Song’s mother never stayed in one place for too long, but she always left a trail for Song to follow. Breadcrumbs, if you will. Poems from when he was a child, old books, all pieces of a puzzle in a cipher only they understood. Tonight, he would not be visiting her only for their usual game of baduk. It had been several days since his meeting with Min-jun, and his heart had gone out to that poor boy. He’d always found mother’s fixation with Min-jun unnerving, but now she had nearly tossed him away like a rancid sack of fruit. Song would not stand for it! Min-jun was his favorite canvas! His beauty was unparalleled, and Song would not allow it to be discarded at the tender age of twenty-three!
His mother had chosen a small hanok near the ocean as her hiding spot. It sat upon a rocky hill, grass and moss peeking through loose boulders. The hanok could’ve belonged to a family of fishermen, had it not been surrounded by four heavyset, muscular guards. When Song approached, the two guards at the door only nodded in greeting.
“Good luck, Song!”
“You’ll beat her this time, I know it!”
Song smirked, opening the doors. “I would’ve beaten her long ago if she wasn’t such a cheater.”
“Nonsense.” His mother stood across from the doorway, leaning against the wall of the corridor, hands hidden inside her sleeves. “You cannot blame your lack of skill on the good fortune of others, son.”
Song took his gat off, the beads clicking on their string. “Mother, you’re looking well this evening.”
“You and your cheap compliments,” his mother chided. “Come now, close that door. You’re letting the cold air in.”
He did so, letting the doors glide shut behind him. His mother led him down the corridors of the little hanok. It was cozier than most of the places his mother chose to spend her time in. Brothels, mansions, little shacks in the woods, and little normalcy in between. This place felt too ordinary for his mother’s tastes. The rooms were small, smelling of sea salt and fish. Old fishing equipment, nets and poles, had been left in the house to rot away. Who had lived here before his mother had come along? And why could Song not shake the feeling that all of this was familiar?
“Do you remember?” his mother asked, leading him into the only room in the house that seemed lived in. His mother’s books were laid out on the floor, along with a few paintings. They were all portraits. His mother drew nothing but portraits, always of the same woman, painted feverishly, as if she were afraid it would somehow escape otherwise. Song had watched her draw them enough to be unbothered by it.
“Remember what?” Song locked eyes with the grizzled old man that has been watching over his Mother since before she’d left the Palace. Even after all these years, Song still didn’t know a single thing about him, other than the fact he could strangle a man with his bare hands. Song took a seat in the sea of paintings, gently putting aside a few of the portraits.
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 reqqbrf sbe kfgf ralii abb sbecu,” tlr wbatfg rjlv, yglculcu atf glw bo tfg afjmeq ab tfg ilqr. “Lbk jvbgjyif sbe kfgf yjmx atfc. Ycf kbeiv’nf cfnfg rerqfmafv sbe kfgf tlr mtliv.”
Llr wbatfg ygbeuta eq Vbcu’r ojatfg ogbw alwf ab alwf. Lf kjr cba jc ecrqbxfc fcalas ab yf ofjgfv, jr rbwf ojatfgr kfgf. Llr wbatfg rqjgfv tlw cb lcreiar, cb megrfr. Vbcu cfnfg gfjiis vlv olcv bea kts rtf tjafv atja wjc rb wemt. Ktf ijaf Blcu tjv cfnfg yffc ecxlcv ab jcs bo tlr mbcrbgar. Mgbw ktja tf’v tfjgv, fnfc atf gecjkjs Heffc tjv yffc agfjafv kfii. Snfc Vbcu’r bkc wfwbglfr bo tlr ojatfg kfgf bcis bo j wjc klat j ufcaif nlbifa ujhf. Lf tjv qjrrfv atbrf agjlar vbkc ab tlr rfmbcv rbc, atf meggfca Blcu, ktb tjv jqqfjgfv pera jr kjgw jcv ufcelcf jr tf kjixfv vbkc. Dea tlr wbatfg kjr cba bcf qgbcf ab pfjibers bg tjagfv. Vtf kjr vglnfc bcis ys tfg vfrlgf obg mbcagbi. Lfg tjagfv wera yf ygbeuta bc ys rbwfatlcu ugfja.
Truth be told, Song didn’t want to find out what made her wish for the death of both the late King and his crown prince. Best to change the subject. “Little Mai’s joined Min-jun on his quest to kill the King.”
His mother arched an eyebrow, but maintained a neutral expression otherwise. “He’s alive, then.”
Song’s poor little Min-jun. He would’ve certainly been devastated upon hearing those words uttered in such a casual tone.
“He is a survivor, after all.” Despite his mother’s best efforts, apparently. “She said that you told her to find him.”
