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The torrential rain poured relentlessly for three entire days. Though he couldn’t be absolutely certain whether it had been three days or two, it certainly felt like three.

When will this rain ever stop?

Surviving solely on the few white honey pastries Yeom-gon had brought, Kang-soe’s stomach was practically fused to his spine by the third day. The meager rations he had packed in his own bundle had mysteriously vanished, not a single grain of barley left to be found.

I’m starving, but surprisingly, I still have a bit of energy. Maybe because I haven’t moved an inch.

Usually, starvation saps the strength right out of a man, leaving him unable to lift a finger. Yet he felt capable of moving. He just couldn’t. Trapped in a cave echoing with the sound of rushing water, he constantly feared the waters would rise and swallow them. By some geographical miracle, however, the spot where they sat remained untouched by the surges. Everywhere else, the water roared—plunging downward, sweeping sideways, flowing with violent urgency.

Over the course of those three days, Yeom-gon and Kang-soe conversed sporadically. The lingering tension between them kept their exchanges brief. If Kang-soe asked, “What happened to the salt merchant?” Yeom-gon would reply, “He met his destined fate, that is all.” If he asked, “Why was the fool so cruel to his bride?” Yeom-gon would answer, “He only acted upon what he had been taught to see,” and clamp his mouth shut. With answers like that, how could anyone hold a conversation? Feeling like he was talking to a stone wall, Kang-soe often simply kept his mouth shut.

The cave was pitch black, so they spent most of their time trying to sleep, but even that had its limits. After sleeping for what felt like ages, his eyes would snap open, wide awake, staring into impenetrable darkness, unable to drift off again.

With raging waters completely isolating their small perch, movement was impossible. Having eaten so little, he had no need to relieve his bowels, and the urge to urinate had grown infrequent. By the third day, even that had vanished, leaving him to sit in agonizing stillness. Sitting frozen for so long made him incredibly restless. Unable to bear the silence, Kang-soe asked again.

“Hyung-nim.”

“What is it?”

“…How much longer is this rain going to last?”

“How am I supposed to know that?”

“Still. A man like you, Hyung-nim…”

You aren’t even human, he almost blurted out, but clamped his mouth shut just in time. Don’t push your luck. Don’t push your luck. He repeated the mantra a thousand times in his head. Kang-soe was so profoundly bored his entire body felt twisted in knots. Yet attempting friendly banter with Yeom-gon still felt impossibly awkward.

Come to think of it, I don’t think I’ve ever been friendly with him.

Terrified of the man since day one, had he ever spoken to him comfortably? Kang-soe shot a sideways glare into the dark, aiming for where he assumed Yeom-gon sat. He couldn’t see a thing, but he could feel the man’s body heat. In a cave filled with roaring, ice-cold water, Yeom-gon was the sole source of warmth.

After the initial day of rest, they had kissed twice a day. Yeom-gon had pardoned him on the first day, claiming Kang-soe’s body needed to recover from the shock, but there was no such mercy on the days that followed. Though his own attempt to flee had certainly played a part, Yeom-gon had pinned him down, securing all four limbs, and forced his lips upon his.

Had he ever kissed anyone in his entire life?

When something soft and yielding pressed against his lips, Kang-soe froze. Trembling violently like a dragonfly caught in a spider’s web, he felt his lips part as a wet, slippery muscle invaded his mouth. The horrifying image of slug-like snails flashed in his mind, and unable to bear it, he whipped his head away—earning a stern reprimand. Yeom-gon acknowledged it wasn’t an easy task but insisted they had no other choice. A dizzying mix of scolding and coaxing scrambled Kang-soe’s mind until he finally nodded in reluctant submission.

But it wasn’t successful on the first try. Yeom-gon had explained that a simple press of lips wasn’t enough; their energies had to connect deeply to transfer his spiritual power. But having another man’s wet tongue shoved down his throat? How could anyone stay still for that? Panic made Kang-soe jerk his head away repeatedly before they finally managed to hold the connection.

His lips were swollen, his breath ragged. His mouth was smeared with saliva—he didn’t even know whose—and his entire body felt lethargic, drained of all energy. The process took a long time, and Yeom-gon kept instructing him to breathe, but he couldn’t manage it. Breathe through your nose, Yeom-gon had said, but how the hell was he supposed to do that? Maybe it’ll be better today, Kang-soe thought, suddenly feeling profoundly embarrassed.

Come to think of it, isn’t it about time?

The memory of that slippery texture made him shudder violently. Sensing his nervous silence, Yeom-gon spoke first.

“Am I making you uncomfortable?”

“…A little?”

He’s going to scold me if I don’t answer. But the moment the quick reply left his lips, he regretted his haste. He couldn’t see Yeom-gon’s expression, but he swore his cheeks prickled under an intense, unseen stare.

“Why?”

The blunt question, delivered as if Yeom-gon truly couldn’t fathom the reason, left Kang-soe momentarily speechless. He blinked slowly in the dark. Now he was wide awake.

“I absorbed a piece of your bride, Hyung-nim. I feel terrible about it. What other reason could there be?”

I may not look it, but I have a conscience too.

Kang-soe heard a sharp exhale that sounded suspiciously like a scoff, but decided to pretend he hadn’t.

“I was burning to get married not too long ago myself. Hearing that your bride met such a fate right at your doorstep… I can only imagine how you feel, Hyung-nim. I may be uneducated, but I’m not a complete idiot, so I can at least grasp the magnitude of your sorrow.”

“You wished to marry?”

Click.

A small pebble near his foot tumbled off the ledge, splashing into the rushing water below. Feeling as though he had said something he shouldn’t have, Kang-soe scratched the back of his head and offered a sheepish laugh. In broad daylight, he never would have shared such a thing, but trapped in pitch darkness, alone with this man, and driven half-mad by boredom, the words tumbled out unbidden.

