Yang’s Master Chapter 9.3 - Snow on the Dock

Sogang has been going through a lot lately. Lee Jaryang glanced at his watch, thinking of his hyung, who was three years older. It was almost midnight. Earlier, Linlin had quietly approached Lee Jaryang with a cute suggestion to have a simple Christmas party at midnight. A log-shaped cake with rum-soaked cherries, topped with a Christmas tree and Santa sugar decorations, was something even Lee Jaryang liked.

“Linlin suggested we eat cake.”

“Cake?”

“If you don’t hate cake, have a slice.”

Yang Euijoo looked at Lee Jaryang at the suggestion. It was unexpected. It felt like an awkward remark from someone he wasn’t close to but didn’t dislike either. Yang Euijoo considered it and replied.

“My first Christmas cake ever. Thanks.”

“It’s not a big deal…”

Lee Jaryang scratched his head. Linlin had gone downstairs to prepare the cake. As Yang Euijoo lingered with Lee Jaryang, he stopped at the end of the blocked corridor, gazing up at the goddess’s portrait. The goddess was still asking him. Yang Euijoo tore his eyes from her fierce, murderous gaze.

Below the portrait, an altar with a carved sheep, perhaps to emphasize vitality, had a decorative knife hanging on it. Staring at the bleeding sheep’s horns, Yang Euijoo reached out and grasped the knife.

“Teacher.”

What a ridiculous title. How many months had it been since he was forced to abandon his pharmacy work? Yang Euijoo looked down at the knife, drawing its blade. The knife, designed for decoration, was pretty but not particularly sharp. That’s probably why Cheon Yeomyung left it in the corridor. Yang Euijoo lifted the knife, which at best could tear a letter envelope. The silver blade glinted in the light.

Lee Jaryang, standing beside him, watched Yang Euijoo with dark eyes. Sighing, he shook his head as if giving advice.

“That’s not a good move. The blade’s dull. We’ve tested it several times, and it’s not great for stabbing people. We’ve checked it thoroughly, and both Linlin and I have more combat training than you.”

“Do you think I’d stab Linlin?”

Yang Euijoo had no feelings toward anyone except Cheon Yeomyung. He neither hated nor resented others. Fiddling with the dull decorative dagger, as Lee Jaryang said, it was inadequate for stabbing.

“That’s gender discrimination.”

Lee Jaryang’s voice sounded somewhat hurt, as if Yang Euijoo meant he’d only stab him. It was oddly amusing. Yang Euijoo chuckled, his shoulders shaking, then smiled with a relieved expression.

“I’m not planning to attack.”

“Then…”

Yang Euijoo adjusted his grip on the knife’s blade. The blade was indeed dull, but with enough force, it could still serve its purpose. It would suffice as a threat.

“I’m here. I called our teacher too…”

Linlin, humming a Christmas carol and stomping up the stairs, gasped.

“Teacher!”

Her sharp voice echoed through the corridor. The log-shaped cake she’d carefully carried fell to the floor, ruined. The Christmas tree and Santa’s face buried in chocolate cream shattered nightmarishly.

“I want to leave.”

Blood dripped down the knife half-buried in Yang Euijoo’s stomach. Enduring dizzying pain, Yang Euijoo looked ahead. Lee Jaryang and Linlin were horrified. Lee Jaryang’s face, which had halfheartedly tried to stop him, was purple, as if strangled.

“Will you cooperate?”

The Christmas decorations buried in whipped cream glimmered faintly.

Yang Euijoo thought. Tonight, when Cheon Yeomyung would never return. This night, when he left for the party, might be his only chance. He felt sorry for ruining cute Linlin’s face and the pretty cake, but there was no choice. Yang Euijoo gripped the knife lodged deep in his stomach and pulled it out. The pain of torn flesh seared through him.

“Don’t pull it out!”

Linlin screamed, but Yang Euijoo was faster. Blood gushed from the deep wound, soaking his clothes. Holding the blood-drenched knife upside down, he aimed it at himself again.

“Linlin, grab him. Subdue him.”

Lee Jaryang, snapping out of it first, gave orders to Linlin and moved swiftly. As Lee Jaryang stepped forward, Yang Euijoo swung the knife toward himself again. A burning sensation pierced his shoulder.

“Ugh…”

Yang Euijoo curled up, groaning at the numbing pain. The dull knife was hard to stab with and hurt like hell. Still, it was better than groveling under Cheon Yeomyung. It even felt slightly liberating. With a faint smile, Yang Euijoo raised the knife as a warning.

“Next time, I’ll aim for my neck.”

Walking toward the stairs with the knife, Yang Euijoo showed no hesitation. Blood splattered sporadically.

“No, stop, Jaryang!”

