Yang’s Master Chapter 4.1 - The Lamb

Yang Euijoo rubbed the tip of his cold nose, exposed to the chilly dawn air, and grumbled.

“It took forever to find you.”

His face looked as usual, but the corner of his mouth, which had split and was barely healing, stood out. Yang Euijoo gazed at a woman wandering the alley, clutching a blue umbrella so worn that it swayed and lost balance with even a slight rough rain.

Amy was barefoot. Covered in dirt, she was, as always, roaming the rain-soaked streets thick with morning fog, desperately searching for someone. Without a word, Yang Euijoo tilted the umbrella he was holding over her already wet head. One of the umbrella’s ribs finally broke, throwing it off balance.

Torrential rain poured down on both sides. The sound of rain was the only thing audible, a harsh noise. The words coming from her pale, trembling lips could only be understood by listening closely.

Yang Euijoo brushed back the wet ends of his hair. Raindrops, unblocked by the narrow umbrella, splashed onto his pale forehead and trickled down to his eyelids. Squinting one eye, Yang Euijoo stared at Amy.

“Have you seen my husband?”

“Do you know where my husband went?”

“Have you seen Peter?”

“Peter’s gone.”

Her gaze, fumbling through the air, couldn’t even recognize the man she held a thousand-year grudge against, muttering only what she wanted to say. Yang Euijoo recalled a few honorifics and chose the most polite and courteous one he knew.

“Ma’am.”

It was the first time he’d faced her properly since the day Peter was killed. Recalling the ghostly figure he sometimes saw through a window, Yang Euijoo looked at Amy. How long had he waited, shielding her from the pouring rain? Soon, a glimmer of light appeared in the woman’s eyes. Seeing her regain clarity upon facing her enemy, Yang Euijoo gave a bitter smile.

“I found the guy who killed Peter.”

Amy didn’t wait to hear the end of Yang Euijoo’s words and lunged at him. Her withered hands, too weak to even grip properly, were pathetic. The worn blue umbrella rolled on the ground, leaving scratches on the wet surface. Yang Euijoo was soaked in an instant. Amy, already drenched, coughed painfully and brought her face close to his. Yang Euijoo looked at the woman, as dry as a twig. Amy’s breathing was so faint it seemed it might stop any moment.

“There’s a place people call Kiji.”

Amy had become too frail. Though she was clearly strangling Yang Euijoo with both hands, there was no pain. His clothes just kept getting wetter. Rain and dirt seeped into his increasingly bothersome, fast-growing hair, making it sticky like a mud mask. Washing it would be a hassle.

Occasionally lost in stray thoughts, his words came out in bits and pieces, but Yang Euijoo kept talking. He didn’t care if Amy understood in her right mind.

“It’s called Kiji because the building was expanded weirdly, like a base on branches, and it’s the biggest gambling den around here.”

“…”

“Du Shanchong hangs out there.”

“…”

“I didn’t kill him. But since it’s partly my fault, I’m telling you.”

He stopped judging whether it was right to encourage someone to commit a crime. Instead, for the first time since meeting Cheon Yeomyung, Yang Euijoo thought he missed him. Seeing that man’s face gave him a relative satisfaction that his own sins were nothing. After all, wasn’t Yang Euijoo a bit more humane than a guy who skinned people alive? He even understood grudges accurately and felt sympathy.

Amy blinked her gaunt eyes. She had an ordinary face, nothing special. Peter was the same. They were probably an ordinary couple. No matter how much debt they had, they were people who shouldn’t have come to Yirang. Yang Euijoo ran his tongue over the still-unhealed inside of his mouth, which had been busted up again when Amy pushed him down earlier. The metallic taste of blood lingered unpleasantly.

“He’s got a cross tattoo from his shoulder to his elbow. That bastard doesn’t know his place and fears hell… He believes that no matter how many people he kills, believing in Jesus Christ will get him to heaven.”

A flicker of madness gleamed in Amy’s eyes and vanished. Yang Euijoo pushed her away with the hand that had been fumbling on the wet ground and stood up. He roughly wrung out his hopelessly soaked clothes and picked up the umbrella rolling on the ground. Standing in the rain on a day like this was foolish.

“I’m going.”

Cough. Yang Euijoo turned away, hacking.

“You think that’ll get you redeemed?”

A cold voice suddenly stabbed his back. The woman’s icy eyes stared at his straight back. Yang Euijoo scratched his itchy throat a few times, thinking he might catch a cold from being so drenched. He turned around only after his coughing stopped.

“Does it look like I’m trying to get redeemed?”

Even if Du Shanchong hadn’t killed Peter, Cheon Yeomyung would have. But since Amy didn’t know the situation, it gave Yang Euijoo a chance to act superior. He was fed up with people acting pitiful or wandering around like they’d given up on life.

At least Yirang had space to roam; a ship didn’t even have that. What could you do going crazy on a cramped deck?

