The Second Portrait: Descent into Submission
Outside Cloud Middle Pavilion, rows of tents stood in neat lines for patients who needed to stay overnight. In one isolated tent at the far corner sat Ak Bul-beom. He sat cross-legged, eyes closed, circulating his energy. Circulation was normally for refining internal energy. But his body wasn't in any state for that. It was too wrecked for normal circulation. So this was just to check the bits of true energy that still moved. He assessed his condition. But it was always the same. Getting worse day by day.
"Hm."
Ak Bul-beom opened his eyes. He'd sensed a presence. Soon, hurried footsteps approached the tent.
Whoosh.
The flap opened, and in came his wife, Yang Yeon-hwi.
"My lord, your humble concubine has brought the medicine."
Joy lit her face for the first time in ages.
"You've worked hard."
"Not at all. Please take the medicine right away, my lord."
Too eager to wait, she pulled a pill and a bamboo tube of water from her bosom. The pill was a dull black. It looked unremarkable. But since Go-eui had made it, it had to be something special.
"Very well."
Ak Bul-beom swallowed the pill with water. Bitter. The saying good medicine tastes bitter held true.
"How do you feel?"
Yang Yeon-hwi's voice trembled with hope.
"How could I tell so soon?"
Ak Bul-beom chuckled wryly.
"Ah... r-right? Your humble concubine got too ahead of herself..."
"More importantly."
"Yes, yes."
"Nothing unusual at Cloud Middle Pavilion?"
Ak Bul-beom's expression grew serious. As a husband, he naturally worried she might have faced trouble.
"Oh, nothing to worry about. I just painted one picture."
"I see."
"Yes, my lord."
Her reaction suggested all was well. That was a relief. Of course, it was only the first day—they'd need to keep watching.
"Good. If anything happens, tell me at once."
"I will, my lord."
Yang Yeon-hwi smiled.
"Please monitor your condition closely, my lord. If there's no improvement, tell me right away. I'll inform the physician immediately."
"I know."
The next day's steps felt lighter than the first. Checking his condition through circulation, Ak Bul-beom found a slight improvement. Go-eui's medicine had worked, after all. If it keeps like this. Just like this. Then he could surely recover.
Creak.
Yang Yeon-hwi entered the same room as yesterday.
A mirror appeared. A large one. Her reflection stared back. Arms limp at her sides. Several things differed from her usual self. Her eyes were hazy, like fogged glass. Lips slightly parted, slack. Her face blank, soul lost. The ties of her upper garment half-undone, exposing the sharp cleavage between her massive breasts. Her skirt hiked to her thighs, revealing smooth, seductive legs. No chaste wife would look like this. It was blatantly erotic.
But nothing strange about it. Go-eui had requested this pose for a portrait for the Golden Dragon Battlefield Master. She just needed to remember it. Remember clearly and paint it exactly.
"...I remember... I remember... I remember... I remember... remember..."
A flat, emotionless voice leaked from her lips. Nothing to mind. Repeating it aloud as suggested until the memory stuck was only natural.
"...Remembered..."
Done. Now to paint.
"That's an odd expression. What is it?"
She hated interruptions while painting. But no choice. The interrupter was the overseer sent by the Golden Dragon Battlefield Master. She had to respond politely and honestly.
"A hypnotized expression."
Hypnosis. The state of lost will, said to afflict only women. Exactly what the Golden Dragon Battlefield Master wanted for her self-portrait. So she'd fallen into it willingly. Good thing it yielded such a fine expression.
"I see. A very good one, too."
She fully agreed.
"Heh. Yes, it is."
She nodded with a smile. What she liked most: those hazy eyes. Perfectly showing lost will. An expression she'd never wear normally. Maybe that's why it drew her in.
"Ah, be sure to capture the drool from her mouth clearly."
The overseer pointed out. But no need—he was right.
"Of course."
The Golden Dragon Battlefield Master wanted realism. No skipping drool. It had pooled in her slack mouth and dribbled down. Fact. It trailed her chin onto her oversized breasts, like a receptacle. Not bad. The overseer said the Master liked her uselessly huge tits. Emphasizing them naturally like this, without exaggeration, was perfect. She painted the drool-flecked breasts with extra care.