Linlin grabbed Lee Jaryang, who was about to seize Yang Euijoo. The knife was dull, and the wounds weren’t fatal yet, but a little more force could be life-threatening. Yang Euijoo, with the knife’s blade lodged about a finger’s width in his waist, looked at Linlin. Her face was full of tears.

“Linlin.”

“…Teacher.”

Linlin trembled, sobbing.

“Sorry for ruining the cake.”

Yang Euijoo smiled painfully.

But he immediately pointed the knife at them, warning.

“Don’t follow me.”

Linlin knew her master’s abnormal obsession with Yang Euijoo. By all accounts, he should’ve been butchered in the basement, yet he was alive and well. Everyone knew. Ms. Rose Rock had pointed out Cheon Yeomyung’s abnormality, and Sogang advised to leave it alone. But would Sogang have given that advice if he’d seen this?

The teacher, whom the boss shamelessly called his lover and should’ve been handed over to business partners, was staying in the mansion unscathed because of Cheon Yeomyung’s inexplicable mercy. Cheon Yeomyung had even isolated Yang Euijoo during his most sensitive, twisted period. Linlin was terrified. If the boss found out, if Cheon Yeomyung witnessed this scene. Biting her lip, she watched Yang Euijoo stagger down the stairs, his shirt soaked in blood.

Lee Jaryang shouted at the screaming servants watching the bleeding Yang Euijoo.

“Don’t chase him! Leave him be!”

Yang Euijoo paused and looked back at Lee Jaryang. They’d barely spoken. Lee Jaryang thought Yang Euijoo was just an unlucky slum dweller who crossed the boss. Yang Euijoo saw Lee Jaryang as just another of Cheon Yeomyung’s lackeys. There was no bad blood. Gripping the knife, dripping blood, Yang Euijoo walked out of the mansion. Confirming his direction, Lee Jaryang grabbed and shook the dazed Linlin.

“Contact the boss, quick!”

Would Yang Euijoo stop even if Cheon Yeomyung returned? No other options came to mind. No matter what, Yang Euijoo was their top priority to report. Linlin nodded, wiping her tears.

“Jaryang, don’t approach the teacher recklessly! If he gets hurt more, it’ll be trouble.”

“I know.”

Lee Jaryang wiped the remaining tears from Linlin’s cheeks and patted her head.

“Go. Tell Sogang. I’ll follow the teacher. Make sure you don’t have to report to the boss directly… This is all my fault, got it?”

“Okay.”

Linlin nodded and ran out through the emergency stairs. The Christmas Eve night, after the rain, was strangely cold. Biting her lip, Linlin dashed to the garage. The mechanic fixing the broken car gaped at the crying Linlin.

“What’s wrong?”

Ignoring his gruff voice, Linlin grabbed a helmet and put it on. She shouted in a clear voice.

“Nothing’s wrong!”

Nothing should be wrong. She sped out of the garage noisily.

At the tedious and dreadful Christmas Eve charity party, the man holding a champagne glass, wearing a wide, flashy tie, froze at Sogang’s words, his fake smile fading. Cheon Yeomyung nearly smashed the glass in frustration, hurriedly setting it on the table.

“He hurt himself?”

“Yes, boss.”

“Where.”

Sogang calmly recounted Linlin’s trembling report.

“A 12cm decorative knife from the second-floor corridor. He stabbed with force. Once in the shoulder, twice in the abdomen. None are fatal, but further self-harm could be life-threatening due to bleeding. I’ve sent it as you wanted.”

Cheon Yeomyung scanned the party. The lavish event, attended by Hong Kong’s governor and his family, was crucial. Cheon Yeomyung was on the east side, Quan on the west. He’d already clashed with Quan twice today. Quan, old but unyielding, seized every chance to attack Cheon Yeomyung, trying to drag him down.

As autumn passed, a snake’s venom grew. Cheon Yeomyung couldn’t afford to give Quan reckless opportunities, yet he was shedding his uncomfortable tailcoat.

“Follow him. Get a doctor ready.”

“The party…”

“Sogang, you stay and handle it.”

Sogang nodded at Cheon Yeomyung’s command.

“Where’d he go?”

“Jaryang’s following. He’s likely heading to Yirang.”

“Yirang.”

Troublesome. Cheon Yeomyung sighed, rubbing his eyes. His face was a chaotic mix of dark conflict, irritation, and anger.

“Block all entrances. His destination’s obvious…”

“Leaving early?”

Cheon Yeomyung’s urgent steps halted as he left the party. A murderous aura filled his beautiful face. Sogang, glancing at his boss, swallowed a sigh. Of all times, Quan had caught him.

“…What? Your teeth all fell out, so I can’t understand you.”