“Don’t act pitiful. Who here hasn’t seen someone close to them die?”

“…”

“I’m only telling you because I don’t want to be mistaken for a murderer. I’m not sorry, so you’d better pull yourself together and live.”

Another rib of the worn umbrella broke, spilling rainwater down to his feet. Yang Euijoo endured the torrential rain falling in front of him and headed home. His hacking coughs grew louder as he neared the house.

🐑

A few days later, a minor arson incident occurred in Yirang. A famous gambling den burned to the ground. A few guys drunk on liquor and drugs died, and the interior was completely charred. Du Shanchong, trying to escape the burning gambling den, was badly injured by some lunatic’s knife. The gang running the place and some of Du Shanchong’s lackeys teamed up to find the culprit, but they were too late.

The culprit, after setting the fire, left Yirang and confessed their crime to the authorities. The culprit’s name was Amy Ling, and since she had Hong Kong citizenship, she was set to be judged under Hong Kong law. But perhaps because an illegal gambling den, a constant nuisance, was gone, neither the Hong Kong nor British governments seemed eager to punish her, passing the case back and forth and delaying it endlessly. They even tried to downplay Amy’s actions with terms like “negligent homicide,” though she hadn’t asked for it. To the government, the death and injury of such lowlifes weren’t important.

Du Shanchong, half his body burned and his stomach pierced by a knife, was bedridden and immobile. Yang Euijoo, sick with a late cold, burst into laughter upon hearing about Du Shanchong. The pimp managing Reddoor, the limping guy, grew anxious and bit his nails. He’d invested a fair amount in the gambling den behind his boss’s back, and not only had it burned down, but a woman had betrayed him and escaped, leaving him sick with rage.

The limping guy’s original name was Wujung, but after being stabbed in the knee and limping, everyone called him the limping guy, and he abandoned his real name, thinking it sounded more storied and intimidating. Yirang had plenty of such names—One-eye, Pimp, or people called by their residence, like the butcher at the crossroads or the pharmacist at the chimney house.

So, naturally, the limping guy’s name was forgotten, and he was just called the limping guy. Limping along, he stormed into the lodging where the women slept during the day when they weren’t with clients, angrily opening the door. All the doors in this bar were painted red, so both clients and staff called it Reddoor. The red doors were the taste of the bar’s real owner, Quan, the boss of Hongryong.

“What’s this?”

Women in their underwear grumbled as they got up. The limping guy, trembling with pain in his throbbing knee, scrutinized each woman’s face. Counting them one by one, he noticed one was missing. Not seeing the curly brown hair, he bit his nails and muttered.

“I need to find Mei, I need to find her fast… Damn it! You girls are hiding her, aren’t you? Where is she?”

“Oh, here we go again!”

A woman in a red slip snapped irritably.

They were already stressed from work, and the limping guy’s constant search for Mei was driving them to neurosis. A woman wearing Mei’s old clothes, styling her hair and putting a mole on her face, glared at the limping guy through the mirror.

“Why are you looking for her here when she ran off with some guy? You didn’t even know she was pregnant.”

“You girls really want to get in trouble!”

The limping guy, his weakness prodded, shouted furiously. But the women, hardened by their experiences, didn’t flinch and instead laughed mockingly. A woman who’d taken the stage name Marilyn after a famous blonde actress put on a blonde wig and lit a cigarette irritably with a lighter.

“She’s hilarious. She wasn’t even that popular, so how’d she sneak off with a guy?”

“Who knows if the guy’s any good? She left all her stuff behind, so maybe she’ll come back broke.”

“She looked sweet and easy, but everyone in this business is tough.”

“You can’t do this job without being tough.”

As they slipped their toes into fishnet stockings, the others chimed in. The limping guy glared at the women, who ignored him and chatted as if it wasn’t their problem, then slammed the door shut. Chewing his loose thumbnail, he trembled again.

Mei had fallen into the hands of Bekhae. That cheap girl wasn’t a big deal, but she carried the boss’s seed. If he’d known she was pregnant, he wouldn’t have managed her so carelessly. Unless the boss came to mess with her, her lack of popularity meant her swollen belly went unnoticed. Damn it. The limping guy screamed, but the response was cold.

Soon, the closed door opened, and the dolled-up women walked out one by one. None spared a glance at the limping guy, striding haughtily to their tasks.

Doing such lowly work, yet acting so high and mighty. The limping guy glared at the women he managed with bloodshot eyes and hurriedly limped off somewhere.

He needed to find out where Cheon Yeomyung was hiding Mei. Even if the woman was killed, he had to at least find the child. After all of Quan’s children died at Cheon Yeomyung’s hands, the organization was a mess. Quan, long past seventy and too old to have more kids, thought the child was a gift from heaven.

