Yang’s Master Chapter 6.1 - The Basement

It wasn’t raining, yet it felt as though it were. Cheon Yeomyung, returning to the mansion with the cold scent of rain clinging to him, was soaked from head to toe. He carelessly dropped the person he’d been carrying over his shoulder onto the floor. The limp body bore a familiar face, but none of his subordinates showed concern for the apothecary’s well-being. From Cheon Yeomyung’s collar, the briny, filthy seawater still dripped steadily. Someone thought they heard the phantom sound of a downpour.

“Lock him up.”

At the chilling voice, his subordinates hurriedly cast their eyes to the floor. Cheon Yeomyung in this moment was akin to a simmering volcano. They exchanged cautious glances, and eventually, Rinrin was pushed forward to take charge.

“Where should we lock him up?”

Cheon Yeomyung narrowed his eyes at Rinrin’s polite, smiling face.

“Rinrin.”

“Yes, boss?”

“Either shave off that pathetic head of yours or shoot up the salon that gave you that hairstyle. Take care of it.”

“…….”

Rinrin clutched the tightly permed hair he’d gotten two days ago. He didn’t want to shoot up his regular salon, nor did he want to shave his precious locks.

“I’ll check on it tomorrow morning, so don’t let anyone come up until then.”

“Then, to what extent should we… handle him?”

Cheon Yeomyung stared silently at Rinrin, who was clinging to his curly hair and asking obsequiously. His serpentine gaze soon landed on the small man collapsed on the smooth marble floor. Mei’s black canvas sneakers, a stark contrast to his clothing. Damn it. At Cheon Yeomyung’s curse, Rinrin squeezed his eyes shut.

“Throw him in the basement. But not to the point of ruining him. His limbs need to be intact if we’re to sell him to clients.”

“Understood.”

“And cut your hair by tomorrow morning.”

At the icy tone, Rinrin grimaced but bowed his head, unable to show his displeasure. He wasn’t foolish enough to defy a boss who’d lost his senses. His carefully grown hair wasn’t more important than his life.

Only after hearing Rinrin’s submission did Cheon Yeomyung move toward the second floor. His cold indifference toward the prey he’d personally hunted today was palpable. His subordinates, who had been holding their breath until his footsteps faded, belatedly gathered in small groups, clicking their tongues as they examined Yang Euijoo’s battered face.

“I didn’t expect this from the teacher.”

“It’s unexpected in a way I couldn’t have predicted. Has he lost his mind?”

At someone’s question, they all nodded in agreement. If Yang Euijoo had acted in a groveling or ugly manner, he might have earned Cheon Yeomyung’s mercy. Cheon Yeomyung never hesitated to crush vermin. He was kind, even merciful, to those who crawled on the ground. But he was ruthless toward anything that bit his ankle. Someone standing beside Rinrin looked down at Yang Euijoo and muttered under their breath.

“I thought the boss would kill him and bring back the body…”

“Well, among all the lovers we’ve seen, this will be the most gruesome ending.”

Everyone silently agreed with the man who had a shaved head and tattoos on his scalp. A clean death would have been an act of mercy. Being locked alive in the basement was something even the organization members, who had served faithfully under Cheon Yeomyung for a decade, avoided at all costs.

“His face is still the prettiest, though.”

At someone’s comment, all eyes turned to Yang Euijoo. His face, streaked with blood, was pale and lifeless, as if announcing his exhaustion.

“We should send him down before we get caught in the crossfire… Did he fall into the sea?”

“Yeah, the boss pulled him out himself.”

The sound of clicking heels echoed. Rinrin looked up. Rose Rock, the eldest sister figure, walked into the mansion with a tired expression, shivering slightly. She was exhausted from running through the salty harbor, drenched in dawn mist and dew. Following her were Sogang and Yirang, who had just finished cleaning up the aftermath. Rinrin, who had stayed behind at the mansion to guard against potential attacks from Quan or other organizations, let out a faint sigh.

“Will he let him live?”

“He’ll keep him alive. He went as far as pulling him out himself.”

The pollution at the dock where the ship was moored was beyond discussion. Yet Cheon Yeomyung had plunged in without hesitation. Rose Rock had seen him act without a moment’s pause. She knew where his gaze had been fixed at that moment. Neither she nor Sogang had realized it at the time.

The black sneakers visible under the loose, flowing dress. The moment she confirmed the ill-fitting shoes Yang Euijoo had recently been wearing, it was as if despair had plunged into the depths of the sea. The boss, crawling up from the water, was like a living curse.

“…For now, just keep an eye on the boss and stay out of trouble. Don’t show any unnecessary sympathy.”

Rose Rock spoke quietly. Cheon Yeomyung would not forgive Yang Euijoo, no matter his mistake.

“We’ve tracked down the woman. She was on the last ship that left, so if we know the destination, it’ll be quick. We’ll be faster if we take a plane.”

“Good, that’s the way to go.”

“Where’s the destination?”

“The Soviet Union.”

“Send someone to Leningrad first.”