Golden eyes half-hid behind elegant lids, concealing impatience. Quan, in a deep red tailcoat, approached Cheon Yeomyung slowly, wine glass in hand. His old, creepy gaze tore into Cheon Yeomyung’s face, desperate to find any weakness in his sudden departure.

“Drunk already and mistaking people?”

“You’re still fearless.”

After losing Mei, their relationship grew more vicious. Cheon Yeomyung had lost leverage to threaten Quan, and Quan, realizing he couldn’t reclaim his child, raged fiercely.

“You want to be strung up on the wall again, kid?”

Cheon Yeomyung’s throat tightened at the bone-deep pain. The beautiful man’s light chuckle swept coldly across the ballroom floor. The memory was horrific. How could he forget the humiliation of being pierced alive? For revenge, Cheon Yeomyung had obsessed for seven years. Suddenly, he felt empty. Seven years spent trying to strangle an old snake.

He somewhat understood why Yang Euijoo mocked him. Even Cheon Yeomyung thought he was excessively petty. But in this world, wasn’t being petty and vengeful a virtue? Even the smallest grudge could swell and stab back. Cheon Yeomyung’s tenacity was a demanded virtue in this den of crime.

“Oh, admitting you get off on being whipped on a wall? Pity. Not many in Hong Kong would lust after an old man.”

Cheon Yeomyung flashed a charming smile at Quan’s increasingly contorted face and turned away. The insulted old snake threw his wine glass to the floor. The shattering glass silenced the party momentarily. Cheon Yeomyung stared indifferently at the wine stains splattered like blood on his trouser hem.

“You think you won’t lose anything, you insolent brat?”

Hearing Quan’s venomous voice, Cheon Yeomyung blinked. The old man, blind and deaf with late-stage lung cancer, always hit his sore spot. Cheon Yeomyung loathed Quan. Rubbing the golden handle of his cane, Quan muttered.

“Every Christmas night, I think of you. I should’ve killed you then.”

“With your shaky hands, you can’t even stab a fork. Your fantasies sure have grown. They call that dementia. Want a good nursing home recommendation?”

Cheon Yeomyung retorted stiffly to Quan’s provocation. The urge to stab Quan and the pressing need to find Yang Euijoo clashed, spurring harsher words. The old, sick man glared murderously.

“I don’t know why you’re rushing off, but you’ll regret it.”

“Hah…”

Cheon Yeomyung sneered, reaching out. Sogang handed him a coat. Draping the crisp winter coat over his arm, he threw a mocking smile at Quan.

“Regret? I do regret killing your precious kids too quickly. If I’d preserved their shells and sent them embalmed, you’d have died of shock, saving me time. I hear even drugs can’t get it up for your new mistress. Impotence rumors are loud—better muzzle your men.”

Quan’s face flushed red at Cheon Yeomyung’s barbed mockery. After losing Mei, Quan tried to make another child, but it was futile. He was too old and sick. His withered organ didn’t respond to any potency drugs.

“Really, believing in superstitions… doesn’t eating dried horse cock make you gag?”

The venomous mockery erased all traces of impatience. Cheon Yeomyung looked down contemptuously at the trembling old man. The ticking of his expensive watch sounded deafeningly loud.

He suppressed the urge to rip off the multi-thousand-dollar watch and crush it. He couldn’t afford to be impatient. No reason to rush. It was just a mistake, fixable. What was the problem? Just a worthless… lover.

“Cheon Yeomyung!”

Quan shouted his name, unable to hold back. Cheon Yeomyung didn’t respond and walked away. Leaving the lavish party, Hong Kong’s freezing night air, tinged with sudden rain, hit him. People smoking outside, enjoying a brief respite, recognized Cheon Yeomyung and approached. Oblivious to the commotion inside and his inner turmoil, they offered friendly or seductive smiles and gestures.

“My, what brings you to the Christmas party?”

A woman with triple-layered pearl necklaces and silk gloves up to her forearms, holding a long cigarette holder, greeted him warmly.

“You rarely attend Christmas events, so I was always disappointed. Glad to see you. Come more often—it’s a special day, isn’t it?”

“…Yes, nice to see you.”

The woman smiled softly, glancing at the night view. Despite her bare shoulders, she didn’t seem cold, exhaling smoke haughtily. The smoke, like breath, froze in the winter chill and rose.

The midnight bell tolled twelve times.

Christmas Eve passed, and Christmas arrived. The Bible says today is Jesus Christ’s birthday.

“—Happy birthday.”

At the rare congratulation, Cheon Yeomyung replied quietly.

“Thank you.”

Christmas. The day a savior was born.

It was Cheon Yeomyung’s birthday.

🐑

Yang Euijoo entered his chimney house, bleeding. He’d long lost the house key. He fumbled along the window frame. A spare key was there, surprisingly dust-free. Had someone used it…? After being away so long, it wouldn’t be strange if someone else lived here. It didn’t matter anymore. Spitting blood, Yang Euijoo leaned against the narrow door, gripping the lock. His blood-soaked hand trembled. The rusty lock resisted the key.

