Yang’s Master Chapter 6.3 - The Basement

His lover, Yang Euijoo, was truly unlucky.

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The basement was far from a hygienic environment. The only advantage was the absence of insects. Still, Yang Euijoo thought the chimney house was better. It was too cramped and tall to be comfortable, but it had light. There was only one so-called window, yet at some point during the day, light would seep through its cracks.

Yang Euijoo couldn’t adapt to the lightless life in the basement, but he managed to survive. Meals were irregular and cold. Taste was irrelevant; it was fortunate if the food wasn’t spoiled. On days when meals were provided, Mei would clean and leave. With Cheon Yeomyung personally supervising, Yang Euijoo couldn’t exchange a single word with Mei.

The frail Mei, wearing a cap pulled low, couldn’t even glance at Yang Euijoo, finishing the cleaning and ventilating before leaving. If Mei lingered even slightly, Cheon Yeomyung’s gaze, watching from the doorway, turned icy.

“Don’t dawdle, get out quickly.”

At the stern voice, the wrinkled, scarred hand gripping the rag trembled faintly. Yang Euijoo stared blankly at Mei’s hand, then shifted his gaze to Cheon Yeomyung.

“Weren’t you a kind boss?”

“My lover is altruistic to everyone but me.”

Cheon Yeomyung unfolded his arms and gestured to Mei. Trembling with fear, Mei hurriedly fled the basement. As soon as Mei left, Cheon Yeomyung kicked the door shut and entered. He held bandages and ointment in his hand.

“Stick out your wrist.”

“Why not just leave it to rot?”

“I’d rather cut out your tongue.”

Cheon Yeomyung, squeezing the ointment, suddenly yanked Yang Euijoo’s tongue with his fingers. The momentary pain, like his tongue’s root was being ripped out, made Yang Euijoo shudder. Worse, the tongue was coated with ointment, leaving a sticky, bitter taste hard to describe. As Yang Euijoo grimaced, Cheon Yeomyung spoke with a satisfied expression.

“You won’t die from eating it.”

“…”

“Too precious to kill already, or to cut, isn’t it?”

Treating wounds was entirely Cheon Yeomyung’s responsibility. Torturing and then personally tending to the wounds—what a vile personality. He bandaged the wrist, glanced at the red, scarred gash, and stood up. His movements were without hesitation.

“Stay well.”

Naturally, there was no promise of returning soon or seeing him later. As the man closed the door, darkness poured in. Yang Euijoo forced down the sticky ointment on his tongue and closed his eyes. Sporadic coughs rose from his throat. To endure the pain tearing through his chest, Yang Euijoo curled up. His hunched back occasionally shook with harsh coughs.

“Cough, cough…”

His throat felt ticklish, as if moss had grown inside. It was expected, trapped in the basement daily. Navigating to the bathroom in the lightless basement was difficult. Feeling the cold wall, he imagined, impossibly, raindrops falling on his nails. In the bathroom, water dripped from the ceiling. Or perhaps it was water from the faucet.

A complete chill settled in the basement. Yang Euijoo, awakened clumsily by the freezing cold stiffening his fingertips, tossed in his sleep. Perhaps due to the temperature difference between inside and out, the sound of dripping water was unusually frequent today. Que’s face, angry in the leaking basement, came to mind. It seemed like rain was falling outside. Yang Euijoo curled up, hiding his fingers in the damp shirt’s hem, forcing his flickering consciousness to focus.

In dreams, red wallpaper appeared, or he was desperately fleeing with Mei on the docks. Mostly, he dreamed of running on the docks and falling into the sea. In dreams, no hand pulled the sinking Yang Euijoo from the deep ocean. He fell endlessly, waking to clutch his aching body and sigh.

The ointment Cheon Yeomyung applied had mostly rubbed off in his restless sleep, leaving a bitter scent on his wrist. Smelling the faint medicinal odor, Yang Euijoo stood. Opening his eyes in the same darkness, he felt nothing. He cautiously stretched out his hand, groping around.

It was a habit formed after waking frantically from a nightmare and spilling a meal once. But no matter how much he felt the floor, nothing came to hand. How much time had passed? Yang Euijoo waited until his eyes adjusted to the dark, then carefully stood. Groping the wall, he moved but found nothing. No sign of the man who might mock his pathetic actions emerged from the darkness.

