Yang’s Master Chapter 9.2 - Snow on the Dock

“I’ll have the car ready in thirty minutes. Oh, what should I tell Lord Dudley?”

“I’ll handle it, so don’t worry. And take the car home alone.”

“Why?”

“I’ll be staying at the hotel for a few more days.”

“…”

“There’s nothing major to deal with until Sogang returns anyway, right? I finished the paperwork yesterday.”

Ms. Rose Rock always had a keen sense for bad omens. Hesitating over what more to say to Cheon Yeomyung, she decided it was already done. Even if Yang Euijoo wasn’t a complete fool, there was no way he’d indulge Cheon Yeomyung’s belated whims after what he’d been through. In fact, she found it odd that Yang Euijoo was so docile.

But Ms. Rose Rock left the room without saying anything. After the door closed, Cheon Yeomyung, tucking his shirt sloppily into his pants like a rogue, opened the bathroom door to check on Yang Euijoo and burst out laughing.

Yang Euijoo, hair dripping wet, was wrapped in a large towel, nodding off. His slightly parted lips let out breaths that seemed tinged with color, a peaceful sight.

There was no way to undo it, yet the atmosphere felt as relaxed as when they’d played at their precarious, one-sided romance like a childish game. Staring at the blissfully dozing Yang Euijoo, Cheon Yeomyung stepped barefoot onto the cold tiles. He tiptoed over, crouched down, and looked up at Yang Euijoo.

The sunlight touching his gaunt face was warm. Yang Euijoo slept like the dead even as Cheon Yeomyung reached out and lifted him. Rather, when warm body heat touched him, he snuggled closer, as if comforted.

“Euijoo-ya.”

Cheon Yeomyung naturally called his name. It felt sticky, clinging to the roof of his mouth.

Back then, Hong Kong still enjoyed its characteristic weather. Cheon Yeomyung had thought their romance was fine. But…

Holding Yang Euijoo’s back, Cheon Yeomyung left the bathroom and sat on a soft leather sofa. The book stuffed in the trash can caught his eye. Thinking about what excuse to give Dudley stirred pointless irritation. If he’d known Dudley would make a fuss, he should’ve pretended not to notice when Yang Euijoo aimed the book at Dudley’s groin. He should’ve just flaunted what Dudley couldn’t have. But that wasn’t what Cheon Yeomyung intended.

How ugly. Cheon Yeomyung coldly assessed himself, patting his pockets. He found a new pack of cigarettes. He tore off the plastic but didn’t feel like smoking. Seeing breakfast prepared, he didn’t wake Yang Euijoo, instead leaning back on the sofa, passing time in a daze. Yang Euijoo carried his natural scent mixed with the unfamiliar floral fragrance of hotel soap.

It was a free moment. A fleeting one too.

Yang Euijoo flinched at the scent of sun-dried laundry detergent from a shirt pressed close to his face. Seeing Cheon Yeomyung dozing with his head bowed, he tightly pursed his lips. It was an awkward position. Unlike the unpleasant sensation of waking in a man’s arms in the morning, this felt different. Maybe because he’d washed and fallen asleep exhausted. Yang Euijoo looked at Cheon Yeomyung. His soft lips and long eyelashes reflected the clean sunlight streaming through the window, looking transparent.

“Slept well?”

The arms around his back tightened. Yang Euijoo naturally grabbed the man’s shoulders.

“You were out cold.”

Perhaps waking from the gaze, Cheon Yeomyung lifted his eyelids, offering a groggy greeting. Warm golden light. The soft, vivid golden eyes, still slightly sleepy, met Yang Euijoo’s, sparking unmatched discomfort.

“Let go already.”

Yang Euijoo snapped in a rough voice, but it lacked force. Drunk on an early nap, they were a bit subdued. Cheon Yeomyung obediently let go. Spreading his hands and shrugging, the man was relaxed. With buttons loosely undone and sleeves neatly rolled up, Cheon Yeomyung’s hands wore gloves again, as if it were only right.

Yang Euijoo tore his gaze from Cheon Yeomyung’s hands and escaped from his lap.

“Damn, my back’s killing me.”

A short nap didn’t restore his body. Holding his aching back, Yang Euijoo grumbled and walked to a table not far from the sofa. He unhesitatingly stuffed food into his mouth. Watching Yang Euijoo cram bread into his mouth, Cheon Yeomyung rose from the sofa. Kicking the bothersome trash can into a corner, he sat across from Yang Euijoo.

