The Parricide's Gruesome Confession
"Cheong-yeon, our wife at home is way scarier than you. I followed the row master's orders not to let word get out. We rolled up the fainted Kim O-dong in a mat, loaded him onto an oxcart, and hauled him to the magistrate's office. What had been a remote house attacked by a wild beast on an old woman turned into a familicide case.
Of course, catching the perp didn't end things. We had to interrogate him on the motive, the method, and how he'd snuck into the gisaeng house—one by one.
"Name."
"Pl-please take me to Lady Cheong-yeon! Th-there's some m-m-misunderstanding here!"
"Misunderstanding my ass! You little shit! Name!"
"K-K-Kim... O-O-O-dong..."
"Dong? Fuck, seriously. Anyone'd think you earned your way here."
"K-Kim O-dong, sir."
It wasn't easy. The guy's brain was so fried, he barely made sense. When he spilled the method and motive for killing his mother, I nearly puked for real.
"A b-b-bear, sir. Bears don't sh-share food, so m-mother told me to t-take it."
"And the blood trail from the woods to the house? You hit her then?"
"Y-yes, sir."
"Hey, you. Ever feel sorry for your mother? Even once?"
"I-I'm trying to get married, sir. M-mother would've understood."
What a nauseating bastard. Still, we wrapped up the interrogation before sunset. Morning search, noon arrest, afternoon questioning—no break all day.
I just wanted some peace now.
"Aigoo! Sir! You must be beat!"
The gisaeng house guards spotted me leaving the office and came over, acting friendly. I'd figured they'd treated their hands and split, but they'd waited.
"Sir! Hungry, right? Quick drink?"
I'd scarfed lunch at the clerk's place before the chaos hit. Only now did my stomach growl, and I nodded.
"Yeah, sure. Let's eat. My treat—you guys busted your asses for me."
"No way, sir! This is why we eat and sleep at the house!"
"Shut it. Let's go eat meat—what's the holdup?"
The guards weren't thrilled, despite the rare outing. They exchanged awkward glances, forcing smiles.
Late lunch after nabbing Kim O-dong, early dinner grilling him—plenty of time for treatments and a gisaeng house visit.
"Waiting outside?"
"Y-yes, sir. He's here."
Using honorifics? Must be the row master.
"Sorry to trouble you, sir."
"Nah, it's fine."
I waved off the flustered guards and kept walking. Outside the office, the row master himself greeted me.
"Hol hol hol. Good work. Must be starving. I've set a spread—let's go."
I hadn't even said yes, but he led the way. A rare Jeonju rickshaw waited with its puller.
"Hop on. I'll whisk you to Cheong-un-gak like a cloud."
"No thanks."
No point refusing—he'd just insist on a lavish invite. Plus, I craved Cheong-un-gak's salty snacks.
"You first, sir. Respect your elders."
"Hol hol hol. Old doesn't mean I can't walk."
"Then bring something for these guys too."
I pointed to the guards who'd helped nab Kim O-dong. Gratitude for their slashed hands, rebellion against the row master.
"No, sir!"
"Our feet are fine!"
"Don't worry about us!"
They panicked at the sudden spotlight.
"Hol hol hol. Fewer than five families in Jeonju own one."
He chuckled at the guards rejecting him, not me. Nodding, he eyed me with wrinkled eyes.
"Chat on the way?"
"Sure."
"Hol hol hol. An honor."
Getting craftier with age. He boarded with the puller's help; I stood beside as we headed to the house.
"I heard."
Before long, he spoke.
"You saw Cheong-yeon lose her temper."
"Yeah. But she had reason—that bastard deserved a beating."
"Hol hol. She said the same."
His few teeth flashed—pleased, like perfect timing.
"Know something?"
"What?"
"You're the first outsider to see her rage."
"Hm."
Bloodshot eyes, wild topknot, swinging that club till it bled. How'd she hide that temper?
"So, about that..."