“Ah!”

He tripped, tumbling noisily over a chair. The ointment was useless against the throbbing pain. His pinky, bent from hitting the floor, twitched. Yang Euijoo groaned. Yet no one came to the loud, foolish noise.

Had so little time passed? Yang Euijoo clumsily stood, found the chair, and set it upright. Leaning his head on the hard wooden chair, he fiddled with his likely swollen pinky, slowly bending it.

The sound of dripping water resumed. With a suspicious noise, like something moving above, he hurriedly counted numbers. Surely not much time had passed. Sleep was like that—sometimes a nap felt like ten hours, and ten hours felt like one.

Yang Euijoo, panting, increased the numbers. One, two, three… Clumsy at counting, he reached a thousand, folding fingers to add more, then used his toes.

His face, hidden in the dark, was pale, sweating coldly. Yang Euijoo realized he’d been awake too long. Perhaps he’d counted seventy or eighty thousand, something like that. How many hours was that?

He was bad at math. Clutching his poor head, he couldn’t know exactly how much time passed since the crude number sequence didn’t match real time. Yang Euijoo stood. Dizziness hit from crouching so long. Swaying, he steadied himself against the wall. Groping for the entrance, he pounded the hard iron door with his fist. A faint vibration spread through it.

“Hey.”

His hoarse voice echoed in the gloomy space.

“Hey, is anyone there?”

Lack of food wasn’t the issue. Yang Euijoo was gripped by fear that no one might ever come. Dying of starvation or rotting flesh was nothing new from childhood. How many died like that? But dying alone in a lightless place, without imagining divine grace, was unbearable.

Then what was the point of escaping the ship?

“Fuck, is no one there?”

The thick wall didn’t resonate despite repeated pounding. Dull pain peeled his hand’s skin. Yang Euijoo struck until his clenched hand wouldn’t open from pain.

Realizing no one would answer, he thought the days trapped in a room, unable to leave under the pretext of danger, were better. His blood-dripping hands fell limply.

Cheon Yeomyung knew how to be cruel without violence. Yang Euijoo let out a hollow laugh. He believed Cheon Yeomyung would surely return to the basement. But what if he didn’t?

What if he’d lost interest and planned to let him waste away…

“Ah…”

Yang Euijoo now feared even counting numbers. Noticing his fingertips scraping the door with an unpleasant sound, he didn’t stop. Suddenly, he recalled Cheon Yeomyung’s words to trust him. I don’t often lie to you, teacher, really. That feigned innocent expression. The aggrieved voice. The reassuring, kind demeanor.

“You’re really good at lying.”

Yang Euijoo’s murmur echoed in the void. But no one answered his lies with lies or sarcasm. He slid down the wall and sat.

At the edge of his dazed mind, he chose to escape into sleep. Waking again, something brushed his fingertips. A trace of someone’s visit. Yang Euijoo frantically felt the tray. Instead of food, there was a light cup. Sniffing it, a sweet scent wafted. Still lukewarm, he drank it in one gulp.

At first, it was bland, like sugared water, but the sweetness intensified toward the end. It tasted like chocolate. The first sweet thing he’d eaten since being locked in the basement. It was even luxurious. As sugar hit, his foggy mind stirred. Yang Euijoo set the cup down, pushed it against the wall, and stood. His palm grazed the rough wall. His fingertips throbbed with each scrape. Coughing dryly, he stumbled into the bathroom.

Turning the faucet took effort. Groaning, he managed to release water, bending to press his lips to the stream. After gulping cold water, his senses returned slightly. Standing by the sink, he touched the mirrorless cold tiles with the faucet still running. Crashing into this, or the faucet, might kill him.

But he couldn’t die so easily. His fingertips pressed the tiles with force. His skin clung to his bones, making his skeleton prominent. Yang Euijoo exhaled slowly. The intense impulse melted into the cold. Then, pathetic bitterness pooled in his mouth.

If someone saw, they’d mock him for making such a choice after betraying and trying to escape a man. Yang Euijoo squeezed his eyes shut and covered his ears. He tried desperately to forget, but Li Su’s voice kept echoing. You okay? Is your name Lee? Ejoo? Ah, Euijoo. Try this.

