Yang’s Master Chapter 6.2 - The Basement

Speaking of love as if it were a coin tossed to a beggar, Cheon Yeomyung touched his cheek. The man curled his lips slightly upward in a crooked manner. It was a very mischievous expression.

“Sleeping together and waking up in the same bed? Going for a walk, drinking tea together? How about joining me for a meeting sometime. Those bastards who look down on people who don’t speak English well are crazy for anything oriental, panting over it. I’ll give you traditional clothes instead of Western ones. I know you don’t like them—but kids like you have to wear those clothes to be in demand.”

His eyes, looking at Yang Euijoo as if he were a live fish pulled from the sea and put up for sale, were inorganic. Golden pupils scanned Yang Euijoo’s worth as if appraising him.

Then a cold fingertip brushed his body. Yang Euijoo let out a faint groan. It was a broken sound, like ash scattering in the air. The hand touching his emaciated torso, which felt like a wooden skewer, pressed hard on his protruding ribs. All the effort to feed him had been in vain. It was always futile when everything invested was lost. Cheon Yeomyung blinked slowly to remember his loss.

“There are plenty of opportunities to introduce you to refined gentlemen in business. Shall I put you on my lap especially? Anyway, I still like your looks.”

The hand brushing his chest moved upward, reaching his slender neck. Cheon Yeomyung didn’t strangle Yang Euijoo. His increasingly sticky touch occasionally grazed places that had once made Yang Euijoo gasp as if entranced. His chest, the edge of his shoulder, his nape, his ear. His swollen earlobe, inflamed.

“I don’t like red, so I’ll dress you in blue. Black would be nice too, but why cover your natural looks with dull colors? Something with an open chest and exposed thighs would be good. If you show off your prim face, pretending to be coy in front of bankers, casino owners, and construction tycoons, while biting a man’s cock and making him come, you could make up for some of the mess you caused, couldn’t you?”

His refined voice was as light as if reading a fairy tale, but the content was filthy. Yang Euijoo felt the man’s hand touching his body was unclean, but he still couldn’t move.

“Really…”

Yang Euijoo lifted his head, listening to Cheon Yeomyung say he would make him a prostitute. Sometimes like a snake, sometimes like a bright light, those eyes tilted as they looked at him. An innocent face. The face that used to smile well showed no emotion.

“Did you really kill Li Su?”

“Oh, you’re more concerned about that than becoming a male prostitute?”

Cheon Yeomyung twisted the corner of his mouth. He was displeased throughout his unusually long stream of violent words. His nerves were on edge, like he had stepped on an unnoticed insect.

“Yes. I killed her. If you want to call it something, it was a refined death.”

“…”

“She didn’t even beg to be spared. Just like you.”

The cold face looked at something it once cherished. Had he returned from Macau in less than a day to see that ruined face? Cheon Yeomyung gritted his teeth and spat out a voice suppressed by murderous intent.

“So I’m going to make you beg for your life.”

At the voice promising not to let him die easily, Yang Euijoo closed his eyes. There was no question of why things had come to this. It was like the sea, swallowing all sound before a tidal wave.

🐑

Amy had once cursed him. He didn’t know why that casually dismissed outburst kept coming to mind.

Yang Euijoo had lived memorizing most curses in existence. He knew curses in Mandarin, Cantonese, English, and French, and could curse in Russian too. Below deck, where rough men gathered, everyone swore in their native tongues as a matter of course.

Young Yang Euijoo, killing a crawling insect, saw his mother come crashing down the deck, shouting thick curses. Her cheeks were red and swollen, as if someone had hit her. His older sister, who had been playfully braiding his long hair into pigtails, noticed the mood and fled.

In a bad mood, his mother screamed upon seeing Yang Euijoo holding the creepy insect and smacked his head. Though he was held by his sobbing mother that night, hearing apologies repeatedly, Yang Euijoo became afraid of insects.

Later, Yang Euijoo developed a new fear: deep water. The endless sinking, his body submerged without resistance, terrified him. Cheon Yeomyung knew this. Visiting the basement, Cheon Yeomyung tormented Yang Euijoo in a bathtub filled with water.

So Yang Euijoo grew to fear bathtubs too. More precisely, he feared being submerged in water, unable to escape the pressure from behind, helplessly thrashing until his breath nearly stopped. Cheon Yeomyung handled Yang Euijoo with precisely calculated violence. The ecstasy of being pulled back to life just before death, then fear again.

“Stop…!”

Screaming with a voice that felt like it would tear, thrashing in the basement where only the two of them were, was futile. The moment Yang Euijoo realized begging for his life was useless, he was plunged back into the bathtub. Holding down Yang Euijoo’s head as he flopped like a fish out of water, Cheon Yeomyung counted in a cold voice.

“One, two, three…”

Uncontrolled breaths turned into air bubbles, noisily rising to the water’s surface. Each gurgling bubble carried a breath. Cheon Yeomyung counted to twenty before pulling Yang Euijoo out. His hair, tangled like dust clumps, swirled over black gloves.

