Chapter Text
A precipice stretched, bridging a gap of stone, raging water beneath. Each jagged rock spire a chapter of life -youth, adulthood, and senectitude- and the spiraling river below, waging war on every pillar, the only victor of hopelessness. Water frothed against sturdy rock walls, sprays of violence, loss of will, a call to jump. Wore down the spirals through decades and yet still they stood strong, grooved by relentless waves but steadily unconvinced.
To swim through frigid white water or scale spiked granite and basalt, with no trail to follow or wake to lead. Palms torn and bloody or blood thick like lead with ice.
In either choice, the threat of resentment is stirred. One might toe off the edge, seeking the release of power as the river sweeps them away. One might cling desperately to the cliff face, staked into the rock with their own spite.
The rocks or the river. A crossroads met with every passing chapter.
In the distance, to the west, a river snaked across the land, low and calm. From it, the farmers irrigated their paddies, the fisherman braved its currents, the merchants drew water to cook, and the people had full wells.
The village worshipped the river, humble shrines built along the banks and within the homes of the villagers themselves. Yellow and red talismans hung on doorways, etched with the characters for water, prosperity, and good fortune.
One billowed in the wind, nailed into the doorframe, clinging on for dear life against the summer breeze outside the small shop where Choi Yeonjun sat. The screens had been opened to the rising sun, letting in the scent of dew evaporating off blades of grass and mist off the river’s green surface. A fresh day. A new one. For the first time in many years, a day not exactly like the ones that came before.
He never worked the shop. The wood grain of the counter beneath his fingertips was unfamiliar, as was the stool he sat on, legs lifted off the ground. More in tune with the shape of his cousin Jiyeon, the seat was hard and cold to him. Yet it was exciting.
His first day not spent in the fields in several months, woken before dawn by his aunt with the simple phrase Jiyeon has come down with a cold, we need you at the shop.
We need you, they had said, and it sent a warm rush through him, making him feel important. A spare emotion as the youngest of six at thirteen years old, with the other five not even being his siblings at all. His aunt and uncle favored them, but how could they not? They were their own children, and Yeonjun was the son of his uncle’s brother. Resentment never brewed in him over this exchange. He was grateful to have anywhere he could call home at all, let alone a home with a roof and four walls, and even more than one room.
He sat promptly at the counter, intent on doing a good job. Although he had little interest in the produce itself, having harvested most of it through back-breaking labor, he envied Jiyeon from time to time, awarded the privilege of sitting, of being out of the sun and under a shaded roof, allowed to chat with others and conduct her entire day without physical strain.
Yeonjun liked the calluses on his hands and the muscles he was slowly building after years of the same labor, but he wouldn’t complain about a break. Of course, it was a shame she had a cold, but Jiyeon fell ill often. His aunt said she was simply frailer than the rest of them, and her body needed more patience. Yeonjun didn’t mind filling in.
There were rules to his brief stint as shopkeeper. He should be polite and helpful, but not too much. The doors should be closed by sundown. His aunt told him quite plainly that he wasn’t allowed to try to pedal in the street, no matter what the other shopkeepers did, and that their neighbors would come to him instead and buy what they needed. Or at least, however much of it they could afford.
So, he sat and waited.
A few people he knew did come into the shop, many of them kids he had grown up with sent by their parents to run errands. Merchant children, mostly, as the farmers’ kids were out in the fields, milking every second of the rising sun to avoid the worst of the heat. A few neighbors came by as well, those who didn’t have to be out for the day, choosing to do their shopping. He exchanged polite words with them, sifted the bags of rice if they asked, and helped pick out their best cabbages.
But he took his job very seriously. He didn’t want to talk too long and disappoint his aunt. He was here to watch over their business, not spend the day chatting. And in fairness, none of the village wanted to engage in conversation long with him, either. Although he had been living with his uncle and aunt for half his life, the community was small and tight-knit, and never truly considered him one of them.
It was evident in the way his neighbors spoke, practiced and careful, afraid of letting it slip that they thought him strange and an omen of bad luck, when their apprehensiveness spoke louder than words ever could. Or the way none of them met his eyes, even kids his own age, warned by their parents not to grow too close with the rice farmer’s nephew.
