Reverse Murder v1c14

While Jihan was silent, Seon removed his gat[^1] and do-po[^2], then sat at the small table and opened a book. Jihan stared at him in surprise.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“What do you mean?” Seon replied calmly without looking up. “I need to study. I start my official duties in three months, so there’s a mountain of things I need to learn in advance.”

“I’ll quietly do my work, so you should just eat your meal in peace, Hyung.”

In peace? Jihan pressed his fingertips hard against his throbbing temples, swallowing a sigh. As if I could be at peace.

The quiet room filled with the sound of Jihan’s low curses and the rustling of pages being turned.

Jihan finally spoke, slowly choosing his words.

“…I heard Nan came.”

Kim Nan. The Left Minister’s second daughter. They had been betrothed at fifteen, and their families had maintained close ties ever since. Like all political marriages, there was no burning passion—just the understanding that she would eventually become his wife. The irony was that the woman he had assumed would be his was now about to marry his adopted brother.

“Yes. She came with Minister Kang.” Seon answered indifferently, his eyes still fixed on the book. Jihan forced out a mocking tone, his voice hoarse from disuse. “You’re just going to leave your fiancée alone while you stay here? I hear Miss Nan can’t take her eyes off you. Shouldn’t you be by her side, helping her with her embroidered shoes or lifting her skirts—fulfilling your duties as her betrothed?”

“We already had breakfast together and shared tea just the two of us. She’s resting in the guest quarters to recover from her journey. We even made plans to go on a picnic together in a palanquin tomorrow at lunchtime…” Seon trailed off, still not looking up. “I think I’ve fulfilled my quota for the day.”

Jihan narrowed his eyes and got to the point.

“So, you’re saying you’re going to stay holed up here studying until lunch?”

“Yes. It is my room.”

“……”

Jihan deflated. This left him trapped in the annex with no way out.

His demand to call Maki had been ignored, and it didn’t seem like Seon had any intention of leaving. But eating in front of him like some starving dog was more than his pride could bear. And in his current state—his body as weak as wet paper—he couldn’t just storm out on his own. He was stuck between a rock and a hard place.

“…Do whatever you want.” He spat coldly and lay back down. Seon, unfazed, kept his eyes on the book.

The soft afternoon sunlight spilled lazily through the slightly ajar deok-chang[^3]. Jihan’s stubborn gaze wandered restlessly around the room before finally settling on the tray of food in the corner.

…It must taste good.

There was no way it wouldn’t be. The head maid’s cooking was famous even in the capital. She was so sought after that she was often hired for village festivals, earning high wages for her labor.

…But it’s just food I’ve had before.

Jihan licked his dry lips and squeezed his eyes shut. He hadn’t eaten since yesterday, his body had been tormented all night, and he hadn’t slept a wink. Seon, who must be just as sleep-deprived, sat perfectly composed, cross-legged and absorbed in his studies. It was almost unnerving how unaffected he seemed.

Does that bastard not need sleep?

Exhaustion won out over hunger. His heavy eyelids began to droop, and despite his efforts to blink away the drowsiness, he eventually succumbed to sleep.

***

When Jihan opened his eyes, the first thing he saw was the ceiling of Seon’s room.

The paper on the window frames had taken on a bluish tint—it must be close to dawn.

He jolted upright as if waking from a nightmare. The pain still coursed through his body, but it was slightly better than before he’d fallen asleep. But the moment he tensed his buttocks, a sharp ache radiated from inside the ruined hole. It would take at least a week of suffering before it healed.

Cold sweat beaded on his forehead. He wiped it away with his wrist and groped blindly beside him—only to recoil at the unfamiliar touch of someone else’s skin.

It was Seon’s hand. Jihan shook his own hand as if it were dirty.

This insane bastard. He really stayed here all night…

Seon was fast asleep, undisturbed even by Jihan’s movements. His topknot and mang-geon[^4] were still perfectly in place. The shadows under his slightly parted lips were dark—proof that he, too, had not slept enough.

The servants who carried water and emptied chamber pots wouldn’t wake for another sikgyeong[^5]. And at this hour, no one would be wandering the house. If he was going to slip back to the small study alone, now was his chance.