After several tries, he finally opened the door. Throwing the lock to the floor, he stumbled inside. The sturdy floorboard Cheon Yeomyung had rebuilt as an apology for his men breaking it went unused. Panting, Yang Euijoo threw off his blood-soaked shirt.

“Damn, maybe I should’ve stabbed once.”

Blood gushed from the wound with every breath. It didn’t seem that deep, but he felt dizzy. Pressing his palm against the wound, he rummaged through a drawer. Tearing a cloth used for brewing herbs, he wrapped it around the wound. Blood seeped through again, but it was better. Breathing slowly, he stood.

The house felt unfamiliar. Cheon Yeomyung’s mansion, or perhaps the basement lit by a single bulb, felt more familiar now. Yang Euijoo’s lips curved downward. Lying flat on the floor, he stared at the stifling ceiling. Dirty, crawling with bugs, chaotic, yet he felt an inexplicable comfort.

His first real home. No longer crashing with others or sleeping among strangers, just having a place to sleep alone was joyful. Even knowing it was hard to stand straight, he was fine. Then he met Cheon Yeomyung. The eyes he met through the narrow window, the fake smile, the sweet lies…

Knowing the man was a shameless liar, the moment he wavered was a foretold future. Blaming his stupidity, Yang Euijoo sat up and noticed something. His eyes narrowed at an out-of-place piece of paper. Reaching for it, he picked up a card Cheon Yeomyung once sent via Linlin. Seeing the elegant handwriting with a signed greeting, Yang Euijoo sighed, tore it in half, and dropped it.

“Even a bastard should choose who to bite, idiot.”

Muttering blame, it was already done. I’m such an idiot. Berating himself, Yang Euijoo crawled upstairs. Each step brought choking pain, but he reached the top space he used for sleeping.

Prying off a wooden panel on the wall, he reached in and found a wad of cash. The money Cheon Yeomyung gave him was still there. Sighing, Yang Euijoo stuffed it all into his pocket.

“Ow.”

The wound throbbed with every move. Why does it hurt so much? Breathing deeply to suppress the pain, he recalled Ms. Wood’s nagging about taking care of himself, or maybe it was just whining. Soaked in cold sweat, he rummaged through a drawer for a T-shirt. Over it, he put on a cheap, vinyl-like leather jacket. The old, medicinal-smelling black jacket hid bloodstains. He didn’t want to attract unwanted attention in Yirang by dripping blood.

Wiping his bloody hand, Yang Euijoo stuffed the knife into the jacket pocket. He looked at the wide-open door. It was dark outside. Still, he had to go. One pocket held a blood-soaked knife, the other cash. That everything he had was Cheon Yeomyung’s gripped his ankle precariously.

“Hey, pharmacy teacher?”

Outside the chimney house, Chui, the quack dentist, gaped at him. Yang Euijoo quickly shoved his hand into his pocket.

“What! You’re alive? When’d you get back?”

Chui, delighted, patted Yang Euijoo’s back, nearly making him vomit blood. Swallowing the metallic taste, Yang Euijoo looked at Chui with effort. It had only been a few months, but Chui looked much older. He was already ancient. Forcing a casual demeanor, Yang Euijoo pushed Chui’s arm away.

“Why the fuss? Disappointed I’m not dead?”

“That sharp tongue hasn’t changed in months.”

Chui grumbled. The old man, night-blind and dull, didn’t notice the blood smell. Yang Euijoo zipped the jacket to his neck. Oblivious to his pale complexion, Chui was thrilled and kept talking.

“Where the hell were you? You should’ve said you were back! I was about to sell your place.”

“Crazy, selling someone’s house?”

Yang Euijoo deliberately threw out prickly words to rile Chui.

“What’re you doing up, old man? They say old folks don’t sleep, is that it?”

Chui, who’d normally get mad, scratched his head awkwardly. The old dentist hesitated, then confessed.

“You didn’t come back, so… People kept asking me when you’d return. No way to contact you, and with you tied to Cheon Yeomyung in Yirang, I was wary of asking…”

Yang Euijoo listened silently to Mr. Chui’s story. Even with severe bleeding turning his vision yellow, talking with the boring, nagging, talkative doctor wasn’t bad. It felt like everything had returned to how it used to be. He looked at Mr. Chui, curling his cold fingertips.

“Enough, got a cigarette?”

“You think I’m your cigarette keeper?”

Mr. Chui grumbled that nothing had changed despite not seeing him for a while. Still, he gave in, pretending to be reluctant.

“Wait a sec.”