Clear water gushed from red lips. The water was so cold it made his teeth chatter just by being submerged. Cheon Yeomyung gave Yang Euijoo a brief moment to rest. One, two, three, four… The man’s voice, counting to sixteen, stopped. Yang Euijoo was crying, clinging to the hand gripping his hair. He had no pride. Only misery. Survival instincts surged greedily.

“Why are you crying? Don’t want to do this?”

Cheon Yeomyung asked gently. Yang Euijoo nodded frantically. His scalp stung and ached, but if he could escape this bathtub now, he felt he could do anything. Fierce arrogance crumbled helplessly before pain. In fact, Yang Euijoo had been plunged into the bathtub nearly thirty times since Cheon Yeomyung’s visits.

“I don’t want to, I hate it, I can’t do it.”

Yang Euijoo’s tearful face was pitifully wretched. My lover uses his beauty in times like this. Cheon Yeomyung washed Yang Euijoo’s tear-streaked, gasping face with water. Yang Euijoo shuddered, trying to escape the cold water, but in the narrow bathtub, retreating only meant staying in the same tub. Wiping Yang Euijoo’s struggling face was harder than washing a baby. Cheon Yeomyung, suppressing a crooked smile, barely cleaned Yang Euijoo’s filthy face before coaxing him gently.

“Can’t do it? Tell me. I’ll listen.”

“I can’t.”

Yang Euijoo sobbed, shaking his head. Cheon Yeomyung simply listened. Yang Euijoo, sprawled over the bathtub, turned pale at the water touching his nose. He feared the water would surge into his stinging throat. The man in a suit, stepping into the bathtub without hesitation, tapped Yang Euijoo’s thigh with his foot. Unlike the water, his body was warm, almost hot. Feeling the man rustle behind him, Yang Euijoo instinctively pressed back.

Shivering from hours of water torture, seeking even crude warmth, was oddly endearing. Well, saying no usually means yes. Cheon Yeomyung, recalling Yang Euijoo grumbling but eventually moaning and gasping in their healthier days, pulled off his wet shirt.

“Relax. I’m not letting you go.”

“Wha… ah!”

Before Yang Euijoo’s frozen brain could process the words, a dull pain, like his lower body was splitting, hit him. Unable to hold himself up, he collapsed headfirst to the floor. Cheon Yeomyung, pulling him up, clicked his tongue. Only the tip had entered, yet blood was visible. Blood from the strained entrance flowed down his thigh into the water. Like ink dropped in water, the red blood dissolved and dispersed.

“Annoying.”

Cheon Yeomyung clicked his tongue and rummaged in his pocket. Taking out a rarely used condom, he tore the foil with his teeth and slipped it onto his fingers. The lubricant from the condom smeared onto his soaked gloves. Holding the trembling, pain-wracked body, Cheon Yeomyung inserted his fingers into the bleeding entrance.

The slick lips parted. Watching pain pour out silently, Cheon Yeomyung didn’t hesitate. Yang Euijoo wanted to writhe from the unfamiliar pain, unlike anything he felt during his first time with a man, but fear of worse pain with movement stopped him. His shriveled, waterlogged fingertips touched the arm around his waist.

“Don’t, don’t…”

“What shouldn’t I do?”

Cheon Yeomyung asked curiously. His fingers carelessly loosening the tight interior, the question gnawed mercilessly at Yang Euijoo’s dulled nerves. Yang Euijoo’s lips trembled.

“Fuck, don’t, you bastard!”

“Then what shouldn’t I do? Did getting waterlogged make you stupid?”

Having applied lubricant inside, Cheon Yeomyung pulled out his fingers abruptly, sneering. He saw the blood mixed with melted gel but didn’t hesitate.

“Ah!”

Yang Euijoo screamed. Someone got aroused hearing it, while one thought it better to choke on cold water than endure this torture.

“It hurts, ah, no, ah!”

His stiff tongue stammered, brushing the cold water. Yang Euijoo half-swallowed, half-spat the water, swept away by the man’s movements. The cock forcing its way through the tight walls tore the delicate flesh inside, pushing in relentlessly.

Cheon Yeomyung knew blood, not lubricant, was aiding the act but didn’t stop. Whether the torn flesh below functioned or not was none of his concern. Yang Euijoo’s body, stubbornly rejecting the intrusion, only annoyed him.

“I told you to relax.”

The man spat through gritted teeth, thrusting his hips harder. Yang Euijoo, like a jointed wooden doll, was tossed up and down. The pain was indescribable. A shrill scream echoed through the bathroom. As Yang Euijoo grabbed the bathtub’s edge, trying to escape, Cheon Yeomyung clicked his tongue and yanked his hair from behind.

“Just enjoy it. I know you like it when I fuck you, so why act like this?”

