Yang’s Master Chapter 9.1 - Snow on the Dock

Through experience, he realized that up until now, they hadn’t truly been fighting. He also understood what it meant to fight the moment their eyes met. The young Meid was pleading with them to stop, trying to intervene. The content of their fights was even childish. Yang Euijoo thought that if he scratched Cheon Yeomyung’s nerves enough, he’d be dragged to the bathtub and dunked in it, but despite twitching his fingers, Cheon Yeomyung neither hit nor threatened Yang Euijoo.

Perhaps Meid Wood’s incessant nagging had put a brake on his violent tendencies. Regardless, the two fought childishly. They shouted at each other, and when they got a bit tired, they sarcastically sniped at one another quietly. There was even a time when Yang Euijoo threw a fork while eating breakfast. In those petty fights, Yang Euijoo regretted only one thing.

“Hey?”

It had been a while since the man’s face turned so grim. Cheon Yeomyung, looking as if he wanted to throw Yang Euijoo into the sea instead of a bathtub, muttered again.

“Did you just call me ‘hey’?”

The man seemed to forgive all sorts of insults like bastard, damn bastard, crazy bastard, son of a bitch, filthy jerk, or human trash, but the word “hey” was apparently unforgivable. He was truly an unpredictable person.

“Can’t I call you ‘hey’?”

Regardless, Yang Euijoo didn’t want to back down and snapped back. Cheon Yeomyung said one thing.

“Are you older than me?”

He wasn’t unpredictable; he was just childish. Yang Euijoo gave up protesting to Cheon Yeomyung right there, but the man held a grudge. After that, Cheon Yeomyung called Yang Euijoo “hey” at every opportunity. It would have been better if he’d called him teacher or even an absurd term like lover.

“Hey, put it on.”

He said this while kicking some clothes toward him.

“Hey, eat.”

He said this while forcing food on him. After Yang Euijoo threw a wooden fork at Cheon Yeomyung’s face for the third time, he couldn’t quite remember how they fought. Too exhausted to make it to the bed, Yang Euijoo lay sprawled on the sofa, holding a wet towel to his face to stop a nosebleed, while two Meids came in and cleaned the chaotic room. If the nosebleed had been from Cheon Yeomyung hitting him, that would have been better, but it was caused by his blood pressure spiking from anger, bursting a membrane, leaving him with no one to complain to.

When Yang Euijoo, mid-shout, started dripping blood from his nose, Cheon Yeomyung sneered and left the room.

“Teacher, are you okay? Should I get you a new towel?”

The young Meid, cleaning up a torn cushion, asked. Yang Euijoo, tightly gripping the cold towel, replied quietly.

“I’m fine…”

“I’ll prepare a new meal for you.”

The young Meid said this as she stuffed the cushion into a sack, neatly cleaning up the broken dishes and snapped fork. The meal prepared for lunch was also entirely cleared away. Yang Euijoo subtly moved the blood-stained towel aside and turned his head. The Meid, wiping spilled food off the floor with a rag and rolling up the soiled carpet, flinched as if she felt Yang Euijoo’s gaze. Knowing she was uncomfortable, Yang Euijoo stared at her for a moment before turning away again.

He really couldn’t understand Cheon Yeomyung.

He pressed the towel to his nose again and let his body slump. Lately, once a nosebleed started, it wouldn’t stop easily. He felt his poor health in this way. When Yang Euijoo suddenly coughed, had a nosebleed, or vomited from inexplicable nausea, Cheon Yeomyung would quietly slip away, as if he knew he’d done something wrong.

Was this, perhaps, guilt? Yang Euijoo entertained the horrible thought before throwing the wet towel to the floor.

“So, when are we setting the appointment? Do you know how much that bastard Berkshire is hounding me?”

Rose Rock’s irritated voice rang out. Soon, the man appeared through the open door. The two Meids, seeing the mansion’s owner and Rose Rock enter, hurriedly continued cleaning. Cheon Yeomyung scanned the room with cold eyes, then frowned at Yang Euijoo sprawled on the sofa.

“Don’t deal with him. Pass it to Sogang.”

“Oh, poor Sogang.”

Rose Rock sneered. Cheon Yeomyung thought for a moment before replying.

“Then should I send Linlin? Not Izaryang, he’s bad at English.”

“…Sogang’s better than Linlin.”

Rose Rock replied, crossing her arms. Cheon Yeomyung walked over to the sofa where Yang Euijoo lay, saw the still-bleeding nose, and extended a gloved hand. Unexpectedly, instead of twisting or pressing Yang Euijoo’s nose, he gently rubbed the bridge. It must look awful, all bloody. Yang Euijoo had pointless thoughts and let Cheon Yeomyung do whatever crazy thing he wanted.