Mr. Chui pushed past the sign written in pig’s blood, went into the dental clinic, retrieved a cigarette from a secret spot, and came back out. But the spot where Yang Euijoo had stood was empty. Presbyopic Mr. Chui didn’t notice the wet ground where Yang Euijoo had been and sighed.

“Did he not pay back money to Cheon Yeomyung or something? Why does he vanish like a ghost?”

Then Mr. Chui stuffed the cigarette into his pajama pocket. Still, seeing Yang Euijoo alive and well, he figured Yang Euijoo would soon be back at the chimney house, shouting and arguing with customers. Who else was as stubborn as Yang Euijoo? Rubbing his aching, arthritic knees, Mr. Chui returned to the clinic. It was too late for smoking and chatting.

The clinic’s door locked from the inside, and the old man, going deaf as well as blind, didn’t hear the noisy footsteps passing the clinic toward the chimney house, snoring like thunder.

Yang Euijoo, holding the cigarette, thought of Mr. Chui’s futile trip and staggered through the familiar alley. Everything in the alley remained the same, even in the dark. A few months wouldn’t suddenly spruce the place up. Yirang, short on electricity, was filled with silence at night. The moon shone overhead. Another full moon? Yang Euijoo looked up with bleary eyes. Spiderwebs woven between tangled wires crossing the signs glinted transparently.

The view wasn’t much different from Cheon Yeomyung’s mansion. People’s places were all the same, weren’t they? Yang Euijoo took another step. Near the main street, where Li Su used to simmer wonton noodle broth from early morning, a pancake stall had replaced the noodle stand. Yang Euijoo passed by silently.

Yirang hadn’t changed, yet something was different. Cold sweat dripped down. His stomach and shoulder ached terribly. He wanted to collapse somewhere and sleep, but he couldn’t stop. Yang Euijoo had so much he wanted to do. The future he’d imagined, even after getting off the ship and being beaten by Du Shanchong in Yirang, wasn’t like this.

Yang Euijoo’s steps quickened. His teeth chattered in fear. Trembling too much, he grabbed the doorknob, groaning like a fool, and flung open the general store’s door. The door, which should’ve been locked, creaked open with a clatter. As despair and fear surged, ready to scream, Yang Euijoo saw a familiar figure.

“Whoa.”

Ms. Linda was lighting a lamp and knitting at the counter. With reading glasses perched on her nose, Ms. Linda wound thick yarn around her needles. A wave of relief washed over him.

“What time is it? Don’t you ever sleep?”

Yang Euijoo, staring blankly at Ms. Linda’s usual scolding, dragged his heavy legs into the store.

“…Ms. Linda.”

“With all the noise about you being back, how could I sleep?”

Ms. Linda turned her head, complaining. It was familiar scolding, oddly affectionate. Yang Euijoo slipped his hand into his jacket pocket and pulled something out.

“I came to return this.”

On his blood-crusted palm lay a yellow matchbox. Ms. Linda stared at it silently. Stained with blood in the shape of fingerprints, the matchbox was mottled. Yang Euijoo was half out of his mind. Unaware of the blood on the matchbox, he rambled in front of Ms. Linda.

“I took it from your store without thinking, and I forgot to return it because I was out of it… I’m too late…”

Pain tore through his half-gone mind, flooding him with countless regrets. If he’d been more cautious, if he’d abandoned his petty morals and lived shamelessly, Li Su would be preparing to cook noodle soup today. Before he knew it, Yang Euijoo was shedding tears. Sobbing, he spoke haltingly.

“I’m sorry for asking for help.”

Tears soaked his pale cheeks as Yang Euijoo offered a belated apology. Surviving, begging for life at the man’s meager mercy, didn’t change that he’d threatened their lives.

Ms. Linda, quietly watching the clear teardrops roll down his cheeks, called him.

“Kid.”

The old woman set down her knitting needles and rummaged through her yarn basket, pulling out a neatly folded gray scarf.

“Here, a gift.”

His vision, blurred by anemia and pain, cleared slightly. Yang Euijoo wiped his wet face with the back of his hand and looked at the thick scarf Ms. Linda offered. Early summer, Ms. Linda had been knitting gray yarn. It closely resembled his hair and eye color, a dull, dark gray. Yang Euijoo gave an awkward smile and whispered slowly.

“Ms. Linda, what you knit… it’s too thick for Hong Kong.”

Hong Kong wasn’t cold, so wool items were useless. Yang Euijoo rudely pointed out the flaw, but Ms. Linda just laughed. The old woman, who’d run the store for years, tilted her head, pretending to count crochet stitches on a garish floral tablecloth.

“Go on, hurry.”

Yang Euijoo unfolded the rustling scarf. A scribbled note caught his eye first.