When he was very young, only having recently been adopted by his uncle, the villagers used to check his palms. He recalled their touch when handing over bags of grain, when exchanging coins for goods and the faint brushing of fingers. The memory of his uncle rolling his palms over and scraping at skin for black marks. Those of the market, the seamstresses, even the head of the village upon his arrival.
They never found what they were looking for. And although it had been many years since, habits of suspicion lingered.
And Yeonjun smiled through them, taking each in stride. Being so young, it never seemed all that strange. He did have a black mark. Right on the back of his right ear. But when he pointed it out to his aunt, she said in a quiet voice that it was superstitious hearsay, and a little mole meant nothing. They were all just looking for an excuse to send him away.
Still, she always tied his hair in a way where it couldn’t be seen.
The sun stretched overhead, midday drawing near, and Yeonjun had already decided he liked this job far more than wading through the fields with grasses up to his waist and hands that were already rough and worn. No sunlight beating down on his sweating back, or the harsh buzzing of summer flies in his ears, or mud caking the soles of his feet. Just cool shade and pleasant conversation.
And although he had no expectations for something exciting to happen, the monotony of his day was briefly interrupted when the sun reached its highest point in the sky.
Another customer entered the shop, a boy just older than him maybe, one Yeonjun didn’t recognize at all. The stranger stood tall, pale and willowy, completely unlike the deeply-tanned people of his village. His robes even seemed strange, light and airy and of the palest blue, flowing like water when he walked.
“Hello,” the stranger greeted him, sounding a little nervous, with round dark eyes and an awkward smile that helped to demystify his appearance. Still, Yeonjun couldn’t help but think he belonged to some other world entirely, and watched him enter in awe.
“Um, hello,” he replied, bowing as it seemed appropriate. Even if he couldn’t place where the boy came from, he had the aura of someone important and therefore demanded respect. Perhaps the son of a wealthy traveling merchant. “Is there anything I can help you find?”
Wearing an odd expression, the boy tilted his head. “I’m not sure. What’s your name?”
Yeonjun blinked, but answered, “Choi Yeonjun.”
People rarely asked him questions. Let alone requested his name. After all, he had known the same few families all his life. It did not seem appropriate to ask for the same in return.
Glancing around the shop, the boy asked, “What’s your favorite herb, Choi Yeonjun?”
“Um.” He looked over the shelves, then at the drawers. Another strange question, but it would be impolite not to answer. He was trying to uphold their shop’s reputation. “I like cardamom. My aunt makes sweets with it during the harvest moon.”
Smiling, the boy nodded in understanding. His skin was milky and free from all blemishes, as beautiful as the princes in paintings Yeonjun sometimes glimpsed being sold by artisans on special market days. “That’s a good choice. Mine is lavender.”
“Why is that?” he asked, frowning in confusion. “You can’t cook with it.”
“You can if you’re determined enough,” the boy disagreed, and Yeonjun couldn’t help but think, although they only looked a year or two apart, he spoke so differently from him. “But I don’t use it to cook. I use it to make paint.”
“Are you an artist?”
Maybe he was traveling through on his way to a bigger market.
Smiling as though he’d said something funny, the stranger shrugged. “Something to that effect. Do you have any?”
It took Yeonjun a moment to realize that he spoke like a scholar, perplexingly eloquent for someone yet to even reach adulthood. Yeonjun felt a little slow listening to him.
“We do,” Yeonjun confirmed, and slipped out from behind the counter, pulling open a drawer. Inside sat rows of tiny ceramic jars, all filled with various herbs. Their stock came from a combination of merchant trades and their own fields. While his aunt and uncle planted and harvested produce, his cousins were tasked with growing herbs and spices. That way, they always had something to sell even when the growing season was over, because they could dry the herbs and have them stay good year-round. Their fields were small, but watered by the river, and always bore a full harvest.
“Might as well add a jar of cardamom as well,” the stranger decided, and so Yeonjun retrieved two of the little pots, holding them carefully by their wide necks.
“The whole jar?” he asked, and the stranger nodded.
“It’s best to stock up for the season.”
Yeonjun marveled at the idea of having that much money to spend on spices, but kept his mouth shut. He was doing good business, after all. He brought the herbs over to the counter to weigh them, but before he could do so, the boy simply dropped a pouch on the counter.
Curious, Yeonjun pried it open, only to find it full of genuine bronze pieces, far more than necessary for two jars of herbs. He had never seen so much money in his life. “I don’t think-”
“That will cover it, yes?”