As Yang Euijoo tore into a second piece of bread, he made a disgusted face. Cheon Yeomyung pushed Yang Euijoo’s arm aside, pulled the hidden espresso closer, and asked.

“You can have sex, but sitting together to eat is disgusting?”

“Guess I’m just a rag, like you said.”

Yang Euijoo didn’t care about saying such things anymore. Honestly, who couldn’t throw words around?

“You are kind of a rag.”

Cheon Yeomyung replied casually to the crude term, downing the lukewarm espresso in one gulp. After the tepid caffeine came sugar. He slathered butter and marmalade on half-toasted bread. Watching Cheon Yeomyung nonchalantly devour sweets, Yang Euijoo sipped apple juice. It was a meal that could be mistaken for peaceful.

“Lord Dudley.”

Cheon Yeomyung, quickly finishing a slice of toast, brushed crumbs from his lips and spoke. Yang Euijoo was about to eat a trifle layered with fruit.

“He really took a liking to you.”

“…What?”

Cheon Yeomyung looked at Yang Euijoo’s reaction with amusement, twisting his lips.

“Seems he discovered a new taste. Getting pinned and beaten by a beauty turned him on, and you taught him that hobby. Quite the philanthropist, my lover. If you’re curious, dig out the book from the trash. It’s probably smeared with Dudley’s semen of admiration, love, and submission for you.”

“Fuck.”

His appetite vanished. Yang Euijoo threw the dessert spoon onto the table. Cheon Yeomyung claimed the winter strawberry trifle. Scooping it up, he explained.

“How about meeting Dudley again and giving him a go? This time, you don’t even need to deal; just hit him, and he might finish himself. Not into it?”

“You know the answer, so why ask such crap?”

“Well, Dudley might be a bit lacking to satisfy that body.”

Cheon Yeomyung heard what he wanted, nodded in agreement. The winter strawberries were sweet and delicious.

“Do you care about a man’s face or body? If so, I’ll personally play matchmaker.”

Mashing and swallowing sweet strawberries, Cheon Yeomyung mumbled.

“Come to think of it, serving creeps like Dudley or Berkshire would be gross even once. Guess I was a bit harsh on my lover.”

Yang Euijoo didn’t get angry at Cheon Yeomyung’s words. They’d already fought too much over this.

“So, you’re making me do it today?”

Cheon Yeomyung, slightly puzzled by Yang Euijoo’s calm question, shook his head.

“No, you’re resting today. That’s what we agreed.”

“Nice excuse.”

A faint sound came from Yang Euijoo’s mouth. Cheon Yeomyung, with a face devoid of patience, flung the dessert spoon like a child. The trifle in a champagne glass tipped, spilling like red blood.

Yang Euijoo, watching the man grab and pull his robe, asked.

“Why’re you mad?”

Apple juice soaked Cheon Yeomyung’s sleeve.

“I’m not mad.”

Cheon Yeomyung defended himself. Yang Euijoo, about to snap that he didn’t know anger, held back.

“So refined.”

Yang Euijoo grabbed Cheon Yeomyung’s collar in return, pulling him. The sleeve got wetter. The sticky, tangy apple juice-soaked sleeve carried a sweet scent to his skin.

Ashen eyes met golden ones at different heights. For the first time in a while. Yang Euijoo felt like he was back in Yirang. Legs dangling in the air without a foothold, looking at a plank a foot away, talking with Cheon Yeomyung at this exact height difference. But the sentiment didn’t last. Cheon Yeomyung lifted Yang Euijoo. The destination was, of course, the bedroom.

“Why do you keep provoking me?”

Cheon Yeomyung asked sincerely, lifting his eyelids, feeling the languid nap and late meal turn to chaos.

“Really going to Quan? One wrong move with him, and your eyes get gouged, fingers cut, then you get a shameless apology for the mistake.”

Quan. Yang Euijoo bit his lip. The old man’s deeds suddenly stirred his stomach.

“You hate Quan so much, but you can send me to him?”

“Me?”

Cheon Yeomyung burst out laughing. Tossing the soiled shirt to the floor, he wiped his juice-sticky arm with a damp cloth and shook his head.

“Sending you to Quan doesn’t matter because your value’s so small. What’s a rag worth?”

Yellowish eyes stared at Yang Euijoo. A crooked smile curled his lips. Yang Euijoo let Cheon Yeomyung tug off his robe, suppressing the throbbing anger.

“So, you’re sweet-talking this rag with love nonsense?”

His skin prickled in the open air. Cheon Yeomyung, staring at his gaunt chest, blinked. The man, acting coercive as if he’d take him any second, paused.

