TBML 82

The weather had warmed up, and Yiyeon’s left arm had regained some mobility, but this time of year was typically when injuries and accidents were most likely to occur. In early spring, as the ice melted, the ground throughout the mountains was soft and prone to collapsing. Since Yiyeon’s arm still moved awkwardly, rather than heading out to tackle major tasks, he focused his energy on sprucing up the house.

The thatched house had been on the verge of collapse to begin with, and Hyunhak had only patched it up as a makeshift solution under Yiyeon’s supervision; after enduring a harsh winter, its condition was in shambles. The mud walls had frozen and thawed repeatedly, creating cracks and gaps in many places, and the roof had sagged significantly.

Just because winter had passed and spring had arrived didn’t mean the common people had time to enjoy the season like idlers. When winter ended and spring began, they had to use the brief period of warmth to prepare for the coming heat; and just when they could catch their breath, they had to prepare for the bitter cold again. This was true not only for people but for animals as well.

Around the house, they began to see the footprints of small animals like foxes and raccoons, as well as those of a bear, roughly the same size as the one that had visited not long ago. Although this was Yiyeon’s first time building and living in a house deep in the mountains, as a former mountain hunter, he knew enough to take precautions to keep predators away from the house.

With so much to do, Yiyeon was constantly on the move with no time to sit down, and Hyunhak followed him around like a chick following its mother. If he didn’t trip over his feet, he’d bump into him with his eyes; though he wouldn’t dare say this to his master, he was a nuisance, and Yiyeon found himself rolling his eyes in exasperation without even realizing it.

Anything Yiyeon touched, Hyunhak would inevitably pick up and put down again; he’d touch it, then sniff it– and just when he thought he’d finally tidied something up, he’d scatter it all over again. With a mountain of work to do and Hyunhak constantly getting in the way, Yiyeon finally couldn’t help but say something.

“Please stop that.”

It was a bold and impertinent, but by now, Yiyeon was ready to stand his ground against his indifference. If one task fell behind, everything that followed would be delayed. He had to finish the current task quickly so he could prepare the dried vegetables spread out in the kitchen, sort the barley, and serve his master a steaming bowl of freshly cooked rice.

But Hyunhak only nodded at Yiyeon’s words and, if anything, began hovering around him even more. When would he ever find time to read with that attitude? He was like a contrary child who does exactly the opposite when told not to.

Yiyeon raised his eyebrows slightly as he watched Hyunhak circling around him. He was so stubborn that he began to wonder if it was precisely that rebellious streak that had landed him in exile in this barren mountainous region after causing a major incident.

However, Yiyeon– who never repeated a nagging remark more than once –only gave Hyunhak a sidelong glance. [Read on]Yet, seeing him disrupt his work wasn’t entirely annoying. Even if Hyunhak were to suddenly start acting up right now, Yiyeon wouldn’t find him hateful.

Yiyeon’s eyes, which in the past would have been filled with venom, were now as soft as earth softened by spring rain. Looking down at his own palms, he found himself wondering anew how he had ever managed to live with such tenacity.

He’d lived his life doing the most absurd things. The villagers called him tenacious, but in truth, it wasn’t tenacity, it was venom. Have you ever heard the saying that when a person faces a life-or-death crisis, they draw on superhuman strength? For Yiyeon, every day was a crisis.

He wasn’t some mighty warrior, nor was he born with any special gifts. On the contrary, he was so emaciated he couldn’t even scrape together a meager meal. That was exactly how Yiyeon was described. Yet, despite where that strength had come from, ever since arriving here, all his fighting spirit had completely drained away, and judging by his demeanor, he looked like he couldn’t even wring a chicken’s neck.

Just a few months ago, Yiyeon had pushed himself to the limit, so much that the calluses on his palms had burst open. If he exerted himself too much, his skin would tear. It wasn’t just his skin that tore; his eyeballs would burst as well. The blood vessels in his eyes had ruptured, making it uncomfortable even to move his eyes.

If he clenched his teeth too hard, the roots of his hair would ache so intensely– as if someone had pounded them with a fist –that he couldn’t even touch them. Not a single day went by without pain, and looking back, he never once felt like the day had truly ended. He’d come home and fall asleep, but that didn’t mean he felt the day was over. It was as grueling as if he’d been living a day that had never ended since the day he was born.

If someone were to ask him now why he lived so foolishly, well… it must have been because he had been possessed by a ghost. Since he’d become an unfilial son who failed to care for his mother until the end and a scoundrel who had committed all manner of killing: it must have been the ghost of his father– who left without fulfilling his duties as a father and husband –that possessed him.

A ghost who, with nothing to leave behind, bequeathed debts that went beyond mere poverty.

Only now, after all these years, did Yiyeon mutter a brief but bitter complaint to himself. He shook his head, disgusted while briefly reflecting on his past life.

Yiyeon felt a piercing gaze fixed on him, one that had been watching him for some time, and once again set to work with renewed vigor.

As soon as the chickens strayed beyond the fence, the crow would caw at all hours, so Yiyeon figured he’d have to fix the chicken coop first if he wanted to sit comfortably in his room. He gathered the twigs he’d been collecting bit by bit all winter. When Yiyeon lifted a generous armful of dry branches, Hyunhak followed suit, carrying his own arms full of twigs. The grown man acted just like a young animal mimicking its mother.