“Cancel today’s appointment.”

Cheon Yeomyung said this while loosening the tie around Yang Euijoo’s neck. The reason for the fight was simple. When Cheon Yeomyung shamelessly suggested they go together with that damn hardcover book, Yang Euijoo threw a fork first. Then his nosebleed started, and the dark gray suit, matching his hair and eye color, got ruined with blood.

Yang Euijoo expected Cheon Yeomyung to complain about the expensive suit, but surprisingly, he didn’t.

“Lord Dudley will whine like crazy…”

“If he says he’s sick, what can they do? Tell him to shut up and wait. If he’s really annoying, forward the call here.”

“Fine. That’s still better than dealing with William Berkshire. What are you going to tell Berkshire?”

That perverted pig seemed to have a bad reputation everywhere. Yang Euijoo, relieved from the choking tie, watched Cheon Yeomyung unbutton his shirt for easier breathing. Dressed impeccably for work, Cheon Yeomyung pressed the bridge of Yang Euijoo’s nose again. The nosebleed, which had been tormenting him, finally started to slow.

“Hmm…”

Cheon Yeomyung rubbed the bloodstains on his glove, his lips twitching. A playful smile crossed his face.

“Tell him I caught syphilis.”

“Oh.”

Rose Rock exclaimed with a cold expression.

“That’ll make twenty more people avoid the boss at the party.”

“Finally, I’ll know what freedom feels like.”

“I’ll make something up. You deal with the mess you made, boss.”

With that scolding, Rose Rock left the room. The two Meids followed her out, carrying cleaning supplies. Watching the Meids hurriedly leave, Yang Euijoo heard a sinister voice in his ear.

“Turn your head before I stab your eyes.”

“…”

“Why?”

“Just thinking your personality’s pretty rotten.”

When Yang Euijoo spoke discontentedly, Cheon Yeomyung’s lips curled into a nasty smirk.

“My personality’s better than someone who casually calls people ‘hey.’”

When would that grudge ever end? Yang Euijoo swatted away Cheon Yeomyung’s hand, which lingered annoyingly near his face, and got up.

“Where are you going?”

“To rest, since I caught syphilis.”

Cheon Yeomyung, catching the sarcasm, shrugged but didn’t stop him. Holding Yang Euijoo’s tie, he seemed about to step back when a phone rang abruptly in the room, making him openly grimace. Alternating his gaze between the tie and Yang Euijoo, Cheon Yeomyung reluctantly picked up the receiver from the bedroom table.

“Call answered.”

The annoyed, petulant tone vanished, replaced by a refined, elegant voice responding politely to the caller. Yang Euijoo watched the man’s hypocritical profile.

“It can’t be helped. Wouldn’t it be troublesome if a precious person caught the flu?”

Cheon Yeomyung’s way of making excuses to the caller was unfamiliar. He soon pulled a book from the table.

The book Yang Euijoo had scribbled curses and doodles on had been torn once, so Cheon Yeomyung bought a new one and handed it over. From the opening line describing decorative nails hammered into a door, Yang Euijoo threw the book and ran to the bathroom to vomit. Cheon Yeomyung grabbed him and dragged him back.

The physical struggle, as expected, ended predictably, and Yang Euijoo, with Cheon Yeomyung grabbing his collar and shoving him into a bookshelf, had to read the sentences aloud dozens of times. Reading the entire book was, of course, impossible, so Yang Euijoo managed to stumble through only twenty or thirty pages before he could catch a brief nap.

“Well, if you insist that much…”

Cheon Yeomyung’s face gradually turned colder. The call’s content clearly displeased him. He soon beckoned Yang Euijoo with a finger snap. Covering the receiver with his palm, he mouthed silently.

‘Don’t change your clothes.’

He meant to stay in the blood-soaked outfit. Yang Euijoo frowned, puzzled, but Cheon Yeomyung didn’t explain. Instead, he greeted the caller.

“Alright. Then we’ll meet briefly, yes, yes…”

The call finally ended. Cheon Yeomyung tossed the receiver down and sighed.

“What’s that about?”

“What else? It’s about the teacher’s popularity.”

Saying this, Cheon Yeomyung strode over to Yang Euijoo and re-buttoned his loosened shirt.

“You need to look sick, so keep this on.”

“Why?”

Yang Euijoo asked, genuinely curious. It was Cheon Yeomyung who’d growled about using him as a bribe for business. He’d even once offered Yang Euijoo to Berkshire. And that wasn’t all—if you listed everything Cheon Yeomyung had done to him, there was no reason for him to care about a nosebleed or cancel appointments. So, today’s behavior was off.

