Camellia 159

Seolyeong fell briefly silent, sifting through the fragments of memory still left in his mind. Now that he thought about it, he vaguely recalled hearing something about the Sect Leader’s son. It had been when the Hanhoe delegation visited Yeonhu Mountain.

But that child… hmm, there had been some kind of significant secret involved, he was sure of it, but back then he had been wholly uninterested in Sahyeol Amje, so none of it had stuck.

As Seolyeong’s features twitched with tension, Sa Yeoho slipped in with a tactful tone.

“I, Sa Yeoho, sincerely hope the brilliant young master will treat you with the respect you deserve, Gyo-mo-nim… but well. Who among humans can ever truly know what lies ahead?”

“Why would I be a human?”

Seolyeong shot back in a flat voice.

There had been a time when he desperately wished to become human. He’d burned with determination, trying to overcome the limitations of being born without eyes like theirs, trying to become a righteous martial artist.

But Seolyeong no longer felt any lack in his birth.

“I’m not human, so I know exactly what lies ahead for me, you punk. If you really want to offer advice for my life, you might as well shove your neck into my jaws right now. That way, as a blood fiend, I might seriously consider your counsel.”

He didn’t mind not being treated as human. He only wanted to close his eyes at Sahyeol Amje’s side. He was so angry that he unleashed his qi, Sa Yeoho sighed quietly, resigned. He figured it was about time to remove himself from the scene and was just beginning to glance sideways toward Cheonsin.

“…My lord?”

Sahyeol Amje was already gone.

He had slipped away so quickly and so quietly that even Seolyeong, now more attuned than ever, had failed to notice. Outraged, Seolyeong exploded with a snarl.

“That bastard’s only good for running!”

Though he knew Seolyeong was openly slandering his own lord, Sa Yeoho pretended not to hear. Considering the Sect Leader had abandoned the bride and run off alone, this much disrespect was surely forgivable.

Having once again been left behind by his husband, Seolyeong attempted several times after that to engage him in a genuine marital conversation, but gained little in return. Just as his loneliness was beginning to deepen in the wake of Sahyeol Amje’s prolonged absence, the Sect Leader’s only son entered Yurigung, and with a mouth as foul as his father’s, proceeded to get under Seolyeong’s skin.

Yang Seogyeong, after paying formal respects to the lord at Akbindang, had come straight to see the infamous Mad Bride. Yeoso had tried to stop him, but unless it was a direct order from Sahyeol Amje, Seogyeong rarely listened to anyone else. The moment he came face to face with his stepmother, he challenged him to a duel.

“Even if Father shamelessly permitted your presence, righteous men must still act as righteous men. If you truly mean no harm to our Cheonma Divine Sect, then I, a sect member, will determine it through combat. I have no intention of serving a brazen hypocrite as my Gyo-mo.”

Seolyeong gave the boy a look of pure annoyance. He wasn’t just prickly, he was outright rude. It was obvious at a glance that this brat wasn’t even on the level to face him. Even someone like Si Pungwoon could probably subdue him. To bother wasting time showing him his place would only earn unnecessary complaints, so Seolyeong opted for a sharper tactic. He gathered every rumor he’d picked up around the sect and aimed straight for Seogyeong’s sore spot.

“I heard you’re adopted. Picked up from the outside. From the Sinchang Yang clan, wasn’t it? What’s wrong with treating your stepmother with the same respect as you treat your cute father?”

“…Did you just say ‘cute’?”

“I can see your ears are working fine, so don’t tell me you didn’t hear this lovely nightingale voice of mine.”

Back during the Great War, even after his clan was reduced to ruins, the Sinchang Yang clan never gave up its fierce resistance. Only after the patriarch’s youngest son was taken hostage did their pride finally break. If they had come to their senses a little sooner, they might have spared their bloodline that separation. But their upright pride as martial men had brought about their downfall.