He leaned in, smirking. I knew what was coming.
"Thinking of taking her as a concubine?"
"No. Drop it."
"But who else? She'd get booted from any noble house in a day with that temper."
"Nah. She's scary."
Still vivid hours later—bloodied club thrust out, demanding concubinage.
"No rush."
"Nope. Straight no."
"Hol hol hol."
His laugh irked me—he knew I'd cave eventually. But he dropped it till we arrived.
The front gate buzzed like yesterday; we slipped in the back. He led me to a different room from the guards.
Empty, thankfully—just a lavish solo feast.
"Man, starving."
My gut had rioted since the food scents hit.
A massive hunger protest.
"Hahp, nom nom, slurp! Sluuurp!"
Haven't been this ravenous since endless Hanyang guests. Eori tried feeding me then—but the crown prince showed. Wait, King Munjong now. Anyway, miss Eori.
Days like this, seeing trash like Kim O-dong, I needed her healing. But she's a day's ride away.
I drowned the void in food.
"Ugh. Stuffed."
Belly full, crowd for Cheong-yeon meant I could dawdle without crossing her.
Not lounging on the warm floor or crashing post-meal, though.
"Yaw~n"
Not just food coma.
"Sir? May I enter?"
A familiar voice pierced my drowsy haze.
"Wha—?"
"Coming in."
"Wait—no!"
Too late; door opened.
"Pardon me, sir."
Cheong-yeon—supposedly busy with guests—entered demurely.
"Uh, hey. Hey."
Day's trauma flashed; I flinched instinctively.
She ignored it, gliding over on light feet, skirt whispering. Heart raced as she sat beside me carefully.
Not her sweet scent—trauma.
"..."
Silent, doll-like, eyes down. Then she looked up, smiling softly.
"Hey."
"Y-yeah?"
"Am I scary?"
"A bit?"
"Ah, really?"
She smirked higher, like good news. Leaned on the table, facing me.
"So, take me as concubine?"
"Why would I?"
I scooted away, meeting her eyes firmly.
"Cheong-yeon, our wife at home is way scarier."
True. Cheong-yeon's fists or club—Eori starts with a blade.
"Not just that, though."
Not solely Eori-fear. Mom was a concubine; our two-room house couldn't swing it. Above all, betraying Eori—childhood friend, lover, Dung-dwaeji's mom—no way.
"..."
She listened quietly, nodded casually after a beat.
"Got it. No concubine talk."
"For real?"
"Said so. Oh, and."
"What?"
"Sorry. Earlier. The club rampage. Got desperate."
Her blackmail threat.
"Nah, fine. Situation was nuts."
I got her—beating her stalker raw, heat-of-moment nonsense.
"And, um..."
First hesitation since entering. Glanced at the table, peeked at me slyly.
"That, uh..."
After failed starts, ears pink, she bowed her head.
"Thanks. For catching that bastard."
"That?"
"Yeah. Hate it?"
All that buildup for thanks. Glared to hide embarrassment.
A tad—just a tad—cute.
No. Bad idea. Eori'd gut me.
Topic switch: "B-but why're you here? Guests waiting?"
Ghost-stalker star—crowds for her. I'd slacked assuming she'd be swamped.
"Break. Eat. Who sits three hours straight?"
Grabbed my chopsticks like duh.
"Hey—that's mine."
"Won't die. Fine."
"Not death—ah, you're eating. Whatever."
She scarfed silently—chew, swallow, sip. No flirts.
"...Yum. Good eats."
Done, she rose briskly.
As she headed out, I blurted, "What'd you come for?"
"Break, said so. Eat or not—your call. Back to work."
"Uh, yeah. Good luck, Cheong-yeon."
"..."
Door half-open, she froze. Back turned, glanced over shoulder.
"So-yeon."
"Huh?"
"My name. Kim So-yeon."
Cheong-yeon—no, Kim So-yeon—left after that. I stared at the spot, then it hit.
She just used informal speech on me.