Rose Rock nodded at Sogang’s response. She then frowned at Rinrin, who was blankly holding Yang Euijoo’s limp arm.

“Rinrin, leave it. I’ll take care of it.”

“…No, I’ll do it.”

Rinrin, dejectedly tying his hair with a rubber band—the hair Cheon Yeomyung had ordered him to cut—replied gloomily. A once-cheerful friend was now sinking into the deep basement. She had no say in the matter. From an organizational perspective, Yang Euijoo had caused significant harm to the boss’s grand revenge. Still, at least change his clothes. Rinrin muttered sadly, and Rose Rock didn’t respond.

🐑

Yang Euijoo woke up belatedly. Or rather, it was more accurate to say he came to his senses. He was submerged somewhere. Before he could process it, he thrashed against the cold water piercing his nasal passages. The pain in his wrists and ankles, bound behind him, felt like being sliced by a thin, sharp knife.

“…!”

As he opened his mouth to let out a silent scream, cold water rushed into his nose like lightning, forcing him to swallow. Air bubbles burst violently to the surface. It hurt. The inability to breathe was painful enough, but the bindings digging deeper into his flesh with every struggle caused excruciating agony, as if his skin were being torn apart.

“Keep moving like that, and you’ll get to see your wrist bones with your own eyes.”

Yang Euijoo’s eyes widened. The voice, colder than the icy water, was familiar. In that moment, he was roughly pulled up from the depths.

“Ugh, hack…!”

Before he could stop it, the water he’d forcibly swallowed came rushing back up. The man holding him from behind dragged him out of the tub, forcing him to vomit. His abdomen was pressed against the tub’s edge, and it felt like he was retching not of his own will but by force. Under immense pressure, his stomach was compressed, and he couldn’t breathe properly as he expelled the water. The murky liquid spilled onto the smooth tiled floor before his blurred vision.

Yang Euijoo realized his body was cold and clammy. How long had he been like this? Where was this place? Why was he…

His body, unable to process the overwhelming information, was plunged back into the tub. He tried to lift himself, but the force pressing him down from behind rendered him helpless. The burning pain in his wrists and ankles intensified.

“I told you, didn’t I? Keep struggling if you want your wrists cut off.”

The words reached him, but it took a long time for his mind to register them. After repeating the ordeal several times, Yang Euijoo finally realized that letting his body go limp and enduring the water torture was less painful. Only then did the man stop tormenting him and pull him fully out of the tub.

The strength to drag an adult man out with one hand was astonishing, but Yang Euijoo was in no condition to remark on it. The bathroom wasn’t one he recognized. It was narrow, cold, and damp, like a chimney. It felt like an underground space where no light could penetrate.

“Euijoo-ya.”

A gentle yet chilling voice rang out, as if noticing Yang Euijoo hadn’t lost consciousness. Cheon Yeomyung tossed his wet gloves to the floor, wiping his hands and forearms with a towel as he looked down at Yang Euijoo, crushed like a bug.

He was dressed casually today. With his sleeves rolled up and a subtle beige checkered shirt held by suspenders, he looked like a young master from a wealthy family. If he hadn’t spent hours waterboarding someone, one might mistake him for an idle man enjoying a holiday. With a languid expression, Cheon Yeomyung gazed at the figure crumpled at his feet.

Yang Euijoo was exhausted from the brutal waterboarding. His wrists and ankles, bound with thin wire, were bloodied. Left like this, they’d likely rot. Cheon Yeomyung looked up at the ceiling with mild irritation. Unlike the upper floors, the basement bathroom was designed solely for torture. Devoid of any light, the gray space was lit only by a crude orange bulb, its filament half-burned and flickering.

It felt like his nerves were flickering too.

Cheon Yeomyung lightly kicked Yang Euijoo’s cheek. The body flinched but showed no further reaction. Had he gone too far? He was still alive, though. With an impassive gaze, Cheon Yeomyung looked at the limp body, like a slab of meat, before picking up a pair of nippers. He began cutting the wires embedded deep in the flesh.

It must have been painful, yet Yang Euijoo didn’t make a sound. Like someone who’d lost the ability to scream, he only twitched slightly as the wires were pulled from his skin. Cheon Yeomyung noted the considerable bleeding. But that was all. After removing all the wires from his hands and feet, he dragged Yang Euijoo out of the bathroom.

Only then did Yang Euijoo realize where he was. It was the deepest part of the basement, where he’d once held Du Shanchong’s hand as he begged for mercy. Now, Yang Euijoo was in his place.

“Can I ask you something?”

Cheon Yeomyung spoke. Yang Euijoo, too weak to respond, searched for the man with his eyes. His expression was complex, unreadable. It didn’t resemble the face of someone who’d ruthlessly submerged Yang Euijoo in freezing water, pressing him down as he struggled to breathe.

His wet lips moved, but no sound came out. Perhaps from vomiting water repeatedly, his throat felt as if it had been scraped with a knife, a sharp pain radiating within. The taste of blood spread. Cheon Yeomyung, seemingly unconcerned with Yang Euijoo’s affirmation, stepped forward with a thud and asked.