“…Loving you was fun.”

An unexpected answer. Whether it was true, Yang Euijoo couldn’t tell. He found it hard to distinguish Cheon Yeomyung’s truth from lies.

“Didn’t I tell you?”

Cheon Yeomyung looked up. An icy face. Golden eyes like a blazing red sun gazed at Yang Euijoo.

“I figured I’d be your first love.”

“…”

“I thought it’d be nice if I were. Sure, I had ulterior motives, I admit. But living together was fun, and losing a lousy love bet with my men didn’t seem so bad. Too bad you ran from the mansion that day, causing trouble.”

“…”

“No more talk on this. Spread your legs.”

Yang Euijoo didn’t move. Sighing once, Cheon Yeomyung grabbed and spread his thin legs. Yang Euijoo’s face stiffened, as if shocked by the words. Cheon Yeomyung flipped him over. Yang Euijoo let him kneel him down and bind his hands behind his back.

“Relax.”

Cheon Yeomyung spread Yang Euijoo’s thighs. Surprised by the warm skin instead of cold leather, Yang Euijoo involuntarily held his breath.

“I said relax.”

It produced the opposite effect of Cheon Yeomyung’s command. Rubbing the tight entrance a few times, he spat on his fingers. The wet fingertips pried open the dry inside. Waking from shock, Yang Euijoo’s pale face shook, repeating an old plea.

“Cheon, slowly.”

A good time to sell memories cheap. It was year-end, wasn’t it? Every Hong Kong brand slashed prices for sales.

‘Year-end, give special gifts to lovers and family!’

Cheon Yeomyung hated that phrase. Tender sex wasn’t his taste. After fingering inside a few times, he unhesitatingly untied his belt, took out his erection, and pushed it hard into the tight space. Yang Euijoo clenched his teeth. Insertion was always intense pain. Panting short, sharp breaths, he squeezed out one phrase.

“Fuck, cut it in half…”

Cheon Yeomyung, frowning at the overly tight sensation, laughed impatiently at Yang Euijoo’s words.

“Vertically? Or horizontally?”

Asking such nonsense, what a jerk. Muttering curses, Yang Euijoo added.

“Both, you bastard.”

As soon as he spoke, the half-inserted organ thrust in fully. Yang Euijoo, cursing at Cheon Yeomyung, bit his tongue. A metallic taste of blood flooded his mouth.

“Ah!”

Blood dripped from his lips. Cheon Yeomyung slid fingers into Yang Euijoo’s mouth. Thinking it was a stranger’s, Yang Euijoo nearly shook them off but recognized Cheon Yeomyung. The ungloved fingers freely swept his mouth, probing the injured tongue tip, as if checking the damage.

As if he cares about my wounds. Yang Euijoo belatedly bit Cheon Yeomyung’s hand in protest. Cheon Yeomyung rubbed the roof of his mouth once and pulled out. His flushed face collapsed onto the pillow. To prevent Yang Euijoo from suffocating, Cheon Yeomyung yanked the pillow and tossed it to the floor with the clothes.

Whether Yang Euijoo mumbled in pain or not, Cheon Yeomyung thrust as he pleased. Yang Euijoo’s throat tightened. The pleasure from being with a man felt deliberately given, and he rubbed his tear-soaked face. Though not choked, he couldn’t breathe.

“Hng, ugh…”

Yang Euijoo wailed silently, mouth open. Cheon Yeomyung endured the rising urge to finish. He’d released inside multiple times, but something was lacking. Watching Yang Euijoo’s flushed, heaving body, Cheon Yeomyung opened the tight insides, driving fully into the curved end. Yang Euijoo, face contorted, dug his nails into Cheon Yeomyung’s hand.

“Ha.”

Cheon Yeomyung bit the inside of his tattered lips. Blood from restraining the urge to bite Yang Euijoo filled his mouth. Swallowing the metallic taste, he slowly released into the walls that neither tightened properly nor sucked eagerly.

“Hah, hah.”

Letting go, Yang Euijoo’s face smashed into the bed. His convulsing body still signaled pain. Cheon Yeomyung, rubbing his stinging mouth, pried open the tight entrance with his thumb. Blood and semen smeared, torn thin skin clearly visible. He pressed his tongue against his cheek and spoke.

“Torn like this, I can’t let you out for a while.”

With that slow complaint, the organ finally pulled out from the messy lower body. The still half-erect organ fell heavily onto the muscled thigh.