“A ship from Japan, via Taiwan, stops in Hong Kong, docks in Shanghai for two days, then returns to Japan. Fuel supply’s delayed, so it’ll leave late tonight.”

Ms. Linda muttered without looking at Yang Euijoo. It was a repeat of before. But now, without Mei or a newborn, he didn’t have to run around the docks in fear. Yang Euijoo looked at Ms. Linda. She glanced up, meeting his eyes.

“It’s a long journey, kid.”

May your path be safe.

At Ms. Linda’s blessing, Yang Euijoo said nothing. He was silent for a moment, like someone praying to a god, then spoke softly, his voice mixed with final courage and guilt.

“This time, I might really get you killed.”

“Oh, threatening an old lady? That’s no good.”

“It’s not a threat…!”

“Isn’t it?”

Taking off her glasses, Ms. Linda gave a sly smile. Ms. Linda, often stern and sometimes scary, smiled warmly at Yang Euijoo for the first time.

“To someone who’s lived long, death isn’t a threat, teacher.”

“Ms. Linda…”

“What’re you waiting for? Don’t worry about me. I didn’t tell you, but I know Cheon Yeomyung a bit, so I’ll be fine this time too. He’s got some sentiment.”

Knowing it was a lie, Yang Euijoo pretended to believe Ms. Linda. Wrapping the tacky, overly thick scarf tightly around his neck, he pocketed the paper stamped with temporary boarding approval. The door closed silently. A quiet exit.

It felt like reliving the start of Yang Euijoo’s arrival in Yirang. What a miserable life. Ms. Linda bowed her head, pretending to count stitches, blinking her dim eyes.

Letting someone go not once but twice, Cheon Yeomyung would surely storm in, raging. Having survived once due to a slight childhood bond, she thought it was time to close the store and retire, looking at her ruined knitting. She’d started imagining a pretty flower garden, but the nearly finished tablecloth was a chaotic nightmare.

Ms. Linda thought, looking at it. She’d gathered pretty things, so why was the result so muddled? But Cheon Yeomyung was the same. Born like an angel on Christmas, raised with the world’s best, he became a disaster. As if drawing a stroke of chaos, a familiar man burst into the store.

The aluminum sliding door clattered loudly. Wind rushed in from outside. It was an intense arrival, as if sweeping everything away. Ms. Linda and Cheon Yeomyung stared at each other silently. Ms. Linda felt a vivid déjà vu of young Cheon Yeomyung running in, tears streaming. Back then, he wasn’t called Cheon Yeomyung but by the Old Testament name his father carefully chose.

“Speak.”

Cheon Yeomyung, stepping forward like ice, spoke imperiously. His face was pale, as if stabbed, his lips purple. His face, like he’d plunged into cold water, was ferocious.

“You helped him, didn’t you? Tell me which ship, and I’ll spare your life.”

In Yirang, far from Christmas, the man wore a deep green tie and ruby cufflinks, like a Christmas symbol. Ms. Linda glanced at him and shook her head.

“Isn’t it time for your party? A businessman swayed by emotions like this?”

“Linda Kim!”

Cheon Yeomyung raised his voice. His men, under his orders, were scouring Yirang, but Yang Euijoo had vanished. Cheon Yeomyung ran himself. Throwing off his cumbersome coat, he didn’t notice a strand of disheveled hair over his neat forehead.

He realized too late. He’d only unofficially managed Yirang, not lived there. Even with their tangled map, he couldn’t guess where Yang Euijoo hid. He’d sent men to the port, but he couldn’t suppress an ominous feeling. Yang Euijoo hadn’t escaped the mansion due to lax surveillance. No one had been careless. This time, no one was careless.

If anyone was careless… it was Cheon Yeomyung alone, again…

The chimney house where they first met had an open door. A rusty lock and blood-soaked T-shirt lay discarded on the floor. It was enough bleeding to cause shock and death. Cheon Yeomyung imagined. What if Yang Euijoo, foolishly harming himself, died while escaping?

For the first time since he was twenty-three, he yelled at Linlin and Lee Jaryang. Even though they’d done little wrong, he lashed out blindly. It was a chaotic anger he hadn’t felt even during rehab in England for severed nerves and muscles. With directionless rage, Cheon Yeomyung wandered Yirang’s lightless streets.

Seeing filthy muck, rats, bugs, and occasional wild animals with eerie eyes, he wondered.

Did he really want to return to this place?

To Cheon Yeomyung, Yirang wasn’t much different from the basement where Yang Euijoo withered. The basement was cleaned regularly, so it was more hygienic.

“Speak. If you don’t, I’ll burn Yirang to find him. Did you get him another ticket? Where to? France? Germany? England?”

It was Christmas. Many ships paused for the international holiday, preparing for long voyages. Cheon Yeomyung spat sharp threats, venting tearing irritation.