Quan was already riling up the organization, claiming Mei’s child was the dragon’s seed sent by God. He was extremely anxious and had called the limping guy to berate him endlessly, though no real progress was made.

Every day, Cheon Yeomyung called Quan, mocking him for going blind with age before hanging up unilaterally. Quan had broken four phones since Mei disappeared. But even if he smashed every phone in Hong Kong, Cheon Yeomyung wouldn’t return Mei to Quan.

“What do I do? What do I do?”

The limping guy didn’t want to die for mismanaging a loose woman. After venting at the workers to manage the girls properly, he anxiously left Reddoor. Wiping the sweat beading on his nose, he limped painfully along.

“Ouch!”

Lost in thought, the limping guy accidentally bumped into someone on the street.

“Where’re your eyes, huh?”

A sharp voice rang out. The limping guy frowned at a young man with a youthful face, unlike his own.

“It’s the pill-peddler.”

A young pharmacist who hadn’t been in Yirang long. The limping guy recalled how Du Shanchong was crazed with lust for this guy. He had no interest in men, but he understood why Du Shanchong was so obsessed with Yang Euijoo. The pharmacist was strikingly refined.

His gloomy, melancholic gray hair and eyes created a strange aura. Yang Euijoo looked a bit gaunt, perhaps unwell lately. The limping guy forgot his earlier plans and started scheming.

The boss liked pitiful-looking types with tragic pasts and sorrowful faces. Yang Euijoo perfectly matched Quan’s taste. Wouldn’t handing him over work? Quan was furious, but seeing this guy might cheer him up. While Quan enjoyed himself with Yang Euijoo, the limping guy could slowly find Mei…

“Get out of my way before I rip your eyes out.”

Of course, he’d need to deal with this guy’s temper. The limping guy glared at the pharmacist. Yang Euijoo, in a raincoat with arms crossed, looked down at the shorter limping guy.

He already disliked the limping guy for hitting Mei, and now, seeing him look at him with the same eyes as Du Shanchong, Yang Euijoo was thoroughly irritated.

“Pharmacist, why so rude to someone you haven’t seen in a while?”

“Rude? I’ve always been like this. Why’s a crazy guy suddenly picking on someone minding their own business?”

Yang Euijoo sneered sharply. His cold hadn’t fully healed, and he was in a bad mood. The limping guy’s sudden grin made him want to stab his eyes with a knife.

“Don’t be like that. Let’s talk with a smile. You sick? You don’t look so good…”

The limping guy grabbed Yang Euijoo’s hand, feigning friendliness. Startled by the sudden touch, Yang Euijoo shook him off. Seeing his hand tossed away like something dirty, the limping guy’s face twisted.

“You little… I was trying to be nice…”

Yang Euijoo snapped back just as harshly.

“Why’re you touching people? I don’t have a hobby of holding men’s hands.”

“Neither do I!”

“Funny, you crazy bastard.”

Yang Euijoo snorted, adjusting the paper bag full of oranges. His arms ached from the weight, and he’d wasted time on the street with this lunatic. Turning away without further talk, the limping guy, fuming at Yang Euijoo’s attitude, limped forward and roughly hit his exposed elbow through his short-sleeved shirt.

The violent action shook the paper bag in Yang Euijoo’s arms. A fresh, sweet-smelling orange fell and rolled on the ground. A nearby kid, waiting for the chance, snatched it and ran off.

Yang Euijoo, who’d inadvertently done a good deed, gritted his teeth and glared at the limping guy.

“What’s your problem?”

“Sorry, sorry. Didn’t mean to drop it.”

The limping guy held up both hands to calm Yang Euijoo, who muttered curses under his breath.

“Hey, pharmacist. Remember a curly-haired girl?”

Yang Euijoo shut his mouth at the limping guy’s words.

“There’s plenty of curly-haired girls around here.”

“I know you saw her buying medicine at your shop. She’s pretty enough; you wouldn’t forget her.”

“…Oh, yeah. I remember.”

Hoping his face showed no emotion, Yang Euijoo answered calmly. He didn’t trust Cheon Yeomyung, but he didn’t want Mei going back to the limping guy.

“She ran off with some guy in the middle of the night from Yirang. Can you believe it? Eloping! After I took such good care of her!”

Hearing the limping guy’s curses, Yang Euijoo lowered his eyes slowly, trying his best to look clueless. The limping guy was saying the same thing as Du Shanchong. Pimps were all out of their minds. That’s why they bought and sold people to fill their pockets.

“What’re you trying to say?”

“The boss is pissed because Mei’s gone. Really pissed…”

The limping guy stared at Yang Euijoo’s face, then shoved his tattered thumb into his mouth, chewing nervously.

“Maybe if I give him you, he’ll calm down?”

“What…”

Yang Euijoo looked up, startled by the nonsense. The limping guy’s eyes were empty, unfocused. In a whining, childlike tone, he said.

“I don’t want to die like this.”