“Why did you do it?”

It was a question already asked when he was pulled from the sea. Yang Euijoo looked at the man’s face. Even in the dark, filthy basement, the man appeared noble, untainted. Was it because of his eyes? Yang Euijoo lost the will to answer and closed his eyes. But Cheon Yeomyung didn’t tolerate his passive attitude. The man, now wearing fresh gloves, grabbed Yang Euijoo’s wet hair and yanked him up. Unable to resist despite his freed hands and feet, Yang Euijoo let out a cracked scream like dry wood splitting.

“Are you Hongryong’s spy?”

Cheon Yeomyung asked. Tears fell from Yang Euijoo’s ashen eyes.

“No, it’s not…”

Yang Euijoo coughed dryly. The man watching his frail, trembling shoulders raised his gaze. The ashen eyes, blurred from cold and pain, were unfocused. Thinking he wouldn’t last much longer yet had dared to do this, Cheon Yeomyung dropped Yang Euijoo back to the floor. Falling powerlessly onto the hard surface, Yang Euijoo writhed, letting out a pained groan.

“Then were you Hongryong’s lover? No wonder you felt so good with Adachi.”

At the vulgar, degrading taunt, the corner of Yang Euijoo’s lips twitched upward slightly. Cheon Yeomyung caught it clearly. Those lips could no longer pretend to meet his on equal ground. Having drunk cold water for so long, they were blue and trembling with chills.

Cheon Yeomyung brushed back the disheveled hair to look at Yang Euijoo’s face. Those rare-colored eyes and hair… a mouse living in an anthill. Cheon Yeomyung vividly recalled the moment their eyes met through the slightly open, narrow door.

“I guess I came to pick you up while you were busy sucking Quan’s dick without a clue.”

“I told you it’s not true…”

Yang Euijoo denied it with effort. His eyes, unyielding to such taunts and words, shone in the basement.

“It’s really not.”

“Then what?”

Cheon Yeomyung tilted his head with a puzzled expression.

“If not that, are you saying you did this out of pure intention to save a kid?”

It was strange. He thought there’d be no more conversation between them, yet Cheon Yeomyung kept talking to Yang Euijoo. Even after binding him with wire and repeatedly submerging him in water, he spoke in a friendly tone, as if nothing was wrong between them, though the content was far from it. Yang Euijoo felt his body stuck to the floor like blackened gum.

“If I said yes?”

“Euijoo-ya.”

Cheon Yeomyung coaxed him gently. Yang Euijoo saw the man’s large, warm hand approach his face. But instead of caressing, it grabbed his collar and yanked him up. The veins in the man’s rolled-up forearms bulged. His eyes, gleaming with madness, glared at Yang Euijoo’s face as if to tear it apart.

“The world doesn’t work like that, damn it, but you shouldn’t screw it up.”

Half-lifted into the air, Yang Euijoo groaned from the pain of his torn wrists and ankles.

“Do you know how many years I wasted for that bastard!”

It was the first time Yang Euijoo saw Cheon Yeomyung raise his voice. Stunned, he stared blankly at the enraged face. His scarred face, soaked in salt and cold water, could only gaze at Cheon Yeomyung. Too exhausted to speak, no sound came out. Meanwhile, his body was shoved somewhere. Yang Euijoo realized he was lying on the floor, pinned under the man.

Cheon Yeomyung, dressed in clothes too refined for the basement, crushed Yang Euijoo beneath him. The pressure felt like it would burst his lungs.

“Ugh…”

Yang Euijoo groaned as even slight movements of his wrists felt like his flesh was being gouged. But before he could fully register the pain, Cheon Yeomyung’s hand reached his overworked neck. The sound of leather rubbing against leather grated. Yang Euijoo’s ashen eyes rolled back as if they’d flip over.

His neck was too fragile. Constricted in Cheon Yeomyung’s grip, it felt like it would snap with just a bit more force. Forgetting to resist, Yang Euijoo flailed like a fish pulled from the water, belatedly scratching at Cheon Yeomyung’s hand with his tattered wrists. His uneven, jagged nails scraped the smooth surface of the glove. At the feeble struggle, Cheon Yeomyung smirked and slowly loosened his grip.

“Cough, hack!”

Yang Euijoo curled up, coughing harshly. His damaged throat produced blood-tinged coughs. Whimpering, his lips, speckled with bloody saliva, were oddly red.

“Even if I cherished you, you should’ve been loyal…”

Cheon Yeomyung laughed at the pathetic sight. Despite looking worse than a bug pulled from a sewer, Yang Euijoo’s face was still pretty enough that, under normal circumstances, Cheon Yeomyung might have kissed it. He laughed for a while.

“How dare a dog bite its master?”

He raged, his anger blazing. Yang Euijoo, who had used the man’s leniency and affection as a chance for betrayal, wiped his dirty lips with the back of his hand as his coughing subsided. The bitter taste of blood lingered in his mouth like sugar.

“No, forget it.”

The noble-faced man looked down at Yang Euijoo and declared anew.

