Min-jun liked leaping to conclusions. His mother had led her own cases in the same way, her instincts honed to the psychology of the criminals she encountered. Not once had those instincts been proven wrong. Min-jun had drawn three conclusions based on what he knew about Gifteds, which granted, wasn’t a lot, but he had to work with what he had.
One, the plague was likely passed on through physical contact. At least two of the Gifted Min-jun had met had a contact-based Gift, and the others all had Gifts that were at least partially reliant on touch. The Gifts that did act like an illness were both contact-based.
Two, this person had been following them and the King had likely known about it. Min-jun should’ve caught on that something was wrong that evening after the King had killed Sanhae. Was that why the King had disappeared? To go confront this person?
Three, the initial plague outbreak had been a mistake. The Gifted had been unable to control their Gift. How many people had died at their hands? Only for the plague to vanish into thin air. What a terrified wreck it had made of them all. The Gifted either learned to control it or . . .
Min-jun glanced down at his hand, recalling the way Gyeo-wool hid every inch of his body in cloth. Would the Gifted even be able to cure the King, if they were unable to even control their power?
“Hyung-nim,” Dae-yeong spoke from beside him, a brush in his hands. “You seem lost in thought.”
“Oh,” Min-jun said, his mind still caught up in his plans. “I apologize. What was it you wanted to say?”
Dae-yeong frowned, pink lips turning down into a pout. He put his brush down and faced Min-jun fully. “We will definitely find this person, hyung-nim, so don’t worry.”
We’re sorry for MTLers or people who like using reading mode, but our translations keep getting stolen by aggregators so we’re going to bring back the copy protection. If you need to MTL please retype the gibberish parts.
“Thank you, Dae-yeong,” Min-jun said. “I certainly hope you’re right.”
The painting Dae-yeong had made drew his attention again. Faces of possible suspects based on the criteria Min-jun had set, all people who had stood out to Dae-yeong during the Festival. A young man with an easy smile, a woman with her hair up in a complicated bun, among others. This would have to do for now.
They had three days before the King passed away. Min-jun didn’t claim to know all the secrets of the Gift’s inner workings, but he doubted a Gifted could tamper even with death. Death was the territory of the Kings of Hell, and though the Gods might’ve given them abilities beyond the average human, they weren’t about to let some measly mortals usurp them. After all, what did one have to fear once the veil of death was removed?
“Dae-yeong, come,” Eok-gi said, standing in the doorway. The two of them would be taking a stroll around the city in search of more suspects, leaving Min-jun to tend to the King. He’d given them his wild conclusions, Dae-yeong could take it from here.
. . .
Mo Dal sat next to the King, wringing out a soaking cloth above a bucket of water. She wore a light blue hanbok, and a wooden pin secured her hair into place on her head. Her face was scarred with remnants of the pox that had almost taken her life as a child.
“How is he?” Min-jun asked, as he entered the room. Being at the King’s bedside reminded him of Su-jin. It made him want to comfort the devious man. It made Min-jun want to save him.
Best to catch the culprit soon, so he could be done with these damned emotions.
“I’m sure he’s seen better days,” Mo Dal said. “But a person with Time’s Plague won’t die until the appointed time.”
Was it painful, like Sun-woo’s curse? Or did it feel like slumber, as if nothing had happened? He supposed no one would ever know, considering all who caught it promptly passed away.
But I will not let you go. Not after Min-jun had spent all this time with only the King’s impending death at his hands keeping him sane.
Mo Dal placed the cloth over the King’s forehead. “All we can do is keep him comfortable.” She placed a hand on Min-jun’s shoulder. “Talk to him. He’s shown some response to auditory stimuli.”
Talk to him? And say what? What did one say to a person so close to death? Min-jun could only recall waiting at Haneul’s bedside, as he grew sicker and sicker. His words hadn’t helped Haneul then. Min-jun had watched him die, though he’d begged and begged Haneul to stay.
Still, Min-jun took the King’s hand on his own, the clamminess catching him off guard.
“I’ll be off, then,” Mo Dal said. “Let me know if something changes.”
“Is there anything else I should keep in mind?” Min-jun asked.
Mo Dal shrugged on her coat, frowning. “No, I suppose not. He’ll sustain himself quite well until the appointed time. Hmm, keep him hydrated. Give him a bath if you deem it necessary. Change the cloth on his forehead every so often.” Mo Dal brought a finger to her chin. “I suppose that’s all.”
Bathe him? There was no way in hell Min-jun would play nurse for the King.
But Mo Dal had already left, unfazed by her own instructions. Of course she’d think nothing of it. Mo Dal dealt with the dirty work of medicine on a daily basis.
The King shifted on the bed, a low groan caught in the back of his throat. Min-jun’s fingers moved on their own down the slope of the King’s jaw, and then paused to caress his cheek.
“I’ll save you,” Min-jun said, with alarming confidence. “But you’d better not let it go to your head, Your Majesty.”
The door to the apartment slid open again, and Hyun-woo walked in, a box full of documents in his arms. Sighing, he put the box on the floor, rolling his shoulder.
“That should be everything,” Hyun-woo said, slightly out of breath.
Min-jun’s hand settled on top of the first document. “They let you take all of that out of the archives?”
“Threatened me with murder if I didn’t return them, but yeah.”
Their search had proven more fruitful than Min-jun had expected. Wolgwang City hadn’t been hit by the plague as hard as other places, but scholars still kept a detailed account of events based on rumors or experiences. How long ago had it been since the last death from Time’s Plague? 4? No, 5 years. He remembered hearing it being whispered in the corridors of the brothel house. He’d been nineteen and so caught up in trying to make enough money for Su-jin’s medicine that the threat of the plague didn’t loom over him as much as it did the rest of the country.
“Let’s try to dig through as much as we can,” Min-jun said, opening the little booklet to a page of nearly illegible writing. Had the scholar who had written this even wanted him to realize?
Outside, the sun hung high in the sky. The seconds fell away like grains of sand, slipping through Min-jun’s fingers no matter how he tried to gather them. Time, like death, cared not for his heart.
Thanks for the chapter ♥️♥️
I’m a little nervous, how this would end
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