TBML 53

Everything was a mess after that. He had braced himself for it, but the despair Yiyeon felt was indescribable. He berated himself for not even remembering. It would have been better if he had remembered.

Even though the trauma was a wound he would never forget, if he had at least remembered, he could have resented and hated the one who had trampled on him, and used that strength to carry on. But Yiyeon, reproaching himself for not even remembering, simply crumbled.

Having no memory meant he would constantly doubt, fantasize, and censor himself in an attempt to fill that void. In that fleeting moment – from guessing what might have happened to him to completely breaking down – in Yiyeon’s mind, he had already been violated in every conceivable way dozens, even hundreds of times, left battered and bruised, and abandoned hundreds of times over.

From now on, until that void was filled, Yiyeon would repeat this endless cycle of doubt and imagination, regardless of his own will. It was one of the reasons why survivors suffered for the rest of their lives. The stigma from others was one thing, but they also branded themselves.

Hyunhak was at a loss for what to do upon seeing Yiyeon completely break down, lose his sanity, and tear himself apart while wailing. As Yiyeon scratched at his skin, which had barely stopped bleeding and whose bruises were just beginning to fade, Hyunhak could do nothing but grab his hand to stop him.

Given that Yiyeon could only use his right arm because his left was broken (something Hyunhak considered a blessing) it was as if he were drawing strength from somewhere unknown; had Hyunhak not restrained him, he might very well have torn all the skin right off. Hyunhak was baffled by what was happening.

If Hyunhak had understood what was causing Yiyeon’s screams, the situation could have been resolved with a single sentence: “What you’re thinking did not happen.” But for Hyunhak, who had only just begun to grasp what it meant to be human, such understanding and knowledge were out of the question.

All Hyunhak could do was hold Yiyeon tightly to stop him from harming himself. He had been feeding him the medicine he’d obtained with Zao’s help, and now that he could provide basic nursing care even without Zao, another dilemma presented itself to Hyunhak.

The fever subsided, and the once-black bruises gradually took on a bluish tint. Setting everything else aside, now that the raging fever had broken, the frequency of his delirious ramblings and struggling had noticeably decreased, and Hyunhak had just begun to feel relieved.

With this happening just as he had sent Zao away, Hyunhak paced back and unauthorized copy forth with Yiyeon in his arms. It seemed as though the world was mocking him – the very man who had boasted to Zao that he could now tend to Yiyeon’s illness on his own – by sending yet another trial his way.

“Zao! Zao!!”

He didn’t know if the person who had been staggering on the verge of death suddenly became a mighty warrior upon losing his sanity, but Hyunhak couldn’t bring himself to use force. He feared Yiyeon’s body, which had only just begun to recover, might collapse again.

There was no way the call would reach Zao, as he was already soaring high in the sky, but with no lifeline to grab onto, Hyunhak called out the name of the crow, his close friend and guardian.

Naturally, there was no reply. By now, the crow was likely reluctantly circling above the human village at Hyunhak’s request to steal the items Yiyeon needed bit by bit. Meanwhile, it seemed as though the crumbling thatched cottage had accumulated a few more odds and ends.

Unaware of Hyunhak’s limitations, Yiyeon paid no heed to the damage being done to his own body; on the contrary, he struggled in hope that it would break even further. His screams were so loud that if an innocent bystander had heard them from outside, they would have thought Hyunhak was devouring Yiyeon.

Wondering if applying any more force might break him somewhere else, Hyunhak was finally struck in the nose by Yiyeon’s right hand. It wasn’t like poking a sleeping tiger. He’d hit a tiger right in the face while he was wide awake.

Why did that fist, as big as a pinecone, sting so fiercely? Hyunhak felt a stinging pain in his nose, which was as high and steep as a mountain, so intense that an “Ow!” escaped him.

Hyunhak didn’t bat an eye at this, but Yiyeon did. Although Hyunhak was the one who’d been hit, for some reason, Yiyeon’s fist was the one that turned bright red.

Upon realizing that if he kept acting so recklessly, Yiyeon (not himself) would end up getting hurt worse, Hyunhak wrapped his arms around Yiyeon’s waist with all his might. The force was so intense that Yiyeon momentarily felt his breath catch in his throat, thinking his pelvis and ribs were about to shatter. With his breath suddenly cut off, Yiyeon’s struggles came to an abrupt halt.

“Ngh…!”

“Stop.”

Hyunhak wrapped both arms tightly around Yiyeon’s waist. As he tensed his thick forearms, the definition of his muscles became prominent. Yiyeon struggled desperately to free himself from the powerful arms squeezing his waist, but Hyunhak didn’t budge, and his wounded right arm kept slipping as he flailed in vain.

“Stop it. Please, stop now!”

“Ugh… Huh. Huh…”

After repeating the same struggle over and over, Yiyeon finally went limp, seemingly exhausted. Only then did Hyunhak’s voice reach Yiyeon’s dazed ears.

He held him so tightly that his whole body felt as if it were being crushed, and spoke right into his ear. Yet his low voice sounded muffled, as if it were coming from a distant place.