“If it’s useless, I’ll just sell it.”

“…”

“But it’ll need some training first.”

Rubbing the blood-stained chin with his thumb, Cheon Yeomyung looked down at Yang Euijoo. His shoe hovered close to Yang Euijoo’s cheek, as if to kick it, but he didn’t inflict further violence. Watching the clear handprint bruise on his neck, he slowly crouched down. In a relaxed posture, he closely examined Yang Euijoo’s face.

“In business, you meet all sorts of people.”

“…”

“Some have peculiar tastes, like those who want to rape someone’s lover.”

Yang Euijoo’s lips twitched at that moment. Cheon Yeomyung didn’t miss it.

“I cherished you too much.”

“You…”

“I was too soft.”

Was he? Yang Euijoo thought vaguely. He had been soft. The man had patiently overlooked his sharp tongue and irritability, sometimes treating his words as mere pillow talk.

“So, since you made this choice to save a kid and a woman, you’ll have to take responsibility, won’t you?”

Ah. With a sigh that felt like it expelled his soul, Cheon Yeomyung glanced away. The basement, lit only by a single small bulb, had no windows, making it impossible to tell the time. When the door was closed, it was a perfectly sealed space, blocking out all external light.

“You’ll regret it.”

Looking at a face that might already be regretting, Cheon Yeomyung continued slowly.

“Why didn’t you find a way to get on that ship?”

If you had, you might not have to imagine what you’ll face now. The man’s black-gloved hand distracted Yang Euijoo’s gaze. He no longer felt the cold. So, Yang Euijoo said to Cheon Yeomyung.

“I don’t regret it, you bastard.”

“…”

The corner of Cheon Yeomyung’s mouth slowly curled up. With a short laugh that seemed to strike the basement’s light, the man nodded to himself. It was a gesture Yang Euijoo couldn’t see.

“Fine, don’t regret it.”

Then, the smile vanished cleanly from his beautiful face. Yang Euijoo felt an unfamiliar pain surge through his entire body.

🐑

Several days and nights passed since Yang Euijoo’s escape attempt. The entire basement was sealed off, accessible only to Cheon Yeomyung. He visited irregularly, spending the rest of his time reorganizing the group. At first, he suspected Yang Euijoo had offered his body to someone for cooperation, but that wasn’t the case. Instead, he caught Hongryong’s informant.

A pointless achievement. Cheon Yeomyung grumbled coldly as he tortured the informant and sent him back to Quan. Wiping blood from his gloves, he felt his mood didn’t improve. After shaking up the mansion once, the next target was Yirang.

It had been three years since Byeokhae had openly entered Yirang. As the organization began conducting “proper” business in Hong Kong, Cheon Yeomyung rarely led dozens of men in overt criminal acts unless it was for personal stress relief.

He first visited the chimney house but found nothing different from the reports he received for its regular cleaning and maintenance, so he closed the door. If Yang Euijoo had stopped by even once, it would’ve reached his ears. He knew Yang Euijoo’s relationships inside out. A group of members rushed to a wonton noodle stall, while he, with only his lieutenants in tow, strolled into an old general store.

“It’s been a while.”

At the man’s casual greeting as he entered, the old woman sitting on a small chair stopped knitting. A bundle of striking red yarn slipped from her steep knees, trailing down to where Cheon Yeomyung stood.

“It has been a while.”

“I think we have something to talk about. I wonder if you have the time.”

A murky glint flashed in Cheon Yeomyung’s yellow eyes. At the murderous look, Linda sighed. She knew it would come to this. How meticulously could an innocent apothecary plan? Escaping Cheon Yeomyung’s eyes in Hong Kong was no easy feat. Linda set down her lackluster knitting and replied.

“Why wouldn’t I have time? You’re here to interrogate me, aren’t you? Yes, I helped the apothecary teacher.”

“I don’t understand why you’d do this. I thought we were on good terms.”

Cheon Yeomyung said, irritably kicking the annoying yarn. The round ball rolled off into some corner.

“Because he asked me to.”

“Would you give your life if he asked? Is there any reason I shouldn’t burn this place down right now?”

“You’re very angry.”

Linda removed the reading glasses from the bridge of her nose and pressed the wrinkles between her brows. Cheon Yeomyung only curled his lips at her calm response. The cold smile made the beauty even more refined. If not for the eyes that barely concealed his irritation, they might have been chatting idly about the egg fried rice or rice noodles they had for lunch.

“I am angry.”

Cheon Yeomyung acknowledged his anger plainly. Filled with rage to the brim, he wanted to go to the basement and strangle Yang Euijoo right then. Because he let Quan’s child slip away. No, because Yang Euijoo betrayed him. The moment he realized that betrayal stemmed from his own leniency, Cheon Yeomyung laughed. If the foolish, sentimental favor he thought was harmless had been for this, he would’ve locked Yang Euijoo in a room, gagged him, and never let him out, even if he screamed in despair at the rising sun and moon.

“I only helped because help was requested. How is that any different from giving you chocolate when you asked for it?”

“Linda.”