Even after learning some ominous secret about Cheon Yeomyung, nothing changed between them. They kept having childish fights, and Cheon Yeomyung never let Yang Euijoo win. He’d once pinned Yang Euijoo’s arm and pressed him onto the carpeted floor during an encounter. It was no different from an animal mounting to assert dominance, but it seemed to symbolize their relationship.

There was never trust to begin with. Yang Euijoo never had it, so neither did Cheon Yeomyung. But there was a moment when Yang Euijoo almost trusted him, and that shackled him like a chain. Living in constant tension, neither had slept properly yesterday or today.

“Even if I were dying of tuberculosis, would you make me read that damn book? Go ahead, make me. I’ll read it.”

Golden eyes glared at Yang Euijoo.

“You…”

“What? I said I’d do it. Don’t tell me you don’t want me to?”

Yang Euijoo laughed, taunting Cheon Yeomyung. The man spat out a curse. A harsh word wouldn’t make Yang Euijoo back down. In fact, Yang Euijoo was better at cursing than Cheon Yeomyung. After all, wasn’t he a sailor?

“Hurry up and make me.”

“…”

“Make me, I said. What’s stopping you?”

“You bastard.”

Cheon Yeomyung erupted in rage. That’s more like it. Yang Euijoo smirked inwardly and snatched the thick hardcover. Another nosebleed seemed imminent, but thankfully, it didn’t happen. There was no chance for Cheon Yeomyung to make absurd excuses to postpone appointments again.

Wearing the blood-stained suit, Yang Euijoo sat on the hotel room’s sofa with a calmer expression than usual.

“Oh, ohh.”

Lord Dudley approached Cheon Yeomyung, rubbing his palms together. Compared to the domineering Earl of Berkshire, he was almost servile toward Cheon Yeomyung.

“Welcome. I hope I haven’t been stubborn with a sick man.”

He even spoke Cantonese. Naturally—he was a Hong Kong native who’d invested heavily in public transportation when the governor started the venture, earning a knighthood and the Order of the British Empire. His sun-darkened face kept stealing glances at Yang Euijoo, or rather, at the red hardcover in his hands.

“No way, I’m fine. It’s been a while.”

Dudley’s unattractive face was barely masked by flashy clothing, but his taste was terrible. Standing next to Cheon Yeomyung, he looked even uglier. He wore a garish frilled blouse on his short neck, with a ruby pendant dangling. Yang Euijoo felt a horrible urge to shove that pendant up Dudley’s nose.

“My lover, here to assist with the reading today.”

Cheon Yeomyung gestured toward Yang Euijoo on the sofa. Yang Euijoo didn’t even greet, but Dudley brushed off the rudeness without care.

“Let’s have a quick drink.”

Dudley personally poured brandy for Cheon Yeomyung, who didn’t drink it and passed it to Yang Euijoo. Yang Euijoo scoffed at the man acting like a refined noble and refused the brandy.

“Does your lover not enjoy drinking?”

“He’s too refined for that.”

Dudley asked. Cheon Yeomyung, sipping the rejected brandy, smiled leisurely. Today, Cheon Yeomyung was dressed as if he’d swapped clothes with Yang Euijoo for a meeting with Berkshire, wearing traditional attire that clung tightly, revealing every muscle. The deep, cold navy silk was embroidered with silver and blue waves and dragons. The wave motif made Yang Euijoo uneasy the entire time he looked at Cheon Yeomyung. He sat as far away as possible, swallowing the bitter taste of blood lingering in his mouth.

Cheon Yeomyung leaned slightly, resting his face on Yang Euijoo’s shoulder, and asked in a friendly tone.

“What, now that we’re here, you don’t want to do it?”

His sweet voice sounded like a confession. Yang Euijoo gripped the book tightly, as if to break it, and looked at Cheon Yeomyung.

Cheon Yeomyung’s appearance seemed immune to decline. With an otherworldly look that didn’t belong to any nationality, his golden eyes sparkled as he lowered them, buried in shimmering black silk with majestic embroidery flowing in the light.

Cheon Yeomyung casually swept his hair back, exposing a handsome ear adorned with an earring. Despite debates over men wearing earrings, it suited Cheon Yeomyung, who boldly brought his male lover. A long, cold silver earring hung down, brushing his cheekbone.

“Give me a cigarette.”

Instead of getting angry or demanding brandy, Yang Euijoo asked for a cigarette. At the light request, Cheon Yeomyung shrugged.

“Hmm.”

He smiled amiably at Lord Dudley, who was staring at Yang Euijoo as if entranced.

“Care for a cigarette?”