Only after the spine-splitting pain ended did Yang Euijoo lift his head from his bent arms. Seeing his tear-stained, bloodshot eyes, Cheon Yeomyung wiped his soiled hand with a towel.

Yang Euijoo breathed slowly. His foggy mind gradually cleared. Rubbing his wrecked face with trembling arms, he looked at Cheon Yeomyung.

“Liar.”

His eyes were still red. A rough gesture dislodged an eyelash, sticking below his eye. Yang Euijoo took another deep breath. Forcing his spasming tongue, he spoke clearly.

“Be honest.”

“…”

“You can’t stand me being with another man, can you?”

Feeling the snake-like eyes on him, Yang Euijoo laughed. The torn lower body hurt excruciatingly with every move, but it didn’t matter.

“You want me to be yours alone.”

“…”

“Stupid bastard.”

Seeing the pale man’s face, Yang Euijoo felt elation. It was entirely different from forced pleasure.

🐑

Yang Euijoo spent two days alone. The man left without even offering treatment. Well, nursing the body he’d wrecked would be contradictory. Yang Euijoo didn’t bother treating the torn parts either. Cheon Yeomyung, who tore people like rags, didn’t show his face.

Even so, his obsessive distrust was blatant. Every thirty minutes, some staff or goons came in, rummaging through the room, keeping Yang Euijoo from sleeping properly until dawn, dozing off from exhaustion while seated, slowing his recovery.

Petty bastard. Dodging the hands of thugs prodding him to check for stray thoughts, Yang Euijoo pulled the blanket over his head, muttering curses.

When Yang Euijoo could finally move, Linlin visited. Her hair had grown noticeably. The once-short cut was now a bob, and she looked tense.

“Teacher, are you okay?”

Standing stiffly with hands behind her back, Linlin asked with a cute, sweet voice. Her cheongsam-style shirt and calf-length pants were too light for the chilly weather but suited her.

Just thinking of Cheon Yeomyung’s cowardly fleeing face brought Yang Euijoo deep sleep day and night, so he was doing quite well compared to before.

“More or less fine.”

“The boss ordered your return. Let’s go back to the mansion.”

Linlin offered the topmost clothes she held. Yang Euijoo noticed the other outfits, including notably longer pants. She hung them in the bedroom wardrobe. There were quite a few. Heavy to carry alone, but Linlin’s face was unbothered. Well, she’d always outdone Yang Euijoo in physical skills, even in shooting lessons. He recalled her seriously doubting his athletic ability. Then and now, Yang Euijoo’s only skill was cursing.

“The boss will stay at the hotel for a while. Year-end is busy.”

Still year-end? Yang Euijoo crumpled his trivial guess that the year might’ve changed. Not much time had passed since that terrifying night running with Mei on the docks. A month in the basement, maybe? Thinking he couldn’t endure that, crying and begging at a man’s feet in nightmares, brought self-loathing.

Seeing Yang Euijoo’s dark expression, Linlin stepped back, thinking something.

“I’ll wait outside. Change.”

The clothes Linlin brought were a plain T-shirt, pants, and a thin wool coat. Yang Euijoo put on the gray coat and left the bedroom, shrinking instinctively at the cool breeze.

The hotel’s usually vibrant hallway was oddly dim. Linlin, normally chatty, kept her lips sealed. Yang Euijoo considered asking if she’d eaten but stayed silent in resignation.

The car sped past Hong Kong Island’s ornate center. Listening to the engine hum over a bridge spanning the sea, Yang Euijoo dozed off, waking when Linlin shook his shoulder.

They arrived at the familiar mansion. A beautiful pool with blue tiles in the back, a vast garden with trees and flowers in front, on the Kowloon Peninsula. It was Cheon Yeomyung’s house, where Yang Euijoo first visited and pretended to live cozily before escaping with Mei. The last memory was the sun setting beyond the roof as he fled in fear.

“There are fewer people now. Most staff moved to the main house on Hong Kong Island. But you’ll see some familiar faces.”

Nodding at Linlin’s words, Yang Euijoo entered the mansion. Linlin opened the door, waving to the bowing maids. Among them was the young maid, who smiled brightly at Yang Euijoo. Beside her was a silent maid in a cap. Yang Euijoo climbed to the second floor without greeting.

Linlin, leading the way, opened the door at the corridor’s end, Yang Euijoo’s old room. It was dim, the air stale. Linlin started to open the curtains for ventilation but pursed her lips.

“Sorry.”

An abrupt apology.

“I thought it was unfair, but I couldn’t stop the boss.”

