Salt-Scented Shadows and a Headless End
I wondered why I'd even bothered. Ha-yeon took the Dugangju from her and sipped it appreciatively. She rolled it around in her mouth for a moment, savoring it. 'Hmm. Definitely not top-shelf stuff.'
Back when I was a Swordmaster, I'd been treated to enough booze to drown an army. Those were glorious days, now just a mirage I missed dearly, but the tastes were etched into my memory. And after sampling every damn liquor under the sun, my verdict on this Dugangju? At best, second-rate—barely scraping past the bargain-bin dregs. Good booze announces itself the moment it hits your tongue, preferences be damned. Still, they hadn't served us swill, so it was drinkable enough.
"They call me Suryeon, young master. Doesn't suit your taste?"
The sultry courtesan named Suryeon sidled up to Cheong-yong and asked. Naturally, for a guy who'd never met her before, she was way too close—practically glued to him.
Ha-yeon smirked and shot her a look. "Nah, forget that wooden block. Have a drink with me instead, miss."
"Oh? Would you like that?"
"Drink up, our Cheong-yong. If we're short on company, just call more. No biggie."
"...Isn't that my money, though?"
"Between us, what's yours or mine?"
And so began the world's most awkward, bizarre drinking party. Though, unlike Ha-yeon's initial bold talk, no yin-yang mingling happened.
"Hee-hee, you two seem so close. Little old me's dying to know—what brings you gentlemen here together?"
"Nothing we can't tell our Suryeon. It's no big deal."
The conversation bloomed softly, like delicate Cornelian cherry blossoms—refined and elegant, not the hot, passionate red bloom of man-woman passion.
"Oh my, I knew there were folks with those tastes out there, but a lady like you in my lifetime? First time ever."
"Yeah... it's been a wild ride. You against it?"
"I'm your flower tonight, sirs. Smell my scent, get drunk on it—whatever you desire."
Cheong-yong just cleared his throat dumbly, sipping his booze and poking at the snacks. Meanwhile, Suryeon and Ha-yeon bantered "miss" this and "miss" that, knocking back drinks like old pals. Time crawled by slower than ever.
"Mmm, hey, Ha-yeon."
"Yeah? Spill it."
"Mmm, young master's looking a bit tense in the ribs... mind if we call another girl?"
"Ask him about that."
Cheong-yong's face flushed beet red. Probably not just the booze.
"N-no! I'm good with this... really."
"But how can you come all the way to Chil-un Lou and fill your belly with booze alone?"
"Yeah, kid. Since you're here, let's get another girl. Gotta let 'em eat well and save for retirement, right?"
"Urgh..."
Cheong-yong hung his head without a word, and Suryeon giggled like it was the cutest thing.
"Oh dear, oh dear! A fine, tall guy like you—no experience with women, huh, Ha-yeon?"
"Tell me about it. Belly's full as hell."
Ha-yeon gave a bitter smile and patted Suryeon's waist. Inside, though, an inescapable sigh. 'Ha... fuck my life.'
No spark. Not a hint of that familiar itch when you crave a woman. My mind wanted it, but my body? Zilch. Caught between a rock and a hard place—or rather, no hard place at all.
'Am I really a eunuch now? Goddamn life.'
I'd kept denying it, eyes wide open, but reality stared back. No rising to the occasion. Still, my interest in women lingered enough to drag me to this brothel. But with my head screaming yes and body saying no? Pathetic.
Self-loathing hit hard; Ha-yeon chugged her booze to drown the bitterness.
"Whew... Suryeon."
"Yes, Ha-yeon?"
"Call another girl. Not sultry—someone cute, kind, bright."
"Got it."
"And sing something. Make it... nostalgic... lonely... a farewell song..."
I wasn't giving up yet. Maybe if I tried hard enough... body'd respond? But finding a girl who'd like this body? Problem one. Damn, did I really have to cling this hard? Driving me nuts.
Listening to Suryeon's song with a tormented look, the door opened. In came a girl—no, a child. Literally a kid, no metaphor needed.
"..."
Suryeon was mid-song, so the girl just bowed silently, pulled a chair, and sat by Cheong-yong and Ha-yeon. Song ended; the overdressed child spoke in a hoarse whisper.
"Thank you for calling me. Ah, greetings, sirs. I'll serve you with all I have."
"Hmph."
Too young. Not praise—too damn young. What the hell? Tinier than expected, like she didn't belong here at all. Malnourishment from a rough childhood didn't explain it fully. I could tell "looks young" from "is a kid." No sweat.
Ha-yeon straightened her rumpled clothes, pushed her glass away, caught off guard.
"Uh, Suryeon? Wrong girl, maybe?"
"Oh? She not to your liking?"
"She's tiny. How old?"
"Thirteen this year? Or fourteen. Probably thirteen."
Jesus, who needed killing? But Ha-yeon didn't have to say it.
"What the hell."
Our upstanding adult wasn't letting this slide.
"Listen, Suryeon."
"Yes, young master?"
"This girl's... too young for this. I planned to drink quietly and leave, but I can't ignore this."
True enough. Suryeon flashed a "then why come here?" look, then clapped with a sales smile.