Living in luxury within Yurigung, Yang Seogyeong showed no trace of familial affection. Even now, when he could have returned to the martial world, he clung instead to his role as an adopted son. The handsome young man, who admired Sahyeol Amje for becoming the ruler of Jungwon through force, never saw him as the enemy who destroyed his family. To Seogyeong, his new home was no longer the righteous path, it was Cheonma Divine Sect.

And the best way to provoke this Seogyeong was to flaunt intimacy with Sahyeol Amje. Seolyeong had gotten this tactic from Yeoso, who was threatened into giving it up. It was guaranteed to be effective.

“Did you know, dear adopted son? Your father gets so clingy when he’s in my arms. He nuzzles in, all soft and sweet. And I always whisper as I hold his strong shoulders, ‘Oh my love, you’re making my heart flutter. I can’t sleep like this.’”

As expected, a crack appeared in Seogyeong’s well-kept expression.

Seolyeong let out a mocking coo and smiled with confidence. The air around him practically screamed that this little punk didn’t even come close to rivaling him. Seogyeong’s face flushed with fury.

“…Do not blasphemeour radiant god.”

Seolyeong answered in singsong mockery.

“This brazen hypocrite has blasphemed your radiant god.”

Seogyeong instinctively reached for his sword.

“Restrain yourself, Gyo-mo-nim!”

He raised his voice, unleashing a powerful strike filled with qi. But Seolyeong didn’t feel the least bit threatened. The kid’s effort seemed almost laughable.

“Oh ho. So you really did see me as Gyo-mo. How adorable. What a dishonest brat.”

The difference in their strength was overwhelming. To Seolyeong, Seogyeong was no more than a newborn taking its first steps. And Seogyeong knew it, too.

‘He’s far beyond me. The energy pouring out of him is entirely different. How does he handle such power as if it’s nothing?’

Still gritting his teeth, Seogyeong tightened his grip on the hilt. The match was already underway. The Mad Bride had dared to call the Supreme One “cute.” There was no way he could let that pass.

I’ll make him pay. I’ll punish him myself. He will suffer for defiling the name of the Supreme One.

Just then, the door flung open without care, and a clearly unwilling intruder barged in.

“Yang Seogyeong of the Yang clan is to report to Haeseong Pavilion immediately for discussion of upcoming training schedules! The Cheonsin, who makes flowers bloom even in winter, has summoned you for an audience!”

It was Yeoso, now carrying two pipas across his back. Apparently, during his time away from Yurigung, he’d dedicated himself to sound-based martial arts. The qi flowing from his instruments traced elegant arcs in the air.

Seolyeong stared at Yeoso’s face and asked in a daze.

“…He called him instead of me?”

He had been in the middle of an intense exchange, and yet the one summoned by Cheonsin wasn’t him, but Seogyeong.

Seolyeong, his pride severely wounded, furrowed his brows. He wouldn’t spare a word for him, but wanted to discuss something as mundane as training schedules with his son? Wasn’t he supposed to be dying soon? Just how much peace of mind did he have to spare?

Meanwhile Seogyeong’s expression brightened. He sheathed his sword with ease and spoke with a composed tone, as if none of this had riled him in the slightest.

“Then I shall take my leave, Gyo-mo-nim. It seems my beloved father wishes to bond with his one and only adopted son.”

The way he said it, it was clear he was declaring himself the one chosen by Sahyeol Amje, not Seolyeong. The bride’s jealousy surged to his very scalp. Not only had he been replaced, but he was being mocked by a child.

Peeking out from behind the doorway, Yeoso reflected on the many times he had nearly fainted from Seogyeong’s impudence and, for the first time, genuinely pitied the Gyo-mo.

Because Seogyeong, after all, wielded his youth like a weapon. Anyone would lose their temper if they realized that baby-faced brat was looking down on them. Even the most ascetic bald-headed monk wouldn’t be able to keep their blood from boiling.