“Um, y-yes,” he replied faintly.
“Good,” he said, and waited patiently for Yeonjun to pour his purchases into separate small bags and tie them shut. When Yeonjun placed the bags in his outstretched palm, the boy glanced up, head cocked to the side as though listening for something. “It’s going to rain later,” he informed him, corners of his lips curved in a smile. “You’ll want to close up shop a little early.”
“Oh. Alright.”
How could this odd boy hear the rain? Even as they spoke, the sun’s rays stretched across the sky, bathing the whole street in warm light. And the sky was a rich blue, no clouds in sight. But this boy sounded wholly convinced, tucking his bags into the sleeves of his robes.
And without saying anything else, the stranger swept out of the room, robes billowing behind him as if on a wake of white-water foam.
Yeonjun returned to sorting their stock after that, taking bundles of fresh pulls from the girls’ gardens and laying them out to dry just under the shop’s awning. But the boy stayed on his mind.
He must be traveling. There was no other explanation for why someone like that -so clearly not from any neighboring village- would come through his home.
Still, why would he stop only to buy two jars of herbs? That made no sense, no matter which way Yeonjun looked at it. Was he planning on painting during his travels? Cooking an exotic meal?
Yeonjun’s mind wandered to him throughout the day, especially as he finished the shop’s menial tasks and found himself back behind the counter with virtually nothing to do.
The boy’s appearance was simply the most fascinating thing to happen to Yeonjun since he could remember. He should have followed him, he thought fleetingly. He should have pursued him just to see where he came from. Where he was going. Did he have other people with him? Did those people look just like him, tall and pale with big round eyes and perfect pink lips? Did they wear their black silky hair in the same high updo, tied with bands of silk and blue beads?
It was a shame, because if he was a traveler, then he was probably long gone by now. Their village didn’t have any place for him to stay, unless he found lodging with one of the shopkeepers or families.
Deciding to stretch his legs and clear his head, Yeonjun emerged from behind the counter, past the screens where the floor changed from wood and rolled mats to dirt and well-worn stone. Maybe he could catch a glimpse of him outside. Wishful thinking, certainly, but it was a fun idea to entertain.
The sunlight washed his face of the shadows worn inside the shop, brightening him with the lifted weight of dim light. He inhaled, breathing in the fresh river air. Down the street, vendors hawked wares, an eclectic mix of household necessities, stacks of talismans, and the occasional rare piece of woodwork or small sculpture, their chatter and calls a familiar din. Art was intended only for the wealthy, and Yeonjun had learned a long time ago not to admire things he would never have.
The scent of grilling fish reminded him he hadn’t eaten since last night’s rice, but he just stepped back from the tantalizing promise of a real meal. The coins in his pocket were not his own. They weren’t meant to be spent on frivolities.
However, another scent hung in the air, the rich smoky scent of burned paper, and Yeonjun followed it with his nose only to realize it came from the talisman his uncle had nailed outside the shop door. The bottom had been singed, lines of black creeping up the thick yellow paper and cutting it off in a charred line. But strangely, the lower characters for prosperity and good fortune looked relatively untouched while a large black circle of char occupied the spot where the character for water was once written, now completely burned away.
Yeonjun pinched the ends between his fingers, only to find the paper still hot to the touch, and quickly rescinded his hand. He glanced down the street, but saw no other ruined talismans, the rest pristine and perfectly inked. It was odd, but there wasn’t really anything he could do about it at the moment. More than likely, one of the food vendors had passed by with an open flame and caught the paper on fire by accident. It didn’t really explain how only the character for water had been marred, or why the flames didn’t consume the talisman entirely, but Yeonjun could offer no other explanation.
Despite glancing both ways down the street, he saw nothing else out of place.
However, a commotion stirred in the street as a group of boys raced by, throwing an apple back and forth between them. One they had probably stolen from a passing vendor. They were boys he recognized, sons of those working in the market. Loud and raucous, they called out to each other, kicking up dust with their bare feet, hair tied in messy buns. The boys who dreamed of leaving the village to join the king’s guard, copying the dress of capitol boys and sparring often in the woods opposite the river.
Yeonjun used to be one of them. And felt a brief pang as he watched them run freely, joy and the fire for life in their eyes and smiles. They ran down the street, uncaring of whether they bumped into anyone, just intent on chasing after one another.