“…The teacher told me. He said he couldn’t give up now that he knew the child’s name.”

That was why a chuckle escaped.

“This old man has lived long enough, so how precious could life be? It’s fine if you kill me. I only regret not finishing the knitting. I thought it was a color that resembled you.”

Pointing to the intricate red thread, Linda spoke. It was a red dyed by hand using traditional techniques. Cheon Yeomyung responded.

“I hate red.”

“Well, but doesn’t your name carry that color?”

“What attachment could I have to a name my father gave me?”

Linda and Cheon Yeomyung’s eyes met. The old woman who had lived long in Yirang had been through Cheon Yeomyung’s ups and downs. Though calling them ups and downs might be difficult. Cheon Yeomyung had never known decline from the moment he was born until now. Not at seven, not at twenty-three, and not even now at thirty. Linda, fidgeting with the half-knitted scarf, replied.

“You must be very angry with the pharmacist teacher, but don’t be.”

Cheon Yeomyung quietly rolled his yellow eyes.

“What?”

“If you had killed Mei and the child, wouldn’t it have been even more irreversible?”

“Irreversible?”

Cheon Yeomyung smiled, touching the corner of his mouth.

“Irreversible things have already happened, Linda. I don’t know how much you and the teacher schemed together, but Euijoo will definitely see the woman’s corpse.”

“There’s no reason it has to come to that.”

Linda’s tone grew firm. Cheon Yeomyung silently gazed at the old woman’s face. He asked quietly.

“When I was still young… didn’t you sometimes give me candy when I came to your shop?”

Cheon Yeomyung had now grown so much that he exuded an overwhelming presence. Naturally, there was no one bold enough to offer him candy anymore. But his childhood face was certainly one that made people want to give him candy. When Cheon Yeomyung secretly visited Yirang, Linda would often place candy or chocolate in his palm. Even back then, born as the most pampered youngest son in a wealthy Hong Kong family, snacks weren’t exactly scarce for him, but he never refused what others gave him.

Soon, he was dragged away by his father’s calls, but in the days when Cheon Yeomyung was called the young master, he occasionally stopped by Yirang. Memorizing the complex paths lined with irregular signs that seemed frozen in their chaotic splendor, he would hurry to knock on Linda’s general store. Back then, Linda’s hair was only sparsely streaked with white. The young master would unhesitatingly extend his hand in the filthy streets, asking for candy. It would take about twenty more years for a rift to form between Linda and Cheon Yeomyung.

Cheon Yeomyung pulled over a metal chair and plopped down. The chair was low, causing his long legs to stretch out across the floor. The man leaned back against the creaking chair and sighed.

“Was the young me worth pitying, and now that I’m grown, you no longer care for me?”

“Isn’t that a different matter? I’m saying Mei and the child are innocent. So is the pharmacist teacher who helped them.”

“Being born can be a sin, like inheriting that bastard’s blood or daring to help them escape.”

Cheon Yeomyung let out a cold sneer. There was a degree of self-contradiction in his words. Thinking of his father, Cheon Yeomyung muttered.

“You sound just like the teacher. That’s probably why you helped, but… well.”

His beautiful lips evoked an artist who claimed to see an angel in marble. Thus, Cheon Yeomyung let cold, marble-like words spill forth.

“You’ll soon realize that what you did was pointless. I’ll give you a chance to greet the corpse later.”

“You won’t regret it?”

Linda asked. Cheon Yeomyung laughed.

“Linda, you should ask that of my dear lover someday.”

If such a conversation were even possible. Cheon Yeomyung answered, looking up at the worn ceiling. The general store, filled with thousands of jumbled items, was Linda’s domain, where everything existed.

Cheon Yeomyung knew well that small candies, caramels, chocolates, and dried plum snacks that a child might like were in a small drawer right behind Linda. She always kept such treats close at hand.

Cheon Yeomyung would sneakily eat the cheap snacks Linda gave him, which his father would never allow. Then, Rose Rock or Sogang, sent to fetch him, would pay Linda for the snacks on his behalf.

The soft, tangy taste of those dried plums he nibbled back then. The overly sweet caramel that was sure to rot his teeth, lemon candies, mango jellies, and licorice snacks.

“Think of this as paying for the candies I owe you.”

“Isn’t that too generous a price for this old man’s life?”

“…That’s my choice too.”

Cheon Yeomyung replied, rising from the chair. The sound of approaching footsteps grew louder.

“Boss, I’ve brought the woman you asked for.”

Entering Linda’s general store, Lee Jaryang set down a haggard-looking woman in front of him. Cheon Yeomyung couldn’t help but laugh upon seeing Li Su. For some reason, his lover was generous enough to show affection to a poor, gloomy-looking human who resembled him. Mei was the same. They were so weak for such things.

“So that’s how it was with me.”

“What?”

“No, never mind. So, what did she do?”

Cheon Yeomyung asked, turning his gaze from Li Su, who was trembling with fear. Lee Jaryang answered with a troubled expression.

“She said she prepared items and a note for money. She hid a ladder near the building where Mei was staying and acted as a contact.”