“Sure, I’ll have a cigar.”

Dudley acted as if he’d give anything to watch Cheon Yeomyung and his enigmatic lover. He ordered a servant to bring cigars and cigarettes, and in the brief meantime, they discussed business.

“The situation in Shanghai isn’t great, but Mr. Cheon, as you said, it’s not a bad idea to scout investment opportunities in advance.”

“It’s practically a garbage dump. Trade and culture are old news, aren’t they? It’s pathetic to be swayed and mocked by outdated terms like Pasagu in times like these.”

Cheon Yeomyung chuckled, taking a cigarette from the silver tray the servant brought and putting it in his mouth. A lighter was prepared, but he ignored it, pulling a matchbox from his pocket. His peculiar taste was well-known among Hong Kong and Macau’s tycoons. Instead of getting upset that Cheon Yeomyung ignored his hospitality, Dudley watched the wealthy man strike a cheap match.

Cheon Yeomyung expertly took a drag and passed the cigarette to his lover. Yang Euijoo silently took the cigarette, slightly damp from Cheon Yeomyung’s lips.

Seeing Yang Euijoo quietly accept it, Cheon Yeomyung lit another cigarette. The lovers, sitting side by side on the long sofa, smoking, had slightly similar expressions. Dudley swallowed hard, watching. After finishing one cigarette, Yang Euijoo turned to Cheon Yeomyung to ask for another. At that moment, Cheon Yeomyung turned to look at him, and their eyes met unintentionally.

“…”

Yang Euijoo grimaced. He’d repeatedly said picking fights wasn’t a good idea, yet here they went again. Cheon Yeomyung put his cigarette in the ashtray and pulled Yang Euijoo, who was sitting far away, close to his side with a mocking tone.

“Come on, you’ve played enough. Read.”

“I’ll read even if you don’t tell me to.”

Protesting the cold, commanding tone, Yang Euijoo opened the book. Cheon Yeomyung, watching the pages turn half-forced, bit a new cigarette to shut himself up. The scarlet match flame was tossed into the ashtray, and thick cigarette smoke rose to the ceiling. Dudley, slowly smoking his cigar, and Cheon Yeomyung both fixed their gazes on Yang Euijoo. It felt revolting.

“The, Scarlet…”

Muttering the branded title, Yang Euijoo shut his eyes tightly to not forget the vivid image of nails.

Everyone in the room would agree Yang Euijoo’s English reading skills were terrible. No matter how harshly Cheon Yeomyung taught him, mastering elegant English pronunciation in just a few days was impossible. He wasn’t a genius and had never received formal education, a social delinquent by Hong Kong government standards.

Yet, his clumsy stammering and irritated voice reading about the nailed door stirred the listeners’ emotions. At the part describing the refined, beautiful face of a woman with a branded chest, both Dudley and Cheon Yeomyung silently stared at Yang Euijoo’s frowning face. Knowing only basic words like “beautiful,” Yang Euijoo had no idea what the novel was about. Only those forcing him to read relished the grotesque culture.

After struggling through a few pages, Cheon Yeomyung snatched the book and pulled Yang Euijoo into his arms. Yang Euijoo, pressed against a chest reeking of sharp cigarette smoke, frowned.

“Embarrassingly, his skills are still terrible.”

Terrible? Wasn’t the teacher the problem? Yang Euijoo was about to argue but decided letting the book be taken was less taxing and relaxed.

“Where did you meet him? I’d love an introduction…”

Dudley, setting his cigar on a stand, smacked his lips. Both Berkshire and Dudley had vulgar, base desires. Cheon Yeomyung preferred inflating business with such people.

“Ahh.”

They met in Hong Kong’s dirtiest, most horrific crime den. But Cheon Yeomyung didn’t say that.

“Just happened to cross paths by chance.”

“Really? Must’ve been some wandering troupe.”

Dudley interpreted Cheon Yeomyung’s words as he pleased. Seeing people assume Yang Euijoo was from a brothel, he deliberately leaned his cheek against Cheon Yeomyung’s chest. Cheon Yeomyung flinched slightly, and Yang Euijoo, feeling the reaction, pressed closer. Cheon Yeomyung placed a hand on Yang Euijoo’s back—a polite warning to stop.

“He’s not exactly tame.”

The moment he placed his hand, he was as gentle as a docile pet, but you never knew what he’d do next. What to do? Cheon Yeomyung spoke with deliberate sincerity. He ignored Yang Euijoo whispering “you bastard” in his ear. Spoken quietly so Dudley wouldn’t hear, their whispers seemed like lovers’ dangerous flirtations. Yang Euijoo gripped Cheon Yeomyung’s clothes, wrinkling them. Unfortunately, to Dudley, it looked like Yang Euijoo was clinging desperately to avoid separation.