She thought Cheon Yeomyung was cruel, but the affection for someone known a few months couldn’t match a decade-long bond. Locking and torturing people in basements was common enough. Linlin was trained to pull the trigger without hesitation. If she’d wavered with human pity, Cheon Yeomyung wouldn’t have made her a lieutenant.

Despite being criticized for being too young, the reason Cheon Yeomyung could effortlessly navigate Hong Kong with his imposing presence was the absolute trust of his subordinates. If Yang Euijoo had heard this, he would have scathingly remarked that trust was too generous for that bastard, but it was a solid bond nonetheless.

“I don’t understand why you’re apologizing. It’s not Linlin’s fault, is it? Isn’t it just that Cheon Yeomyung is a bastard?”

Yang Euijoo took the dusty curtain from Linlin’s grasp and hung it on the rod. Only then did bright sunlight flood the room. It seemed no one had entered while Yang Euijoo was away, as the room felt empty and carried a hollow scent.

Outside the window, a spider had spun its web. The yellow-striped spider, likely a long-time resident, had woven an intricate and vibrant web that dominated the center of the window. It resembled Yirang, far in the distance, precariously tangled and on the verge of collapse.

Looking at the view, Yang Euijoo instinctively knew Cheon Yeomyung would be gone for a while. To think he’d flee from such a small attack. Despite seeming bold and shameless, Cheon Yeomyung was excessively petty and pathetic. That’s why he couldn’t decisively handle even something as vague as a lover. But that pathetic nature would benefit Yang Euijoo. He stretched his long legs, glared at the spider comfortably hanging in its web, and turned away.

The room hadn’t changed at all. The atmosphere, the silence, the antique and oppressive decor—all the same. Linlin offered to explain the boundaries of where Yang Euijoo was allowed if he was okay with it. Yang Euijoo readily agreed.

“Meals will be brought to your room each time. After the year-end, you’ll probably be able to walk in the garden too. I asked the boss subtly, and he doesn’t plan to restrict your movements much. That’s true!”

Linlin seemed eager to insist that Cheon Yeomyung wasn’t a “damn bastard who deserves to be torn apart.” It wasn’t a big deal. For Linlin’s sake, Yang Euijoo compromised, settling on Cheon Yeomyung being a “damn bastard who deserves to be torn apart.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes, he didn’t give any specific orders. Oh, you’ve met Mei Wood, right? Ms. Wood will visit regularly for your treatment. Make sure to take your medicine. And sometimes, eat with me.”

Encouraged by Yang Euijoo’s response, Linlin chattered excitedly, though she glanced cautiously at the last part. There was no reason not to eat with Linlin. He’d sat and eaten with Cheon Yeomyung just fine, so he could probably have a full-course meal with Linlin. Not that this mansion would serve him such a meal.

Walking side by side with Linlin, Yang Euijoo noticed a familiar painting at the end of the second-floor corridor.

He hadn’t even known it was there before. The goddess hanging in Cheon Yeomyung’s bedroom, surrounded by lush greenery, was here too. Following Yang Euijoo’s gaze, Linlin explained.

“It’s Tisiphone.”

“I know.”

“You do? She’s not a famous deity, so most people don’t know her. You’re smart, teacher.”

Linlin, perking up, praised Yang Euijoo with a bright voice. He almost told her Cheon Yeomyung had taught him but held back.

“Is there a reason to hang something like this in the corridor?”

“The boss has no interest in interior design.”

She answered crisply. A simple reason. Considering his petty nature, Yang Euijoo figured he wouldn’t tell his subordinates the real reason. He met the goddess’s eyes, brimming with unreserved fury. Perhaps painted by a different artist, this Tisiphone looked different from the one in the bedroom. This one was more beautiful. Her eyes were yellow. She held a scale for judgment in one hand and a blood-stained dagger in the other. A beautiful figure.

Beside the elegant goddess stood a sculpture of a bleeding sheep with splendid horns and a relic of Christ on the cross.

Was this intentional, Cheon Yeomyung’s grotesque self-deprecating taste? Or a mockery of his dysfunctional family? Reading Yang Euijoo’s skeptical expression, Linlin explained.

“So, these were all here from the previous generation. There was talk of removing them, but he said it was too much hassle and left them. Guests visiting the mansion admire them without knowing anything, so it’s efficient, but it does feel a bit eerie, doesn’t it?”

Linlin’s bob swayed. Yang Euijoo, still fixed on the goddess, asked.

“May I ask why only I was brought back here?”

It felt like the goddess of vengeance was asking. Do you have someone you wish to take revenge on?