Li Su was truly a good person. Her kindness and warmth were sometimes frustrating, but Yang Euijoo liked her. Even when she asked for help. It’s dangerous, are you sure? But Li Su smiled kindly and said.

‘Euijoo, have you ever asked for help before?’

So Yang Euijoo had doubts. The same doubts Cheon Yeomyung pointed out. Did he really think this would leave Li Su and Linda unharmed? Hah… At the suffocating moment, someone abruptly cut through the loud water.

“Not paying the water bill, so you’re using it roughly?”

The voice of a man, rich yet stingy with pennies, filled the room after days of absence. Yang Euijoo blinked.

With rough footsteps, the man entered, both loathsome and missed. Cheon Yeomyung, his mood clearly twisted, wore a ferocious expression.

He flipped the bathroom switch. The basement, which never lit up no matter how much Yang Euijoo pressed, filled with light. It was blinding. His vision, long darkened, flinched at the sudden dim light.

Cheon Yeomyung, clicking his tongue, led the wet-cheeked Yang Euijoo out of the bathroom. Soon, the basement lit up too. The light was too dim and crude to call it light, but Yang Euijoo lifted his head to see it. Tears streamed down his wet cheeks with a blinding pain.

“Been well?”

Cheon Yeomyung’s words were sly. He didn’t reveal how long it had been. Yang Euijoo thought it’d be better if the man tortured him, kept him awake for twenty-four hours. Anything was better than the guilt, regrets, and trivial thoughts haunting his sleep.

“Missed me since it’s been a while? You’re greeting me differently.”

The amused voice mixed confusingly in Yang Euijoo’s ears. He didn’t respond, and Cheon Yeomyung didn’t wait for one. Glancing to check for changes, his eyes caught something. A pile of money in the corner, and a tray further away. Cheon Yeomyung picked up the mug from the tray. The light plastic cup held sticky traces of undissolved hot chocolate.

Only one person would bring this without his orders. Playing tricks while he was careless. Cheon Yeomyung recalled someone’s dejected face and set the mug down. He didn’t intend to scold. Yang Euijoo alone needed to know how futile unreciprocated pity and mercy were.

Still, punishment for disobeying was due. Calculating a fitting penalty, Cheon Yeomyung turned to Yang Euijoo. He stood dazed, staring at the ceiling’s light. Yang Euijoo gazed at the fluorescent light, unblinking, as if it were the real sun. His tear-crusted face was entranced. Though he craved it, seeing him so absorbed twisted Cheon Yeomyung’s mood.

Without hesitation, Cheon Yeomyung clenched his fist and smashed the switch, cutting the power. A sharp cry briefly echoed in the darkened basement.

Ignoring him, Cheon Yeomyung pulled a chair and sat. The sound of deep breathing was sharp and precarious.

“Crying like that after a few days alone? Disappointing.”

Yang Euijoo, trembling and scratching the floor, stopped at the stinging words, not the pain of crushed nails. Cold sweat dripped down his jaw. Nothing was right, and somehow it made him laugh. In the unseen darkness, Cheon Yeomyung tapped the floor with his shoe heel.

“Asking because you don’t know?”

Yang Euijoo, leaning carelessly, closed his stinging eyes. Only then did he see light behind his eyelids. Yellow light. The dawn light at four, sometimes entering if he forgot to close the window. Clinging to the round window, Yang Euijoo often saw that scene. The blue turned golden, shimmering like jewels, rippling together. Light was liquid, water, always a signal to begin.

“…Then try being locked in here.”

“Inviting me? To stay together?”

A shoe pressed his cheek. It was humiliating, but no moment facing the man in the basement wasn’t. Whether intentional, the shoe rubbing his skin as if cleaning something dirty lifted.

“We searched all of Leningrad’s port.”

Where was that? The unfamiliar name dazed Yang Euijoo.

“A brown-haired woman with a child under one. Thought it’d be easy to find, but we didn’t.”

Then Yang Euijoo realized Cheon Yeomyung meant the port where Mei’s ship docked. Mei wasn’t caught. That was a relief.

If Cheon Yeomyung had found Mei, he wouldn’t hide it from Yang Euijoo. He’d mock and taunt him for his failed actions, but Cheon Yeomyung was truly angry now. So Yang Euijoo laughed unwittingly. A foolish expression. His lips, relaxed in relief, grinned. The first relieved smile since entering the basement. Mei would really be okay. The child would be healthy. He just had that gut feeling.

