The cream went on cold, as Song rubbed it onto the apples of Min-jun’s cheeks. Song wore that stupid grin all the while, occasionally letting out a giggle when things were going particularly well. Song’s fascination with painting Min-jun’s face had always unnerved him, but even Min-jun had to admit Song had a skill for this passion of his. He knew how to brighten the eyes, to smooth the skin, to create a perfect shape of an imperfect face.
“Did Mother know I’d save him?” Min-jun asked.
Song smirked. “I can’t imagine she did. You’ve always been a bit of a wild horse, you know? Unpredictable.” A horse? Min-jun scowled at the comparison, and Song tapped his chin as a reprimand. “Relax your face, darling. I can’t get anything done like this.”
Min-jun let out an annoyed hiss of a breath, relenting. “So, she didn’t think I’d save him. What nonsense did she tell Mai?”
“The usual – time for the lips now, darling – When Mai confronted her about her father’s death, she shifted the blame to you. A classic tactic of hers. If you ask me, she could stand to be a little more creative.”
Min-jun rubbed his lips together, letting the cream set into them. Another question hung on the edge of his tongue, and he let it linger there for a moment, fear keeping it at bay. “Would she have let Mai kill me?”
Instead of quelling his fears, Song moved onto mixing yet another concoction, pouring the pinkish cream into a jar and bringing out a pale powder to place in the mortar.
“Song.” Min-jun grabbed his hand. “Answer my question.”
Song let the pestle rest in the bowl, before lifting his reddish brown gaze to him, not bothering to attempt to snatch his arm back. “But you already have your answer, don’t you, darling?”
Min-jun’s hands tightened his grip, eyes locked on Song’s, as if they would somehow provide him with an alternative answer to the one he already knew. He always had known. But when someone like Mother gave you a task, a part of you craved remarkability. That you were indispensable, vital, needed. Min-jun was none of those things. Never had been.
“Now, now,” Song said, rubbing at the wetness forming in Min-jun’s eyes with his other hand. “You’ll ruin my masterpiece.”
“I’m not going to cry.” Min-jun turned his head away, voice shaking slightly.
Song clicked his tongue, pinching his cheek. “Of course not, sweetheart.”
Not this again. Min-jun took hold of the offending hand. “Stop treating me like a child.” Min-jun’s desperation turned to frustration. Must he play games even when I’m begging him for an ounce of solemnity? Honestly, Song was almost as irritating as the King himself.
“Oh, but you’re like a cute little brother to me, Jun-ah. A cute little brother with very good bone structure,” Song sang. “I must show my affection somehow.”
Affection. Nothing Song had ever done could be called affectionate. Where was he when Min-jun lost Haneul? Where was he when Min-jun had been at the mercy of his clients or the madam? “You can show your affection by giving me straight answers.”
Song shook his head. “That’s the problem with you. Always focused straight ahead.” He took Min-jun’s chin, twisting his head to the right and then the left. “You have to take a glance to the edges every now and then.”
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.
“P mjc klqf sbeg wjrafgqlfmf jkjs jcv ifjnf sbe ab sbeg vjwc wlzlcu, lo atja’r ktja sbe’v qgfofg,” Zlc-pec rqja. Llr atgfjar kfgf wfa klat j qbea jcv ilaaif firf, rb Zlc-pec aklrafv Vbcu’r vbwlcjca tjcv yjmx ecali tf rjk atf jgalra mglcuf klat qjlc.
Ktf foofma kjr lwwfvljaf. “Cigluta! Cigluta, jigluta. Xbbvcfrr, sbe’gf afras. Nfgs kfii, P’ii jcrkfg sbeg defralbcr.” Vbcu wjrrjufv tlr kglra ufcais. “P atlcx sbe wluta’nf rqgjlcfv la. Tbe’gf iemxs P’w jwylvfzagber. Lbk mbeiv sbe vb remt j atlcu ab jc jgalra?”