“Hong Kong Island has too many guests, so it’d be inconvenient for you to stay there.”

Linlin answered without hesitation. The year-end and New Year parties held frequently were the reason.

“And around this time, the boss’s mood is especially bad. He’s not the type to hit or use violence without reason, but he does more drugs. We don’t visit him often either.”

Yang Euijoo sank into thought at Linlin’s words. The man’s ugly attitude—raping people in a sober state but forcibly distancing himself from his own violence—was distasteful. He’d boasted about pimping him out for hospitality, failed at that, failed at killing, and now hid him where he wouldn’t be seen.

But all of that pointed starkly to one fact.

He should’ve hidden him completely. Even when Yang Euijoo wailed and pounded the door, calling his name, Cheon Yeomyung shouldn’t have opened it. That moment when Yang Euijoo, pinned and beaten by Lord Berkshire, saw Cheon Yeomyung burst in, yelling what he’d do if there’d been worse violence.

Yang Euijoo read the man’s uncertain emotions.

“It’s because Christmas…”

Linlin’s voice, growing quieter, didn’t reach him. Yang Euijoo gazed enraptured at the goddess’s portrait.

Finally, Tisiphone took his side. Yang Euijoo silently prayed to the goddess.

Goddess of vengeance, grant me the blessing to justly harm that man.

🐑

The annex on the Kowloon Peninsula had no year-end feel. Apart from the maids cleaning and bringing meals, there were hardly any people. Cheon Yeomyung stayed away from the mansion for quite a while. Thinking of the man’s cold, fragile face, Yang Euijoo sat by the window, watching the rain fall in the twilight outside.

The spider clung precariously to its web despite the heavy rain. Beyond the vibrant web, Yirang was visible. The creaking of metal, filth, mud, and squeaking rats seemed to echo in his ears. Staring at the slow gray fog, he suddenly heard the grating sound of tires screeching on wet ground. The mansion grew hectic. Yang Euijoo opened the window, leaned close to the spiderweb without hesitation, and looked down. Raindrops wet his hair.

Servants rushed out of the mansion, holding up umbrellas. A man stepped out of a black sedan that had barged in like an uninvited guest. A servant ran to greet the tall, slender man, gesturing toward the garage to take the car.

“What’s he doing here so suddenly?”

“Seems there’s an engine problem.”

Murmurs came from the corridor. Then Linlin ran up. She wore a wrinkled red skirt reaching her knees and a white knit top. The full skirt swayed softly, revealing her ankles.

“Teacher.”

Linlin’s lips parted widely upon seeing Yang Euijoo. Her expression was flustered.

“The boss came unexpectedly. It wasn’t planned. Um, just in case, stay in your room.”

Perhaps to guard against potential violence, Linlin pushed Yang Euijoo into the room and firmly closed the door. A low, deep voice echoed in the corridor. The mansion’s master.

“Linlin.”

Hearing Cheon Yeomyung call his subordinate sent chills through Yang Euijoo’s body. He thought he was fine, but apparently not. Sitting on the sofa, he stared blankly into space. Another loud noise came.

“Boss, wait a moment!”

Linlin’s voice called out, followed by approaching footsteps. Yang Euijoo stared blankly at the man who burst in unceremoniously.

The man’s hair, wet from the rain, curved softly. The glossy black hair was unchanged, but the once-straight strands seemed tampered with. Cheon Yeomyung, looking past Yang Euijoo’s shoulder, frowned. Without a greeting, he strode in and slammed the rain-battered window shut. The thick glass vibrated harshly, like the night groaning.

“Get painkillers.”

Cheon Yeomyung, clutching his forehead, groaned the order. Linlin, who’d followed him into Yang Euijoo’s room with a frozen face, swallowed hard.

“Yes, boss. Teacher, here’s a towel…”

She turned, handing Yang Euijoo a dry towel. He alternated glances between the menacing Cheon Yeomyung and the towel. Cheon Yeomyung looked unsteady. His face contorted fiercely, as if finding painkillers was more urgent than drying off.

“Hand it over.”

Approaching the frozen Yang Euijoo, Cheon Yeomyung snatched the towel. The man, his elegant hairstyle and clothes ruined by rain, reeked of alcohol and opium.

“Boss, should I leave the new clothes here?”

Lee Jaryang, following Linlin, asked, holding a newly tailored tuxedo. Cheon Yeomyung, irritated by the sudden engine failure and rain, nodded.

“Leave them and go.”