There was no way to enjoy it. This was simply rape. Yang Euijoo screamed, his chest pressed against the bathtub’s edge. Blood dripped below. Cheon Yeomyung smelled blood, and Yang Euijoo smelled semen, though the man hadn’t come inside him yet.

“It hurts, ugh, ah!”

Shrill screams replaced the agony. Hearing the raw, desperate cries, Cheon Yeomyung felt a tight pleasure in his lower abdomen. Perhaps this was always his taste.

Forcing open the tight passage, enjoying the sensation of it clenching as if to tear, Cheon Yeomyung let out a low groan. The rising urge to climax came. The cock, rhythmically thrusting and tearing the flesh, sped up, pounding the interior. Yang Euijoo knew what this was. The rapid act, like punching the tight passage, resembled fingers rubbing his prostate for climax. Held and crushed by Cheon Yeomyung’s body, Yang Euijoo gasped, begging through vivid pain that felt like it would split his head.

“Don’t, fuck, don’t…”

“Don’t what, come inside you?”

Hearing the bleak, desperate plea, Cheon Yeomyung hugged Yang Euijoo’s abdomen. The thin frame made the cock’s outline more pronounced. Lifting Yang Euijoo’s legs, Cheon Yeomyung thrust deeply to the root, biting his lip.

“Ugh, don’t…!”

Yang Euijoo, trembling like he was electrocuted, shed tears. With the sickening feeling rising in his gut, Cheon Yeomyung plunged him into the cold water. Swallowing water forced into his nose, Yang Euijoo thrashed. He couldn’t forgive him.

Even knowing, even hearing he was drowning in a pool, that face had only caressed his foot and laughed. Yang Euijoo hated the man who had turned so vicious. Pulled from the water in a miserable state, he burst into sobs.

I can’t forgive you. He wasn’t sure if he said it aloud.

It smelled like the sea. Aching with fever, Yang Euijoo dreamed of leaving Hong Kong with Mei. No one chased them. They could even chat idly. Mei packed more clothes for the child than herself. Formula, bottles, mittens, and blankets were included. Smiling, she said their actions felt like a movie, though she’d never seen one. Yang Euijoo humored her chatter, looking at the cruise ticket. There was still time before the ship’s long horn sounded.

“Teacher, Cheong is so calm, not crying.”

Mei said with a curious face. Skillfully soothing the child, Yang Euijoo replied, “Cheong is just well-behaved,” pleasing Mei. Her clear face, hardly looking like a mother, held the child she’d risked her life for. Whispering a lullaby, Yang Euijoo patted her shoulder.

“Let’s go board the ship now.”

“Yes.”

Carrying their luggage, they chose not the main gate but a side door Yang Euijoo had picked. But whenever they tied their shoelaces to leave, someone knocked. Yang Euijoo, always sensitive to those who knocked instead of ringing the bell, stopped lacing his ill-fitting black high-top canvas shoes and went to the door. Who’s there? It’s me. After the suspicious exchange, Yang Euijoo foolishly opened the door.

“No!”

Too late, Yang Euijoo screamed and sat up. Then he curled up, coughing erratically. Waking from a short nightmare, he was in the deathly silent basement. It felt like being in a tomb.

No light leaked from the tightly shut door, and silence lay beyond the thick walls. It seemed a calm day, windless. Fish and chips, which he didn’t understand why anyone bought, would probably sell well if it were daytime.

Though on solid ground, he felt an ambiguous seasickness, as if floating on water. Hot, and thirsty. Yang Euijoo mumbled, sitting up. His limbs weren’t bound, but he had no strength. Leaning against the wall, he sat quietly, passing time. His darkened vision flickered, slowly discerning faint outlines.

Then he stood. His rough fingertips touched the damp, cold wall, a stinging pain from crushed nails. His wrists and ankles were in poor shape. Shivering from the chill, Yang Euijoo moved slowly, holding the wall. The basement had only Cheon Yeomyung’s entrance and the attached bathroom. Groping, Yang Euijoo entered the bathroom. To prevent self-harm or threats, there was no mirror, but it allowed him to maintain some human appearance.

Splashing water on his sweat- and tear-stained face and body felt good, but there was no towel. Yang Euijoo scratched the bruised inner arm, sitting as far from the bathtub as possible. His wrists still throbbed. He let his limbs dangle, waiting for the water to dry naturally.

In a sunless space, dampness made drying take forever. Yang Euijoo curled up, wrapping himself. His shoulder blades stood out in the dim darkness. Thinking deeply would trap him, so he counted useless things. Starting from 1, the light sequence of numbers flowed as the water dripped from his body.

When the number reached 720, the door opened. By then, the cold water on his body had dried, leaving his skin parched. Cheon Yeomyung, holding something, wore no suit jacket. Suspenders crossed his chest and shoulders, with a gun holster attached. The black leather stood out sharply against his white shirt. Yang Euijoo recognized the gun as one Linlin had lent him.

Received with two bullets before entering Yirang, the gun was fortunately returned without firing. He had visited Aunt Li Su with that gun.