"Do you usually expose this much?"
"No."
Undoing her ties this far? Absurd. It would draw even more eyes to her already troublesome breasts. The thigh-high skirt was the same. She couldn't imagine dressing so shamelessly, inside or out.
"Yet you agreed readily."
"It's a self-portrait for the Golden Dragon Battlefield Master. Of course I must do as he wishes."
"Not embarrassed?"
"A little. But duty comes first, right?"
Personal feelings versus duty. Duty won. Painting for the Golden Dragon Battlefield Master was paramount.
"Haha, duty. Excellent. Then I'll leave you to finish that voluptuous self-portrait."
"Yes, of course."
Now she could focus fully. She gripped her brush tighter.
"Whew."
She caught her breath. Coloring was done. A satisfying result. She'd focused on the hazy eyes and exposed cleavage—both came out well. Relief.
"Oh, splendid. Very good, very good."
The overseer admired it with satisfaction. Tension eased. But not fully complete yet.
"Thank you. But there's still work left."
"I know, the inscription."
"Yes."
"Finish it up."
The overseer looked amused, for some reason. No matter. She just needed to complete it. She took up the inscription brush. But stuck immediately. Where to write her title, Painter. It felt inadequate—unfit even to utter before the Golden Dragon Battlefield Master. Calling herself "Immortal" before him? Absurd.
"Hm..."
An idea struck her amid her worries. She wrote swiftly.
-Hwa-nyeo (Painting Woman).
Painting bitch. Much better. "Woman" fit her station before the Golden Dragon Battlefield Master. She nodded approval. Next.
-Yang Yeon-hwi.
Her name.
-Cloud Middle Pavilion.
Where painted.
-[Year] [Month] [Day].
Date. No issue. Next: reason painted. Like last time's "gratitude."
...Not quite.
Not satisfying. Gratitude for grace, sure—but lacking. Something more...
Ah.
Inspiration hit. One character.
-Rak (Pleasure).
The subject: naturally, the Golden Dragon Battlefield Master. Painted for his pleasure. Perfect. Short, but her intent clear.
"Good."
Nod. Last part: for whom. Obvious.
-Golden Dragon Battlefield Master.
Last time, ignorant fool wrote just "Golden Dragon Battlefield Master." No repeat mistake. Added the honorific "-nim." He deserved it for graces bestowed on a mere painting bitch like her.
"Done, overseer."
"Haha, the inscription looks much nicer now."
"Yes... I realized my mistakes..."
She lowered her gaze, embarrassed.
"It's fine. Everyone errs. What matters is correcting them. In that, you're exemplary."
"Th-thank you."
"Now, let's wrap it up."
"Pardon?"
"Empty-headed tit-sow."
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Thud.
The second portrait stuck to the wall. First: seated gracefully, natural smile. Second: standing blankly, hypnotic eyes. Expressions contrasted sharply. Clothing too—from prim elegance to heavily exposed eroticism. No vital parts shown. But the measured exposure, paired with the vacant face, stirred a subtler allure than nudity.
"Excellent."
Bang So-un chuckled. Normal versus entranced: essential contrast. Upped the exposure for spice. A fine piece for savoring change.
"Saw the inscription? Good stuff."
Jang Il winked.
Bang So-un's gaze dropped to it. And.
"Haha, indeed. Quite good."
Bang So-un smiled in satisfaction. Painter to Painting Woman. Gratitude to Pleasure. Golden Dragon Battlefield Master to Golden Dragon Battlefield Master-nim. Subtle shifts, but clear descent.
"'Woman' and '-nim'—she's learning her place."
"A bitch should."
Jang Il grinned.
"Expect more, young master."
"Naturally."
True delight hadn't begun, Bang So-un knew. And such pleasures were mere prep. For the final thrill: toying with the wife before that Soul-Chasing Death Ghost.
Can't wait.
A sinister smile curled Bang So-un's lips.