Yang’s Master Chapter 7.3 - Pacifist

These things made him feel choked and uncomfortable after indulging. Moments of staying sane became irritating. Cheon Yeomyung perhaps disliked the basement as much as Yang Euijoo did. It was only natural, as it wasn’t a space used for pleasant purposes.

“Wouldn’t it be nice to have someone like me around?”

With a beautiful face and voice, Cheon Yeomyung asked, pulling a matchbox from his pocket. He struck a red match with a godlike smile, as if he knew everything. Lighting a cigarette, the man unbuttoned another button on his shirt. It was the first time he appeared disheveled despite wearing a suit. Yang Euijoo noticed that Cheon Yeomyung was suffering from the same aftereffects as he was.

“Should I come back? Stay by your side so you don’t feel lonely when you fall asleep?”

The man whispered, holding the cigarette and looking down at Yang Euijoo. Another dry nosebleed dripped from Yang Euijoo’s nose. Wiping it with the back of his hand, Yang Euijoo glared at Cheon Yeomyung.

“Do whatever you want. The more pathetically you beg, the more it’ll please me.”

“You bastard…”

Yang Euijoo muttered a curse involuntarily.

“Euijoo-ya, if you beg for what you want, I’ll grant it.”

As your lover, isn’t that a reasonable request? The man brought up a past conversation.

Back then, they were both aboveground. A table basket was filled with oranges, one about to roll off, another held in Cheon Yeomyung’s hand, exuding a fresh scent, while a teacup meant for tea was piled with orange segments, representing Yang Euijoo’s desires.

The orange scent seemed to soak up the last of Hong Kong’s summer heat. Water lingered in the man’s hair after a swim. Yang Euijoo blinked once and answered.

“I don’t need it.”

It was a cold rejection, but Cheon Yeomyung scoffed, ignoring it. A man who confessed his loneliness with his own mouth was obviously lying if he denied it.

“Shall I tell you something first?”

Cheon Yeomyung pointed at the empty bowl, smiling in a way that recalled their first meeting.

“That congee was Chui’s suggestion. He said your favorite congee ingredients are eggs and mushrooms.”

Did Mr. Chui know that? Yang Euijoo pondered briefly. He often had lunch or late breakfast with Mr. Chui. Since they ran businesses in adjacent buildings, they occasionally ate together. The nearby congee shop didn’t deliver one bowl but did for two. So Yang Euijoo often ordered for Mr. Chui. Mr. Chui ate congee with mild red beans or duck meat.

Yang Euijoo ate egg and mushroom congee most often because it had the least smell. Mr. Chui must have remembered that. Yang Euijoo lowered his head. Learning Mr. Chui was doing well, even in this way, brought unexpected joy. It was foolish sentiment, but it worked.

“Did you know? Since your pharmacy’s been closed for so long, people left notes on the sign. Quite cute, don’t you think?”

Cheon Yeomyung reached into his pocket, pulling out a rustling bundle. It was a stack of small papers. Flipping through them, he said.

“Seems you were popular with kids. The pharmacist wasn’t great at writing, but good enough to teach the basics? Yirang’s illiteracy rate might’ve dropped a bit.”

Really? Yang Euijoo only answered kids asking how to write his name or their favorite toys or games. Usually, he fought with drunks or drug addicts, so kids rarely came near the pharmacy. Still, over two years in Yirang, he had fleeting interactions with some. Yang Euijoo thought those weren’t even the start of bonds. Truly.

“Don’t you miss it?”

Cheon Yeomyung asked with a bright smile. The paper bundle crumpled in his hand. Yang Euijoo stared at the man, lips dry.

“Miss that life, even if it was pathetic?”

His golden eyes curved enchantingly. The gold embroidery on his naturally drooping tie matched his eyes, making Cheon Yeomyung seem like a spokesperson for debauchery and greed.

“Act cute, do whatever obediently, and you might get to read them. Isn’t that easy for you?”

Cheon Yeomyung waved the paper bundle. Yang Euijoo looked at the scratched scraps of paper. Without proper paper, some used newspaper clippings, magazine pieces, or cut-up explicit books. Looking at the crumpled edges, Yang Euijoo wondered how long he’d been away from Yirang.

“No.”

It was a place he wanted to leave anyway. Notes from slum dwellers couldn’t be that precious. Drunks probably cheered at not repaying debts. Yang Euijoo turned his head.

“Really? Then I can’t help it.”

As if expecting Yang Euijoo’s light denial, Cheon Yeomyung tossed the paper bundle without hesitation. A dozen or so sheets fell to the floor in a heap. Yang Euijoo instinctively looked at the top sheet.