Cheon Yeomyung silently watched that harmless smile. A smile Yang Euijoo never showed him. Amid uncomfortable, twisted smiles, this was possible too. Cheon Yeomyung asked calmly.

“Feeling good, huh?”

“It means I succeeded.”

“My lover’s standards for success are pretty low. Should I say your standards for happiness are low?”

Behind Cheon Yeomyung, the heavy basement door closed with a thud. Yang Euijoo watched the light, like a small grace, touch the floor, then looked up. Only then did he notice the man, dressed in a morning coat as if for a party. Polished shoes tapped the floor, and the man raised his hand.

Wearing a morning coat, Cheon Yeomyung followed formality, sporting white gloves instead of his usual leather ones.

Instead of hitting Yang Euijoo, he mussed his neatly pomaded black hair. A few strands fell ungentlemanly over his forehead. Yang Euijoo stared at Cheon Yeomyung, whose waist was neatly cinched. Perhaps due to the subtle striped pants, he looked a hand taller than usual.

“Like horseback riding?”

A strange question. Yang Euijoo, watching him discard the white gloves carelessly and pull black ones from his jacket, replied.

“Never tried it.”

“Then you should learn.”

“What…”

Yang Euijoo frowned at Cheon Yeomyung’s obviously unpleasant words. After perfectly fitting the gloves, Cheon Yeomyung flexed his fingers and said.

“Met a businessman today. Hates gambling so much he barely meets my eyes, but loves horseback riding despite being fat. Poor horses, right?”

Yang Euijoo still didn’t know why Cheon Yeomyung spoke so playfully. Sure, the man was chatty. He loved talking, coaxing stories from Yang Euijoo. That was how it was when they avoided problems.

“Wondered why a clumsy idiot loves horseback riding, then the drunk fool bragged in broad daylight.”

Yang Euijoo blinked. Finally comfortable with the gloves, Cheon Yeomyung pointed his index finger, smiling with his eyes.

“Said it’s fun to fuck his lover on a horse.”

Always beautiful eyes. Those captivating eyes scanned the body in a damp, basement-scented shirt.

“Can’t do that without riding a horse, right? So learn.”

“What…”

The reason and method of coercion were repulsive. Yang Euijoo bit his tongue, suppressing words.

“Said you caused me big losses, didn’t I? So I’m sending you to that guy I hate to smooth things over.”

I don’t care if you’re fucked by a horse or that pig. Cheon Yeomyung’s eyes, speaking coldly, were as frigid as a frozen sea. Yang Euijoo felt forcibly anchored, unable to breathe, watching Cheon Yeomyung’s hand slowly curl under the leather glove.

“Forgot? Shall I say it again?”

The gap between Yang Euijoo, sitting on the floor, and Cheon Yeomyung, standing upright, was vast. Yang Euijoo soon realized Cheon Yeomyung was massively enraged. Despite locking him in the basement with generous patience, missing Mei in Leningrad made him accept his plans had unraveled.

“I’m not keeping you alive because I don’t want to kill you. It’s because keeping you alive is profitable. That noodle-selling woman was useless alive, but you, alive, can be sold for sex or as a spy, right? Did my words sound like a joke?”

It was like thorns in his ears. Yang Euijoo, born and raised human yet hearing inhuman words, laughed at Cheon Yeomyung.

“You know what? You talk fancy, but you’re no different from Que.”

He wasn’t unaware of how that old bastard treated Mei. Cheon Yeomyung must have done something wrong too. But Yang Euijoo saw no difference between them. At his calm remark, Cheon Yeomyung slowly raised the corner of his mouth. His thawing face bloomed like a flower.

“Ah…”

As expected, he’s a bit smart. With a face full of blunt approval, Cheon Yeomyung agreed.

“You’re right, it’s an excuse.”

His knees were cold. Yang Euijoo touched his exposed knees with frozen fingers. The skin was rough.

“But giving reasons for dirty deeds isn’t a loss. Sometimes the same wrongs get pardoned. Teacher, can you say you were called a pharmacist, selling drugs without credentials, without the trust your face gave? If I can justify my actions, that’s enough.”