“Hey, hold on.”

I don’t want to die. The limping guy’s face, pale with fear, raised his arm high. Yang Euijoo noticed too late that he held a cane. Thwack. With the sound of something being struck, a bag of oranges scattered across the ground.

Muttering incessantly in a thick dialect, the limping guy hoisted the limp Yang Euijoo over his shoulder. Yang Euijoo, vision fading, thought of Amy.

She said she’d curse me, and damn it, she succeeded…

🐑

The mansion with a view of the beautiful artificial sandy beach was one of the most expensive residences in Hong Kong. It had three floors, but the owner mostly lived on the second. The second floor had a bedroom, study, and parlor for tea time, accessible only to those with sufficient clearance and housekeepers.

Linlin was usually banned from entering under normal circumstances. She was too careless and noisy for the second floor. Though Cheon Yeomyung cherished her, he couldn’t stand her loud shouting.

But sometimes, Linlin forgot his orders and stomped around the second floor. Today was such a day. Having been sent by Cheon Yeomyung to Yirang with a pretty bouquet, she ignored the servants and organization members yelling for her to stop and flung open the door to his study-office.

“Boss!”

At the loud noise, Cheon Yeomyung, already aware Linlin had come to the second floor, spoke while signing papers with a fountain pen.

“Submit a reflection letter.”

“That’s not important!”

Shouting, Linlin crushed the rose bouquet in her arms. Cheon Yeomyung glanced at the next document and said.

“You didn’t even do the task I gave you. Write two.”

“Boss!”

In her frenzy, Linlin threw the bright yellow rose bouquet tucked under her arm and shouted loudly.

“The person who was supposed to get the bouquet is gone! The pharmacist has disappeared!”

Only then did Cheon Yeomyung’s gaze, previously on his papers, turn to Linlin, whose face was flushed red. She was panting, drenched in sweat from running so hard. With her cute pigtails tied on both sides, Linlin bounced in place, frantic. Her blue sneakers, matching her jeans, made loud thumps on the floor as she jumped.

“It looks like the pharmacist was kidnapped. What if Quan found out?”

“He could’ve just gone out. Why the fuss?”

“No! There’s evidence he’s been gone for over a day. I checked all the places he might’ve gone, and there’s no news.”

“Hmm…”

Though a bit sentimental, Linlin, trained under him, wouldn’t have botched a search. If she was right, Yang Euijoo was likely gone. Cheon Yeomyung pondered briefly. His black leather glove pressed firmly against his smooth, pale jaw, untouched by summer sunlight.

“Any chance he ran off alone?”

“If you treated him well, probably not!”

“Then it’s a bit confusing.”

Yang Euijoo overthought everything. No matter how kindly he was treated or spoken to, there was an endless undercurrent of distrust. Cheon Yeomyung had briefly considered being colder. Am I really that unappealing?

“And if he ran off himself, he’d have taken money.”

Snapped out of his thoughts by Linlin’s whining, Cheon Yeomyung refocused.

“The money’s still there?”

“Yes.”

“Any chance he had another source of funds?”

“If he had that, he wouldn’t be dating you.”

It was rude, but Cheon Yeomyung humbly agreed. No flawless person would date him. Of course, he preferred flawed people, so they were mutually indebted.

“Hmm…”

Cheon Yeomyung mused. He’d already received a report on Yang Euijoo’s background and general lifestyle. He’d caused so many bold incidents in Yirang that he had far too many enemies. With that talent, he’d have been perfect to join the organization, take the oath, and lead as a captain.

“What do you think about the possibility that it got out he instigated the arson?”

“Zero percent.”

At the firm reply, Cheon Yeomyung raised one corner of his mouth.

“How are you so sure?”

“If that had been the case, you would have been kidnapped even faster than now.”

Linlin’s words were correct. Cheon Yeomyung let out a sigh. If only Yang Euijoo could stay out of trouble, but he was an enormous walking disaster. If Cheon Yeomyung had known that Yang Euijoo would run into the trash he had once dealt with on the street that day, he would have insisted on escorting him home, no matter how stubborn Yang Euijoo was. Of course, it was Cheon Yeomyung who had caused the trouble in the first place… but there were hardly any lunatics who dared to pick a fight with him. Wasn’t it because people saw him as an easy target that they kept picking fights with him?

Even after all that, Yang Euijoo couldn’t stay quiet and went as far as attempting pointless sympathy and atonement. It wasn’t hard to guess that Yang Euijoo was involved in the sudden arson incident. How deeply had Cheon Yeomyung sighed when he pieced together the rough outline of the events?

In his opinion, Yang Euijoo lacked an excessive amount of self-awareness. In the end, an arrogant and insolent smile crept onto the man’s face.

“My lover doesn’t seem to understand the concept of staying put.”

“That’s for sure.”