Whether he wanted it or not, Yang Euijoo had a precarious aura. With neatly trimmed ash-gray hair grown in a basement, clinging to Cheon Yeomyung, his cheeks bore lingering bruises, and his lips had scars. It was a face that evoked menace. Cheon Yeomyung gently stroked Yang Euijoo’s cheek, clinging like a salamander.

“A wild streak can be charming in some cases.”

Dudley muttered, unable to take his eyes off Yang Euijoo. Despite his “Lord” title earned by serving the British, he couldn’t hide his aroused flush. A boiled octopus, Yang Euijoo coldly assessed. Cheon Yeomyung let out a small chuckle at the quiet remark and led Yang Euijoo by the hand to the hotel suite’s bedroom.

“Do it well.”

“Do what?”

“Sex.”

Yang Euijoo stared silently at Cheon Yeomyung before slowly opening his lips. Perhaps from the blood loss today, he was paler than usual. Below his neck, the unwashed blood-stained shirt collar fluttered.

“You think I’d do it well?”

“…”

“It’s weirder to trust me when it’s always like this.”

At the utterly indifferent reply, a momentary crack appeared on Cheon Yeomyung’s face. Since they were facing each other, Yang Euijoo clearly saw the fracture etched into Cheon Yeomyung’s expression. Yang Euijoo gave that beautiful facade a slight push. The lover-like gesture ended there. Soon, Lord Dudley, wiping off dripping sweat, followed them. Cheon Yeomyung closed the bedroom door without a word to Dudley.

Yang Euijoo stood still, staring at the closed door. Dudley, standing in front of it, mistook Yang Euijoo’s gaze as directed at him and grinned.

“You seem used to this kind of thing, huh?”

He seemed to think Cheon Yeomyung often left him out in the cold. Well, judging by the way his cursed mouth ran, it looked all too familiar. Yang Euijoo let Dudley’s misconception slide.

“I’m not as fit as your lover, but I work out a bit, so it’ll be plenty fun.”

Dudley boasted as he undressed in front of Yang Euijoo. He was a Hong Konger proud of his lack of belly fat. An extreme tea enthusiast, he believed Westerners’ protruding stomachs were due to not drinking tea.

Cheon Yeomyung, as always, was probably outside that door, sipping liquor in his refined attire, imagining his lover rolling around with an ugly middle-aged man. Yang Euijoo thought about it. Just imagining how Cheon Yeomyung would react made this unpleasant act somewhat bearable. To an extent. Yang Euijoo looked at the ugly, short, and gaunt man approaching him, no different from Cheon Yeomyung, and raised his arm high. The decision was firm.

“Argh!”

Lord Dudley screamed. Workout, my ass. No grit at all. Yang Euijoo cursed inwardly and swung his arm again. The red hardcover book he’d been stumbling through earlier crumpled at the edge. Straddling Dudley, Yang Euijoo gripped the thick book with both hands and struck down wildly. Dudley, unable to move, took the beating until his head split, blood streaming down. This was the second time.

Seeing blood flow from his head, Dudley wailed pathetically, sobbing and shouting.

“Help, save me! Somebody, save me!”

At Dudley’s screams, sounds of movement came from outside. Yang Euijoo, anticipating this, glared at Dudley, who squirmed like an overturned turtle beneath him.

“No, save me! Argh!”

Perhaps because it was Dudley, not Yang Euijoo, crying for help, the response was quicker than usual.

“What the hell are you doing?”

Cheon Yeomyung flung open the bedroom door, asking in a sinister voice.

“Can’t you tell?”

Yang Euijoo didn’t even glance at the open door. With all his strength, he slammed the book’s edge down at Dudley. With urgent footsteps, the book’s edge, aimed at Dudley’s face, lodged into Cheon Yeomyung’s palm. It must have hurt, given the force, but Cheon Yeomyung didn’t make a sound. Instead, he yanked the book from Yang Euijoo’s hand and tossed it into a corner.

At the dull thud of the book hitting the floor, Lord Dudley gurgled, foaming at the mouth, and fainted. Cheon Yeomyung’s shoulders heaved roughly.

“What were you going to do if I hadn’t come in?”

“Obviously, kill him.”

At Yang Euijoo’s blunt reply, Cheon Yeomyung, without time to feel the throbbing phantom pain in his palm, grabbed his dear lover by the collar.

“Get out.”

The man’s voice left no room for argument.