…If he had ignored Mei and the child, would Li Su be at peace? Feeling a sudden pang of guilt, Yang Euijoo couldn’t look at Cheon Yeomyung and lowered his head. Regardless, Cheon Yeomyung groped the wall to flip the light switch. Electricity only flowed when he entered. The fluorescent light illuminated the bathroom. Seeing Yang Euijoo in the bathroom, Cheon Yeomyung raised an eyebrow instead of being surprised and asked.

“Picking a spot to be diligently tortured? Motivation’s not bad, but come out.”

Instead of retorting, Yang Euijoo slowly walked out. His weakened ankles limped with each step. Ashy, tangled hair caught sunlight-like light before yielding to darkness again.

Pulling up a chair, Cheon Yeomyung tossed a bag in front of Yang Euijoo. It wasn’t a briefcase but a plain paper bag, its surface cluttered with messy Chinese characters. It was full of something.

Soon, an impatient shoe kicked the bag over. From the open mouth, bundles of cash spilled out. Yang Euijoo frowned at the sudden, strong smell of money. It was the first time in his life he’d grimaced at the sight of money.

“I won a bet. Thanks to you, I brought it for you.”

Cheon Yeomyung said. Yang Euijoo, staring at an unimaginable amount of money, muttered.

“A bet…?”

“I bet on how long we’d be together, my men in Yirang.”

Saying their relationship was just fodder for a bet, Yang Euijoo felt no anger. He vaguely accepted that Cheon Yeomyung would do such a thing.

“I won. I bet less than six months, and thanks to you, I succeeded.”

Should he say thanks? Cheon Yeomyung sneered, picking up a bundle of cash. He rubbed a glossy bloodstain with his glove. A long streak of blood smeared across the bills.

“You like money, don’t you, Euijoo?”

Sticky, blood-soaked cash was scattered over him. Yang Euijoo felt a headache from the overpowering smell numbing his senses.

Even he hadn’t thought their short relationship would last. The money from the bet was more laughable than insulting. Yang Euijoo gave a faint smile. Cheon Yeomyung, betting big on their relationship. He wasn’t authoritative. He got along well with his men. It was unexpected, and so, just a little…

“Yes, I do.”

The cash covering his feet, sticky with blood, was unpleasant, but Yang Euijoo picked it up, affirming. He liked money. He believed money would solve everything. His life was ruined without it, a complete failure from being born on a ship, he bitterly mocked himself. Would money have kept him from meeting Cheon Yeomyung?

“But now, I’m not sure…”

Yang Euijoo slowly pushed the dirty cash aside. It was filthy money, likely from another killing. The blood on the floor, still wet, easily smeared onto his soles. He wiped it off, streaking it on the floor. The smell of blood made him dizzy.

“If I say I’m not interested, will you take it back?”

“No. I said it’s your money.”

Cheon Yeomyung dumped the paper bag upside down. Amid the cascade of cash, a notebook fell out. A shabby, worn notebook had a crooked warning scrawled: “Do Not Touch.”

“Do you know what happened to the cripple? Torn apart and crudely sewn, displayed on Red Door’s gate. Que seems furious. That place is shut down now. I don’t know what happened to the women living day-to-day there. Probably not a good ending.”

Cheon Yeomyung briefly described someone’s end, opening Yang Euijoo’s ledger.

“Que’s tantrum at Red Door left me with nowhere to vent, so I borrowed your ledger. Some of your customers were mine too. Borrowing this much money while living in Yirang takes guts.”

The ledger listed a customer who bought medicine on credit and fled without paying. Annoying but a simple laborer, unmarried, supporting an elderly mother. His name was marked with red paint. Yang Euijoo hadn’t done it, so Cheon Yeomyung must have. Several pages were the same. Some were human trash, others just poor.

Most who bought medicine at Yang Euijoo’s shop were gamblers or addicts, but sometimes their families, harassed, came for painkillers. Usually wives or children. They wrote their names in the ledger and took medicine on credit. If Yang Euijoo didn’t give it, they’d return crying, beaten black and blue.

Mei was one of them. Usually buying salve for bruises, sometimes she came for painkillers under the cripple’s pressure. Always with a timid, beaten face. The youngest prostitute at Red Door. She’d smile, saying Euijoo was like an oppa…

Whether he knew or not, Cheon Yeomyung flipped through the ledger, sneering.

“Well, I’ll admit my lover’s killing method is quite refined. Killing one after another without lifting a finger is a skill.”

Yang Euijoo had never asked Cheon Yeomyung for murder, assault, or violence, but the man’s accusations made him feel like the root of all crimes. Maybe it was true. Yang Euijoo didn’t ask who else he’d killed. Instead, he quietly cursed.

“I’ve lived thinking there’s no such thing as divine punishment.”

“…”

“But I hope you get it once.”

“Hm.”

To Cheon Yeomyung, it was an inconsequential curse. He nodded casually.