“She’s fearless.”

Cheon Yeomyung gave a brief assessment. Lee Jaryang’s eyes twitched as if in agreement. Helping with such a dangerous task, knowing Yang Euijoo had fallen into Cheon Yeomyung’s hands, was no different from selling one’s life as cheaply as a spiderweb hanging on Yirang’s signs. Perhaps a spiderweb that escaped the broom might live longer.

After staring for a while at Li Su, who was trembling and unable to meet his eyes, Cheon Yeomyung spoke.

“If I kill them all, how will my lover react?”

“…”

“Curious, aren’t you?”

At the chilling words, Lee Jaryang clasped his hands behind his back and stayed silent. Cheon Yeomyung’s eyes grew murky. There was no regret. He was not one to show mercy to betrayal.

🐑

Visiting the basement, Cheon Yeomyung was dressed in an exceptionally polished outfit from head to toe. He wore a dark, cool green autumn coat with a classic frock coat design over a perfectly fitted black suit, complete with a tie. Beneath the sleek, refined attire were shoes that, as always, completed the look.

“Feeling any regrets?”

Cheon Yeomyung asked a pointless question, a cigarette in his mouth and a box of snacks tucked under his arm. The snack box, wrapped in a half-untied red ribbon and crumpled sky-blue wrapping, was dented on one side. It made Cheon Yeomyung feel like a clumsy Christmas Santa Claus.

“Not really…”

Yang Euijoo, who had just woken up, muttered insincerely, turning his gaze away from Cheon Yeomyung. Sitting on a chair placed in the basement, Cheon Yeomyung looked at Yang Euijoo.

His lover had been starved for two days. He might not know two days had passed, but Yang Euijoo had gone exactly two days without food. Without water either, he must be in great pain now. Dropping the snack box in front of him, Cheon Yeomyung kicked it forward with his foot.

The soft, fluffy snacks had turned dark with discoloration. Well, in Hong Kong’s weather, such things would spoil quickly. Looking at the moldy snacks, Cheon Yeomyung gestured with his chin to Yang Euijoo.

“Eat.”

“…”

“Eat it all.”

Cheon Yeomyung recalled Linlin’s face as she silently handed him the crumpled snack box. She seemed to hope he’d change his mind upon seeing it, but it only fueled his anger. The hurried return from Macau, the foolishly excited heart, the familiar bitter taste of betrayal.

“Not going to eat?”

Despite two days without water and suffering, Yang Euijoo was picky about food. Still had some fight in him, it seemed. Cheon Yeomyung chuckled inwardly, biting down on his cigarette. Spoiled food wasn’t so bad, actually. Annoyed, he voiced his irritation.

“If you don’t want to eat, I could force-feed you, but wouldn’t it be better to eat it yourself?”

Yang Euijoo glared at the snack box, hearing Cheon Yeomyung’s voice. Even with his empty stomach and body parched like all moisture had been drained, the snacks’ smell wasn’t pleasant. He should’ve known from the flowers—Cheon Yeomyung’s gifts were always terrible.

He should’ve told him he had no gift-giving sense. Thinking this, Yang Euijoo mindlessly moved his bound wrists and winced. The wounds on his wrists and ankles, gained the day he woke in the basement, hadn’t healed properly, causing sharp pain with every movement. Though bandaged to prevent rotting, Cheon Yeomyung hadn’t done more than that.

It wasn’t clear if Cheon Yeomyung had treated him at all. It happened while Yang Euijoo was unconscious. The only person he’d seen in the basement since arriving was Cheon Yeomyung. His stomach growled loudly at first, but now, too weak to even make such pitiful sounds, he stared listlessly at Cheon Yeomyung.

“Oh, you need to be untied to eat. Worse than a dog, you can’t even eat with your mouth.”

As if suddenly remembering, Cheon Yeomyung stood and grabbed Yang Euijoo’s ankle. Yang Euijoo, lying on his side, groaned loudly at the rough action, but Cheon Yeomyung pressed his squirming cheek with his foot, ignoring the protest, and unlocked the ankle shackles.

With a clank, the blood-stained, pinkish bandages fell to the floor. Then came the wrists, in worse condition from constant movement. Cheon Yeomyung lifted the bandage edge to check if the wound was festering, then let go.

“I’ll wait, so eat slowly.”

Cheon Yeomyung gestured with his head, smoking his cigarette. Faint cigarette smoke curled up in the dim basement. The snacks remained mottled with mold. Yang Euijoo cursed inwardly at the inhumanity of forcing a starved man to eat spoiled food and the deranged diligence of bringing it himself, but no voice came out.

His throat still felt like it was burning. He struggled to crawl to the bathroom to turn on a faucet, but not a drop of water came out. The bathtub was spotless, without a trace of moisture to lick. It was an act that didn’t even treat him as human.

Meanwhile, the basement kept echoing with the sound of water. The sound of raindrops hitting the walls was incessant. Hong Kong saw typhoons in autumn. The gloomy rain sounds flooded his new sleeping place in this low space, and Yang Euijoo felt heat, cold, hunger, and nausea all at once. Ignoring Cheon Yeomyung’s words, he only stared at the snack box.

