They reached the little hut Kang Hye called home shortly after. An extra guest was there to greet them. A man dressed in a washed-out hanbok, all greys and beiges, and wearing a white piece of cloth as a headband. His face had a grayish pallor, his black hair streaked through with silver. He sat near the fire in the middle of the room, close to where Kang Hye’s mother slept soundly. In his hand was a white jar of cheap liquor that he had tipped toward his mouth when they entered.
“Boy, what trouble have you gotten into this time?” the man asked, voice rasping with exhaustion.
“No trouble,” Min-jun said, keeping his voice level. The man let his doubt show plainly on his face. “He was helping me with a case, you see –”
“You a detective?”
“A private investigator, yes.”
The man stood up, bones creaking, as he scratched at the back of his neck. “Sorry if he bothered you.” He brought Kang Hye closer with an arm around his shoulders. “He’s a handful, alright, hmm?” He shook the boy a bit, trying to appear playful, but the stench of alcohol curbed any humor the situation might’ve brought. Alcohol and . . .
“Sir, I suppose you’re the boy’s father,” Min-jun said. “You’re a dyer, yes?”
“How’d you know that?” How could he not? The man reeked of it. Alum mordants, boiled plants, soaking cloth. And there, in the light of the fire, his hands were an ugly bluish-green. He must be worked to the bone by the way his fingers shook. No one cared for the life of a commoner, after all. If they could, the nobles would work them until they fell down dead on the ground. Perhaps the King should focus on reforming the labor laws next.
“Lucky guess,” Min-jun replied. “Your son helped me a great deal. I shall make sure he is properly rewarded.”
Kang Hye’s expression brightened then, a smile replacing the pout he’d worn previously.
“Reward?” the man asked.
Min-jun glanced up at the gaps in the thatched rooftop. The King could afford to give them slightly better living quarters, surely. Or perhaps he could talk to Eok-gi about it. Min-jun grimaced at the idea of negotiating with that stubborn man. Addendum: he’d get Dae-yeong to talk to Eok-gi about it. Kang Hye would likely be leaving on his journey soon, but his mother needed a safe, warm place to recover if she were to survive long enough for Kang Hye to return.
“Of sorts,” Min-jun said. Ah, he shouldn’t linger. The man would only grow angrier the longer he was around, and Min-jun didn’t want that fury to redirect toward Kang Hye and his mother. He’d deal with him later, once Kang Hye’s mysterious benefactor was grappled with. “Well, I wish you both a good night. Sleep well, Kang Hye.”
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.
“Mm, I will!” Kang Hye replied, still a bit starry-eyed at the mention of a reward. It left Min-jun feeling a little more reassured that the boy would be safe here for the timebeing. Kang Hye went inside and readied himself for bed, pulling out a small cot and placing it beside his mother’s. In turn, his mother lifted a hand to the boy’s cheek, and Kang Hye whispered something to her in quick, excited tones. The father stayed glaring at Min-jun, his arms crossed over his chest and his back hunched over as he waited for Min-jun to say something.
“Ccv ubbv cluta ab sbe, abb, rlg,” Zlc-pec rjlv, ybklcu tlr tfjv. Ktf wjc rcloofv, agslcu lc njlc ab ibbx vbkc bc j wemt ajiifg Zlc-pec.
Klwf ab wjxf j rkloa fzla! Lf rtbeivc’a xffq Bjcu Lsf’r yfcfojmabg kjlalcu, joafg jii.
. . .
Ktf xlrjfcu tberf kjr ilnfis atja fnfclcu. Cc bivfg wjc raewyifv bea bo atf tjhs wlra, akb xlrjfcu tjio tlr juf tbivlcu tlw eq jcv uluuilcu, atflg nlygjca yief jcv qlcx tjcybx oijglcu jgbecv atfw. Ktfs kbgf atflg eclobgwr klat jii atf ugjmf bo cbyifkbwfc, atflg klur ygjlvfv lcab lcaglmjaf tjlgrasifr. Rb vloofgfca ogbw Zlc-pec’r ofiibk mbegafrjcr yjmx ja atf ygbatfi. Vbwfatlcu lcrlvf tlw alutafcfv ja atf rluta.
“Come, my lord,” one of them cooed, her lips painted red and her eyes lined with gold. “Let us take a walk around the garden!”
“Oh.” The other caught sight of Min-jun as he passed them. “Young man, would you like to join us?”
The first kisaeng slapped her arm, playfully. “Mi-kyung, how bold!”
Min-jun gave them a charming grin, his face half-covered by a black and gold mask he’d bought just in case a curious noble recognized him. “Perhaps another time. I’m afraid the business I have to attend to isn’t half as enlightening as your words, my dear ladies.”
The man between them barked out a laugh. “He’s got sweet-talking down well enough to be a kisaeng himself.”
The one with red lips chirped, “I feel I’m the one being seduced.”
The women giggled again, the laughter almost appearing genuine, had it reached their eyes. Mother had taught him how to fake a smile well enough that even his eyes would gleam with cheeriness. Min-jun wasn’t sure why she bothered. No client could ever tell the difference through the haze.
If only the King were as receptive as a drunk. Min-jun left them to their walk. All he had to do was make it through the door. Simple. He’d walked through plenty of doors before. He’d been to plenty of Kisaeng houses. And yet, tonight, as he approached the Kisaeng house, he felt uneasy. The same wave of nausea that had infected him that night returned with a vengeance. His foot hovered over the threshold. He stumbled back to take shelter behind the wall, the rooftops casting him in shadows, his breaths coming in short and shallow bursts.