But one wore an airy burgundy top and black pants, and skidded to a stop just in front of his family’s house. “What are you doing here?” he asked, voice light and clear, regarding Yeonjun curiously.
A year or so ago, Yeonjun used to consider Kang Taehyun a friend. But he felt wary now as he replied, “Jiyeon doesn’t feel well again. I’m watching the shop.”
Taehyun nodded, and took the time to readjust his hair, wide eyes glancing down the street as one of his friends yelled out, getting tackled to the ground by another. Some of the merchants were scolding them now, as a few baskets had been knocked askew from their playing, but everyone wore the same indulgent expression. The village’s children were raised by all. At least, the children they regarded as their own.
“Youngwoo made new swords. We’re going to spar down by the river. You should come.”
The swords were wood, firm but blunt. Not deadly. He remembered the weight of one in his hands, how they used to resolve all their petty little fights on the shores of the river. The blisters, and splinters, and the elation he took for granted when he had friends.
Yeonjun tried to keep his expression neutral, even though it was so obvious that Taehyun was goading him. How gullible did he think he was? “The shop is open for another few hours. I can’t.”
“Can’t Yewon watch the shop?”
“No, she’s helping Naeun tie the herbs for autumn.”
“Yeongja?”
“Sewing with my aunt.”
“Hayun?”
Yeonjun frowned, wondering why Taehyun was so desperately grasping at possibilities. “Hayun is helping your sister today. Don’t you remember?”
Taehyun came from a family of woodworkers, making furniture for much of the village. Yeonjun’s third-oldest cousin often helped his mother and sister make cushions and blankets. The women were close. Many thought Hayun would eventually marry into the family, but Taehyun had yet to show any interest in her, despite the encouragement of both their families.
“It’s not my responsibility to know my sister’s business,” he replied with a careless shrug as though it should be obvious. “And you never have any fun. Come with us.”
Yeonjun crossed his arms, leaning against the wood behind him as he tried to figure out what was going on. “I thought I wasn’t good enough to hang out with you guys anymore.”
Taehyun rolled his eyes. “You know it was never like that. You just took what Youngwoo said and ran with it.”
“He always has something rude to say about me.”
“That’s just how he is, you know that. He even talks to his own father that way. It was never personal. I don’t understand why you got so upset about the whole thing.”
Yeonjun lifted his chin. “It felt personal.”
The villagers all said the same things about him. Behind his back, gossiped in whispers only once doors were closed. And last year, the rest of the boys finally began to realize what their parents were saying. Some became scared of him. And some started to pick on him, repeating the things their parents said. Either way, he became an outcast.
“What, you want him to say sorry?” Taehyun snorted. “It’s never going to happen.”
“No.” He wasn’t that childish. He would be a man in due time, and he knew it wasn’t respectable to be so sensitive. “I just don’t want to be treated like a curse.”
“Well…no offense, Yeonjun, but you are kind of strange. Bad luck or something.”
“Bad things just happen around me, it’s not my fault,” he disagreed, and oddly enough, Taehyun laughed. Misfortune was known to befall him in the strangest of ways, typically in the form of things falling down across his path. Pots toppling, branches cracking overhead, chairs knocking over, he even had someone drop their shoes on him once from a rooftop. General clumsiness was his natural excuse, despite him never being involved in the first place, and the village accepted it. Mostly. “Speaking of,” he said, then turned, pointing at the talisman tacked up by the door. “Look at this.”
Taehyun stepped forward and peered at the talisman, big eyes noticing all the same strange imperfections Yeonjun had earlier, and then he frowned. “Did you do that?”
“No!” He would never do something so disrespectful, it was like asking misfortune to fall on his family’s home. “I found it like that earlier.”
“The scorch marks don’t look normal,” Taehyun observed, and Yeonjun nodded.
“That’s what I thought, too. Have you seen any others like this?”
“Others? No. But I’d tell your uncle about it. You know how they feel about the talismans.”
It was true what his aunt had said: The older generation were far more superstitious, especially about the river, preserving stone shrines by the banks and praying to the deity each harvest, or every time a boat set off from shore. They would probably take something like this very seriously. To them, disrespecting the river was one of the greatest offenses one could commit. Having not grown up in the village, Yeonjun did not understand their veneration, but he understood the river’s importance to the way their community thrived. And so he tried to afford it the same respect as anyone else.