Cheon Yeomyung, not expecting much, sat in the chair and waited. Cigarette butts piled up on the floor beneath. It didn’t take long for Yang Euijoo to grow desperate enough to beg for a sip of water. He’d already been starved for two days. As the rain that had briefly stopped began again, the basement filled with its sound.

Cheon Yeomyung did nothing but stare at Yang Euijoo. Amid the noisy rain, the ticking of his wristwatch’s second hand echoed. Tick, tick, with the faint sound, Yang Euijoo reached out. His rough fingertips scraped off the mold, and his parched lips, dry enough to crumble, parted.

Cheon Yeomyung heard Yang Euijoo run to the bathroom and vomit as soon as he swallowed the snack. The only thing in the basement that could be called water—the toilet—became filthy. Yang Euijoo loudly retched the spoiled snacks. The taste was so vile it was a miracle he’d swallowed it at all.

Wiping his dirty lips and returning, Cheon Yeomyung commanded again.

“Finish eating. I bought it for you.”

There were nine snacks, and only one was gone. Glaring at Cheon Yeomyung, Yang Euijoo forced another crumbling snack into his throat, which felt like it could swallow nothing. What followed was a horrific time. Yang Euijoo chewed, swallowed, vomited, and vomited again. Cheon Yeomyung didn’t stop even as Yang Euijoo clung to the toilet, retching futilely. He even held the spoiled snacks and shoved them into Yang Euijoo’s mouth himself, undeterred by the vomit staining his gloves.

It felt like he’d cried, saying he couldn’t eat the last remaining snack. Eventually, he must have fainted, because when he woke, an IV was attached to his arm. But it was still the basement.

The persistent rain sounds weighed down Yang Euijoo’s body. The room felt damp, as if submerged in water. It sloshed. Feeling like he was curled up below a ship’s deck, Yang Euijoo let out a faint groan. He briefly considered pulling the IV needle from his arm and stabbing it into his neck, but it seemed unlikely the man would have left the IV without such precautions.

How much time had passed? When Yang Euijoo woke again, the IV had been replaced, and a tray lay beside his curled body. It was, to all appearances, “decent” food. Though it was just watery broth with tough, chewy egg noodles, to Yang Euijoo’s impoverished nose, it smelled excessively tantalizing and luxurious.

Holding a blunt, short wooden chopstick, Yang Euijoo hurriedly stuffed the noodles into his mouth. A few thinly sliced cabbage leaves, soaked in broth, clung to the noodles as they came up. The moment he swallowed, Yang Euijoo dropped the chopsticks. The hard chopsticks rolled on the cold floor.

“Why?”

A cold voice rang out. Only then did Yang Euijoo realize a man was in the shadowy corner. The man sat in a chair, holding a book. Relying on a small orange bulb, Cheon Yeomyung’s face, reading tiny print, wore glasses. A thin silver frame rested on his pale, beautiful cheeks, slightly loose, sliding when he tilted his head.

“Why aren’t you eating? It’s your favorite food.”

Yang Euijoo’s lips moved as if broken. His pale face, rarely flushed, now seemed trapped in the vast, frozen tundra of the Soviet Union.

“Li Su.”

Uttering one phrase, Yang Euijoo curled up and coughed. The IV bag, precariously hanging on a crude metal stand, shook noisily. The sound was louder than his coughing. Both Yang Euijoo and Cheon Yeomyung found the metallic noise grating.

Yang Euijoo stopped coughing only when he tasted blood in his throat, then raised his curled body. His knuckles, gripping the floor, trembled faintly.

“What did you do to Aunt Su?”

“You’re angry.”

Cheon Yeomyung spoke of something else. His eyes traced the remaining paragraph of the book. It wasn’t a lyrical story. The protagonists were harsh with each other but didn’t inflict fatal wounds. In leaving possibilities open, Cheon Yeomyung differed from the book’s characters, though one thing was similar.

‘An arrogant man with considerable wealth.’

“Haven’t you ever thought about it? Whether you succeeded in escaping or not, didn’t you consider that those who helped you might get hurt?”

“Cheon Yeomyung!”

“Even if someone stabbed me, you wouldn’t get this furious. Why not eat? I went all the way to that filthy street to find her, so at least you should enjoy it.”

Saying this, Cheon Yeomyung turned a page in his luxurious hardcover book. The man mocked the woman’s family for their lack of refinement.

“It’s too cheap for me to eat.”

Insulting family always provoked fitting anger. Looking at Yang Euijoo, whose anger dripped visibly, Cheon Yeomyung smiled faintly.

“Eat it quickly. Why aren’t you eating? It’s food made by someone you like so much.”

“What did you do…!”

“If you eat, I’ll answer.”

The rustle of another page turning sounded. Not even meeting his eyes, Cheon Yeomyung’s action made Yang Euijoo want to impulsively slam the book shut, but he didn’t act on it. Instead, he picked up the chopsticks from the floor. Roughly wiping the dust off with his hand, Yang Euijoo forced himself to eat the noodles.