Stop. Stop this. A hand massaged his chest, trying to get rid of the knot there. Just calm down.
Just go inside. He’s inside. You know he is.
The smell of incense filled his nose as another couple walked out, laughing riotously. He covered his mouth and nose with his sleeve, trying to keep the scent out. Tears began to form in the corners of his eyes, itchy from the incense. Laquered floor lanterns shed an ambient, eerie light. Min-jun leaned against the wall, off balance, his clammy hand shaking against the dark wooden panels. Kisaeng and clients alike passed him, but no one paid him any mind. All sorts of people came to Kisaeng houses.
Song. Song was in there. Song, who always had a way of getting into Mother’s mind in a way no one else could. And he said he had no clue what Mother’s plan was, but that couldn’t be true. He must have some clue. Someone had to. Min-jun had nearly been killed as a part of some strange revenge plot, and he’d be damned if he didn’t find out why.
With that determination settling into his veins, Min-jun urged his muscles to move through the panic. His mind could do whatever it wished, wander wherever it pleased, conjure up a thousand memories and terrible futures, but his body must bend to his will.
Right, left. One step after another. Min-jun’s legs felt numb and heavy, his feet stumbling over themselves one too many times, until he finally reached a set of heavy pine doors. The finest doors in the house, where the clients would be greeted with food and drink as they waited to be led to private rooms. He pushed the doors apart, and there sat the Head Kisaeng, entertaining new guests.
The clients, all rather ugly-looking, whispered among themselves. How many times had Min-jun walked through a similar pair of doors to greet his own clients for the evening? Too many to count. Sometimes Min-jun would simply entertain the guests in the room along with a handful of other kisaeng, but more often than not, he’d be taken aside.
The Head Kisaeng gave a charming smile, not a wrinkle forming on her face. No person was as committed to their beauty and health as a kisaeng.
“Have you come to join us, sir?” she asked, her tone polite and soothing.
Min-jun composed himself quickly, folding his hands and bowing. “I’m searching for my companion: A young man with a painted face who acts rather ostentatiously.”
Her eyes lit up with recognition. “Ah, yes, Song-nim. His room is in the corridor to the right, third door on the left.”
Min-jun bowed his head slightly. “Thank you.”
He left the room without another word, the haze in his mind ridding him of formalities and trivial conversation. He rounded the corner, his footsteps echoing against the walls, punctuated by the eager chatter coming from the rooms around him. One, two, three.
Fresh air greeted him as he walked into the room, the incense purged from it completely. Song sat at a polished black table, mixing an array of cosmetics together in a small jar. A large silkscreen stretched out behind him, depicting a mountainous landscape in vibrant greens and yellows and blues.
Min-jun peeled off the mask, letting it fall on the table. In response, Song placed the jar down, though he kept his gaze lowered.
“Sit,” Song said, gesturing to the cushion on the other side. “I was beginning to worry you wouldn’t make it.”
“It wasn’t exactly pleasant,” Min-jun replied, his voice a bit hoarse. The cool breeze had helped ease his nerves a little, his mind quieting.
“Would you like some tea,” Song asked, lifting a teapot he’d been keeping on the floor beside him. “It’ll help you calm down.”
A ‘yes’ folded onto his tongue, ready to be spoken, and then, it caught in his throat, as a new suspicion reared its head. “No.”
Song’s lips curled, as he placed the kettle back down on the floor. “That’s probably for the best. Though, I must admit, I’m quite offended. You never turn down a drink from our dear Mother. I suppose nothing beats a Mother’s touch.” Song’s hands returned to the mortar and pestle in front of him, grinding the pink substance into a paste.
Min-jun let his tone sharpen to something derisive. “I see your tastes haven’t changed.”
His ruby red smile widened. “Not all of us have the luxury of being raised in a pristine mountain village, my dear. Kisaeng houses have always been home to me. This place is a comfort for me.”
Min-jun frowned. Song had spoken of his past before, but never more than a few sentences here and there. None of the other kisaeng ever gleaned much from him, though many had tried, nursing loves that never amounted to much. After all, Song lived only for his cosmetics. He simply popped in now and then to experiment on them.
“I suppose you have questions,” Song said.
Obviously. His impatience must’ve shown on his face, because Song lifted a finger to silence any complaints.
“And I shall answer them to the best of my abilities in due time.” He poured some more water into the paste. “On one condition.”
Min-jun knew he wouldn’t like the answer, still he asked, “That is?”
Wrong move. Immediately, a manic grin spread across Song’s handsome face. He lifted the mortar as if it were a divine being. “Let me try this color out on you. It will look marvelous, I’m sure.”
A/N: Hello! Thank you so much for reading. If you liked this chapter, please leave a comment! Poor Min-jun’s having a panic attack and forcing himself into the situation anyway.
Aaaaah my poor Min-jun!! He must really want the answer if he insisted on going inside despite the panic attack 😢
Hahaha I was feeling a little sad for min jun until that last part, Poor him..I’d like he be seen by the king on that thing he’ll be applying
Thanks for the chapter ♥️♥️
Min Jun pay attention around Song, you know this !
On the other hand I’m positive Min Jun lips will be irresistible shaded pink ….
Trying to imagine the king’s response to Min-Jun coming home with pink makeup on 😄.
Aw, poor Min-jun!! As someone with personal experience in the matter, panic attacks suck. hugs Min-jun This was very well written, by the way.
Thanks for the chapter and I’m looking forward to more! ❤