“Indeed. The girl would’ve killed me otherwise.” His mother sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose with two fingers. “Little brat broke into my study and tried to contaminate me. It would’ve all been over had I not talked her down.”
So. It was her life or Min-jun’s. Naturally, she’d chosen herself.
“You could’ve easily shifted the blame to the King instead.”
His mother beckoned for her bodyguard to come forward. “I could have, but the King would’ve likely killed her on the spot, just as he had all the others.”
The bodyguard placed the gameboard next to the tea-table. Gingerly, he picked up the tea table, the dishes on top of it clattering slightly, and put it to the side to make way for the gameboard. He returned to his post to take up four bowls, two empty, two filled with the circular game pieces. Once his work was done, Song’s mother dismissed him and he bowed, grave as always. The two of them were left alone to play their game.
“So,” His mother said, as she placed her first piece onto the board, “how did he manage to escape? I figured he’d cheat death somehow. He has a knack for it.”
If he hadn’t known any better, Song would think something like genuine affection had lit up her face then, but he did know better. His mother had affection for no one.
“He had help,” Song said. The stone clacked against the wooden board as he put down his first move. “The King took his place.”
Without warning, the stone between his mother’s fingers slipped through, landing on the board in a clatter. Song forced his expression to remain neutral, but inside his curiosity and glee only grew.
“Tell me more,” his mother said. She slid the stone into its place on the board.
Now, let’s see. How should Song say this without implicating Min-jun too much? His canvas needed to remain untouched, and should Song’s mother find him lacking, she might try to dispose of the poor boy.
Well, we can’t let that happen, now, can we?
“The King noticed Mai stalking them in the forest. He confronted her. She cursed him. And so it goes.” Oh, he was winning for once. It would appear he’d thrown his mother off her game. “Min-jun decided he didn’t want her help in killing the King, and asked her to lift her curse.”
“He’d always been a fool,” his mother murmured. “I suppose it can’t be helped.”
Song smirked. Now she was just being careless. “I do wonder if he’ll be able to do it.”
“He will,” his mother said. There was no doubt in her voice, no caution, only a lingering exhaustion. It was the confidence of someone who had meddled with fate itself. Song hoped she was right about all of this. It would be a pity if Min-jun died due to her own miscalculations. That boy should’ve never gotten involved with this in the first place. Song still couldn’t fathom what was so special about Min-jun, outside of his beauty, that his Mother put such faith in him.
Song ran his fingers along the smooth surface of the stone, considering his next move. Though he’d known her all his life, his mother’s gift remained a mystery. Most people could keep their gifts hidden for the most part, disguised as regular miracles, but Song had quickly learned how to sniff them out. His mother’s army of Gifteds was partially due to Song’s ability, though they’d long ago decided it likely wasn’t a gift. He wasn’t always right, after all. His mother being a prime example of those limitations.
“He will.” Indeed, if he wanted to keep his darling friend alive, Min-jun would have to strike the King. But was that all? Did that warrant such confidence that even when Min-jun had clearly disobeyed her orders, she remained unwavering in her support of him?
No. There had to be more to it than that. Perhaps a manipulation gift of some sort. But was it hers or someone else’s? She had amassed such a large quantity of Gifteds, it was hard to tell whose gift was whose. The only one who came close to rivaling her army of Gifteds was the King himself.
“Your move.”
Song jerked his head up, their eyes meeting. Hers were unreadable as ever, the same warm reddish-brown hue that echoed in his own gaze. Song had always been grateful she’d passed her own eyes on to him. Had they been violet like his father’s, she might’ve asked him to gouge them out.
“It appears the King has grown quite fond of him.”
“At least he’s been able to do that much,” his mother said. “It’d be best if that man’s filthy bloodline ended here.”
Song remembered little of his early childhood, but that look in his mother’s eyes had been scored into his memory. He must’ve been around eight when he’d first seen it cast down on him. A bitter fury, transcending reason. She had hated him then, he was certain. He knew it well because for a moment he’d loathed himself just as much. Loathed this ugly face of his. Song hadn’t shown it since. Wearing makeup to shift his features, wearing masks when that wouldn’t suffice. His mother had appreciated the gesture, and Song had been satisfied.
He placed his stone down. Wrong move.
“Of course, mother.”
A/N: Hello everyone! I hope Thanksgiving went well for everyone who celebrated. Otherwise, I hope you all had a great week! If you liked this chapter, please leave a comment down below. I hope you enjoy next week’s daily updates, starting December 1st and ending on December 7th.
Cheol and Song are siblings! Shocking twist. Does Cheol know whose behind all these assignation attempts?
Thank you for chapter
Thanks for the chapter ♥️♥️
Well well well
Some answers and more questions 😔
That chapter was packed with new information! I’m more afraid for Min-Jun and Chaol than ever! Poor Song, what a horrible way to grow up.