Linlin’s face clouded over. The pharmacist, Mr. Yang, didn’t ask for anything from Cheon Yeomyung, yet somehow caused a lot of incidents and accidents.

“What should I do…?”

Should he break up with his lover earlier than expected, or keep him around a bit longer? He weighed the options, coldly hesitating with a scale of life and value in his hands.

Yang Euijoo was a cheap, lightweight scale weight, unknown in value.

The deliberation didn’t last long. Before the ink in his fountain pen dried, Cheon Yeomyung closed the pen’s cap and made up his mind.

“Track him. As quickly as possible.”

“How many people should I deploy?”

“Use as many as you can without getting caught. Take Roserock with you.”

Linlin’s eyes widened in surprise at Cheon Yeomyung’s unexpectedly generous words. Cheon Yeomyung gave a wry smile at his subordinate’s blatant expression. Before Linlin could jump to any absurd misunderstandings, he candidly shared his thoughts.

“I was getting annoyed by the distrust, you know.”

As expected. Linlin pouted her lips. Dating a guy like Cheon Yeomyung? She’d rather stay single until she was eighty.

“It wouldn’t be bad to become a fateful man this time, right? Oh, while we’re at it, maybe I should invest in a movie business since it seems like it’d be effective for my love life? I think I got a report about that last time.”

“It’s in the second drawer.”

Cheon Yeomyung, who rarely came up to the second floor, opened the drawer and pulled out the documents as soon as he heard Linlin’s prompt response. The man’s eyes showed no trace of urgency as he read the investment proposal with a bored expression. Linlin, with a slightly worried look, mentally sorted out the tasks to discuss with Roserock and the number of people to deploy.

While writing a reply agreeing to invest only if the absurdly high movie investment amount was reduced to one-fifth, Cheon Yeomyung asked, “Do you still like the pharmacist?”

“Yes.”

“What about him?”

“His vibe is nice.”

At Linlin’s childish answer, Cheon Yeomyung let out a chuckle. No matter how you looked at it, Yang Euijoo’s vibe wasn’t exactly nice. His default expression carried a hint of irritation, his upturned eyes made him look sensitive, and he was mostly angry.

To put it bluntly, no one would look at Yang Euijoo and say he had a nice vibe. If anything, Cheon Yeomyung, who was called derogatory names like yellow-eyed, snake-eyed, or rootless blood, had a better vibe by comparison.

No matter how he thought about it, Linlin seemed to be reminded of a dusty stray cat she might have raised around age fourteen. Cheon Yeomyung, eyeing Linlin suspiciously, put down the fountain pen he was holding and leaned back in his chair. Only then, as he prepared to engage in conversation, did Linlin raise an eyebrow.

“Boss, treat him well, I’m telling you.”

But Linlin, whining about liking the pharmacist, put on something close to aegyo. Perhaps it was because she had bet a considerable amount of money on him. Or maybe Yang Euijoo really was likable to Linlin and the subordinates. To placate her, Cheon Yeomyung spoke up.

“Linlin, aren’t I treating him well? I visit him often, buy him flowers, and even treat him to meals.”

“Ugh, saying that’s treating him well is why your relationships always end like that.”

“Love is really hard, you know.”

Cheon Yeomyung grumbled lightly as he got up from his chair. Watching him loosen his shirt and roll his shoulders to relieve his tense muscles, Linlin puffed out her cheeks. A person had suddenly disappeared, yet he didn’t seem worried or even the least bit regretful, his face cold and detached. That’s probably why he became the boss, but he was utterly devoid of humanity.

“Call me when you find him. I’ll go pick him up.”

“You’re going to go yourself, boss?”

“Yeah.”

That was unexpected. Was he secretly worried? Linlin’s expectations were dashed as Cheon Yeomyung smiled and put on a new shirt. Unlike the one he wore earlier, this one was black. He tied a newly bought red tie over it and neatly fixed his hair. In the mirror, a strikingly handsome and alluring man’s face appeared. Cheon Yeomyung wasn’t one to indulge in narcissism. He checked his face, which objectively speaking was far too remarkable to be called average, then turned to Linlin.

“My lover tends to be a bit resistant. If I go pick him up, maybe he’ll like me a little more?”

Seeing Cheon Yeomyung’s wide smile, Linlin let out an unconcealed sigh.

No matter how she thought about it, this lover was the kindest and the most pitiful.

But feeling sympathy was pointless—it was someone else’s life. Linlin needed a bonus to lower what the boss called the Engel coefficient. Cheon Yeomyung, who had promised a bonus if this matter was resolved quickly and safely, sent her out of the room politely, treating her fondly. His expressionless face casually glanced out the window.

“Oh, I wonder who took him.”

If this incident helped his love life, he was willing to offer a reward. Humming a tune slowly, Cheon Yeomyung looked for his coat.