“Sure, if divine punishment exists, it’ll hit Que’s head first, then come for me, so I’d gladly accept it.”

His eyes, mixed with fluorescent light, didn’t brighten, simmering like a freshly lit campfire. Still tormented by betrayal’s anger, the man stared straight at Yang Euijoo.

“Keep the money safe. Who knows? Selling money or your body might get you a sugar daddy to bring you food.”

Chuckling softly, Cheon Yeomyung rose from the chair and approached Yang Euijoo. Sensing impending violence, Yang Euijoo tightly shut his eyes.

Whether he liked it or not, he’d learned Cheon Yeomyung had been lenient with him. The man’s sexual tastes were somewhat cruel and violent. It was remarkable he’d been refined in bed before. The face that struggled to console crying and the voice that found it hard to soothe crossed Yang Euijoo’s mind, tormenting him.

Still, the most unbearable thing was the mockery that forcibly linked Li Su and Yang Euijoo. Yang Euijoo fiercely rejected the stories about Li Su, but unless he pierced his ears to burst his eardrums, he couldn’t escape hearing them endlessly. Cheon Yeomyung held him, forced him to perform oral sex, made him spread his legs, and sometimes inserted unknown objects into his body, tormenting him for hours under the pretense of testing him. Occasionally, Cheon Yeomyung ate a warm meal alone in front of Yang Euijoo, who had been starved all day. In many ways, he was a man with a strong stomach.

Yang Euijoo, sprawled at Cheon Yeomyung’s feet, had to lick up the bread crumbs he deliberately dropped. Days and nights passed like a thousand days. Due to Hong Kong’s indistinct seasons, Yang Euijoo couldn’t tell how much time had elapsed. The hardest part was living in total darkness, without a speck of light, until Cheon Yeomyung arrived. Starvation was preferable. Being forced to spread his legs and have sex was bearable.

The most painful thing for Yang Euijoo was longing for a day that would never return. He curled up, wearing a shirt crusted with dried semen. Cheon Yeomyung rarely gave him clothes. Tossing him a naked body or a shirt soiled with sweat and semen, as if it were charity, was the mercy Cheon Yeomyung showed Yang Euijoo.

Yang Euijoo, who had always thought his cock should be split in half and thrown away, grew slightly accustomed to it piercing and thrusting into his defenseless lower body. But he bled every time. Yang Euijoo acknowledged that his rear was tattered like a rag, at least. Today, too, he was being treated like a rag.

He didn’t know how many days it had been since Cheon Yeomyung’s last visit. Cheon Yeomyung came while Yang Euijoo was sleeping and began violating him without consent. As a result, Yang Euijoo woke from a dream of killing insects in the ship’s hold, startled, sobbing in the basement filled with the sound of wet rain. Cheon Yeomyung mocked Yang Euijoo, who writhed after waking because of the insertion.

“Ah, it, it hurts…”

“It hurts, yet you’re hard? Must feel good with a toy inside and my cock thrusting.”

The man didn’t stop his thrusts, mocking Yang Euijoo. He tormented Yang Euijoo with a wooden toy he claimed was a gift. Unaccustomed to such acts with a man, Yang Euijoo could hardly stay sane. He tried to ignore the fleeting pleasure rising like a haze amidst the rough thrusts, but the moment the heated body temperature faintly rubbed his half-erect cock, he collapsed.

“Ah!”

Cheon Yeomyung sneered, seeing the sticky semen on his glove’s tip. How many times had it been? It was Yang Euijoo’s first ejaculation amidst the relentless tearing and bleeding. Kneeling over Yang Euijoo’s trembling body, Cheon Yeomyung thrust his penis so hard it pushed him forward a hand’s breadth, licking the semen with his tongue. It wasn’t sweet, but the semen had a raw scent. Fucking hell, he must be damn popular. Cheon Yeomyung sneered inwardly, ejaculating into Yang Euijoo’s loosened insides.

Yang Euijoo, breathing heavily, lost consciousness. Whether it was from reaching his physical limit or the unbearable shame of climaxing under the hated man’s cock, he didn’t know. Cheon Yeomyung pulled his blood- and semen-soaked penis from the limp Yang Euijoo, wiping it roughly.

Everything was excessively irritating to Cheon Yeomyung, as if crossing a breaking point. His desires weren’t satisfied, and his anger wasn’t quenched even through violence. Should I kill him? As Cheon Yeomyung pondered, annoying footsteps interrupted.

He had told them not to come when he was in the basement. Cheon Yeomyung clicked his tongue, adjusting his clothes. His suit was as pristine as when he entered. Then, for the first time, someone else opened the basement door.

“Boss.”

Sogang called Cheon Yeomyung. It was the first time he’d visited while Cheon Yeomyung was in the basement. Without glancing at Yang Euijoo, sprawled like a rag, Cheon Yeomyung changed his soiled gloves and looked at Sogang.

“What is it?”

