TBML 63

There were very few people who actually stepped forward to help Yiyeon. They were just the newly rich Dobu and Dusoe’s family, along with a handful of village elders who had watched Bun and Yiyeon struggle and grow up since childhood.

Even among them, if you were to ask what exactly they did to help (aside from Dusoe) it was mostly small, effortless things: offering a word of encouragement or turning a blind eye to what was happening right in front of them.

When you looked at it that way, Dusoe had gone to great lengths. This was partly because he harbored different feelings for Yiyeon, but regardless of the cause, Yiyeon owed him a lot and was grateful.

At the same time, however, for that very reason, whenever Yiyeon accepted Dusoe’s help, he never once felt that his touch was gentle, warm, or harmless to him. If he didn’t stay on guard, if he didn’t push Dusoe’s hand away at just the right moment, it felt as though it would flare up like a lit fuse. So he always felt a sense of rejection mixed with guilt.

But for some reason, Hyunhak was different. It had been strange from the moment they first met in the rain-soaked mountains; though he hadn’t realized it at the time because he was in a daze, both Yiyeon and Hyunhak held hands without hesitation and he even went so far as to ride on his back.

Two hands, two eyes, one nose, one mouth – there was nothing particularly different about them – yet while he had found Dusoe’s touch so burdensome, he now described Hyunhak’s touch as affectionate. What was it about Hyunhak that made him different?

They were different. Just looking at their social backgrounds alone, the gap between them was extreme.

Hyunhak seemed completely unconcerned, but strictly speaking, a gap created by society existed between them. It was a difference ingrained over a lifetime, and no matter how casually Hyunhak behaved, that gap could not be bridged overnight. Yet even taking that into account, Yiyeon found Hyunhak’s touch both unfamiliar and comforting.

“Thank you, My Lord.”

Whether apologizing or expressing gratitude in Hyunhak’s presence, he always found himself bowing his head. He thought it might be better to simply keep his head down and always ​stolen content​stare at the ground in his presence, but Yiyeon slowly raised his head.

His thick eyebrows and striking features seemed almost otherworldly. He felt as though he were enjoying a luxury he didn’t deserve. How dare he, a mere rebel who defied the heavens, receive the care of a nobleman of such unparalleled beauty?

And that was not all. Look, even in this desolate landscape, his character, face, and bearing all shone so brilliantly, with not a single flaw to be found; it would have been a waste to spend his life staring only at the ground.

Yiyeon, who would usually hastily avert his gaze the moment his eyes met someone’s, stared at Hyunhak.

Hyunhak looked back at Yiyeon, who usually flushed or hurriedly lowered his gaze whenever their eyes met even slightly. He found it fascinating and novel when Yiyeon stared at him. As expected, as their gazes met, Yiyeon quickly lowered his dark eyes as if he had never been peeking at him.

Hyunhak had wanted to look at him more closely, but when Yiyeon looked away, he frowned in slight frustration. His eyebrows, as rugged as mountain ridges, came down from their peak and undulated like waves.

Yiyeon glanced at Hyunhak’s twitching eyebrows and stifled a laugh. He really had no patience. It was funny that, even though he’d been filled with terrible imaginings and suspicions until Hyunhak walked in, he could still laugh like nothing had ever happened.

In this remote mountain with nothing to entertain them, what were two men supposed to do sitting across from each other? Hyunhak had a lot he wanted to say, but he bit his lip, afraid his true identity might be revealed; Yiyeon, meanwhile, was trying to maintain his dignity and save face.

Eventually, a suffocating silence hung between them. To Yiyeon, whose hearing was impaired, the silence was even deeper because he could not hear even a breath. Yet this stillness didn’t feel suffocating or oppressive. Since Yiyeon’s life had always felt this way, it brought him more peace than being ordered around nonstop like a farmhand.

Yiyeon quietly ran his fingers over the cloth Hyunhak had wrapped around him, but suddenly felt as though he were sitting too close to Hyunhak, so he slid his hips back slightly and curled up.

No matter how dilapidated and cramped the house might be, a small person like Yiyeon could at least stretch out his legs and ​unauthorized copy​lie down. Even though there was plenty of space, he felt guilty about taking up too much room so comfortably, so he curled up like a cornered field mouse.

Hyunhak looked quietly at Yiyeon. As the sun gradually set, darkness fell even within the cozy room. But no one lit a fire. There was an oil lamp in the corner of the room, but there were no candles or oil to burn. It was only natural, given that these were not cheap items. In this remote village, where the sun set early, it was customary to lie down on one’s bedding from the very early evening, before the sun had fully set.

Once the sun had fully set, even the dim light that had been filtering in vanished, and true, pitch-black darkness descended. After all, a night in the forest is always as deep as the forest itself.

However, once the sun had fully set, the silence was broken by the noise of crickets chirping and all manner of animals making their way through the snow, heedless of the winter snow. But to Hyunhak’s ears, it sounded as vivid as if it were happening right before him.

Even in the pitch-black darkness, Hyunhak could see everything as clearly as in broad daylight. Yiyeon, crouched in a ball, was nodding off like a sick chicken; his eyes, red and swollen, would open only briefly before closing again. The moments when his pupils were visible grew shorter and shorter.