Eventually, Yiyeon’s body, exhausted from repeating meaningless struggles, grew heavier.

Hyunhak released the tension from his arms wrapped around him. A space opened up between the two and Yiyeon felt the oppressive pressure weighing him down disappear.

It almost seemed better when he was held so tightly he could barely breathe. Because it felt as if he might suffocate and die right then.

The resolve in Hyunhak’s voice gradually faded as well. He whispered “Stop…” in a soft voice, right into Yiyeon’s ear, ​stolen content​but perhaps because that bastard Byeon had beaten half his face to a pulp, his hearing was impaired, and the whisper sounded muffled, so it didn’t reach him.

Yiyeon felt for Hyunhak’s arm wrapped around his waist. It was a strong arm.

Perhaps because he’d gotten worked up trying to restrain him, he could clearly feel the veins pulsing along his forearm. Yiyeon grabbed his arm and looked back at Hyunhak with his swollen eyes.

Because they were standing back-to-back, when Yiyeon turned his head, it looked as if he were about to kiss Hyunhak’s cheek. They were close enough for their breaths to mingle, but there was nothing between them hotter than their breath. No emotion.

Yiyeon, who had completely broken down, simply needed something to hold onto, and Hyunhak was still far too inexperienced and ignorant of human nature to understand the complexity of his feelings.

Hyunhak averted his gaze from Yiyeon’s face. They were close enough to see every single downy hair on his cheek, but it wasn’t because the proximity made him uncomfortable.

It was simply because he couldn’t bear to look at Yiyeon’s face, which was filled with despair. Hyunhak couldn’t fathom how this small human, who used to smile so brightly at him, had come to change so much.

Hyunhak averted his gaze from Yiyeon’s eyes and looked instead at the fresh wounds he had inflicted upon himself. The wounds, barely scabbed over, had been scratched here and there until blood finally began to seep out. Hyunhak stared at the wounds and asked softly.

“Should I take you back to the village?”

It wasn’t what he truly meant, but if Yiyeon answered yes, Hyunhak intended to take him back to the village entrance, just as he had last time. He’d boasted to Zao that he wouldn’t send him back and would keep him by his side. But when he looked at that haggard face and those black pupils that had crumbled and turned to water, he felt that if that was what Yiyeon wanted, he could take him to the village entrance hundreds of times over.

This wasn’t the face he’d wanted to see. He’d Read onwanted to see that cheerful smile, the one he’d showed while thanking him and promising to return.

Zao’s words that humans could only survive with other humans was still weighing on his mind. Just as Hyunhak couldn’t live in a human village.

If the reason Yiyeon was in so much pain – and even as he held him, it felt as though he were slipping away from his embrace – was because he didn’t want to distance himself from humans and stay with him in this remote place, then he was willing to send him back to where he belonged. If Yiyeon wanted it.

There were humans who could heal other humans. No matter how hard a tiger or a crow tried, there would be limits. That said, he couldn’t just tell Yiyeon outright that he was the Mountain Lord of Yeongsan, a spirit beast of the mountain. Here he was, called a spirit, yet unable to heal a single little human as he pleased.

Hyunhak’s voice wasn’t very loud as he presented Yiyeon with a choice. Even though he was speaking right beside him, Yiyeon could only hear Hyunhak’s voice muffled and distant, as if they were separated by a room. It also sounded like a murmur, making it difficult to understand.

Even so, Yiyeon read Hyunhak’s lip movements and clearly caught the word “village.” Yiyeon had spent his entire life tending to patients who had been bedridden, able only to move their lips slightly. Though he couldn’t understand everything, he was exceptionally well-trained to pick out only the important words.

When the word “village” came from Hyunhak’s mouth, Yiyeon’s pupils dilated. Just as he seemed to lose all strength in his legs and was about to collapse, Hyunhak tensed his arm once more, which he had previously relaxed, and caught his falling body. Hyunhak was certain he was about to collapse. But Yiyeon had been trying to kneel.

“……P-please, My Lord.”

Hyunhak had said those words out of frustration for the sake of Yiyeon. But Yiyeon, who had no way of knowing Hyunhak’s true intentions, assumed that Hyunhak was planning to send him back to the village rather than take him in. That was why he had knelt down to beg him not to send him away.

There was no reason for Hyunhak to take Yiyeon in. It was almost strange that he hadn’t cast him out immediately. The kindness Hyunhak had shown Yiyeon was more than enough. Yiyeon thought so too, but if he were driven out of Hyunhak’s house, he would never be able to return to the village. It might even be less painful to hang himself.

Yiyeon pushed away Hyunhak’s arm – which was preventing him from kneeling – and kept bowing his head. The more Yiyeon Read onbowed, the more Hyunhak prevented his wounded knees from touching the floor. Finally, unable to kneel, Yiyeon moved his parched, cracked lips and pleaded with Hyunhak.

“Please let me stay here. I’ll do anything… Please don’t send me back.”

Yiyeon’s hands, clutching Hyunhak’s arms, were so thin and trembled pitifully. He could do anything now. If Hyunhak told him to bark, he could even bark.