“A call came. It’s Que.”

“That filthy bastard’s excited because his lifeline’s extended a bit. Tell him I don’t have time for his calls and hang up.”

“Yes.”

Responding to Cheon Yeomyung’s irritated words, Sogang glanced downward. Yang Euijoo, in a semen-soaked shirt, had fainted. He looked like a prostitute who couldn’t endure harsh sex. Having worked with Cheon Yeomyung long, Sogang roughly knew his relentless cruelty.

Cheon Yeomyung’s brutality lay in instilling fear, not building tolerance through repetitive torture. Even burly gang members struggled with it, so it wasn’t surprising a frail civilian like Yang Euijoo passed out.

If it were just ordinary torture or violence, Sogang would’ve suggested quick suicide.

Sogang thought the timing was a bit unfortunate. Accompanying Cheon Yeomyung to Macau, he’d seen his boss fondle a gift box with a smile, which felt unexpected. He didn’t know what about Yang Euijoo drew Cheon Yeomyung’s affection, but it was intriguing to see his boss show somewhat normal romantic reactions. And he knew how that affection shattered. Yang Euijoo was likely suffering more than his sins warranted due to that anger.

“Boss, maybe moderate it a bit…”

Sogang spoke impulsively, then regretted it. This incident had pushed his boss’s rage to its peak. Even mentioning his lover was rejected. Whether it was losing the chance to take revenge on Que or the betrayal of a cherished lover, even the lieutenants didn’t fully know.

“Sorry.”

At the quick apology, Cheon Yeomyung looked at Sogang calmly and replied.

“It’s fine. A few more times, and it’ll be okay.”

His body’s a rag, after all.

At Cheon Yeomyung’s amused words, Sogang shook his head. His boss was truly twisted. The ashen eyes, regaining consciousness, blinked slowly a few times. Their color was barely different from the dirty floor.

“Why do you care so much? Are you my lover’s sugar daddy?”

“Absolutely not.”

Sogang didn’t want to be consumed as a clown in a needless melodrama. Seeing Sogang’s tense response, Cheon Yeomyung narrowed his eyes. The blood-stained dollars scattered in the basement, left uncollected, rotted in the paper bag. Entering the cramped, unventilated basement, reeking of blood and money, wasn’t pleasant. Knowing Yang Euijoo had regained consciousness, Cheon Yeomyung casually discussed his lover’s vulgarity with lips and tongue.

“Then go find someone to be the teacher’s sugar daddy. I think he’d enjoy anything stuffed in his hole. Who knows? He might even take a dog’s cock.”

The words pointed to Yang Euijoo’s downfall. But before Yang Euijoo could humbly accept any downfall, excruciating pain pressed his soaked body again.

“Ugh…!”

With a short scream, hair was ripped out with a cracking sound. Cheon Yeomyung didn’t hold back. Yang Euijoo was always handled roughly. When Cheon Yeomyung needed it, Yang Euijoo had to receive semen, be mocked with filthy words, and thrash in water—his entire role.

“Get up, walk yourself.”

At the cold voice, Yang Euijoo forced strength into his trembling legs. He felt semen, pooled inside, drip out. He knew someone else was in the basement, but he wasn’t in a state to care. His lungs ached, and his tormented rear hurt more.

His skin stung where it brushed the man’s clothes, and his tear-streaked face burned. Every step dragged a foreign sensation deep in his gut, jarring his nerves.

But Yang Euijoo didn’t complain to Cheon Yeomyung. Each step felt like thorns stabbing his spine, making him gasp thinly. Unsatisfied, the man grabbed Yang Euijoo and plunged him into the cold, water-filled bathtub.

Yang Euijoo couldn’t resist. His knees caught the tub’s edge, and his staggering body fell noisily into the water. With a loud splash, the water churned. The narrow, deep tub swallowed Yang Euijoo’s body, gurgling, but he couldn’t sink.

A black hand grabbed his hair, pulling him out. It was as resolute as when Yang Euijoo was dragged from the sea.

“Get a grip. We’re not done yet.”

Cheon Yeomyung, kicking the gasping Yang Euijoo half-submerged in water, sat on the tub’s edge. His shoes and pant legs were soaked, but he didn’t care. All clothes worn in the basement would be discarded anyway. Only his watch would remain. He wore the heavy metal watch with the face inward, out of Yang Euijoo’s sight, and checked the time. It was just morning.

Do it once, then eat breakfast. Thinking this, Cheon Yeomyung grabbed Yang Euijoo’s cheek, lifting it. With one hand, he unzipped his pants. The sound of the zipper was like tearing skin. Yang Euijoo, trembling, forced his eyes open.

The man smiled brightly. It wasn’t kind. It was a smile warped by irritation. Yang Euijoo saw the erect cock before him. Still not spent after treating him like a rag and thrusting endlessly? Seems like virility rules these days. The absurd thought made him laugh a little. His torn lips stung. Ouch… Yang Euijoo whimpered faintly.