It was the familiar taste he always ate. The earthy smell of vegetable scraps, the subtle greasiness of pork fat in the watery broth, and the always unevenly cooked egg noodles.

Yang Euijoo roughly chewed and swallowed the noodles. His throat, wrecked by frequent vomiting, occasionally resisted, but he swallowed it all. Gulping down the lukewarm broth, Yang Euijoo realized his body was doing better than he thought. Was there a fever reducer in the IV? Thinking it pointless, Yang Euijoo finished the noodles as Cheon Yeomyung ordered and set the bowl down as if throwing it.

“Tell me.”

At the commanding tone, Cheon Yeomyung, pausing his reading, let out a laugh. It was somehow a weak laugh.

“I’m still not trustworthy, am I?”

If he were, that would be stranger. Yang Euijoo thought of the blatant things Cheon Yeomyung hid even in his presence.

“I don’t understand why you’re asking, but I’ll give you the answer you want. I killed her. Want me to remind you why? Because she helped you.”

Yang Euijoo gripped the chopsticks tightly. The wounds on his dry hands and wrists trembled faintly, burdened even by that.

“Didn’t you think about the consequences when you involved her? Preparing notes and items—is that any different from asking to die? She was a vulgar woman, selling barely edible food every dawn to make money, so you two must have been close. Oh, did you learn to sell that fake medicine from her? I heard rumors you two were close in bed too—pretty good at it, huh?”

Cheon Yeomyung’s venomous words were as if he’d studied how to disgust people. Seeing Cheon Yeomyung’s lips, which sullied his relationship with Li Su, Yang Euijoo sprang up. The wounds on his wrists and ankles, neither festering nor healing, ached, but not as much as the pain slicing through his heart.

Holding blunt chopsticks that couldn’t even pick up noodles properly, Yang Euijoo lunged. Cheon Yeomyung’s eyes gleamed. He put a bookmark in his book, closed it, and reached out. Yang Euijoo thought he was charging with all his strength, but his weakened body was so slow it wasn’t even laughable. Cheon Yeomyung waited until Yang Euijoo tried to stab the chopsticks into his face, then grabbed his thin wrist.

“You bastard!”

Yang Euijoo shouted. The chopsticks fell limply from his forcibly opened hand under the strong grip. Seeing Yang Euijoo’s tears, Cheon Yeomyung laughed.

“I’m pretty good at sucking too, so what’s the problem?”

“What’s the problem…!”

Yang Euijoo grabbed Cheon Yeomyung’s collar fiercely. Cheon Yeomyung didn’t feel like explaining that the wooden chair he sat on was deliberately nailed loosely for easy disassembly, used to quickly fetch a club for torturing those locked in the basement. So, he kindly pried Yang Euijoo’s hands off his collar.

Yang Euijoo screamed as his fingers were bent by the man’s rough grip. Cheon Yeomyung glanced briefly at the book’s cover, now on the floor. Prejudice. A damn irritating word.

“What did you do to Li Su!”

“I taught her how foolish it is to help someone in that alley. When I asked if she had anything to say, she said she wanted to cook you noodles. So I let her. I tried a bite out of curiosity, but it was utterly inedible trash.”

The mockery shattered Yang Euijoo’s spirit like violence. Thinking it’d be better to be tortured in a bathtub, Yang Euijoo let out a long, sharp scream, like a small animal fatally bitten by a wild dog. Cheon Yeomyung tolerated him only up to that point.

Rising from the chair, Cheon Yeomyung subdued the thrashing Yang Euijoo, pinning him to the floor. His cheek hit the ground, skin scraping loudly. The rough, uneven basement floor grazed his face. Crushed under Cheon Yeomyung’s hands, Yang Euijoo let out raw sobs. Transparent tears fell drop by drop under the gloved hand. Cheon Yeomyung found this both dull and amusing.

“You’ve practically wiped out that family. Congratulations. Is the pharmacist teacher’s hobby to elegantly kill without getting a drop of blood on his hands? Or did you hold a grudge over a cheap payment? I should’ve paid more for that expensive body I messed with—sorry for being so stingy.”

It was violence that tore at his nerves. Yang Euijoo, pinned by Cheon Yeomyung, struggled and covered his ears. Curled up like a grub, unable to rise from the floor, he was like a grub buried in the earth, unable to become a cicada and wail at summer’s end.

“Euijoo, I’m curious about what’s in your head.”

Crouching before Yang Euijoo, Cheon Yeomyung tilted his head, gazing into eyes writhing with despair.

“Why not recite your desires? Money, citizenship, getting your people out of Yirang…”

Cheon Yeomyung listed the things Yang Euijoo might have wanted while living in Yirang. He didn’t need to ask—they were things any ordinary, poor person would want. His voice, listing wishes, was almost romantic, like a marriage proposal.

“Did you separate the worldly from the emotional? Then why not beg your lover—me—for love? If you’d asked for a deep, emotional connection, excluding value or sex, I would’ve given it to you.”