In the darkness, a pale yellow light like amber emanated from Hyunhak’s eyes as he gazed at Yiyeon, but overcome by the wave of drowsiness, Yiyeon did not see him. He was aware that Hyunhak was sitting in front of him, but no matter how hard he tried to lift his eyelids, it was no easy task. It was only natural. It was more impressive that he had managed to sit there pretending to be fine all this time, given the state of his body.

First he threw a fit, crying and screaming; then he suddenly acted as if nothing had happened; then he broke down again. It was chaos. Given that he’d been acting like that with his ailing body, it was a miracle he hadn’t fainted long ago.

No one was dragging him away, and Hyunhak wasn’t saying anything, yet even as he dozed off, Yiyeon absolutely refused to lie down. Yiyeon himself might say his stubbornness had softened considerably, but he was still just as headstrong as ever.

Unable to bear watching him like that any longer, Hyunhak reached out to help Yiyeon lie down comfortably. At that, Yiyeon opened his eyes wide and stared at Hyunhak with a startled expression. Even in the darkness, Yiyeon’s eyes were so big and round that, for a moment, Hyunhak felt an impulse to poke them.

“Lie down and sleep.”

“It’s all right, My Lord. You should rest comfortably. I’d be sorry if you [unauthorized copy]were to harm yourself because of a lowly person like me.”

When Hyunhak pointed to the blanket, Yiyeon instead told him to lie down there himself. Finding the gesture both absurd and amusing, Hyunhak let out a wry chuckle, and Yiyeon stared at him with eyes wide awake.

To put it bluntly, Hyunhak was a tiger who could sleep anywhere. It would be ideal to have soft grass, a den to hide in, or a crevice that fit his body perfectly, but he could manage just fine without them. All he had to do was coil up like a snake, tuck his nose into his tail, and drift off to sleep.

In contrast, Yiyeon, being human, was so vulnerable that he could never spend a night alone in the forest, and he was sensitive to temperature changes. On top of that, who was he to worry about anyone else after barely returning from the brink of death?

Hyunhak grabbed the uncooperative Yiyeon and laid him down on the blanket. His body floated briefly before settling back down, making the action look rough, but in reality, it was the exact opposite. Hyunhak paused briefly, leaving just a tiny gap to ensure Yiyeon’s body didn’t hit the floor too hard, then set him down as gently as a feather.

So it was useless to even mention that Yiyeon’s eyes were wide open like a rabbit caught in a tiger’s gaze, and his mind had fled before his body could react.

“You still have a long way to go before you’re fully recovered, so you must be careful. It’s taking too long. ”

“……Yes, My Lord.”

Yiyeon pursed his lips for a moment at Hyunhak’s criticism before answering. It was because he sensed frustration in Hyunhak’s tone when he said he was taking a long time to recover.

Without another word, Yiyeon remained in the position Hyunhak had laid him in, so Hyunhak sat down beside him without hesitation. The useless uninvited guest lay on the soft, warm spot, while the homeowner and master lay on the hard, bare floor, where the cold seeped in.

“Sleep.”

Hyunhak turned his back on Yiyeon, who was lying there like a corpse staring at the ceiling, and lay down. Then, he curled up like a big cat and closed his eyes. Just as Yiyeon’s heartbeat, which had been skipping a beat as if he were nervous, began to subside, he called out to Hyunhak in a voice quieter than a crawling ant.

“……My Lord, are you asleep?”

“…….”

Perhaps he hadn’t asked expecting an answer; the voice calling him “My Lord” was so small. It was a voice so weak it couldn’t even make Hyunhak’s eyebrows twitch.

Hyunhak wasn’t asleep, but he didn’t answer. Instead, he slowly opened his eyes, gazed at the crooked door, and tried to picture Yiyeon lying behind him.

The Yiyeon of old would have guessed that Hyunhak was awake from the slightest change in his breathing, but not now. With his hearing impaired, Yiyeon could not make out the sound. When he saw no movement or response from Hyunhak, he assumed that Hyunhak had put an end to a day made troublesome by an unwelcome guest and went about his own business.

“I’m sorry. How dare a wretch like me….”

It really was audacious. How dare he. Yiyeon whispered in a barely audible voice. His voice was so soft and fragile that it sounded like the cry of a sprout freezing beneath a thick blanket of snow.

“But please, don’t cast me out. If you must cast me out, then rather than doing openly, sell me off somewhere without my knowledge, or beat me to death. Or if that’s not possible, then while I’m asleep, abandon me.”

He was pleading that if Hyunhak’s heart were to change, and he could no longer take him in, he should cast him out without his knowing. For if Yiyeon were to find Read onout, he would surely cry and wail, throwing a tantrum while clinging to Hyunhak’s trousers, making his benefactor’s life even more difficult. He was telling him to cast him out secretly so that he would not know he was being abandoned.

At first, it sounded as if he were instructing him on how to do it, but that request sounded, upon closer listening, like a plea: “Please, don’t do that.”

Hyunhak’s amber eyes glowed in the darkness as he listened to Yiyeon’s whisper.