The Proposal and the Scoundrel (2)
The master of the men threatening Lee Jinmyeong—Yong So-myeong—found the entire situation thoroughly unpleasant.
As the second son of a powerful gentry clan that threw its weight around in Shaanxi Province, he had been born and bred for a life of idle debauchery. Unlike his diligent elder brother, he had no taste for the hard grind of classical study and even less interest in the sweaty toil of martial training. He had never seen the point.
Scholarship? The family would pass to his brother anyway. Why bother sweating through the imperial examinations when inherited wealth and farmland would keep him in leisure for life? Martial arts? If some wretch got on his nerves, a single word of abuse was enough—his servants would take care of the stomping. Swinging a sword under the blazing sun and flinging one's body about was work for lowborn rabble. A man of noble gentry blood need only jerk his chin to command them. Why strain himself learning martial arts?
Even from this much, the picture was clear: Yong So-myeong was the textbook wastrel of a privileged clan—steeped in entitlement, allergic to responsibility, contemptuous of effort, and thoroughly dissipated.
The reason such a man had come all the way to Sichuan was simple.
Somehow, I have to sink my teeth into a direct-line daughter of the Sichuan Dang Family.
He had come to forge a connection with the Sichuan Dang Family.
Lately the name of the Sichuan Dang Family had been cropping up more and more often in his father's and brother's conversations. Sitting at the same table while the two of them whispered over matters that excluded him had rankled so badly that he finally snapped, "What makes those Sichuan bumpkins so special that you're making such a fuss?" The way both men had looked at him—as if staring at the most pathetic creature under heaven—still made his fists tremble.
His father had regarded him with eyes cold as ice and clicked his tongue.
"The Sichuan Dang Family is no longer the Dang Family of old. They are a clan on the rise—one that could turn the Empire's Eight Great Families into Nine at any moment. Watch your tongue!"
His brother had been even blunter.
"Keep your mouth shut when you're out and about, unless you want to bring disgrace on the family."
That only stoked his resentment higher.
What the hell is so great about the Dang Family that they crawl like that?
And so he decided.
Fine. I'll just drag one of their direct-line daughters home as my wife. Then that old man of a father will have to look at me differently. And that bastard of a brother will have to start watching my in-laws' faces. Heh heh heh—not a bad plan at all.
As Shaanxi's notorious rake, Yong So-myeong had confidence in exactly one thing: his flashy good looks. An appearance handsome enough to be called striking, smooth talk honed over more than a decade of consorting with courtesans ever since hair first sprouted in certain places, and the wealth that poured from a fat purse—with those, there was no woman he could not seduce. Indeed he had left a trail of scandals across Shaanxi, and if he had not been the second son of the Yong clan, disaster would have struck long ago.
Armed with that experience-born confidence, he had set his sights on a woman of the Sichuan Dang Family and made the expedition from Shaanxi all the way to Sichuan.
Seducing one country girl won't even be work.
Whisper a few sweet nothings, promise to pluck her out of the sticks and install her as proper wife in glittering Shaanxi—what third-rate provincial gentry girl could resist that?
Or so he had thought.
The first inkling that something was going wrong came after he arrived in Sichuan.
"…This is Sichuan?"
Arriving in Seongdo, capital of Sichuan Province, he was overwhelmed by the grandeur and brilliance of the city. Far from falling short of Shaanxi—itself famous as the "Flower Capital" for its beauty—the streets here outshone it. Rain should have turned the back alleys into rivers of mixed filth and sewage, yet the roads were paved with some unknown stone; even in the downpour there was not a single mud puddle, and neither wastewater nor trash was anywhere to be seen. Clean water flowed through aqueducts everywhere, and fountains bubbled up with clear water at every turn. The rain striking those fountains and scattering into hundreds, thousands of concentric rings was a painting in itself.
And the people? Even those who looked like commoners wore bright expressions, their clothes plain but clean. Was this what the streets of Beijing—which he had only ever dreamed of—felt like?
"Wh-what is that?"
Carriages larger than anything imaginable in Shaanxi rumbled along the roads in lines; when commoners poured out of them in throngs, he felt genuine culture shock.
And that was when it happened.
While gawking at a carriage and backing into the middle of the road for a better view of the building it had stopped before, he collided with someone walking past. Already simmering with a strange inferiority complex from the sights of Sichuan, Yong So-myeong felt rainwater soak into his clothes and irritation flared white-hot.
"What the hell?"
"Ah—I'm sorry."
The other man looked to be in his late twenties, roughly Yong So-myeong's own age. The sight of him soured Yong So-myeong's mood further. The fellow cut a picture-perfect scholarly figure: neat, unflashy clothes of quiet dignity that gave off a refined, gentle air. He resembled the elder brother who always made Yong So-myeong feel small. Worse, he was wearing the same white robes—and though Yong So-myeong hated to admit it, the man was distinctly better-looking. Anyone could see he had dressed carefully to charm a woman.
A rival of the same breed.
Looks like he's got some money, at least.
Yong So-myeong's eyes flicked over the man from head to toe. The clothes suggested more than a commoner—some family of means, perhaps—but the lack of bodyguards or servants put him at the level of a poor gentry household just scraping by on appearances.
Surely he isn't from a martial sect?
To check that last possibility, he scanned the man's sleeves and chest for any emblem. In his home province of Shaanxi stood the Mount Hua Sect and the Zhongnan Sect; picking a fight with anyone sporting plum blossoms or the character for "South" on their clothes was a good way to die. Yong So-myeong himself had once teased a third-generation female disciple of Mount Hua and nearly crossed death's threshold for it.