Cheon Yeomyung spoke long, smoothly, his voice like reading a book. Yang Euijoo recalled his tone, voice, and pace were like when he’d open a newspaper and lie about a book’s plot. Cheon Yeomyung was venting his frustration with Que again. Childish, outrageously brutal.

Cheon Yeomyung knew he was venting, and Yang Euijoo, the target, clearly recognized it. But Yang Euijoo didn’t get angry.

“Then don’t you need to do something to feel moved? As you know, I’m losing interest in you lately.”

A hard shoe toe forced open Yang Euijoo’s closed lips. As the shoe meant for the floor entered his mouth, nausea surged.

“Hold it well, endure long, and I’ll come back sooner next time.”

The man whispered kindly, crushing Yang Euijoo’s tongue with his toe. Yang Euijoo gagged, collapsing onto the man’s foot. Cheon Yeomyung, displeased with his clumsy reaction, grabbed his hair. The long, malnourished hair split at the ends. Lightly slapping his cheek, Cheon Yeomyung pulled a cigarette from his coat.

Yang Euijoo didn’t need to know his smoking had increased lately. Cheon Yeomyung tilted his head, lighting the cigarette. A match from a black-lacquered case burned its single life and fell. Yang Euijoo, crushed below, flinched.

Soot marked his skin. Should I adjust the lighting? Cheon Yeomyung pondered how much of his plan he could achieve, closing his eyes. The cigarette’s slow breath pierced his nostrils.

The basement’s light was oddly unpleasant. Yang Euijoo frowned at the eye-stabbing light. The sweet craving for light ended quickly, replaced by uncomfortable heat and a signal to start the day’s labor. The flickering orange light flashed before him, and Yang Euijoo screamed.

“Ah!”

Clutching his thigh, Yang Euijoo curled up. Cheon Yeomyung watched impassively. Cold sweat traced the writhing body. Not even intense torture, yet he whined. Cheon Yeomyung thought his lover was prone to exaggeration. Even when he rescued him from Que’s mansion, Yang Euijoo’s nightmares from that shock were incomprehensible. Just a kidnapping, wasn’t it?

Before Que could do worse, Cheon Yeomyung heroically saved his lover. Back then… he thought dating wasn’t so bad.

Lighting a second cigarette, Cheon Yeomyung pulled the tear-soaked face, merely burned on the thigh, closer. The convulsing lips couldn’t open properly. But Cheon Yeomyung didn’t long consider Yang Euijoo’s state or mental issues.

The drenched face looked sorrowful. It also seemed frightened. Cheon Yeomyung was accustomed to facing people who feared him. It was still strange that Yang Euijoo had become one of them.

He took a deep drag of his cigarette. Yang Euijoo struggled to endure the throbbing pain in his thigh, but his lips trembled involuntarily. Hearing the labored groans, Cheon Yeomyung asked.

“Already worn out?”

His eyes coldly assessed Yang Euijoo’s stamina. The face was pale. Cheon Yeomyung knew best that Yang Euijoo couldn’t be kept in the basement indefinitely. He knew well how far a human could endure and when they would break. Yang Euijoo was prone to whining and physically weak. He wouldn’t last long.

A conclusion was needed, but somehow both were stuck in a dragging battle of wills. Cheon Yeomyung, cigarette in mouth, looked at Yang Euijoo.

“Not worn out.”

A face that had barely succeeded in enduring pain declared defiantly. Cheon Yeomyung smoked with a bored expression.

“Good. Don’t break too quickly, that’d be a shame.”

The man’s words, exhaled with smoke, were beyond a matter of pride. Cheon Yeomyung’s fingers tugged at the rough edge of Yang Euijoo’s silent lips. It was a comical sight, but Cheon Yeomyung didn’t mock the face. Eyes hollowed with fear met eyes reading that fear.

“Why are you scared? It’s nothing.”

“Scared, I’m not…”

“You look like that right now.”

With his left hand, Cheon Yeomyung prodded the cigarette-burned wound while stroking Yang Euijoo’s distorted face. He felt the cigarette filter in his mouth grow damp. The air was humid. Each time he silently smoked, saliva dripped long down the finger forced into the narrow mouth. Yang Euijoo, lips parted, was frowning.