While Cheon Yeomyung was getting ready, Yang Euijoo was trapped in a cramped, foul-smelling room with a leaking ceiling. One of his eyes wouldn’t open properly, and he was terribly dizzy. He was tormented by an intense thirst, wanting to lick even the dripping water.

The room, with walls entirely covered in mold, looking as if they were plastered with black wallpaper, was cold and damp. Yang Euijoo instinctively curled up.

“Ugh…”

He shivered, wondering where they had locked him up. It felt like a cold was coming on again, but he didn’t even have the strength to cough properly. Yang Euijoo twisted his bound wrists once, then collapsed limply on the floor from the throbbing pain.

His head hurt, his stomach churned, he was dizzy, and he had a fever. He shouldn’t have talked to that limping guy. Yang Euijoo recalled the orange he had bought but dropped on the floor without eating a single piece. If he could eat just one piece of that orange right now, he’d have no regrets. But as usual, such desperate wishes never came true. Hearing voices in the hallway, Yang Euijoo closed his eyes again and pretended to be unconscious.

Soon, the iron door opened with an unpleasant screech. Burly men entered, chatting among themselves. The last to come in was the limping guy. He frowned at Yang Euijoo, who hadn’t woken up for hours.

“Still not awake?”

A mocking laugh overlapped with the complaining voice. A man with a Shakyamuni tattoo across his back kicked Yang Euijoo lightly with his foot.

“You should’ve gone easy on him. What do you expect when you hit him like that with a cane?”

No wonder it hurt like hell. Yang Euijoo cursed the limping guy inwardly but relaxed his body, doing his best to keep up the act.

“I thought he’d wake up by now. We need to get him ready soon…”

“He was bleeding buckets from his head. Even if he wakes up, will he be okay? Won’t he go crazy from the shock?”

“I didn’t hit him that hard.”

Listening to the men’s conversation, Yang Euijoo felt the throbbing in his head turn into a burning pain. They really bashed his head open. Someday, I’ll stab that bastard with a knife, he thought, quietly resolving revenge against the limping guy while slightly opening his eyes. The men, seemingly uninterested in Yang Euijoo’s condition, stood in the room and continued talking.

“So, will the boss really like this guy? You know how the boss has been lately…”

The bald guy lowered his voice. Lately, their leader had been using annoying subordinates as target practice, shooting them down. Rumor was it was because a woman disappeared, but as low-ranking members, they didn’t know the details. The limping guy, who did know, glanced nervously at the others and spoke defensively.

“It’s true. He’ll like him. He looks rough now, but his face is decent.”

“Didn’t all the women you brought turn out to be duds?”

“Yeah. The last one you brought got lucky with the boss. What was her name? Marin?”

“No, I think it was Mary? But she ran away.”

“What woman would enjoy hanging out with the boss? That old geezer’s so old, who knows if his thing even works.”

“Stop yapping and move this guy.”

Annoyed by Shakyamuni and Skinhead’s chatter, the limping guy kicked Yang Euijoo’s shin hard. Yang Euijoo barely held back a scream. Instead of just killing the limping guy, he vowed to crush both his legs, grinding his teeth inwardly.

Oblivious to his burning vengeance, Shakyamuni and Skinhead each grabbed one of Yang Euijoo’s arms and lifted him. They soon left the moldy, leaking room. His toes hit the threshold, causing excruciating pain, but no one cared about such a minor incident. They only grumbled about his limp body as they carried him.

“Ugh, what a hassle. Can’t we just hand him over like this?”

“If the boss shoots him without even looking at his face because he’s dirty, what then?”

Shakyamuni complained, but Skinhead, despite his appearance, responded rather timidly.

“Then he’d be the unlucky bastard who gets shot in the head. Getting your ass torn or shot dead—aren’t they equally bad luck?”

At Shakyamuni’s words, Skinhead looked like he realized something.

“When you got that stupid face tattooed on your back, I thought you were snorting coke with your head, but you’ve gotten a bit smarter.”

…Unbelievable. Yang Euijoo nearly sighed out loud, almost forgetting he was pretending to be unconscious.

“Stop screwing around and move him! We need to get him ready before the boss arrives.”

“Alright, alright, quit nagging.”

Grumbling at the limping guy’s temper, the men moved Yang Euijoo somewhere else. Though his eyes were closed, the place smelled cleaner than the previous room. There was a breeze, suggesting a window somewhere.

“There’s a window here. Is that okay?”

“What lunatic would jump out? It’s a thornbush down there.”

The limping guy dismissed Shakyamuni’s concern casually. Thornbush. Yang Euijoo memorized the information the limping guy had unwittingly given and kept his eyes tightly shut. After checking that Yang Euijoo’s hands were securely tied, the limping guy left the room. Hearing the door close, Yang Euijoo counted to ten in his head, then opened his eyes and sprang up. A rough mishap occurred as he, bound like a caterpillar, slammed his face into the floor, but he didn’t break his nose or bleed.