Crooked letters. Crooked drawings. He reached out. As his cracked nails neared the paper with clumsy lines, a match flame fell from above. Yang Euijoo quickly withdrew his hand. The orange flame silently engulfed the paper, burning it all in an instant. Watching the unread words turn to ash, Yang Euijoo wore a blank expression.

“Let’s do one thing at a time.”

Cheon Yeomyung said, stamping out the burning paper with his boot.

“Linlin was worried about you. What do you think? If you ask, you might get some time to talk with her. Heard Linlin’s lost weight?”

Closing the matchbox with a snap, Cheon Yeomyung inhaled his cigarette. He pressed his nose bridge, head aching, then looked up. Yang Euijoo, hearing about Linlin, noticed Cheon Yeomyung looked thinner.

“Oh, to a refined pharmacist’s mind, people like us are just trash, right?”

Cheon Yeomyung sighed, crossing his legs. Yang Euijoo hadn’t said a word, but felt uneasy, as if he’d insulted Linlin and the mansion’s people. Cheon Yeomyung’s words weren’t wrong, which made it worse. Despite personal fondness, he couldn’t feel positively toward Cheon Yeomyung or his submissive underlings.

Cheon Yeomyung looked at the silent Yang Euijoo, turned his head, and finished his cigarette. He was bored. The basement was stifling. No sound of dripping water made it dull today.

He should’ve accepted Yirang’s mahjong invitation. Cheon Yeomyung shifted in the creaky chair, stretching his stiff neck. It was tedious banter. Deciding to act took little time. Like stomping the burning paper, Cheon Yeomyung grabbed Yang Euijoo and knocked him down with a light motion.

With no cushion, Yang Euijoo hit the hard floor bare. His face contorted in pain from the impact. Only then did faint excitement flash across Cheon Yeomyung’s face.

“Fuck, let go!”

The hard heel scraped loudly against the cement floor. More than the throbbing pain, Yang Euijoo hated touching Cheon Yeomyung, who pinned him down. He struggled, but unlike him, Cheon Yeomyung was skilled at physical control. With one adjustment, he completely subdued Yang Euijoo, laughing. It was an arrogant smile, like a god looking down on a human.

“Curious, right? What day it is, how much time has passed, who among Yirang’s people you knew died or lived?”

Cheon Yeomyung’s eyes gleamed like a predator’s, staring straight at Yang Euijoo. Yang Euijoo inhaled. The loss and anger from the burning paper targeted Cheon Yeomyung. Had he ever hated someone this much? Yang Euijoo trembled faintly.

Enduring fear and loneliness on the cold floor was impossible. The gloomy room kept sending Yang Euijoo back to the ship. It tormented him intensely, as if stepping on land was a sin.

Cheon Yeomyung looked at Yang Euijoo, barely breathing, with cold indifference. Thinking his sway to petty emotions was foolish, he crouched before Yang Euijoo. Listening closely, he heard a frail voice counting numbers to block unstoppable thoughts, stirring Cheon Yeomyung.

Yang Euijoo hated him. Choosing what the other despised most was always effective, and Cheon Yeomyung felt its impact. He pulled the muttering Yang Euijoo up. The grabbed body flinched, then stared at Cheon Yeomyung. Trembling with bad premonition, Yang Euijoo couldn’t stop it.

But the instinctual clock kept ticking. Yang Euijoo couldn’t endure facing Cheon Yeomyung in the basement. Yet time flowed steadily.

“Don’t drag this out. You’re not that stupid, are you?”

The man advised. Yang Euijoo looked up habitually. There was no sky. The hard gray ceiling still hid day and night. The man was always thorough. He came to meet Yang Euijoo in perfect attire. Faint cologne. Meticulous cruelty hiding his watch. The basement dust settling like a halo behind him, the gesture of adjusting his gloves. When his fingers pulled the black leather taut to his wrist, Cheon Yeomyung didn’t hesitate.

“…”

His eyes burned with fever. Memories of Cheon Yeomyung’s actions flashed through Yang Euijoo’s mind. He didn’t want to break, but he was already exhausted. He’d been in the basement too long.

I want to get out. Yang Euijoo belatedly acknowledged his desperate desire. He wanted to escape the cold bathtub and dark, damp basement, even if it meant crawling at Cheon Yeomyung’s feet, begging for everything he wanted.

And then, no. It wasn’t immediate. As if confirming, Cheon Yeomyung asked Yang Euijoo’s intent.

“Answer. Do you really want to live here forever?”

Golden flecks climbing his shoulder stung Yang Euijoo’s eyes. With half-open, swollen eyes from fever and pain, Yang Euijoo looked at Cheon Yeomyung. Cheon Yeomyung’s lips were tightly closed, neither smiling nor frowning, perfectly straight and beautiful.

“Ha…”

No. Cheon Yeomyung knew the answer. How much patience and dignity had Yang Euijoo sold to leave the ship? He just wanted to see the sun on time, to live a bit.