Unfortunately for him, Lee Jinmyeong wore nothing that marked him as a member of the Sichuan Dang Family. In a way it was only natural. Showing up to a marriage proposal dressed in colors that screamed "Dang Family" would be like a Samsung employee turning up to a modern proposal in a company-logo windbreaker or work coveralls. Lee Jinmyeong had simply dressed up in his own way.
The moment Yong So-myeong decided the man had no backing, his last shred of patience snapped.
"Hey! You crazy bastard, how the hell do you walk around with your eyes open?!"
One shouted insult, and the servants would handle the rest. He need only step back and enjoy the spectacle of the wretch begging on his knees. Rain was falling, too—forcing the man down into the mud would be entertaining. Judging by the careful clothes, the fellow had some important appointment. After a beating from the servants left his clothes and face a ruin, that appointment would be ruined as well. Amusing.
He was sneering at Lee Jinmyeong with those sadistic thoughts when a chill raced down his spine. The primitive survival instinct of a mammal—the certainty that a predator lay in wait nearby—sounded an alarm in his bones.
What?!
He rubbed his goose-fleshed arms and swept the surroundings. And then his eyes met those of a woman.
In that instant, he fell in love.
"Ah."
She was a celestial maiden. Glossy black hair cascading like a waterfall—raven tresses of a cicada-wing beauty. Thin eyebrows curved soft as a crescent moon and cool eyes lined in blue-black—moth brows and verdant kohl. Delicate arms, legs, and a waist so slender a breeze might carry her away—slender waist and snow-white skin—yet above the sash, a bosom so lush and overflowing it seized the gaze of its own accord. The slight upward tilt of her eyes suggested a temper, a minor flaw, but taming a proud, prickly woman into obedience was one of a man's refinements. Clear, transparent eyes that deserved the phrase "bright pupils that flow and glance" cast a green jade radiance upon him, and his knees went weak with rapture—
His… his knees…
Clatter-clatter-clatter…
His knees shook as if he had caught the palsy; his mouth went desert-dry. A crushing weight pressed on his chest as if a boulder sat there, and he could scarcely breathe.
Ah, is this love?—so his brain briefly mistook it, but that was only the male instinct, dazzled by the overwhelming aura of Dang Su-jeong's beauty, suffering a temporary optical illusion. Males come equipped with two brains, after all—one above the neck and one between the legs—so such mistakes happen.
But soon the brain between his legs began to shrink at alarming speed, and Yong So-myeong realized these were not the symptoms of excitement but of terror.
Yes. Terror.
The woman approaching with green light blazing from her eyes was a beautiful yaksha, a man-eating demoness.
"Ah… ah… uh… ah."
Meaningless whimpers spilled from a mouth frozen by killing intent. He could neither flee nor resist. Like a frog before a snake, he could only hope for merciful treatment. He had not even tossed her the usual lewd remark—perhaps he had a right to feel wronged—yet he had insulted her man, so in truth there was nothing to feel wronged about.
She halted.
Standing between him and his pack as if shielding Lee Jinmyeong, Dang Su-jeong suppressed her killing intent with visible effort and spoke through clenched teeth, low and deliberate, to Yong So-myeong and his servants.
"Get lost. If you bother my man any further, I'll mince you fine and feed you to the pigs."
"Aaaaargh!!!"
The instant the killing intent eased, the servants abandoned master and all and fled down the rain-lashed alley without even umbrellas. Yong So-myeong himself landed hard on his backside and scooted backward on his rear, face deathly pale.
Watching them go, Dang Su-jeong squeezed her eyes shut.
I screwed it up!
Why am I like this? That hot temper of mine just went and ruined everything again. What man in the world would care for a woman this violent? Besides—men always want to protect women weaker than themselves, don't they? When they can't, their pride takes a hit.
An old trauma from twenty years past rose to torment her. The Mount Hua swordsman who had been her first love had answered her brave confession thus:
"…Forgive me. A woman stronger than I am is a bit…"
Dang Su-jeong's shoulders sagged; the brilliance drained from her eyes.
Secretary Lee must be thoroughly disgusted by now…
Resigned, she made to leave him then and there. She lacked the courage to turn and face him.
But just then—
With a soft thud, Lee Jinmyeong's umbrella slipped from his hand, and against her back she felt the solid wall of his chest. He had stepped close and drawn her into his arms from behind.
"S-Secretary Lee?"
"Didn't you agree to call me… Myeongmyeong, Sojeong?"
"Ah—no…"
He was taller than she. He whispered against her ear.
"I truly believe I cannot do without you, Sojeong."
"Ah… uh… what… what are you saying all of a sudden…"
"I had preparations, actually. Fine food, lovely sights… after spending the day that way, I meant to propose somewhere splendid. But the rain pours down… ruffians attack… I thought my luck was truly wretched."
"…"
"But do you know something?"
"…What?"
"The moment you appeared, the foul weather and the ruffians all became meaningless."
"…"
"I cannot wait. Suppressing this overwhelming feeling until evening would be deceiving myself and betraying you, Sojeong. So please—let me say it now. Right now."
"Ah."
"Sojeong."
Lee Jinmyeong turned her to face him. To the woman with trembling eyes he produced, with trembling hands, a small box from his robes and drew out a ring. Carved from jade into the shape of mandarin ducks, the ring split into two halves that formed one whole; he slipped one half onto her finger. The hands that shook as if in an earthquake held a man's clumsy, earnest heart.
"…Will you become my paired wings—my inseparable other half?"
In that moment, Dang Su-jeong seized Lee Jinmyeong's lips with all her strength.