TBML 30

As his arm swung wide, a bolt of pain ripped through it, and Yeon clenched his teeth, a low groan escaping him. At his reaction, Hyeon-hak flinched slightly, then lowered him to the ground with the utmost care, as though placing a precious porcelain vase on a scholar’s display table.

Now standing on his own two feet, Yeon tried to grasp his limp left arm with his good right hand.
He wanted to at least feel what kind of injury this was, what kind of damage could cause such agony—but even the slightest brush of his fingers made him gasp, a scream threatening to burst from his throat.
There was no way to check it properly. It had to be seriously broken.
A chill swept through him at the thought—what if he could never use that arm again?

“Sir… might I beg a cloth or a wrapping of some kind?”

He should be offering all he had to his benefactor, not asking for more, but Yeon spoke gently, seeking help.
With his arm in such a state, getting down the mountain would be near impossible.

Each breath made his ribs throb, but the stabbing pain in his arm whenever his body shifted made the ache in his side seem trivial.
There wasn’t any obvious solution in sight, but he figured at least binding the arm might help.

Looking to Hyeon-hak for a response, all he got was a slow blink.

What a strange Sir.

His appearance was more than passable—no, anyone would call him one of the most striking men in all of Hanyang—but his behavior was… peculiar.
He clearly could speak, yet he didn’t utter a word. He’d done the same the last time.
Whenever Yeon asked him something, the man would only stare back, as if it were none of his concern.

Unable to say anything to his noble savior and fidgeting awkwardly, Yeon limped his way back into the worn-out room.
Hyeon-hak followed close behind.

Did that Sir truly live here alone?

Even to a barely literate man like Yeon, the books piled about looked like medical texts.
Sure, there were times when scholars, exiled for their crimes or seeking retreat from the capital, came to study in rural corners like this—but even then, none chose to live in such harsh conditions alone.

Yeon glanced back, finding Hyeon-hak standing right behind him again.
Why was he following so closely?
Even if he was his savior, it felt a little too much.

Feeling awkward about nosing around another man’s possessions, Yeon stopped glancing about and turned to a heap of clothes crumpled in a corner. He started picking through them.

Was it even okay to touch these so freely?

Hyeon-hak showed no sign of caring.

Digging through the mess, Yeon found a large cloth bundle.
It reeked faintly of spoiled food—likely used to wrap provisions, tossed aside without washing.
For all the man’s refined looks, his living conditions were surprisingly rough.

Clutching the bundle, Yeon looked to Hyeon-hak.

“May I borrow this?”

“……”

Again, no reply.
Yeon hesitated, but when Hyeon-hak neither snatched it away nor looked displeased, he decided to take it as permission.

And frankly, if he waited for Hyeon-hak to speak, the sun would set on him.

Anxious to move on, Yeon bowed in thanks regardless of the silence.
It would’ve been nice to have something for a splint, but he couldn’t afford to be picky.

Spreading the bundle out on the dusty floor, Yeon began to fold it into a triangle, then slung it over his shoulder with one hand.
He struggled, awkward and sweating, trying to make a makeshift sling with his arm bound.

Hyeon-hak stood nearby, watching silently.
As Yeon grimaced in pain and fiddled with the cloth, Hyeon-hak suddenly stepped in close.

The warm breath against his nape made Yeon jump, startled.
He instinctively flinched and shifted away from the towering man.

But it seemed Hyeon-hak had understood what he was trying to do.
He reached out, gently took the loose end of the cloth Yeon had dropped, and began tying it.

To fasten the end around Yeon’s right shoulder, his long fingers occasionally brushed against Yeon’s cheek.

His touch was soft—so soft, it seemed impossible those hands had ever done rough work.
Surely, someone took care of him.
Though from the look of the house, that someone hadn’t been around in a while.

The odd scholar worked with surprising deftness, tying the knot snugly and fixing Yeon’s arm tightly against his body to keep it from moving.
The pain dulled just a little—it was bearable now.

Wiping the sweat from his brow, Yeon bowed again.

“Thank you, Sir. Truly… I don’t know how I’ll ever repay this kindness…”

Even now, Hyeon-hak trailed quietly behind him.

Yeon kept expressing his gratitude, bowing his head over and over.
A thousand times wouldn’t be enough to repay this.

He had to leave now—but he had no other way to show his thanks than with words.

Taking a final look around the yard, overgrown and filled with broken-down odds and ends, Yeon resolved to return with something next time.

“Sir, I’ll come back—I’ll work as your servant if I must, to repay this grace.”

With that, he offered one last farewell, then turned his eyes to the sky to find his direction.
There were no stars in the daytime, of course, but he used the sun to roughly guess his bearings and began to descend the mountain.

Every step brought fresh dizziness.
His shoulder and arm throbbed; his side and back screamed whenever he took a deep breath.

Still, he clenched his teeth and pressed forward, driven by the single thought of returning home to see his mother.