“Why are you laughing?”

Cheon Yeomyung asked, in a tone similar to their recent exchanges.

“Just, it’s funny.”

Yang Euijoo replied in a similar tone. Honorifics were gone, but Cheon Yeomyung didn’t scold his young lover’s insolence.

“Indeed.”

Hadn’t he thought the same? Cheon Yeomyung rubbed his sticky gloves, then slid his fingers between Yang Euijoo’s torn lips. The wet, hot interior was red.

“You know what happens if you bite.”

Muttering a warning, Yang Euijoo lowered his eyes, obediently sticking out his tongue. As the cock roughly entered his mouth, the narrow bathroom echoed with water splashing and the rough friction against tender flesh.

“Why do you keep doing this?”

Cheon Yeomyung was genuinely puzzled. The pain in a man’s critical spot was trivial. Rough sex happened sometimes, and Yang Euijoo, weakened, couldn’t resist properly.

No matter how painful, it was bearable compared to a bullet in the gut, a knife through the body, or cigarette burns. Yang Euijoo’s attempts at pain-enduring acts he couldn’t accomplish baffled Cheon Yeomyung. He didn’t seem this foolish, yet in the basement, Yang Euijoo repeatedly betrayed his trust.

“Doing what?”

Slowly lifting his bowed head, Yang Euijoo moved his blood-glossed lips. A drop of blood fell from his thin lips into the clear water.

“If I eagerly suck your cock, does that mean I’m sane?”

His cracked voice, like wire scratching, echoed in the bathroom.

“Not begging for life, not bowing for forgiveness.”

Fingers nervously tapped the tub’s edge. Yang Euijoo heard the unpleasant discord.

“Do you think you’re being treated unjustly?”

Cheon Yeomyung asked.

There was no answer. It was a weary, tired face to respond to. Cheon Yeomyung didn’t want an answer either, so they occasionally fell silent. Yang Euijoo glanced at Cheon Yeomyung.

Unjust. What was that? Yang Euijoo thought everything that happened to Mei and Li Su was unjust. He decided not to see his own situation as unjust, but the relentless violence from the moment he regained consciousness was too painful to call tempering.

Cough. Yang Euijoo coughed again. His respiratory system was lately compromised. Fever rose but didn’t subside, leaving his body damp. Cheon Yeomyung visited the basement irregularly. Only when the gray door opened could Yang Euijoo find light. The man, bathed in scattered light, sometimes came casually dressed, but usually in a suit, confronting Yang Euijoo and berating him harshly.

“The one lover I had was never whole.”

Lover. Cheon Yeomyung’s words were laughable. As Yang Euijoo laughed mid-cough, Cheon Yeomyung glanced at him. The laughter, even with barely open eyes, made Yang Euijoo strange. Pale coldness on gaunt cheeks, purple lips with bloodstains and scabs, the chaotic colors were, absurdly, more vibrant than usual Yang Euijoo.

Defiance gleamed in his self-mocking laugh. Water-soaked gray eyes looked at Cheon Yeomyung. Cheon Yeomyung fleetingly thought of cutting away the swollen eyelids covering half his eyes.

“Lover, huh.”

Hong Kong’s heat stirred in April, flared in June, and raged like a volcano in August. Cheon Yeomyung was a vast summer to Yang Euijoo. A summer dominating this crude, gloomy island. Humid air keeping lungs damp, scorching sunlight.

Without it, Yang Euijoo might have adapted to this country faster.

“Am I still your lover?”

The question, laced with mockery about treating a lover this way, was answered kindly by Cheon Yeomyung.

“You’re my lover.”

“Why?”

“I said I only sleep with my lover, didn’t I?”

As if it was obvious from satisfying his lust, Cheon Yeomyung didn’t elaborate, pulling the retreated Yang Euijoo close to his groin.

Not wanting to be slapped twice or resist in his chilled body, Yang Euijoo closed his eyes with a complex expression, opening his lips. It was a cowed stance under violence. Thinking this suited their relationship better, Cheon Yeomyung tore his already torn lips again. Blood dripped clearly in his sight, but he didn’t hesitate.

Instead, he pressed the torn spot. Yang Euijoo, struggling with the cock in his mouth, roughly pushed away the hand tormenting his wound. Cheon Yeomyung smiled faintly, tracing each cut, scratch, and bruise on Yang Euijoo’s face.

Red and blue bruises, scraped wounds. Fingers gently brushed cheeks smelling of salt, like they hadn’t fully shed seawater. Yang Euijoo, thinking Cheon Yeomyung’s touch was too contrary to the act, moved his stiff tongue.

Cheon Yeomyung stayed in the basement past breakfast time. Leaving the fainted Yang Euijoo somewhere in the basement, he slowly emerged from the stifling depths. He’d spent three days in the basement torturing traitors without eating, never feeling confined, but strangely, visiting his lover made him feel trapped. He somewhat understood why Yang Euijoo had lived so harshly to escape the ship.