Ms. Linda didn’t reply. She stared at the floor where Cheon Yeomyung stood. Oddly, in the spacious store, with many places to stand, he stood exactly where Yang Euijoo had. Under his polished shoes, sticky blood smeared. Blood Yang Euijoo shed, spreading from his abdomen, dripping down his leg. Ms. Linda looked at it silently.

A moth flew into the dim red lamp, unbrushed of dust. Its body burned instantly, making a sizzling sound. Cheon Yeomyung’s face remained pale. His fingers, gripping a gun, trembled slightly. Ms. Linda lowered her dim eyes.

“They’ll bulldoze this place soon. A day or two earlier, what’s the difference?”

“Linda.”

Cheon Yeomyung exhaled to suppress his anger. His golden eyes wavered. The thin thread of anger vanished. Ms. Linda silently witnessed the moment all emotions burned away on the beautiful man’s face.

On the way to Yirang, he recalled Sogang’s report. Stabbed himself with a 12cm knife. Through the shoulder, abdomen, and side. He felt like vomiting. Why would Yang Euijoo do that? If he’d tried to stab Cheon Yeomyung, he would’ve laughed and let him. He’d have urged him to aim for his neck or heart, encouraging the crime. Wasn’t that obvious? Yang Euijoo had no reason to harm himself.

A brief peace like a respite. Yang Euijoo’s bruised, purple cheeks. The sharp, melancholic anger in his occasional smile…

Cheon Yeomyung bit his lip. Yang Euijoo had to die by his side. If Yang Euijoo stabbed an eyeball with a pen or crushed a heart and faced the gallows, Cheon Yeomyung would stay by him until that moment.

Waiting for the moment Yang Euijoo sharply called his name, crawling on the floor.

So Yang Euijoo couldn’t leave like this. He had to be found, even if it meant scouring Yirang or setting the port ablaze.

Boarding a ship? In that condition…

“He’s hurt.”

Cheon Yeomyung spoke, almost pleading.

“Kid.”

Ms. Linda lowered her glasses, looking at Cheon Yeomyung with pity. He inhaled. It felt like his father rose from death, reaching out.

Kid, my young son.

“You speak as if you never harmed him.”

The man opened his beautiful lips. A sigh poured out like a blizzard on his worst birthday.

🐑

He never thought he’d board a ship again. Life was unpredictable. Yang Euijoo stared blankly at the ship, still some time from departure, at the dock. Cheon Yeomyung’s men were everywhere. They shouted upon seeing him but didn’t approach. Probably because of the knife in his hand. Good. One more stab, and he’d collapse before boarding, ending his short life on this foul-smelling dock.

Getting off the ship he’d lived on his whole life, Yang Euijoo swore never to go near one again. Or water. But caught by a madman, he drank a lifetime’s worth of water in a tub. Now, if someone told him to bathe, he’d want to smash their head, raging about killing him.

He saw the twinkling lights of Hong Kong Island across the Kowloon Peninsula. Unlike Yirang’s murky, fishy dock, it was dazzlingly vibrant. Red, blue, and specks of gold shone brightly. Right, it’s Christmas. Past midnight, grabbing someone nearby to say Merry Christmas wouldn’t be bad. Certainly better than wandering with a knife in his stomach.

“Ugh, it hurts like hell…”

Yang Euijoo muttered, clutching his stinging stomach. He felt he’d done well to reach the dock. Staggering with each step, Cheon Yeomyung’s men flinched and stepped back. Seeing grim, menacing guys clear a path amused him, and he stopped, chuckling despite himself. The corpse-like, pale man laughing like a lunatic made them stiffen.

Dried blood was visible on his clothes. Moving without proper clotting caused more bleeding. Yang Euijoo thought he might die before reaching Shanghai.

“Where’s the boss?”

“He’s here.”

Whispering into radios, they froze at the sudden appearance of a menacing man.

“Stand back.”

Cheon Yeomyung ordered coldly. His men retreated without hesitation. The dock’s bustle vanished like a wave, leaving only Yang Euijoo and Cheon Yeomyung. Yang Euijoo knew the man had arrived behind him but didn’t stop walking toward the ship.

There was no stopping anyway.

Pain came with each step. Then, as if pain itself sought rest, it burned away momentarily, and Yang Euijoo wiped his ruined face and turned. Cheon Yeomyung stood alone before the wooden boarding ramp, slightly away. Laughter bubbled up, and Yang Euijoo bit his lip.

The man’s fine party attire from hours ago was unrecognizable. He looked like a spoiled, rich young master who’d screamed he hated Christmas and ran out. Disheveled tie, missing jacket, shirt askew over a cummerbund, one sleeve flapping without a cufflink.

