.”