“Spare me your theatrics,” Min-jun said. “Why me? Why not one of her Gifted tools. Gyeo-wool could’ve taken him out in a matter of seconds.”
“Why not you? You’re a beautiful man with many talents, fit to seduce a King.” Song made a grand flourish with his stained left hand. “He’d be caught in your trap before long.” He snapped the hand shut.
Not good enough. Not anymore.
“But I’m not meant to just seduce him,” Min-jun insisted, both hands slapping down on the table. “I can’t even bring myself to let him die! How am I supposed to kill him?”
“Trust her,” Song said, as he applied some sort of clear gel to Min-jun’s eyelids. “Your role may be replaceable, but that doesn’t mean you’ve been set up to fail. That would be a waste of time for both of you. You’ve already gotten further than anyone could’ve fathomed. When you’re ready, you will strike him down.” More extravagant gestures.
Trust. Min-jun didn’t want to trust Mother anymore. He had trusted her for too long now. He wanted in on the plan his entire life had revolved around for the last seven years.
Song started crumbling dried rose petals into the mortar. “Besides, it matters not how much your righteousness dissuades you. You will go through with it because it’s what you must do.”
His confidence did nothing to ease Min-jun’s worries. He wished he had no choice but to follow Mother’s orders, but the further he drifted away from her, the more paths seemed to diverge.
“After all,” Song said, resting his cheek on his hand. “Mother still has her claws sunk into poor little Su-jin. Can’t imagine she’s taking care of the girl out of the kindness of her own heart.”
Min-jun had often wondered what would happen to Su-jin should he fail. Perhaps that was why he’d come so far, despite all the misery this line of work brought with it.
Yes. Song was right. Replaceable or not, Min-jun still had a mission to complete, and with Su-jin’s life hanging by a thread, he had no time for hesitation. And if Mother tried to fill his role with somebody else? Well, he’d just have to take matters into his own hands. The King’s life belonged to him and him alone.
And besides, all he needed from Mother for now was Su-jin’s medicine. Her plans and manipulations could be damned for all he cared. They could make use of one another. That was how it had always been.
So why did his heart feel so heavy, knowing there might be a million others lined up to take his position? Min-jun couldn’t shake the feeling. Not now, when the woman who was meant to support him had nearly gotten him killed. Ah, his hands were shaking again.
Something outside of the window drew Song’s attention.
“It’s getting late. Your King will be getting worried about you. Go to him before he sends an army to find us.”
Min-jun took his mask off the table and tied it back around his head. He paused. There was one more thing he had to threaten Song over.
“If there’s even a scratch on Kang Hye when he returns, I promise you a sprained wrist will be the least of your worries,” Min-jun said. Song gave him another self-satisfied grin, undaunted by Min-jun’s accusation. Had it been anyone else, Min-jun would’ve been wary of leaving Kang Hye alone with them, but Song, as eccentric as he might be, wasn’t dangerous. Back in the red light district, he would often babysit the children of the other Kisaeng, painting butterflies on their faces and reading them old, dusty stories, much to their glee. Yes, if it was going to be anyone, it might as well be Song.
As Min-jun stood up from the table, he caught sight of the teapot once more.
“I’ve always wondered.” Min-jun adjusted his collar to cover more of his neck. “Whatever does she put in that tea?”
Song grinned again, pearly teeth bared. “So you’ve noticed?”
“Always found it a bit strange that she brought her own tea blend whenever she visited.” Mother had always been partial to the Kisaeng houses as well.
Song’s reddish brown gaze swept over him, considering his answer. “A blend of different medicines, to help calm a person’s nerves.”
“Is that all?”
“Do you think that is all, my darling?”
. . .
As per usual, Song had proven useless. Master of avoiding questions that he was, he’d managed to paint Min-jun’s entire face in pinks and golds, without offering anything of value other than a small packet of tea in Min-jun’s hand. If it were the same as Mother’s, perhaps it could provide some insight into what she’d been giving him this whole time.