"Sorry! Something's off—I'll send her down, bring another."
"Nah. She's fine."
"...Sir! Even so, this is—"
Damn guy cycled titles like crazy: sir, lord, senior, master. Pick one!
Ha-yeon eyed Cheong-yong pityingly, beckoned the girl. Come sit.
The girl bowed deeply, approached.
"What's your name?"
"Ah, yes. Sorry. I'm O-ryeong."
"Got it, kiddo. Brothel life suiting you? Can't drink, but grab whatever food you want."
"Dare I?"
"I say it's fine—who's gonna complain? Suryeon, hot soup and sweets, please."
"...Hee-hee. Yes."
Brothels don't sell sweets. But Ha-yeon slipped her silver—like, go get it. No choice. Suryeon left; our dim slave finally erupted.
"This makes no sense!"
"Why not? She's right here."
"I'm no expert in shadows, but there's a line! A kid just turning thirteen...?"
"Shut it, you fool."
"Guhk!"
I shut the slave up. No tact, yelling like that? Think O-ryeong'd cheer? Your clueless ass scared her more.
With O-ryeong frozen, Ha-yeon sighed heavily, sat her down. Then, between sleeve and black hair, bruises peeked. Ha-yeon's brow twitched again.
Hm. Salt smell, of all things. Memories unshakeable even through dementia or brain swaps flickered.
"Got nothing to give but food. Eat, play a bit, then go."
"...Yes."
Poor kid, but raging ruined the mood. My masculinity on death row already soured my booze. Watching O-ryeong nibble nervously, Suryeon—on legit break—sauntered back. She'd stretched time artistically; dusk sky turned pale blue. Closing time.
Paid playtime over, Suryeon beamed, bowed.
"Extend?"
Would you? Ha-yeon dragged the still-fuming slave out, slipped O-ryeong sweets.
"Ah..."
"Thanks later, kid."
Don't act like you know me outside, yeah?
"I can't understand this."
"Can't understand you either, slave. What's your beef?"
"No thoughts seeing that?"
"Kid was young?"
Agreement fueled him; face red, he barked.
"I'm no underworld pro, but lines exist! Forcing a thirteen-year-old...?"
"She seemed beat from the grind."
"Not just that. Hoarse voice, eyes shadowed beyond rouge—cried all night prior."
"Yup. Crushed toes for tiny feet, like making a wren. Steps silent."
Hidden under sleeves and hem: red marks. Neck: not hands, rope.
I knew venting soured moods, but couldn't stop. Gut burned otherwise.
"Black faction—some clan supplying women. No doubt."
"Salt smell."
"...Pardon?"
"O-ryeong's scalp reeked of salt."
"Sweaty?"
Idiot. Continent, salt smell? Whatever. I'd said too much anyway. Memories like salt sucking skin dry.
"What do you wanna do, slave?"
"...I learned to aid the weak, fight injustice."
"Chivalry, honor? Fine."
I'd chased glory once. But.
"How?"
"Shameful, but my realm's enough for one kid."
"Family?"
"Pardon?"
"Might have kin. Save her, what of them? Baby sib, old mom needing her?"
"Then them too..."
"All?"
He nodded hesitantly.
"Fine, we save O-ryeong fam. Hit a city for rest."
"Yes?"
"Listen. Staying weak, inn break—see girl dragged by thug into alley."
"Understood. I'll save her."
"Sure. Power lets rowdy 'heroics.' Hm."
Hm. Good. My tale differed, but say we save her fam, kin, foes.
I babbled, unsure if sermon for him or me.
"Forever? Where send 'em? No land, skills—whoring's all they know. Kid especially."
"If desperate, Wudang."
"Your sect guilty? Shave heads every rescue? Who feeds 'em?"
"Wudang's Taoist, but..."
He's just a disciple. Prodigy, sure. That's it.
"Pull too hard, you die? They thank your grave?"
"..."
"Buy freedom? Sect rich?"
He bit his lip.
"Then what?"
"Just hypothesizing. Could be easy happy end."
"Then do it."
"But O-ryeong might be bad."
"What?"
Kids pure, evil too.
"Tore priceless painting for debt? Or lifelong meds pawned life? First her fault, second repaying saviors."
"Milder repayment possible."
"You decide? Debtor wants it—meddle in cash?"
All hypotheticals. Likely hoho happy end sans her. I thought so too.
But ignore worst-case, it hits—people uglier than thought. Blur wants/needs/futures, pour into broken jar. Fails? Empty shells.
Sunk cost fallacy, as conviction/goodwill? Ruins people.
Better keep beliefs unacted. Peaceful.
Slave got it? Silent trudge. Not your fault—why tire?
His swordsman shadow faded; Ha-yeon poked his ribs.
"Smart choice. Not fix world's ills—just kin, friends."
Then.
Ha-yeon, smug from adulting the fool, eyes sharpened on alley corner. Pure chance.
"Hm."
Tiny body, belly-button height. Gasping for air under flabby lump. Salt smell clinging.
What. O-ryeong and trash on her?
Ha-yeon ignored, elbowed slave to tease.
Pfshhh—
"Huh?"
Why's an unfamiliar head in my hand? Hm... not my fault, right.