The Terminally Ill Young Master of the Baek Clan

Yi-gang was in a tavern.

His attire was not the rough gray robe he used to wear in Shaolin.

Over a luxurious jade-colored robe, he wore a deep purple long coat.

When he changed clothes, Jeong Myung had hesitantly asked if it was alright for him to wear such things.

But once he was fully dressed, the clothes suited him perfectly.

Seated by the window of an upscale inn in a tavern, Yi-gang embodied the term “elegant noble” perfectly.

Yi-gang blended into the city seamlessly.

“I feel awkward.”

“Get used to it.”