But he couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was behind him.
Turning back anxiously, he saw Hyeon-hak, having followed him out, now standing silently in the distance.

Why was he following?

Before Yeon could ask, Hyeon-hak suddenly walked past him, then turned—offering him his broad back.

“…Eh?”

“……”

Yeon blinked, not understanding. What kind of gesture was this?

But Hyeon-hak didn’t explain—he merely stood, back turned, then motioned with his hand in a way Yeon couldn’t quite interpret.

As he stood there dumbly, Hyeon-hak gave an exasperated breath, took hold of Yeon’s good arm, and hoisted it over his own shoulder.
Then he turned again, presenting his back clearly.

That gesture—offering his back—could only mean one thing: Get on.

Yeon went pale and waved his hand frantically.

To climb onto a noble’s back? It should be the other way around!

For someone of lowly birth like him to ride on the back of a noble—he couldn’t even dream of it.

And yet, in truth, if he could have thrown away pride and station, he would’ve done it in an instant.

His legs barely held him up. The sky spun above, and everything around him blurred.

As Yeon hesitated, wavering, Hyeon-hak once again reached for his hand.

Whether Hyeon-hak pulled too hard or Yeon had no strength left, his body lurched forward, jostling his injured left arm—and a sharp cry escaped him.

Startled by the sound, Hyeon-hak flung his hands in the air as if surrendering, almost comically throwing them up in triple cheer.

Despite the pain and urgency, Yeon let out a breathless laugh.

If his shout had been any louder, the man might have leapt up a tree like a startled tiger.

What kind of noble is this, really…?

From then on, Hyeon-hak didn’t dare touch him again.

He simply hovered nearby, repeatedly turning his back toward Yeon in clear insistence.

When Yeon shook his head and moved left to avoid him, Hyeon-hak followed and turned that way too.

When Yeon dodged right, there he was again, blocking the way with his back.

His thick brows and tightly pressed lips hinted at stubbornness—and stubborn he was indeed.

“Then… just a little. Just for a little while, My Lord… I’ll trouble you.”

Left with no other choice, Yeon placed his hand shyly on Hyeon-hak’s shoulder, like a blushing bride.

To climb onto his back properly, he’d need to hold on tightly—but he couldn’t bring himself to do it, merely resting his hand there.

As soon as their bodies touched, Hyeon-hak bent down, grasped Yeon by the hips, and lifted him clean off the ground.

Caught off guard, Yeon lost his balance and began to fall backward—reflexively he looped his right arm around Hyeon-hak’s neck.

“S-sorry! I-I’m sorry, My Lord!—”

Realizing he was practically choking Hyeon-hak, Yeon panicked and apologized repeatedly.

Because of the way his arm wrapped around the man’s neck, the two were now pressed tightly together with not even a sliver of space between them.

Every time Yeon spoke in his flustered haste, his breath brushed across Hyeon-hak’s throat and jaw, warm and trembling.

The ends of Hyeon-hak’s long, dark hair fluttered faintly with every exhale.

Yeon couldn’t see it from where he clung, but Hyeon-hak’s eyebrows twitched, and his lips kept shifting subtly.

The brush of breath on his cheek tickled—but that wasn’t all.

He hadn’t even taken more than a few steps, yet his breath grew short, and his heart pounded uncomfortably hard.

Though Hyeon-hak moved faster than Yeon could have on his own, the man on his back felt conflicted.

Even with Hyeon-hak moving gently, every jostle sent pain stabbing through his body, forcing groans from his lips.

His forehead, pressed against that broad back, felt fever-hot.

Despite the cold wind, Yeon’s body burned as if cradling a brazier.

Even a child would know—when the body runs this hot, it’s not a good sign.

When Hyeon-hak picked up his pace in worry, Yeon couldn’t hold back a groan, and his entire body would stiffen with the pain.

Feeling Yeon pressing his face into his back and stifling his moans, Hyeon-hak lightened his steps, careful and deliberate.

Yeon noticed it too—that gentleness, that care.

The man’s back, once so intimidating, now felt broad and strong, comforting.

He’d never had a back like this himself… and if the village women saw it, they might well fall in love with that quiet strength.

To ease the burden even a little, Yeon bit his lip and tried to swallow his pained sounds.

Every time they stepped over a rock or root, pain surged so strongly that he nearly fainted—but he forced his eyes open, clinging to consciousness, drinking in the landscape around him.

After all, if he was to repay this man someday, he had to know the way back.

To the untrained eye, all mountain paths looked the same—but Yeon had spent years in the hills.

He knew what to watch for—landmarks, patterns, markers only a seasoned climber would notice.

This reclusive scholar had not only saved his life but was now personally carrying him down to the village.

Even if he lived in poverty, how could Yeon receive such help and walk away without a word?

He had his mother to care for. His life was humble and desperate.

But as long as he drew breath, even if he couldn’t offer anything grand, he would come back again and again—if only to tend to this man, to serve him, to repay the debt.

So he vowed, silently, in his heart.