It was called a chicken coop, but in this remote mountainous area, it was impossible to build something as substantial as a proper coop. The best he could do was use dry branches ​unauthorized copy​to divide the space in the backyard and build a slightly elevated fence to at least prevent the chickens from walking out on their own. It was a height that the chickens could easily fly over if they set their minds to it, but doing anything more than that would require time and effort, even for Yiyeon.

With his small hands, Yiyeon deftly arranged the twigs in rows and wrapped twine around them to create a flat, low wall. Seeing Yiyeon put it together so quickly, Hyunhak crouched down beside him and began weaving the fence with him.

It felt awkward and uncomfortable to even suggest that he stop doing such hard labor and rest in his room. Knowing that this applied not only to Yiyeon but to Hyunhak as well, he kept his mouth shut, but by then, the fence Hyunhak had built was really starting to bother Lee Yeon.

“You don’t need to make it so tight.”

“Huh.”

Hyunhak had woven the fence so tightly that not even a needle could fit through. It would have been enough to weave it loosely, but he was filling it in far too densely. Worried that his fingertips might get sore, Yiyeon chimed in, and Hyunhak nodded before returning to his task with renewed focus.

A moment later, when he glanced over again, this time it was far too wide. Even though they were building a coop for chickens, it wasn’t a gate that dogs and cows could just wander in and out of.

“That’s… a bit too wide, My Lord. The chickens will just walk in and out on their own.”

“Should I do it over?”

It was something he said every single time, but once he was shown how, he picked it up so quickly. In the meantime, Hyunhak had already built more fences than Yiyeon. Yiyeon was no slouch when it came to dexterity and working quickly, yet while he was building one, Hyunhak had managed to build two or three with such diligence. Now that it came down to reweaving the fence, that was a task in its own right.

“No… it’s fine. We’ll just have to fatten up the chickens.”

Yiyeon looked at the fence Hyunhak had painstakingly made and shook his head half-heartedly. Deep in these mountains, with no way of knowing whether he’d catch the chickens himself, or whether a bear or a fox would get to them first, all this [unauthorized copy]effort was pointless. Yiyeon stood the fence Hyunhak had made upright and drove it into the ground.

Even though they’d set up the fence just as Yiyeon had said, the chickens kept slipping through the gaps. Hyunhak’s eyes lit up as he watched the scene. Only then did he understand what Yiyeon had meant; his eyes widened belatedly, and he grinned.

Since the gaps were wide enough for the chickens to pass through, wouldn’t it be enough to just feed them well until they got fat and grew bigger than the gaps? Hyunhak hadn’t even known what Yiyeon was making; he’d simply followed along.

As the meaning of the words sank in a beat too late, Hyunhak shifted his gaze from the chickens to Yiyeon. He really didn’t like the way Yiyeon had been working all day, so he thought: Why not fatten him up so he couldn’t go outside either?

Perhaps he had sensed something odd in Hyunhak’s gaze, Yiyeon shuffled sideways and secured the next section of the fence. Hyunhak alternated his gaze between the chickens and Yiyeon, lost in his daydreams, and smacked his lips.

Hyunhak stared at the chickens with a gleam in his eyes. They looked so appetizing he could have swallowed them whole on the spot.

He licked his lips while looking at Yiyeon… Was it actually the case that he didn’t want to have Yiyeon by his side, but rather wanted to eat him? Or was he just licking his lips because he was hungry?

Hyunhak had already confirmed some time ago that Yiyeon didn’t give off any particular scent that would stimulate his appetite. Suddenly, Hyunhak felt confused.

Why was his mouth suddenly watering now, when everything had been going fine until now? Even when he touched the soft skin above Yiyeon’s elbow, his mouth had watered like this.

Gulp.

When he recalled the sensation of soft skin still lingering on his hand, Hyunhak unconsciously swallowed again. His expression immediately turned serious.

Did he really want to devour Yiyeon? If so, why hadn’t his mouth watered like this before? It wasn’t as if he visit our sitesmelled particularly delicious. It was a scent like a faint lily-of-the-valley, covered in the morning dew. It was a scent that tickled his senses rather than making his mouth water.

Hyunhak glanced back and forth between Yiyeon and the chickens once more, then shook his head.

No. That’s not it.

Even if he wanted to eat the chickens, he didn’t want to hug them, sleep with them, or eat meals with them. Did he really want to see a chicken smile? He couldn’t even stand the sight of the crow smiling.

Should I take a bite? Then, wouldn’t I be able to figure out whether I’m really doing this because I want to eat Yeon-ah, or not?

When that thought crossed his mind, Hyunhak shook his head. It wasn’t as if he’d never attacked a human before; he knew better than anyone what would happen to a human if he took even a small bite. If that happened, everything would fall apart, and there would be no turning back.

What if Hyunhak swallowed Yeon-ah whole, but it wasn’t simply because he wanted to devour him? He’d never see Yeon-ah smile again. If that happened, there’d be no going back, no matter how much he regretted it.

‘Maybe I should just lick him.”

Who knows? Maybe this time, unlike last time, he’d get a sudden burst of inspiration!

And so, just as Yiyeon reached out to link the next fence, Hyunhak stretched his neck and licked Yiyeon’s forearm.