“What should we do today? Anything you want to do?”

Cheon Yeomyung pretended to ask Yang Euijoo, as if choosing a game. Not that he’d listen, but he feigned kindness in seeking opinions, then grumbled with a bored face. Tormenting required effort, he said, complaining almost petulantly about the luxury. With the cigarette between his fangs, he abruptly reached out, grabbing and pulling Yang Euijoo’s hair.

Yang Euijoo’s face contorted involuntarily. Faint pain showed on the distorted face. His lips, forcibly parted, couldn’t contain PQcontain saliva, looking pitiful. Even so ravaged, the face still drew attention. Cheon Yeomyung recalled Yang Euijoo squinting in the faint light, tightening his grip. The soft tongue had calluses.

“No wishes? Then act cute. You did it well when you escaped, so why not now?”

Like scolding a naughty child, Yang Euijoo’s eyes reddened with anger. He wanted to cough but couldn’t breathe properly, gasping with the finger forcing his mouth open. The acrid cigarette smell pierced his sensitive nose. Cheon Yeomyung spat the cigarette, letting it fall carelessly, and sighed.

“Don’t play tricks.”

Yang Euijoo tried to protest he hadn’t, but the finger pressing his tongue’s root prevented movement. Cheon Yeomyung wouldn’t listen to any rebuttal anyway. The forcibly opened jaw hurt so much that tears welled up, but they were soon blocked by someone’s breath. With the unpleasant taste of cigarette smoke, Yang Euijoo swallowed the sweet saliva. Oxygen-starved, his eyes felt like they’d burst. He tried to pull back but was crushed to the floor, overwhelmed by the man’s body.

Soft lips ravaged his rough, wounded ones. The pain of oxygen deprivation surpassed the agony of his scalp being torn. It was more torture than a kiss. Cheon Yeomyung released Yang Euijoo only after satisfying his desire.

“Cough, hack…!”

Yang Euijoo, head bowed, coughed violently, dropping his head. His heart pounded wildly. A few drops of unsuppressed saliva dripped to the floor. Cheon Yeomyung watched silently, adjusted his lower half, and stood. Like someone who’d seen enough, using a person as a vent for lust.

“This time, I’m going to Leningrad myself. I don’t expect much from my incompetent men, but checking there might ease my regrets. So look forward to our next meeting. Stay well until then, my lover.”

The gloved hand pretended to affectionately stroke Yang Euijoo’s face. Lover. Yang Euijoo, no longer amused by the title, pushed Cheon Yeomyung’s hand away, gritting his teeth.

“Lover, my ass.”

“…”

“You don’t even treat me… like a human…”

Anger made his words falter. The broken, frail voice was too weak to hold rage. Cheon Yeomyung only laughed at the fragile, web-like sound. His eyes gleamed with a melancholic golden hue.

“Never thought of you as human from the start.”

With that light remark, the basement door closed. For some reason, the light didn’t turn off immediately. Under the dim fluorescent glow, the gray floor darkened in patches. Knowing he was pathetic, Yang Euijoo couldn’t stop his tears. More than the chilling threat of being sold as a prostitute or the mockery, realizing what kind of person Cheon Yeomyung was hurt most.

Yang Euijoo glared at the door Cheon Yeomyung exited. The light flickered out, plunging the room into darkness.

The cigarette burn on his thigh stung. It’d likely scar. But more than that, he wanted light, even if it blinded him. The basement was suffocating. If he could count time, it’d be better. Seeing even a glimpse of the outside would help, but the basement’s structure barely changed temperature between day and night, making it hard to distinguish. Only the quiet rain or the howling wind vibrating the walls hinted at the weather.

Yang Euijoo covered his ears and gagged. He hated the basement. Truly hated it. How desperately he’d struggled to escape the sea’s depths. But Cheon Yeomyung completely ignored his pleas.

He’d lived well. He wanted to escape Yirang but never to date Cheon Yeomyung. He tried not to be greedy for his inexplicable kindness and whims. It was laughable. All his efforts to live simply had shackled him.

Yang Euijoo regretted it too late.

He never thought he’d call selling trashy drugs and brawling with customers in Yirang happiness.

Why…

Why must I be miserable?

Mocking his question, the light lingering in his eyelids flickered endlessly. Scattered light.