The two walked down the carpeted hallway with a murderous air. Cheon Yeomyung didn’t take Yang Euijoo back to the mansion. Going there would only mean insolent naggers interfering with his anger. He chose a luxurious bedroom as far as possible from Dudley’s and went in. Yang Euijoo, collar grabbed, followed without resistance.

As always with a man who never forgot retribution, Yang Euijoo expected to be dragged to the bathroom, but Cheon Yeomyung placed him on the bed. Yang Euijoo steadied himself, gripping the bed. A man with a face twisted as if he could kill stared at him.

“Why are you mad? You didn’t believe I’d do it well anyway, did you?”

Yang Euijoo asked, holding back. Trust—what could it achieve? Was it such an important or profound emotional exchange between them?

“Shut up.”

“No.”

“Teacher, do you really want to be thrown back into the basement?”

Cheon Yeomyung was asking sincerely. If Yang Euijoo wasn’t desperate to return to the basement, would that be possible? Yang Euijoo glanced at Cheon Yeomyung and answered honestly.

“I want to go back.”

“To the basement?”

“To Yirang.”

His voice was tired. Cheon Yeomyung paused, hand extended toward Yang Euijoo.

“If I’d worked there for four or five more years, I could’ve bought Hong Kong or Chinese citizenship.”

“You, with the way you were? You’d have died in that trash heap before lasting five years. Or been killed out of spite.”

The man dismissed Yang Euijoo’s words. Yang Euijoo partly agreed with the point. He’d nearly died right after getting off the ship, so managing to scrape together enough for a rundown shack was a miracle. He lived uglily, earned money uglily. He was sharp, as if believing he could survive Yirang’s power struggles with bravado.

But what if he’d died in Yirang, stabbed by a knife? What assurance was there that such a life was worse than languishing in a basement or being controlled by Cheon Yeomyung? At least in Yirang, Yang Euijoo had the freedom to choose. Even if it was a paradise of rats, bugs, filth, alcoholics, drug addicts, trash, and criminals, it was a place where people lived together.

There were far more normal, just unlucky and poor, people than weirdos. Yang Euijoo would rather return to Yirang. Even a house with a deformed gate you had to squeeze through, or a space where you couldn’t stand upright—it was home to him.

He couldn’t understand why living poorly and starving in a self-chosen home was considered more miserable than dying in a basement licking a man’s shoes. But he was too tired and annoyed to explain to Cheon Yeomyung, so he replied briefly.

“That’s why I tried to earn money as fast as possible to get out.”

“…”

“If I’d had citizenship, would I have lived scamming people? No, I wouldn’t have even met you. Would I be in this mess? Then you’d have gotten your revenge on that bastard Quan or whoever. You wouldn’t have settled for just killing a little girl and a kid.”

Golden eyes stared at Yang Euijoo. Cheon Yeomyung didn’t get angry. His calm expression even held a touch of objectivity.

“If you’re saying my morality and vengeance are pathetic and childish, go ahead and say it. You’re right about everything.”

“Surprisingly honest.”

“Realistic, you mean. Isn’t that why you met me? I wasn’t stingy with my lover.”

Yang Euijoo let out a thin laugh at Cheon Yeomyung’s point. He couldn’t forget the moment they met. He thought his life was hopelessly twisted, but since it happened, he decided to consider it luck. The stack of dollars Cheon Yeomyung casually handed over, like to a prostitute, was more than Yang Euijoo’s earnings for months.

He thought enduring a few months was lucky. Cheon Yeomyung only asked for trivial things and was even kind, so Yang Euijoo didn’t let pride get in the way of their relationship. Looking back, money always shackled him. If he’d worked diligently in Yirang without pointless thoughts, would he have caught Cheon Yeomyung’s eye?

“Maybe.”

Who knows? Yang Euijoo let out a thin sigh.

“I thought money was everything in life, but I didn’t know avoiding a mad dog was more important.”

Yang Euijoo’s deliberate voice resembled someone’s. Slow but not sluggish pronunciation, unclear intonation. Cheon Yeomyung belatedly realized Yang Euijoo’s once-wild accent had calmed, almost mirroring his own. They’d been together long enough to pick up each other’s speech.

The numb expression, the frost-cold eyes—Cheon Yeomyung saw himself in Yang Euijoo.

It was the same during the clumsy reading. Yang Euijoo’s English was awful, but the rare emphasized accents and husky British pronunciation reminded Cheon Yeomyung of forcing him to read. He just couldn’t warm to that novel. The reason for choosing it was simple: a woman who committed adultery with a lousy husband, bearing a scarlet letter stigma yet acting refined… and he liked the gloves.

Cheon Yeomyung remembered the line, “A pure hand needs no glove to cover it.” Nathaniel Hawthorne, The Scarlet Letter, 1850. It was somewhat similar to why he wore gloves.