“When you marry, you gain family, don’t you?”

I wanted blood relatives to take my side.

Curling into a ball, Kang-soe confessed his deepest desire. My family. My wife. My children. A bond forged in blood, unbreakable and absolute. His heart had always ached with envy for such ties.

“Do you not have family now?”

“Well, I do, but…”

The son Scholar Kim picked off the streets. Scholar Kim’s dutiful, adopted son. The stray. The idiot. The half-wit. Kang-soe recalled the countless labels slapped onto him. No matter how devotedly he served them, those titles clung to him like a curse, impossible to erase.

“Blood is thicker than water. Just wait till that stray gets his own wife and kids. Think he’ll ever look back at Scholar Kim’s house?”

“We wouldn’t even have the right to complain if he packed up and left right now.”

“That’s exactly why we need to keep his pants tied tight. If he catches fire with some random girl, it’s game over. If we want to keep sucking the marrow from his bones, we can’t let him get married.”

The disembodied voices echoed in his mind. The whispers he’d overheard while walking the paths or working the fields still haunted him. Why did he let the idle gossip of others cut so deep? It felt as though a cold rain was falling inside his very soul.

“…But what?”

When Kang-soe trailed off and fell silent, Yeom-gon poked him sharply in the ribs. Ouch. It genuinely hurt, not an exaggerated whine. Nursing his ribs, Kang-soe forced a cheerful tone.

“My mother and father are getting on in years. My older brothers are married, my sister is married. So I figured it’s about time I went too. That’s what I was thinking.”

“But it did not go well?”

Kang-soe nodded grimly.

“Why did it not go well? Did the women say they disliked you?”

“There were no women of marriageable age in our village, only little brats, so we had to hire a matchmaker to look in the neighboring village, but…”

“And? Did they find you lacking?”

“Oh, please! Look at me! Sure, I might be a little short, but I’m a respected ginseng gatherer! I have a house and my own plot of land, even if it’s small! Who would turn me down? And m-my face isn’t too bad either!”

Kang-soe blustered, boasting that women had lined up by the dozens, before his face flushed hot with embarrassment. The truth was, before the matchmaker could even be hired, his mother caught wind of his plan and beat him mercilessly. She had rolled up his trouser legs and whipped his calves until raised, angry red welts appeared. It was humiliating to admit, but the pain had been so intense he had locked himself in his room and cried. Whether Yeom-gon saw through the lie or not, he burst into genuine laughter.

“Haha. Who marries a man for his face? A man’s true worth is proven at night. Just because you work the fields well during the day doesn’t mean women will be lining up to marry you.”

He was subtly mocking him. Kang-soe knew it, but his pride flared nonetheless.

“I only lack experience! If I had the chance, I’m confident I’d be excellent at it!”

“Excellent at what?”

“At the night work!”

“At the night work, you say?”

“Yes! Of course!”

Kang-soe declared with unwavering confidence. If I learn, I can be good at anything. When he first started farming, he didn’t know a weed from a crop, but now he could weed a field blindfolded. Not that he was stupid enough to actually close his eyes, but still. Everyone is clumsy at first. Who is born a master of the bedchamber? Experience builds skill. Kang-soe staunchly defended his hypothetical prowess.

“I have three older brothers, and two of them are married. You think I wouldn’t hear stories?”

In truth, he knew absolutely nothing. He was always too busy working himself to the bone to earn money; there was never time for bawdy talk. The significant age gap between him and his brothers contributed to that gap in his education. He had never even held a girl’s hand; what could he possibly know? Still, there was one singular piece of advice he had managed to overhear.

“Nine shallow, one deep. Three left, three right. Engage but do not release.”

Under his elderly mother’s strict surveillance, the others had only teased him and kept their secrets, but the old leather-worker at the market had casually tossed him this phrase. Being entirely uneducated, Kang-soe had no idea what the Hanja characters meant; he had simply memorized the sound and rhythm. However, Yeom-gon—clearly a highly educated nobleman—understood the meaning instantly and voiced genuine astonishment.

“Well, if you know that, then what could possibly be difficult? Do you actually know what it means?”

“Do you think I’m an idiot? Would I memorize it if I didn’t know the meaning? Haha. Well, you know… you just have to do it well. Why are you picking apart the details? Geez.”

Terrified Yeom-gon would quiz him further, Kang-soe hastily changed the subject. Yeom-gon surely saw right through him, but graciously let it slide, silently listening as Kang-soe continued. His stories were entirely mundane. Farming. Foraging for herbs. People he met at the market. A life consumed by endless labor. If he had stories of drinking, chasing women, or causing mischief, it might have been entertaining, but his rambling tales were overwhelmingly dull.

Yet Yeom-gon listened intently. He offered warm, encouraging responses and seemed genuinely fascinated by the details of farming. He was so incredibly gentle it made Kang-soe completely forget his earlier terror. Where did all that tension go? Did it wash away in the rain? Emboldened by the peaceful atmosphere, Kang-soe finally asked.

“I feel like I’ve been doing all the talking. What about you, Hyung-nim?”

“What about me?”

“How did you live?”

“I lived just like anyone else.”

“But surely your life was more exciting than mine?”

Wasn’t it? Kang-soe mentally kicked himself. My damn runaway mouth. But Yeom-gon simply replied that it wasn’t.

“It is not what you imagine. I lived exactly as others do.”

His voice held no reprimand. It remained as soft and gentle as when he had been listening to Kang-soe’s stories. Is he in a good mood? Tilting his head in the dark, Kang-soe pressed further.

“Then how did you live? How is your life different from a human’s?”

“There is no great difference. But if you wish to hear it so badly…”