Yang Euijoo writhed with his last strength. His dry fingers desperately reached for Cheon Yeomyung’s pants, but it wasn’t the expected act.

Yang Euijoo’s eyes blazed blue as he fell. Cheon Yeomyung’s lips twitched as Yang Euijoo’s hand pushed him away. With an impassive face, he turned toward the bathroom. Yang Euijoo screamed as Cheon Yeomyung headed for the still-cold bathtub.

Bleeding from his nose, Yang Euijoo grabbed Cheon Yeomyung. The man, dragging him limply, stopped in the bathroom’s center. The sound of the gloved hand turning the faucet briefly broke Yang Euijoo’s gaze.

Yang Euijoo realized he’d fainted momentarily only when Cheon Yeomyung pulled his wrist up. His tear-soaked face glared at the man’s still-unamused expression. Tears fell from bloodshot eyes. Hearing faint sobs, Cheon Yeomyung looked at Yang Euijoo.

Human awareness is pathetic. Realizing fear is faster and more intense than love or joy. Cheon Yeomyung acknowledged that unless he made Yang Euijoo aware of his desires, he’d keep bristling in the basement, wasting away.

Soon, that desire revealed the depths of a person. How petty and weak were raw, broken needs? Cheon Yeomyung only needed to make Yang Euijoo realize it. The end of this eternal fight would be shaped by Cheon Yeomyung. At least Yang Euijoo’s dead self would remain in the basement.

Watching Yang Euijoo swallow his hatred and murderous intent, Cheon Yeomyung raised the corner of his mouth.

“I… I was wrong.”

The moment he chose to break, Yang Euijoo’s head was at Cheon Yeomyung’s heel, his limp arm pulled forward. Dragged like a lamb to slaughter, Yang Euijoo’s head dropped to the floor. He’d never forget this moment—where his face was, where he submitted. Why the man’s hand, twisting the faucet, stopped above the bathtub.

A low sigh fell on Yang Euijoo’s head. Even his sigh was refined. Cheon Yeomyung soon dropped Yang Euijoo’s arm and turned.

Yang Euijoo, buried in the cold floor, let out intermittent sobs. Tears fell with whimpers from his tongue. Cheon Yeomyung thought Yang Euijoo’s tears might fill the basement, lifting his booted foot. Yang Euijoo didn’t move, even if stepped on.

“Be good.”

Finally, Cheon Yeomyung spoke. Yang Euijoo nodded frantically. He was compliant enough to do anything Cheon Yeomyung ordered.

“Want to get out?”

Cheon Yeomyung asked gently. In the dirty, cramped bathroom, Yang Euijoo staggered, broken. The fluorescent bulb on the ceiling lit his head like a full moon. Amid shadows recalling betrayal’s history, the two faced off.

Grabbed by Cheon Yeomyung, Yang Euijoo smelled the dock’s fishy stench again, as when pulled from the sea. He nodded dumbly.

Knowing time wasn’t enough. Counting was stifling. More than fever or struggling to breathe with his face in the bathtub, a desperate desire for life gripped Yang Euijoo.

His only wish was to live a bit more humanely. From the moment he left the ship, enduring Yirang’s fights over trashy drugs, his reason was constant.

“I want to get out.”

Yang Euijoo confessed. Cheon Yeomyung narrowed his eyes.

“Why? You acted like you’d stay here forever.”

“No.”

At the man’s cold question, Yang Euijoo shook his head. His exhausted face looked at Cheon Yeomyung desperately, as if seeking absolution. Stammering without forming sentences, he bit his tongue roughly several times. But one phrase was enough. Yang Euijoo wasn’t bright, but not clueless. Swallowing blood-tinged saliva, he recited what Cheon Yeomyung wanted.

“I was wrong…”

“Good, good. And?”

That can’t be all. His sharp eyes urged, foot tapping. Yang Euijoo clenched his fist. Long nails dug into his palm, drawing blood. Feeling pain like his heart and lungs were stabbed, Yang Euijoo slowly crawled, rubbing his face on Cheon Yeomyung’s foot.

“Please… forgive me…”

“How obedient.”

Finally, Cheon Yeomyung smiled, savoring the ecstasy. As declared, the man who grasped Yang Euijoo’s submission looked like a saint ignorant of the world’s filth, kicking Yang Euijoo’s chin up with his toe.

“Lick.”

Cheon Yeomyung ordered. Yang Euijoo didn’t resist. He opened his mouth as commanded, pressing his lips to the glossy shoe, throat swollen with fever.

As always, the lowest position. Dark, ashen hair spilled over his wet cheeks. Flat on the ground, Yang Euijoo licked the pristine man’s shoe, imagining.

Someday, the honorable fantasy of stabbing this man.