“The mad dog’s you, not me.”

Cheon Yeomyung said grimly, kneeling on the bed. The hotel bed, cheaper than his mansion’s, tilted as he climbed on, making their bodies sway. He looked at Yang Euijoo, who remained docile even as he joined him. Then he frowned.

“Strange. You’re so tame now, but why do you act like a dog the moment I let you out?”

“Maybe I only know my master.”

“Cute words, but don’t you think a good dog follows its master’s orders?”

Cheon Yeomyung retorted, removing his gloves in front of Yang Euijoo. Seeing the scarred palm, Yang Euijoo paled, lips trembling. Yang Euijoo, who’d learned humanity, surprisingly felt pity for Cheon Yeomyung. Perhaps a form of love-hate. Even in that state.

The freshly changed gloves fell to the floor with a slap, like a cheek being struck. But Yang Euijoo’s cheek was fine. Instead, soft, warm skin touched it.

Soon, their lips met. It was forced, but Yang Euijoo yielded to Cheon Yeomyung’s actions. Neither Berkshire nor Dudley got such a kiss. Their tongues tangled. Cheon Yeomyung, who’d been irritably drinking the remaining brandy outside, carried the deep apple scent of calvados. Sucking on lips tinged with the harsh apple brandy laborers favored, Yang Euijoo gripped harder. Lately, actions spoke better than words. They could hardly get close.

He felt the rhythmic rise and fall of ribs behind him. The man, embracing Yang Euijoo sideways, buried his face in his bony, exposed back. In the dawn’s darkness, Yang Euijoo opened his eyes eerily, rising with a sleepless face. Barely wearing a semen-stained shirt, unlike Cheon Yeomyung, who slept soundly in a fragrant robe, he saw a crushed cigarette butt in the ashtray and embers in the brazier beyond the angelic face. Cheon Yeomyung had been up to debauchery while Yang Euijoo slept.

Was sleeping alone after messy sex a perverse habit of the rich? Or a display of wealth and power? Yang Euijoo wiped the semen off with tissue, paused as he stood.

“…”

No breath came from the sleeping man, his eyelids dusted with darkness, silent as if no light could penetrate. Yang Euijoo looked at the hand sticking out from the blanket, ungloved. Since showing Yang Euijoo the scar on his hand, Cheon Yeomyung often went without gloves. How he’d endured them before was a mystery.

Yang Euijoo carefully lifted the neatly manicured fingers, turning them over. A sharp line cut through the center of a clear life line. A sailor would’ve spat, calling it a doomed fate. But since it was Cheon Yeomyung, Yang Euijoo, tracing the gruesome nail marks, believed in his longevity. The scar, expected to be sunken, was surprisingly firm.

Carefully placing the barely healed hand down, Yang Euijoo’s gaze slid lower. Beneath the loosely tied robe, a muscular chest and concave navel showed. Passing the suggestive hem, he crawled to see below the ankle.

The clean bare foot, free of calluses, bore the nail scar Cheon Yeomyung mentioned. Yang Euijoo hadn’t noticed, never looking at his feet despite countless times at his shoes.

Yang Euijoo briefly considered strangling the sleeping Cheon Yeomyung but lost motivation, knowing he’d be mocked without success. Instead, he reached out impulsively.

Liquid in a glass pipe, embers still burning. That was enough. Yang Euijoo, inhaling the bitter, unpleasant scent, put the pipe to his lips. As he was about to breathe in the rising smoke, a scarred hand grabbed his wrist.

“Don’t.”

Yang Euijoo slowly rolled his eyes. Cheon Yeomyung’s disheveled, just-woken face was worth seeing. When else could he see this deranged man so undone? Still affected by opium, Cheon Yeomyung struggled to balance but tried to snatch the pipe.

A brief struggle ensued. Yang Euijoo, feeling the burning grip on his wrist, asked.

“Why stop me? You made me do it.”

Pointing out some past basement incident, Cheon Yeomyung bit his dry lips hard.

“Listen when I’m being nice.”

“You started it.”

Yang Euijoo retorted, defiantly putting the pipe to his lips.

“I said don’t!”

The man, out of patience, grabbed the pipe with a furious curse and threw it. It shattered against the table. Cheon Yeomyung didn’t care about the expensive item. His anxious face grabbed Yang Euijoo’s jaw, checking if he’d inhaled residue, only calming when sure he hadn’t. Then, he froze, realizing his mistake.

Yang Euijoo stared at Cheon Yeomyung’s beautiful face. The man who acted like he owned everything was now frantic. That’s what was pathetic.

“…Let go, I’m washing up.”

