If Silk Flowers Bloom by the Water’s Edge Chapter 1

The wind shaking the dead tree made the paper window flutter lifelessly. While putting on a crumpled shirt, the word “Ipha (立夏)” written on the May calendar stabbed Yirok’s eyes painfully. He should have just checked the date, but foolishly, he took note of the season’s meaning. Pretending not to see the words “the start of summer,” Yirok slowly buttoned his shirt.

Swish, swish. The sound of sweeping snow with a yard broom had been going on since 7 a.m. The small inner turmoil brought by the calendar faded as usual. After buckling his pants, about five minutes remained. Yirok opened the top drawer and carefully chose a pair of socks.

A pair of white socks, as if washed with bleach, caught his eye. They were the only inheritance left by his long-gone parents. Tucked among carelessly folded black socks, they reigned like kings. His hand, caressing the worn white socks, reluctantly picked up a black pair instead.

Five minutes passed, and a knocking sound, as if urging him, came from the shutter. Without turning his head, Yirok responded, “I’m coming out soon.”

The person urging him moved away from the door with the creak of the veranda. Yirok, with an irritable touch, opened the second drawer and took out a tie. Living in an old, dilapidated house yet dressing and eating in Western style was due to the landlord’s preference. In the small two-room space, Yirok tied his tie and moved with heavy, reluctant steps.

Outside, the yard was noisy with the maid’s sweeping, a world of pure white. In Chukjangji, a place on the boundary between this world and the next, May was just a date or a number. This year, the seasons in Chukjangji flowed as winter. Next year would be spring, the year after, summer—only one season could come to this place each year.

“Don’t dawdle. What if we’re late?”

Yirok, clenching his cold fingers, flinched at the voice. An old woman, her wristwatch ticking, stood beside him. In front of her, dressed in black hanbok like a grim reaper, Yirok erased all expression. She looked like ink spilled on white snow. Mocking her silently, Yirok bent to put on his sneakers.

“Maybe it’s just me, but it’s colder than yesterday.”

The two descended from the veranda, walking through sugar-colored snow. The old woman’s small footprints were followed by Yirok’s larger ones. True to Chukjangji’s name, “the root of the dead tree,” the Bansi family favored dark clothing. The white scenery they disliked, with falling snow, felt oddly satisfying.

“The landlord’s health is poor, so he’s on edge. Don’t talk back if you can help it. If you mess up this time, a few days of punishment won’t be the end of it.”

Her words, whether threats or concern, were buried in the white snow—at least to Yirok. Since losing his parents at ten and being dragged here, he’d lived as if one ear were deaf. He scoffed at anything the family said, even if they claimed beans could make soy paste. If the old woman knew, she’d probably grab a willow switch, ranting about feeding and housing him like a stray dog. She’d likely say, until her dying day, that they didn’t take in black-haired beasts.

“Even sedatives don’t work anymore. They called a doctor from outside a few days ago. You should know what to be careful of, given the grace you’ve received.”

Walking along the long stone wall, Yirok was distracted instead of responding, gazing at the snow delicately resting on the eaves. The old woman, opening the side gate of the annex, turned to him.

“Why no answer?”

Even in this cold May, Yirok wore a thin shirt and cotton pants. For all their talk of grace, the provisions were meager. But crabs side with crabs—the old woman, a lifelong housekeeper for the family, wouldn’t understand. She just glared at the suddenly tall Yirok with dissatisfaction.

“You won’t live long either.”

Worried about being late for an important meeting, she stopped her nagging there. But her harsher steps and wrinkled eyes betrayed her age. Used to living off others’ cues, Yirok followed with an indifferent expression.

Compared to the person he was to meet today, her nagging was child’s play. The annex’s rafters, laced with cobwebs, looked ready to collapse, blackened in patches. Five doors were shut tight to restrict entry by people or wind. Opening the second and third doors in succession, even the old woman rubbed her aching hands.

If there were a treasured honey jar inside, it might make sense. But as they neared the darkened bedroom, Yirok’s blank expression faltered. From the third door, the stench of pus hit him. The world should praise the old woman’s nose for enduring this daily. Yirok tightened his lips and slowed his steps for no reason.

“Landlord.”

The smell of rotting flesh, screams from a secret basement, and the clank of chains converged in one spot of the annex. At the final gate, Yirok lowered his head. Recalling the white yard from that morning, he fought nausea. His hand, diving into his pocket, showed bulging veins—a natural reaction every time he met Chukjangji’s master for years.

“We’re coming in.”

As the old woman bowed respectfully and opened the door, Yirok held his breath. The ceiling was yellowed, and the wallpaper reeked of blood. The landlord, moved to the annex for convalescence, had lit expensive candles everywhere. Glass bottles, obsessively collected, reflected light, making the room dizzyingly bright. But the most striking sight, as always, was the landlord standing for over two hours, staring at a wall.