Not wanting to provoke Cheon Yeomyung, Lee Jaryang set down the clothes and painkillers, then quickly left with Linlin. Only Cheon Yeomyung and Yang Euijoo remained. Yang Euijoo opened his mouth to say something, but the man cut him off.

“Don’t touch me. I’m in a bad mood.”

Cheon Yeomyung, visiting after a long absence, didn’t even glance at Yang Euijoo. Swallowing pills without water, he stripped off his wet clothes in front of Yang Euijoo. Tossing even the wet gloves onto the pile without hesitation, he went into the room’s small bathroom.

Then why come to my room? Holding back the urge to ask, Yang Euijoo stood still, glaring at the bathroom door. Soon, the sound of water echoed, much closer than the rain. Yang Euijoo went to the window to check on the yellow spider. The web had partly collapsed in the unwelcome rain, the spider hanging limply below. He stared at Yirang through the web.

“What are you doing? Close it.”

An arm reached from behind, slamming the window shut. Yang Euijoo looked at the man, who’d washed quickly for someone sick. His face was pale.

“With your lungs in tatters, breathing cold air must be great for you. Crazy to die early?”

His tone suggested Yang Euijoo, not Cheon Yeomyung, had wrecked his lungs. Yang Euijoo gave up arguing. You’d need to be human for words to work.

“Ms. Wood nagged me so much.”

Cheon Yeomyung muttered deliberately, staggering back to the sofa. Vivid scars adorned his back muscles, some new. He tore open the plastic wrapping of the clothes Lee Jaryang left. Veins bulged on his hand as he ripped the tough plastic horizontally. In front of Yang Euijoo, he dressed methodically, like a reversed strip show—underwear, socks, shirt, watch, garter belt, then pants. Yang Euijoo watched him tie a green tie resembling snake scales over the shirt. The mansion lacked decorations, but Cheon Yeomyung looked ready for a Christmas party. Standing still, Yang Euijoo asked the man, whose reason for preparing in his room was unclear.

“Going to a party?”

Cheon Yeomyung, tying the knot carelessly, frowned. The headache seemed to have eased slightly, his face calmer.

“Specifically, a Christmas charity all-night party.”

“Sounds fun.”

Cheon Yeomyung, tucking a Christmas-appropriate red-and-green handkerchief into his jacket pocket, replied to Yang Euijoo’s disinterested tone.

“I hate Christmas.”

“Then don’t go?”

“Only kids get to skip things they hate.”

Even after washing, he couldn’t erase the mingled party smells, so he picked up perfume. Spraying it twice on his wrist, Cheon Yeomyung rubbed it on his ears and neck. A sensual scene.

“Kids don’t exactly get to do whatever they want either.”

“It’s a privilege for spoiled, rich young masters.”

Replying with typical bourgeois logic, Cheon Yeomyung sighed and slumped onto the sofa. Yellow eyes glinted precariously through black leather gloves.

“What, got something to say?”

“Do I look like I do?”

“You wouldn’t just talk to me for no reason.”

Cheon Yeomyung stated the fact dryly. Since it was true, Yang Euijoo sat across from him silently. There was one thing he’d been curious about lately. Cheon Yeomyung was rarely seen, and today might be his only chance to ask.

“Did you really kill Linda?”

Cheon Yeomyung’s face crumpled satisfyingly. Growling that the painkillers were useless, he answered.

“I said I killed her.”

“She could still be alive?”

Sighing at Yang Euijoo’s stubbornness, Cheon Yeomyung was already irritated by the question. Undoing the loosely tied tie, he clawed at the knot. The soft, delicate silk surface tore, but he didn’t care.

“Would it change your opinion of me if she were alive?”

Long fingers grabbed the tie’s end, swiftly retying it. To Yang Euijoo, the method was incomprehensible, but the tie settled under the man’s neck with a full, wide knot.

“You don’t trust me, so why should I bother proving my trust to you?”

“Still, what if…”

“So, why should I?”

Cheon Yeomyung asked, puzzled. Yang Euijoo was at a loss for words. Cheon Yeomyung clearly saw what he was getting at.

“If I told you I killed or spared her, would that mean I could kill Quan’s kid?”

“…”

“Or would you feel some pity for me?”

But Cheon Yeomyung denied it all. Yang Euijoo accepted that the man’s pride was fiercely strong. He didn’t even want gratitude from Yang Euijoo. Yang Euijoo was stubborn, but not on Cheon Yeomyung’s level. He suppressed a rough cough rising within.

“Euijoo-ya, we’re not like that.”

Cheon Yeomyung spat coldly and stood. The tall man loomed like a giant tree. Yang Euijoo stayed silent before him.