“…Damn it, I’m really going to kill them.”

Spitting out harsh curses, Yang Euijoo scanned the room. The view outside the window wasn’t too high. Jumping might only break an ankle at worst. Limping, he hobbled to the window and looked down. As the limping guy said, a massive thornbush was below. A crazy tycoon planting thornbushes in a garden—Hong Kong might just be a gathering of lunatics. Even sane people would go mad living here. With so many people fighting to live on this cramped land, this was bound to happen.

Thankfully, the stupid limping guy only tied his hands, not his feet. Yang Euijoo puffed out his cheeks, slowly exhaling as he mulled over his options. Escaping blindly from an unknown place could get him caught again. Hadn’t he seen sailors trying to escape a ship, only to be caught, whipped, and hung upside down by the captain? But Yang Euijoo had no desire to spread his legs for Cheon Yeomyung, let alone some trigger-happy boss somewhere.

The door was locked from the outside, and the handle wouldn’t budge. Searching the room, he found no mirrors, even in the bathroom. The only escape route was the window with the thornbush below.

Finally, Yang Euijoo looked down at the window. As the sun set outside, the thornbush glowed a fiery scarlet. The window, small enough to barely squeeze through, seemed to mock him. He hadn’t expected to think of that man’s face now. Yang Euijoo bit his lip hard.

“Hey, why don’t we just call Meid to clean him up?”

“No way! What if Meid blabs? Just wash him roughly with water and spray some perfume. Think of it as cleaning a mutt.”

Rough voices came from the hallway. Yang Euijoo stopped thinking deeply. Twisting his wrists, the ropes scraped his skin raw, but he had no choice. Praying to get hurt as little as possible, he closed his eyes tightly and shoved himself through the narrow window. Jumping gracefully through a small window with bound wrists was the stuff of liars’ fantasies. Like someone rolled up in a blanket and thrown, he fell unprepared, crashing below. A loud commotion erupted above.

“What? Where’d this guy go?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Damn it, find him, now!”

Murmurs mixed with the limping guy’s curses. Yang Euijoo stifled a scream, panting heavily. His haggard face was streaked with tears. Curled up like a bug, he suppressed the pain shooting from his ankle.

“Go downstairs! He must’ve jumped!”

“Didn’t you say there was a thornbush?”

“I don’t know! If that idiot fell wrong and got crippled, we’re done for!”

Luckily, he didn’t land in the center of the thornbush, but sharp thorns scratched his entire body. It hurt just enough not to kill him. Breaking several thick branches as he fell, his toes hit multiple times. His already throbbing toes swelled as if broken. Breathing heavily through gritted teeth, Yang Euijoo wiped his blood-streaked face roughly and looked up. The men peering down from the window frame didn’t seem to spot him. That was a relief.

Tearing off the tattered ropes from his wrists, now shredded by branches, he used a relatively clean part of his t-shirt to wipe his nosebleed. Scratched and stabbed by thorns, he looked like someone who’d escaped a grave.

“If I escape, I’m coming back to burn this place down.”

Muttering viciously, Yang Euijoo stood. He had to escape before they caught him. Scanning the dark surroundings of the thornbush, he limped toward the building’s interior, crawling awkwardly.

Soon, the men searching for Yang Euijoo rushed outside, muttering among themselves. They didn’t even consider that he’d gone back into the building, foolishly starting to discuss.

“Lifeng, you check the forest.”

“The forest? No way, I might step in a deer trap.”

Skinhead grumbled lazily at the limping guy’s order, annoyed at running around in the heat. The limping guy exploded.

“Is this the time to talk about traps? Go!”

“I told you we should’ve tied his feet too. What’s the point of this hassle?”

Finally, Shakyamuni pointed out the limping guy’s mistake. As the limping guy’s face reddened, Skinhead joined in.

“Yeah, we didn’t even kidnap him. Why do you keep bossing us around? You’re not the boss.”

At their uncooperative attitude, the limping guy forced a groveling smile, anxious to the point of breaking.

“Come on, I’m not trying to hog him. Just help me out. That guy’s really famous in Yirang. Tons of guys want a piece of him, but he’s too proud, just some damn pharmacist… If the boss gets bored after a taste, maybe he’ll toss him to you guys. Or we could sell him for cash.”

Shakyamuni and Skinhead looked slightly convinced. Hiding near the basement door, Yang Euijoo overheard their conversation and seethed. These bastards were planning to treat him like absolute trash.

“Tell the others too. Say he’s an intruder in the mansion, and they’ll all come running.”

“Alright, I’ll spread the word.”

Hearing their voices plotting to escalate the situation, Yang Euijoo cautiously felt for the basement door. The shoddily painted blue shutter was flimsy, with security no better than Yirang’s.