Stripping off the damp suit and changing into new clothes, he finally surfaced to utter silence. Annoying. Cheon Yeomyung, skipping a tie, went up to the second floor. Sogang waited with a slightly troubled expression.

“What?”

“Que called again.”

“He doesn’t know when to quit. Stupid insect.”

A cracked sneer spread across his face. Sogang, not hiding a sigh, looked at his boss. The eerie displeasure on his boss’s face made the mansion feel like it was under a dark cloud.

“What about the Leningrad matter?”

“No news yet.”

“Hah…”

Cheon Yeomyung buried his face in his black-gloved hands. Unhiding his distorted expression, he muttered viciously with hatred.

“I can’t stand Que’s seed living on this land.”

“Boss.”

“Spare me the comfort. Just forward the call.”

At the cold voice, Sogang nodded. Cheon Yeomyung’s deep-seated grudge was tenacious. Lieutenants supported it. In their dark world, a boss’s grudge or two was no flaw—lately, it was even a virtue. Even Linlin, closest to the pharmacist teacher, couldn’t beg Cheon Yeomyung for forgiveness. It wasn’t about favoritism.

Sogang looked at Cheon Yeomyung quietly. The young man in the chair, dressed sloppily like a rogue, blinked at the ceiling. His nervously twitching fingers betrayed his inner turmoil.

“Shall I call Ms. Wood?”

At Sogang’s question, Cheon Yeomyung slowly rolled his eyes.

“No…”

He took the receiver, replying.

“Forget it.”

With a short refusal, Cheon Yeomyung pressed the phone to his handsome ear.

—Brat.

At Que’s old, sickly growl, Cheon Yeomyung narrowed his eyes.

“You said you’d call, but it must’ve been a trivial promise you forgot. How have you been? Have you picked out a grave yet?”

—What a foul mouth. How long do you think you can strut around like that?

“It’ll end when you die, so not long. Will you last until next year? If you want to live longer, say so. I’ll personally rip out your lungs and wash them clean.”

Mocking Que, Cheon Yeomyung pulled a cigarette from his jacket pocket. Sogang offered a lighter, but he refused with a head shake, striking a match himself. Lighting the cigarette, Cheon Yeomyung smoked it impatiently.

—Do you think I’ll go alone? Brat, what did you do to my child?

“Child? I recall all your children are dead… Or are you senile? Oh, you already were.”

With a venomous voice, Cheon Yeomyung blinked. His restless emotions couldn’t be quelled by cigarettes. He wanted to tear apart all of Hong Long, dismember Que’s limbs. It wasn’t a grudge solved by mere murder. He wanted to kill Que’s children, destroy his organization, ruin his business, and isolate him.

But Yang Euijoo ruined that grudge. Cheon Yeomyung understood his claims. But did understanding mean forgiveness?

Cheon Yeomyung remembered Que’s basement. The wallpaper was still blue then. The old man boasted he’d changed it to blue waves for him. And what happened? Enraged, Cheon Yeomyung killed Que’s grown children one by one, relishing the old man’s cursing wails.

Cheon Yeomyung breathed slowly. He hadn’t been this angry even when killing his own father, but his rage toward Que was boundless. Then, realizing something, he chuckled.

This hatred was like what his lover felt for him. Cheon Yeomyung had seen Yang Euijoo scream and thrash in terror each time he was plunged into water, recalling his past confession of fearing water.

—Do you think you won’t regret this?

Hearing Que’s voice, Cheon Yeomyung blinked.

“Abandon your shattered business and order a coffin. Don’t even dream I’ll grant you an easy afterlife.”

—I should’ve killed you then. My mercy was too great.

“Mercy?”

Cheon Yeomyung only laughed. Mercy, mercy… His fingers nervously scratched his thigh.

“Merciful elder, you won’t even be allowed death. Live long. Live very long, so I can watch you lose everything and despair.”

Without hearing Que’s reply, he hung up. A bright smile spread across his cold face. Cheon Yeomyung, face buried in his gloves, let out intermittent laughs. Ah, I regret it. I should’ve killed her when I knew she was pregnant. I shouldn’t have treated my lover so naively.

“Sogang.”

With the cigarette, ash unknocked, in his mouth, Cheon Yeomyung called Sogang slowly. Sogang approached with a stiff face.

“Find the woman. No matter what, we must find her first.”

Que thought Cheon Yeomyung had sent his child abroad. Stupid old man. Why would I spare his seed? Staring at the fallen ash, Cheon Yeomyung said.

“The basement…”

Dark, ashen blackness filled his eyes.

“Have her clean it herself. The surveillance, the surveillance…”

Swallowing a sigh, Cheon Yeomyung said.

“I’ll do it…”

At his weak murmur, Sogang approached his boss. But the tired-looking Cheon Yeomyung didn’t want comfort. Of all people, it was Que. The man’s drooping hair briefly lifted with his exhaled breath.