Cheon Yeomyung adjusted his gloves unnecessarily, passed Yang Euijoo, then suddenly turned back and pulled him into his arms. Yang Euijoo reflexively pushed him away. Though stronger, the man stepped back a couple of paces willingly.

“What are you doing?”

“Hmm, seems the smell’s gone.”

“What?”

“You scowl at the smell of drugs but like perfume.”

Using Yang Euijoo like a scent detector, Cheon Yeomyung shamelessly brushed dust off his jacket. That was the bland end of the conversation. Barely dressed for Christmas, he called for Sogang.

“Get the car ready. I’m leaving in five minutes.”

“Yes, sir.”

Sogang replied calmly.

“Leave Lee Jaryang and Linlin here.”

“Yes.”

“Watch closely. My lover’s specialty is running.”

Cheon Yeomyung shot a mocking glance and left. Yang Euijoo took deep breaths to erase the lingering scent of forest and ash on his throbbing nose. But the heavy fragrance remained—embers in ashes, faint smoke, damp wood…

Yet.

That couldn’t absolve Cheon Yeomyung’s sins.

As he said, it wasn’t love. At best, what Cheon Yeomyung and Yang Euijoo felt was fondness, packaged as much as possible. Fondness, maybe affection. The ambiguous, most uselessly consumed human emotion, just before evolving into love. First love might be apt. A naive feeling, fading before fully understood, might perfectly define them.

Yang Euijoo sprawled on the sofa, lost in thought. It was less thought and more simple reverie. He had no set plan. His life was never that calculated. His first plan was getting off the ship, the second was buying citizenship, and the third he’d make now.

In the darkened room, Yang Euijoo saw someone moving stealthily. The maid setting dinner seemed to think he was asleep. Watching her tidy the messy room and cover the food to keep it warm, Yang Euijoo held his breath, waiting for her to approach.

Soon, the maid’s hand reached gently toward his forehead. Without opening his eyes, Yang Euijoo grabbed her wrist.

“Eek!”

Unlike her usual silence, the maid let out a small scream but quickly shut her mouth. Yang Euijoo opened his eyes, tightly gripping her wrinkled, scarred hand. She trembled pitifully, head bowed. Looking at the maid, her face obscured by a deep cap, he asked.

“Do you get paid well?”

Realizing his meaning belatedly, she nodded. Yang Euijoo touched her scarred hand. Burned by hot broth or oil, calloused, it had gained some flesh since before.

“Doing okay?”

She nodded twice. That was enough. Yang Euijoo released her hand with a satisfied look.

“Don’t worry about me.”

The maid, who’d seemed eager to flee, paused.

“I’m managing too.”

Since the basement, he’d wanted to ask Cheon Yeomyung but delayed until today. No answer brought relief. He’d thought it over countless times, but he couldn’t forgive Cheon Yeomyung. The man’s clumsiness and frustrating stubbornness didn’t change his decision.

“You live well too.”

While Yang Euijoo was lost in thought, the maid muttered softly, then hurriedly gathered her things and left. He didn’t stop her. They were both in a tough spot.

He sat at the table for a long time until the food cooled. Lifting a cover, he found, amusingly, cold noodle soup. Eating a bit, he set the chopsticks down. Naturally, it wasn’t as good as Li Su’s. A Christmas song seemed to echo faintly outside, or maybe it was a hallucination. Cheon Yeomyung had mentioned an all-night party, so the mansion’s master likely wouldn’t return until tomorrow. Finishing his thoughts, Yang Euijoo stood.

Stepping out, he saw Lee Jaryang turn his head. He seemed to be diligently guarding Yang Euijoo per Cheon Yeomyung’s orders.

“Something up?”

“Nothing.”

The Christmas Eve conversation was overly dry.

“Then go back to your room.”

Perhaps because of Cheon Yeomyung’s visit, Lee Jaryang, slightly on edge, discouraged Yang Euijoo from going out. But holding the doorknob, Yang Euijoo cautiously suggested.

“Can’t I walk the corridor? It’s Christmas, and staying in my room feels stifling.”

Lee Jaryang hesitated. The teacher’s words made him uneasy, but the corridor was indeed permitted. The boss had said the second floor was free. Not wanting to talk long with an uncomfortable person, Lee Jaryang nodded. Normally, he’d attend the Christmas Eve to Christmas Day all-night party with the boss, but this year, he stayed at the mansion with Linlin. Managing people and the boss’s temper would fall to the more sociable Sogang and Ms. Rose Rock.