“I’ll tell him before dinner. Although, knowing him, he’ll surely want to find whoever did it.”
Taehyun shrugged. “Then let him. It’s for the best, honestly. We don’t want anyone making a habit of burning talismans. I’m not that superstitious, but it feels like bad luck.” Then he glanced at him. “So, are you coming to the river or not?”
Admittedly, Yeonjun was tempted. It had been so long since the other boys invited him along to anything. Yeonjun thought he would be lonely forever. As much as he liked his cousins, they were all older and it got tiring spending all that time with five girls. He wanted to run, get in fights, play in the river, and dream of going to the capitol one day.
But his aunt had trusted him with this responsibility. He wanted to prove to her that she could rely on him. As the only boy, he had a duty to his family. He needed to put them first.
So, despite his reluctance, he shook his head. “I have to watch the shop,” Yeonjun said, remaining steadfast.
“Suit yourself,” Taehyun replied immediately, like he was already expecting Yeonjun’s response. “I probably won’t invite you again, though.”
Taehyun was blunt. Many people mistook it for rudeness, but Yeonjun understood him a little better. He was just being honest. More upfront than most would like, truth be told, but it spared Yeonjun the trouble of trying to figure out what was on his mind. Taehyun was the only person his own age he could count on to not lie to his face. It kept them tentative friends, even now.
“They wouldn’t like me coming anyway. But it was nice of you to ask.”
Shouting voices came from down the road, and Yeonjun could see the rest of the boys waving their arms and calling out to Taehyun. Instinctively, he pulled farther back into the shadows of his home.
Taehyun glanced their way, waving them off. “Well, I like hanging out with you. I think you’re odd, but you also don’t follow Youngwoo blindly, so it’s a good change of pace. Anyway, I’ll try to convince Youngwoo to keep the swords down by the river so we can go when they’re not around. See you later, Yeonjun.”
Yeonjun nodded, appreciating the gesture and the way he still kept the hand of friendship extended. “See you.”
He retreated inside after that, discontent with the loneliness brewing in his chest, and wishing for the first time that day that he had his field work to throw himself into. Running the store proved to be far less strenuous, but it also gave him way too much time with his own thoughts. With no prickly stalks or sharp tools to be mindful of, his mind was free to wander in all sorts of directions he typically never let it go. He wanted to be frustrated with the sunshine and the sticky grain on his fingers. Not the painful jab that the other village boys had cut him out of their circle, but continued the games he helped start without him.
It was their shared dream to go to the capitol. One Yeonjun brought up first because his parents were from there. His uncle had told him. It wasn’t where he was born, but he felt an inexplicable longing to see the place they spent most of their lives. Apparently, his father worked for the king. That was what his uncle always said. He was an important man, with power and respect. Until he left his post to settle down with his mother in the south and start a family.
What a noble sacrifice to make. His uncle hadn’t seemed so impressed when telling him the story, but Yeonjun was in awe of his father and his selflessness. From then on, that was the kind of man he vowed to become. One who would put his family above everything, and make any sacrifice necessary to keep them safe.
He just wished he had more memories of his father, apart from his wide smile and small crescent eyes, and the rough feel of his palm enclosed around his own. Something in Yeonjun’s heart insisted that he must have been a kind man, a good man, because all his memories, blurry as they were, featured that smile.
Although his uncle never smiled at him, Yeonjun never felt like he was a bad man. Just a busy man, with too much on his plate and not enough time in the world. A farmer, a merchant, a father of five. He made his own sacrifices, and Yeonjun knew he was one of those. To squeeze his brother’s son into his own full family…it must have been difficult. They were so many mouths to feed.
That, he supposed, was why they worshipped the river. Bringer of water and food, their village’s source of vitality. They could only live because the river ran through their valley.
What a strange choice, then, to burn the talismans hung in honor of that which gave them life. Even the other boys in the village surely weren’t that stupid.
Whoever it was must have done it at night, he thought to himself, as he measured out their dried stores for packaging. Were they targeting Yeonjun’s home specifically? For what purpose? His neighbors liked and respected his family, even if they didn’t harbor much love for him. Merchants bought their crops and sold them in villages to the south. Many of the families here relied on their herbs to treat seasonal ailments.