Yang Euijoo pushed Cheon Yeomyung away and got off the bed. The frozen man didn’t stop him.

“Ha…”

An irritated sigh came from behind, but Yang Euijoo didn’t look back, heading to the bathroom. Soon, a voice mixed with fierce protest rang out.

“Boss!”

Cheon Yeomyung met Yang Euijoo’s eyes as he turned. Muttering a short curse, he pushed Yang Euijoo’s back.

“Wash up.”

Then he firmly closed the bathroom door himself.

Left alone, Yang Euijoo slowly processed the man’s words. He put on a thick bathrobe and stood at the sink, fully stocked with disposables. He grabbed a toothbrush, squeezed toothpaste, and brushed with a blank expression.

As Yang Euijoo’s slow brushing began, Cheon Yeomyung endured Rose Rock’s nagging. Seeing him nearly naked, she made a horrified face and shouted.

“Please, stop it!”

“What’s wrong? I only smoked once.”

Ignoring Rose Rock’s addict-like stare, Cheon Yeomyung yawned arrogantly.

“Then quit cigarettes.”

“Oh, so it’s not Quan ruining my business, but noona.”

Rose Rock’s lips twitched at the “noona” call, glaring at the teasing Cheon Yeomyung. He didn’t miss the chance.

“Noona, since you’re chatting so casually, I guess Dudley didn’t say anything stupid?”

“Hmph.”

Rose Rock scoffed. She weakened every time Cheon Yeomyung smoothly called her noona. Thinking a nearly 190cm giant was cute was due to his shameless use of “noona” and his sly tricks.

“It was a total mess.”

“Pretty rough, huh. Serious injuries?”

“It’s torn but not deep. A few stitches, and he’s fine otherwise. Just…”

Rose Rock’s displeased face hesitated. With the mainland’s unstable situation and people flocking overseas, she’d been handling Cheon Yeomyung’s affairs in Hong Kong, witnessing unwanted human ugliness and vile lust. Dudley was a new low.

“Just?”

“He begged to meet again.”

“Hm?”

Cheon Yeomyung, calculating compensation for Dudley’s mental damages, frowned, looking like a delinquent boy.

“Said it was the first time someone pushed him that far… Wanted to meet again for taming or training or something. I nearly shot him in the head.”

Rose Rock muttered viciously. Perverted bastard. She held out the crumpled hardcover.

“I retrieved it as evidence, but you should throw it out. Dudley got excited, saying it smelled like the teacher, and smeared it with semen.”

Oh, Cheon Yeomyung briefly admired Dudley’s bizarre behavior and reached out. Rose Rock, about to hand it over, flinched, her face twisting like she’d chewed raw bitter herbs.

“Ugly expression.”

Cheon Yeomyung remarked pointedly.

“Where’s your glove? Bare hands?”

Rose Rock ignored his smug comment and asked.

“Just, had a reason.”

Cheon Yeomyung took the semen-stained book from her and tossed it into the hotel room’s trash.

“A reason? You told the teacher about that?”

“No reason not to.”

At his cheeky reply, Rose Rock’s perfectly lipsticked lips twitched.

“Boss, it’s way too late.”

Golden eyes sifted through the clothes Rose Rock brought. Picking through familiar suits, he replied.

“Noona, I know.”

Today, he decided on a gray shirt resembling Yang Euijoo’s color. Casually lifting the clothes, he said.

“I’m not trying to undo it.”

Cheon Yeomyung had no regrets about locking Yang Euijoo in the basement. He justified every threat and act of violence. Of course—since surviving at twenty-three, his goal was always Quan’s downfall.

If needed, he could take a slap from Quan or shamelessly embrace Yang Euijoo in public like a spectacle.

“It’s just funny how he softens at a scar like this.”

Cheon Yeomyung spoke as if he didn’t care if it carried to the bathroom. A plausibly cynical remark, typical of him. Rose Rock stared at the unfamiliar bare-handed, bare-footed Cheon Yeomyung. He was a skilled liar. His subordinates knew it.

“You’re mistaken. That teacher’s not one to agree easily.”

“Yeah. Still, he’s softened quite a bit.”

“Softened, you say…?”

Seeing Cheon Yeomyung, who’d call Yang Euijoo tame if he hadn’t bashed someone’s head with a book, Rose Rock shook her head. This was why she avoided his love life. It never went smoothly, and this time was especially bad. While Cheon Yeomyung frequented the basement, Rose Rock’s nerves frayed, snapping at subordinates.

Ugh, brothers are trouble. Rubbing her aching temple, Rose Rock turned, flipping the ashtray with dried cigarette and opium residue onto the book.