“As ordered, I’ve brought Yirok.”

“Good. Leave him.”

Yirok misjudged. He thought it’d be a few scolding words at most, but the landlord’s mood was different. The callous old woman left Yirok alone in the foul annex. He’d have avoided this one-on-one even if the sky fell. Accepting the harsh reality, Yirok turned his gaze to the landlord.

Regardless of who came, the landlord stared at a photo on the wall as if to burn it. Her waist-long white hair clashed with her youthful, twenty-something appearance. They said she was from the late Joseon era. Heart stickers around the photo made Yirok feel sicker.

She was someone who tore hearts with flowery words and strangled with delicate hands. Most importantly, she was the sworn enemy who ruined Yirok’s life eight years ago.

“Yirok.”

“Yes.”

Her rotting left arm’s stench had kept her from going out for over seventeen years. Her pale skin, barely distinguishable from her white hair due to lack of sunlight, was grotesque. Her past and current reputation were extraordinary. A ruthless killer, the head of the Bansi family, a group where harming and killing others was routine. Despite her grand title, she now hid in the annex.

On the shadowed left wall were jars of preserved insects, some with broken openings and half their contents gone. She’d scoured the country for every remedy to heal her arm. The annex’s soy-sauce-like smell churned Yirok’s stomach.

“Isn’t she pretty? I imagine every day how she’s grown. I don’t want to be surprised when we meet.”

The landlord, done staring at the photo, looked excited like a girl. You’d believe it was a cherished daughter’s photo, not an enemy’s. Yirok lowered his gaze, staring at his black socks.

“They say she’s very bright. Graceful manners, a voice so beautiful it’s unforgettable. If my body weren’t like this, I’d go see her myself… such a pity.”

Yirok couldn’t listen anymore, knowing her sincerity. She spoke as if introducing a first love, but the child in the photo was both the cause of her seclusion and her enemy. She’d sent assassins after the girl who crippled her arm, but after ten failures, had she finally given up?

“Yirok.”

Yirok, staring at his toes, tilted his head defiantly. The landlord’s smile, growing kinder as the situation worsened, felt ominous.

“So you’ll go see her for me. To the Nanjubeol family’s Chukjangji.”

At first, Yirok didn’t understand, squinting one eye. Despite his rude demeanor, the landlord moved lightly, like walking on grass.

“My efforts weren’t in vain. I’ll finally get my return for raising you.”

She peeled off the sticky-backed photo and handed it to Yirok. When he didn’t take it immediately, she waved it up and down.

“Take it.”

It was a precious photo to her; a maid who accidentally threw it out once lost a molar. Though resentment filled his mouth, Yirok walked over and took it. The pretty girl in the photo held a branch with yellow flowers. Her chubby cheeks and old-fashioned striped hanbok were striking for a four- or five-year-old. Yirok’s indifferent gaze skimmed the photo and rose.

“I’m planting you by her side. The time has come.”

At the absurd order, Yirok slowly lowered the hand holding the photo. The landlord smiled brightly, even seeing the chill in his eyes.

“Right. You’re a spy now. Exciting, isn’t it? You get to leave this place.”

“…”

“Why don’t you ask why it’s you and not someone else? I thought you would. Our Yirok is so reserved.”

Humming excitedly, the landlord suddenly stopped, looking up at the grown Yirok. Her hand, brushing the damp wall, cupped his cheek.

“You’re the same age as our lady. You fit the conditions. I brought you here for this… Don’t get any funny ideas, just do as I say. If you pull this off, you can take your brother back and escape far away.”

Their mutual peace, despite knowing each other’s schemes, was due to a hostage. Two years ago, Yirok heard his brother had hepatitis B. Last year, a scar turned septic, needing reoperation. His only family, his blood brother—Yirok couldn’t abandon him. Living under the roof of the woman who killed his parents was a price he willingly paid.

Yirok handed the photo back without crumpling it. He rarely spoke in front of the Bansi family, treating it as natural not to converse with his enemy. Understanding his intent to obey, the landlord smiled and took the photo back.

“Our Chaehwa, so pretty and refined. You’ll meet her in three months, so memorize her face. You’ll bring me every detail about that lovely girl.”

Smelling the landlord’s stench up close, Yirok studied the old photo. The moment he heard they were the same age, he knew: You’re the one chosen as a sacrifice for my bleak future.

Yirok’s sense of justice darkened yearly. The world was a place where people betrayed, harmed, and sacrificed others to survive.

Harming an innocent was for his own innocent freedom. On that snowy summer day, Yirok could once again deceive his broken self.