Yeonjun had a basketful of guesses but no answers, and so he bottled his questions for later and focused on the task at hand. It had been an afternoon full of oddities.
A little past dusk, his aunt came to relieve him. She surveyed the shop, certainly looking for error, but didn’t seem to find anything outstandingly offensive. Although, her fingers reached for a few of the shelved baskets and readjusted them just so, nose twitching as she did it.
“Let me see how much money we made,” she ordered, and he pulled out the drawer holding the day’s bronze pieces. And then, reluctantly, he added the pouch from the strange boy to the stack. His aunt frowned, taking it into her hands, and once she felt the weight, her eyes narrowed. “What is this?”
“A boy came this morning. He wasn’t from here. He bought a jar of lavender and a jar of cardamom.”
His aunt shook the bag, still giving him a skeptical look. “Even two jars of dried herbs aren’t with this much. You overcharged him. You’re going to give us a bad reputation.”
Defensively, he rushed to clarify. “I told him he had overpaid, but he didn’t seem to care. He just asked if the sack was enough and left.”
Thankfully, she took him at his word and gave a small shake of her head. “I will never understand the wealthy. Listen closely, Yeonjun-ah. If you ever become that rich, don’t let it make you stupid. Intelligence will always put more food on the table. Your mind is the gift that keeps on giving. Understand?”
“Yes.”
As if anyone in their village would ever have the chance to amass such great wealth. It was fun to imagine, though.
Just as they rolled the screens shut and clamped them down for the night, a crack of thunder sounded. Yeonjun and his aunt exchanged looks- the skies had been clear only minutes ago. It must have seemed like a strange turn of the weather, even to her, because she rolled the screen back up and stuck her head outside. Curious, Yeonjun fit himself carefully beside her and surveyed the sky.
A blanket of grey clouds streamed in overhead, as if brought on by the waves of a great river. They moved swiftly, with purpose, gathering for their singular duty of watering the land. Another clap of thunder echoed off the cobbled stone streets and then a splinter of lightning lit up the sky in the distance. Cool wind stirred the packed earth and fallen summer leaves, brushing Yeonjun’s bangs as it swept past.
And then the rain began, sudden and certain, a downpour without preamble. His aunt reeled back in surprise as rain pelted their faces and slammed the screen shut. Yeonjun suppressed a giggle and crouched to help her tie it down. An intense storm like the one brewing outside could damage their stores if they weren’t careful.
“Summer rains come and go without warning,” his aunt muttered more to herself than to him, checking the ties on the other screens. And then to him, “Whoever claims to know the weather is either a fraud or an evil spirit, Yeonjun-ah. Don’t trust anyone who says so.”
“The boy who came earlier told me it was going to rain today,” he informed her absentmindedly as he covered the open baskets.
“A lucky guess,” his aunt dismissed. “Or something worse. In fact, if he had as much money as you say, I’m more likely to believe he’s walking misfortune. If you see him again, don’t speak to him.”
Yeonjun understood her fear, and the more he thought about it, the more sense it made. The boy was probably a conjurer, or related to one. A possessed spirit practicing dark magic. He simply looked too otherworldly to be anything else.
Chills crept up Yeonjun’s spine, realizing he had been so close to something so evil. Everyone warned of conjurers in the same way: they take hold of spirits possessing beautiful bodies so they can appear charismatic and kind. They infiltrate the mind and the soul, twisting it to fit their goals. They have unnatural powers that can alter the very fabric of the world around them, born from some sort of blood pact or spiritual exchange with a demonic force.
But the boy from earlier seemed so harmless. Mysterious and quiet, certainly, but he had a gentle air about him.
Or he was deceiving Yeonjun. What if the herbs he sold him were part of some horrible ritual? Something like-
He balked at the direction of his thoughts, a wave of fear and guilt threatening to overwhelm him.
“Auntie? You don’t really think he was a…conjurer…do you?”
His aunt shot him a sharp look, and clearly opened her mouth to reprimand him for speaking of such a taboo topic, then hesitated.
If anyone had the right to ask, it was him.
“I don’t know,” she eventually answered, sweeping the day’s coins into a basket. “I didn’t see him.” Then she looked at him and sighed before gently ruffling his hair. “I wouldn’t worry about it, Yeonjun-ah. You said he was young?”