Cheon Yeomyung grabbed the sleeve flapping in the wind, carelessly rolling it up. The only thing unchanged was his black gloves. Yang Euijoo silently stared at the hand etched with deep resentment. Cheon Yeomyung wasn’t wrong. Even knowing his resentment, Yang Euijoo would’ve helped Mei. Mei was still blameless. So he didn’t apologize.

“Yang Euijoo.”

The man called his name, not imperiously. Stepping back slowly, Yang Euijoo moved closer to the ship. The sea breeze rusted nails, and the rotten wooden ramp creaked.

“Euijoo-ya.”

Why call him that? Yang Euijoo briefly mocked the man. To call him that, they’d need to rewind at least four months. Even Jesus resurrected but couldn’t return to before his disciple’s betrayal. For humans like them, it was even more impossible.

“Put the knife down.”

In a coaxing tone, Yang Euijoo replied calmly.

“No, I won’t.”

At the cold reply, a long, loud horn blared from the ship. The sound deafened him. The quiet ship stirred, as if something writhed. From a hidden cabin, a loud Christmas carol played.

<We wish you a merry Christmas

And a Happy New Year>

Both listened briefly. Yang Euijoo knew the carol well. Working on the ship, this time of year brought endless, irrelevant joyful songs. Sickening. Yang Euijoo didn’t like Christmas either. Our first common ground. Too late, though.

Muttering to himself, Yang Euijoo gripped the knife. Cheon Yeomyung instinctively moved to step onto the rotting ramp but stopped as Yang Euijoo pressed the blood-stained silver knife to his neck. The blade looked brown with dried blood.

“Don’t follow. If you do, I’ll stab without hesitation.”

“…”

Cheon Yeomyung’s pretty lips parted hesitantly but said nothing. Yang Euijoo found it odd. Didn’t he always spew venom and mockery? Even today, yet now he didn’t. Cheon Yeomyung looked powerless, as if he never expected Yang Euijoo’s rebellion. Yang Euijoo quietly called him.

“You must regret dying.”

“Yang Euijoo.”

“Guess it’d be a waste after all this…”

Seeing Yang Euijoo attach vague reasons, Cheon Yeomyung neither shook his head nor agreed.

“Hey.”

Yang Euijoo called him. The man met his sharp golden gaze. Unsure if it was right to say, Yang Euijoo hesitated, then spoke.

“I think you were my first love.”

Hearing Yang Euijoo’s voice, Cheon Yeomyung felt a dazed, distant sensation. Did they have love? Love or romance didn’t suit their lives. Yang Euijoo was too busy surviving to agonize over such feelings. Cheon Yeomyung scoffed at romance as vulgar business.

Seeing Cheon Yeomyung speechless, Yang Euijoo leaned into the sea breeze, thinking. The man grabbing his ankle in a blue pool, smiling innocently, waiting for hours in a cramped theater seat for him to wake—these made him like him a little. How could he forget the moment of falling in love?

Yet he hated Cheon Yeomyung’s shameless hiding of Mei’s matter and the violence in the basement. He’d clearly said he feared and hated water, yet was tortured that way every time. Struggling in cold water, he endlessly imagined taking revenge on Cheon Yeomyung.

“But I can’t forgive you.”

“…”

“It just won’t work.”

The imagination didn’t become reality, but he had no regrets. Having killed him so many times in his mind, Yang Euijoo felt he didn’t need to stab him. Even if he had, could Cheon Yeomyung make that expression? Yang Euijoo liked his own revenge.

“Hey, you boarding or what? We’re leaving soon!”

Someone shouted from the high railing. As if on cue, the freighter blared another loud horn. The carol faded. Yang Euijoo buried his face in Ms. Linda’s scarf and sighed deeply. It was time to go. Cheon Yeomyung still stared at him blankly, like the day he dove into the sea to save Mei, dragging him from hell with a contorted sigh.

If only he’d been a bit worse.

Yang Euijoo, soaked in sweat and blood, stuffed his tattered hand into his jacket pocket and grinned at Cheon Yeomyung. Despite his ragged state, his bright smile transformed his usually irritable, bad-tempered face.

“Happy New Year.”

Yang Euijoo didn’t say Merry Christmas. Cheon Yeomyung had said he hated it.

Cheon Yeomyung didn’t chase as Yang Euijoo left. The beautiful man stood with arms limp, an unreadable expression. He seemed to move his lips, saying something behind him, but the dizziness was too severe to hear.

No, he heard it clearly.

“Your wounds?”

That one question was why he’d wasted so much time.

Why was it such a mess? Yang Euijoo gripped the railing, his face contorting. His body felt like it would break. The full moon was swallowed by the greasy dock surface, and salty tears dried white on his face as the bitter sea breeze clung. Something white swirled between the distancing pair.

It couldn’t be, but snow fell on this island where it never should.

A perfect anomaly.