Yang Euijoo shook the padlock on the shutter, then rummaged through his waistband. Like any Yirang resident, he always carried a few things in his pockets. He should’ve listened when Linda told him to buy a gun. The price seemed insane, so he kept putting it off, and now look. Though, if he had a gun, it probably would’ve been taken already. Maybe a pocketknife…

From deep in his pocket, Yang Euijoo pulled out a thin pin. The rusty padlock clicked open after a moment.

Glancing around, he carefully lifted the shutter. It creaked slightly, but the noisy mansion above seemed to cover it. Yang Euijoo crawled flat on the ground into the shutter. He looked even more like a buried corpse now, but he didn’t care. If he was lucky, he could hide in the basement until surveillance slackened, then escape.

Pressing his dizzy, feverish head, he scanned the surroundings. The shutter led to a storage room filled with junk. Nothing useful as a weapon—just a broken chair or an out-of-season heater. Dragging his throbbing foot, Yang Euijoo rummaged through the storage and found a bottle of liquor. Half-empty, it seemed someone hid it after drinking.

He opened it, sniffed, then shook out a rag from the clutter and poured the liquor on it. The cheap alcohol reeked. Yang Euijoo roughly wiped his face with the soaked rag. Even in the dim light, he saw the rag turn black. The alcohol’s stench made him feel like passing out, but it was better than dust stinging his eyes and clouding his vision.

Blinking slowly, he checked his wounds. His arms and body were covered in thorn scratches and stabs. His clothes, soaked in blood and dirt, were unrecognizable. He poured the liquor on deeper wounds, then approached an inner door where light faintly seeped through, holding his breath. No signs of life. The basement might be unused. After hesitating, Yang Euijoo slowly pulled the doorknob.

The hallway, lit by yellow bulbs, was eerily quiet. He walked cautiously. The lack of dust suggested maintenance, but it was unsettlingly grim. A foul, rancid smell wafted from somewhere.

What’s that smell? The stench pounded his head, and Yang Euijoo pinched his nose. The further he walked, the worse it got, peaking loudly at an ornate door. Unconsciously, he reached for the knob and turned it slowly. It was an inexplicable act.

Soon, he faced the source of the stench. The room, heavy with a dark, ominous smell, had wallpaper opposite the door that was strangely eerie, patterned with deep, frothy waves like a harbor. It was splattered with red paint. The high-quality wallpaper was excessively damaged.

Yang Euijoo noticed odd marks on it—holes where thick nails had been pulled out, with long trails of red paint stretching downward.

It didn’t take long to realize the smell was rotting corpses, and what he thought was red paint was blood. Goosebumps covered his body. How many had died to make the wallpaper look like a blood-soaked wave?

He realized he’d taken a wrong turn. He hadn’t escaped—he’d walked into a slaughterhouse. As he hesitated to step back, a voice came from inside.

“A guest has arrived.”

Click. The sound of a gun being cocked. Move, and you’re dead. Yang Euijoo froze, eyes darting toward the sound. A tug on a light cord lit up the large room. A gaudy chandelier, shaped like a dragon biting a bulb with red fabric draped elegantly, hung from the ceiling.

The lit room exposed a filthy, blatant murder scene. An old man sat in an ornate chair facing the wallpaper, using a man as a footrest. The man, crawling on all fours, was bloodied. The old man, with age spots on his face, toyed with a gun, inspecting it. Yang Euijoo noticed the footrest-man was drenched in blood.

“The mansion was noisy earlier… You’re the little rat, aren’t you?”

Yang Euijoo froze. The ugly man’s eyes glinted eerily. He’d been performing his elegant art of staining blue wallpaper red in this room when he saw the prey that wandered in, stroking his Browning. Blood had splattered on the handle from smashing the footrest-man’s head earlier, making it sticky. He sniffed the blood on his fingers, then licked it, grimacing at the foul, fishy taste before spitting carelessly on the floor.

“So, Wujung said he had a gift for me, and it seems that’s you.”

The boss of Hongryong, Quan, looked at the rat who’d boldly entered the room. The rat was dirty and battered, but his hair and eye color were striking. The blood covering him was especially pleasing. The signs of being tangled in thorns were evident, and the long trail of blood on his cheek delighted Quan.

“Kid, how old are you this year?”

Yang Euijoo stayed silent at the old man’s question.

“When an elder asks, you answer.”

A massive hand slammed the armrest. The threatening gesture was accompanied by the clatter of the gun. Yang Euijoo hid his trembling arms by clasping his hands tightly behind his back.

“…What do you want to know for?”

At his quivering voice, Quan narrowed his eyes. The red scratches on his feet and ankles from thorns stood out. His crumpled, filthy clothes, missing shoes, and bare feet were pleasing. His clenched lips, dusty hair, and rare-colored eyes were striking.

Like vile, wicked men, Quan enjoyed the young and weak defying him. His twisted mood, irritated by underlings running around noisily, began to calm.