He nodded, and started to follow her down the hall that led to the rest of their home. “Just a little older than me, I think.”
“He might have just been the son of a merchant passing through.”
“That’s what I thought, but…”
“But what?” She paused, balancing the coin basket on her hip.
“Well, when I went outside for a short break, I noticed the talisman beside the door had been vandalized.”
His aunt frowned, making lines appear at the corners of her eyes that shouldn’t be there for another few years yet. “What do you mean?”
“The character for water had been burned away. The rest of it was alright, though.”
Her lips pressed together in a thin line and she was silent for a moment before saying, “I’ll ask your uncle about it later. Don’t bring it up during dinner. Understand?”
“Yes.”
True to his word, he kept quiet about the day’s incident. Rain continued to pound down on the roof through dinner, and his uncle was oddly subdued throughout the evening. As Yeonjun and his cousins cleaned up after their simple meal, voices could be heard coming down the hall from the small room his aunt and uncle shared.
“Yeonjun says the talisman by the shop entrance was vandalized.”
Hayun must have heard her mother speak, because she shot Yeonjun a questioning look. He mouthed, What? back at her but she just glanced towards their room.
“Vandalized?” his uncle said sharply. “How so?”
“He said it was burned.”
Without waiting for his aunt to elaborate anymore, his uncle swept out of the room, barking a short, “Come here, boy. Leave the tidying to the women.”
Yewon made a quiet pointed noise in the back of her throat, and Yeonjun felt bad leaving them to clean by themselves, but his uncle stood by the entryway, waiting with a burning impatient gaze for him to follow, so Yeonjun could only mutter a quick, “Sorry, I’ll be back in a moment,” to the four of them before trailing after his uncle.
Seeing him in tow, his uncle marched through the door that connected the shop to the rest of the house and said, “Tell me what you told your aunt.”
“About the talisman?”
“Of course, what else?” he snapped.
Yeonjun stared at him, confused as to why he was reacting so strongly. According to his aunt, his father and uncle looked very much alike, only his father was taller and broader. Yeonjun always clung to little details like that when looking at his uncle, hoping to see his father in him and recognize the man who spent his earliest years with him, but he simply couldn’t imagine them having similar temperaments. Distinctly, Yeonjun recalled his father being gentle and joyful. He saw none of those traits in his uncles tired, lined eyes.
“Um, I stepped outside earlier for some air and I noticed it had been burned,” he explained slowly. “I thought it was most likely an accident, though.”
“Show me,” his uncle ordered, and Yeonjun reluctantly untied one of the screens, despite the storm sweeping through the street. Immediately, the rain battered him, but he held it open for his uncle to walk through, before dropping it and following him outside under the awning.
Yeonjun pointed at the talisman, fluttering in the harsh wind. The remaining characters for prosperity and good fortune remained intact, as the ink all the village’s talismans were written in was waterproof, but that only made the scorching of the water character that much more obvious.
His uncle’s expression darkened and he reached out to grab it, holding the thick paper by its corner for a moment and simply staring. He ran his thumb over the burnt edges, back and forth, before finally glancing back at Yeonjun.
“Do you know how this happened?”
The bewilderment in his voice only reinforced Yeonjun’s intuition that the situation was anything but normal.
He shook his head. “It was like that when I found it.”
His uncle lingered there, both of them getting utterly drenched, before he finally let it go and stepped back. “Well, there’s nothing to be done about it now. Tomorrow, you can visit the market and buy a replacement.”
“Yes, Uncle.”
At least his uncle hadn’t blamed him for it. Although Yeonjun thought it was unlikely, there was always the voice in the back of his head, whispering that his uncle was just waiting for an excuse to get rid of him. His life would be so much easier if he didn’t have to carry the burden of raising his nephew. Yeonjun saw it in his eyes sometimes. He did his best to be quiet, respectful, and mind his duties, but it never felt like enough to prove his worth.
“Go get dry,” his uncle commanded brusquely after Yeonjun re-tied the screens and followed him back into the house.
He nodded and hurried to his room. He was the only member of the house to have a room to himself, as his uncle believed sharing with the girls would have been inappropriate. It was small and dark, confined only to a mat on the floor and a rough wooden chest of clothes, but it was his, and he was grateful to have any space for himself at all.