Not that it really mattered now. Any of its effects would’ve likely worn off at this point, if his sudden onsets of panic were anything to go by.
Min-jun rubbed at his cheek, the mask long removed. A bit of pink cream came off on his fingers. He’d have to wash his face before returning to the apartment. How was it that everytime Min-jun sat down to speak with that man he ended up being painted on like a piece of canvas? Certainly, the makeup almost always suited him, but it rarely came without side effects. Once he even broke out into a rash! His beautiful skin tarnished for an entire week! The head Kisaeng was furious. Gave him a thorough beating too. Mother had torn into her afterward. Her defense of him had almost made Min-jun forget the pain entirely. Now it made him laugh. She’d watched the whole thing from a safe distance, only to jump in when she thought him punished enough.
It was all Song’s fault as well! Ah, how could they do such a thing to a mere child?
Min-jun walked past the gates of the apartment building, walking to the back of it, where the great stone well stood, its rope fraying. He pulled it up with ease, and then proceeded to nearly spill it all on the front of his shirt.
Placing the bucket on the ground, he cupped some of the water into his hand, letting it drip down his face. He pressed the cloth of his sleeve to his face, but no matter how much he rubbed at the makeup, it would not budge.
“What did that bastard put in this?” he whispered. What has he done to my perfect face?
After a good ten minutes of scrubbing, he gave up. He’d have to go get something stronger, and for that he needed to go in the house. The King was in the house, and if the King was in the house, then he would undoubtedly notice the makeup, which would prompt him to ask stupid questions and then Min-jun would go to bed angry for the thousandth time. Perhaps the King’s plan was to slowly wear Min-jun down through a lack of sleep.
What a thorn Min-jun had gotten into his side. Well, best to get it out of the way.
Reluctantly, Min-jun began to walk back toward Hyun-woo’s apartment, and would’ve gone in, had his gaze not been drawn by a solitary figure sitting on top of the stone gate. He could tell by just the slope of his shoulders that it was the King. His posture always had a strange quality to it, like a woodland creature, ever alert. Perhaps he could’ve been a forest deity, if such powerful beings existed.
Min-jun approached him. The two of them always seemed to find each other, drawn to each other by some cosmic force. Well, that cosmic force can fuck right off.
“As much as I enjoy the daytime, I must say I’m partial to the night,” came that gentle voice. Min-jun stopped before the gate, gazing up at him. The King patted the spot next to him. “Won’t you join me?”
“I already have.”
“Min-jun.” His tone was sterner now, with a hint of amusement in its smooth cadence.
“If you wanted to order me around, you should’ve led with that,” Min-jun said, lifting himself onto the edge of the old stone gate. It was likely too dark for the King to make out his painted face anyhow.
“If I had ordered you around, you would’ve left.”
Min-jun rested his chin on his hand, and his elbow on his knee. “Me? A defenseless consort? How could I refuse a command from the King himself?”
“By making a hopeless fool of your King, I suppose.”
“I’d say you were a fool long before I came along.”
“Indeed.” The King sighed, laying his head down on Min-jun’s shoulder. “My foolishness knows no bounds.”
Under different circumstances, perhaps Min-jun would’ve given him a smile, but the warmth in his chest only served to make him warier of their proximity.
“Your Majesty?”
“Hmm?”
“Is this how you think I’ll fall in love with you?”
A/N: Thank you all so much for reading! If you enjoyed this chapter, please leave a comment down below!
Thanks for the chapter!
So Min-jun likes his face more natural? 👀
And finally one or two answers in this chapter 😭
Poor Min Jun the emptiness of knowing you’re disposable to Mother … also how is Mother manipulating Su Jun. please don’t be turning baby girl against Min Jun
Thanks for the chapter ♥️♥️
Bring your pretty face up here and cuddle with your husband ☺️
Ya know, this is one of those stories that I wish I had in paperback, just because it’s so good.
Great chapter! I like Song – he’s quite amusing. 😁 Thanks for the chapter. As always, I look forward to more! ❤