As he shucked off his soaked clothes, hastily untying his loose summer robe and tossing it aside to be washed, it struck him that he hadn’t seen Jiyeon all evening. Yeonjun rushed to redress, then left, knocking on the wood beside the curtain adjacent from his.
A small cough came from inside, followed by a small hoarse, “Yes?”
“It’s me,” Yeonjun said, sympathetic towards his cousin and never-ending bouts with seasonal colds. “How are you feeling?”
“Oh, I’ll be alright,” she replied good-naturedly, although her quiet voice barely penetrated the fabric separating them.
“Have you eaten?”
“I’m not hungry.”
“At least have a bit of broth or something,” he persuaded. Jiyeon needed sustenance in her stomach, or else she would never have the energy to get better.
It took a moment, but eventually she agreed in a pitiful voice, “Alright.”
“I’ll be back,” he promised, then traipsed back into the kitchen, where Yeongja and Naeun were still cleaning up. Hayun had apparently been pulled away by her mother for something, and Yewon had done an excellent job of disappearing after dinner as she always did. The pot of broth that had been used for dinner still sat on the cooking fire, although it had gone cold, so Yeonjun relit the clay enclosure and fetched a bowl.
“What are you doing?” Yeongja inquired, watching anxiously over his shoulder like she always did. After an incident in which he’d taken on the responsibility of tending the fire and nearly burned down their sparse cushions from a few runaway embers, for some reason she no longer trusted him around an open flame.
“I’m getting a bowl for Jiyeon,” he answered, and made a point of retreating back towards the fire so she knew he was being responsible.
“Oh. Alright.” Despite conceding, Yeongja still sat herself beside him and primly crossed her legs, arms folded perfectly on her lap.
His uncle came into the room only a few moments later, also sporting a change of clothes, and asked, “Yeonjun, what are you doing? Are you still hungry?”
“No, I’m just fetching some broth for Jiyeon.”
His uncle frowned, and replied curtly, “Let Yeongja do that. Go to bed.”
“It’ll only be a minute,” Yeonjun protested. The pot wouldn’t take long to heat up.
“It’s not your job to tend the cooking fire. Leave it for your cousin to do.” Both his tone and stony expression left little room for argument.
“I’ll take care of it,” Yeongja said quietly, and so Yeonjun had no choice but to stand with his head bowed and do as he was told.
“And what about you?” his uncle rounded on his cousin while Yeonjun was still well-within earshot. “Why are you still tending the kitchen in my house and not a husband’s?”
A well-trodden topic under their roof. Hearing his uncle start it up again out of nowhere had Yeonjun wincing, feeling nothing but pity for his oldest cousin.
“One must have suitors to get married.” Yeongja still spoke quietly, but she sounded bitter, talking more to the fire rather than anyone in the room. As the eldest, it had slowly become a deep-seated fear of hers, that she would die an old maid. Yeonjun had heard her crying to Naeun about it more than once.
“Why don’t you have any, then? You’re a nice girl, decent looking, and you know how to take care of a home. There are plenty of single young men in the village.”
“I don’t know, father,” she replied after a heavy beat passed, and sighed. “I’m sorry.”
His uncle just snorted and shook his head, and Yeonjun quickly kept walking before he was reprimanded for eavesdropping.
As he lay in bed that night, it dawned on him that today was quite possibly the most exciting day he had experienced in years. First, his aunt shook him awake, telling him that he would get to work the shop. And then the stranger who came in, frigidly beautiful in a way that felt entirely exotic and new, followed by an even icier fear when Yeonjun realized he may have been an evil spirit. And then there was his discovery of the burned talisman, which even his uncle thought was strange.
And the rain. Overhead, the storm raged, skies either in mourning or at war, pounding against the siding of their home, thunder shaking the earth. Tables and chairs rattled from every strike, drowning out even the river swirling from the onslaught. Loud and primal, leaving Yeonjun completely awestruck, laying with his eyes wide open.
Needless to say, he did not sleep that night. It shouldn’t have been an issue, given that he would likely only be in the shop again tomorrow. Little did he know that he had many months of restless nights to come, and therefore his last night of restful sleep passed soundlessly, without fanfare, completely inconsequential. Yet he would long for months for the warm embrace of peaceful sleep. As it were, he lay awake. Rain pelted the roof in droves, and washed their village anew. A flood of tears preparing Yeonjun’s little world for rebirth. Or rather, for devastating decay.