Jihan tried to stand, but his legs gave out, and he collapsed back down several times.

Should I just strangle him to death?

It was only natural that the sight of Seon, sleeping peacefully while Jihan could barely move, made his blood boil.

Growwwl.

His empty stomach rumbled painfully. He clutched his abdomen and looked around the room.

The tray Seon had brought in yesterday afternoon was still there, covered with a fine cloth. The food would be cold by now, but he hadn’t eaten since yesterday evening—four meals skipped. The hunger that had been suppressed in his sleep now exploded with a vengeance.

Gurgle. Growl.

His mouth flooded with saliva, and his stomach let out a violent protest. He was so hungry it hurt. If he wasn’t careful, the noise would wake Seon, and then his attempt to leave unnoticed would be for nothing.

…Ah. I never knew I was this weak against hunger.

He realized it for the first time. In his twenty-eight years, he had never once known true hunger. He was starving—so much so that he would’ve devoured even the coarsest millet rice with a side of wilted greens.

It took less than a moment for hunger to override his rationality. With no patience left, Jihan found himself crawling on his hands and knees, doing his best to muffle any sound as he slowly, carefully slipped out from under the blanket and made his way toward the tray.

Before lifting the cloth, he checked on Seon again. He was a light sleeper with quiet breathing, but he didn’t seem to be faking.

Jihan swallowed hard and finally turned his attention to the food. In that moment, even the king’s royal banquet couldn’t have compared to the elegant o-cheop-ban-sang[^6] before him. Colorful namul[^7], braised short ribs, spicy jo-chi[^8], clear mae-un-tang[^9], an assortment of fish jeon[^10], and spicy jang[^11] were arranged neatly without a single gap.

The tantalizing aroma made his mouth water.

Careful not to make a sound, he picked up a spoon and scooped a mouthful of white rice. His salivary glands went into overdrive, making his jaw ache.

He reached for the kkak-du-gi[^12] but stopped—afraid the crunching sound would give him away. Instead, he picked up a piece of tender braised rib, placed it on top of the rice, and meticulously stripped the meat from the bone. Just as he was about to shove the fatty, succulent flesh into his mouth—

Snicker.

A short laugh came from behind him.

Jihan froze mid-motion, a spoonful of mae-un-tang hovering in the air.

“……”

How long had Seon been awake? Or had he never been asleep? When Jihan turned slowly, Seon was propped up on his elbow, chin resting on his hand, watching him like a spectacle.

“I’ve never seen a war orphan before…” Seon mused.

“……”

“But now I have.”

Jihan’s ears burned with humiliation. His hand, still holding the spoon, lowered slowly.

Only then did he realize what he must look like. The dong-ot he’d hastily thrown on yesterday was gaping open, the ties undone. The ill-fitting pants—also Seon’s—hung loosely off his frame, and his hair was a mess, his topknot undone and dangling near his waist. He had been caught crawling to steal food like a starving animal. The shame was so overwhelming his vision blurred.

“…Do you want to die?”

“That’s not something you should say with rice stuck to your lips.”

Jihan hurled the spoon. It grazed Seon’s cheek before clattering against the folding screen. Seon, who had been watching him from the corner of his eye, suddenly broke into a bright, carefree laugh.

“Hyung, should I feed you?”

“…What?”

“You don’t even have the strength to hold a spoon. It’s pitiful to see you struggling like that. What’s an adopted brother for? It’s my duty to feed you myself.”

“Who the hell said we were brothers, you insane bastard?! You’re just a homeless orphan with no family or home!”

Seon wordlessly got to his feet. From Jihan’s perspective, still sitting on the floor, he looked even taller and more imposing as he approached step by step. Jihan’s knees trembled. He grabbed the tray, ready to hurl it if Seon tried anything. But instead of attacking, Seon slid his arms under Jihan’s armpits, pulling him back against his chest in a crushing embrace. Jihan’s breath hitched.

“This is how they force traitors to drink poison, isn’t it? This is better, don’t you think? At least I’m not tricking you with chongmyeong-tang like someone else did.”

“……”

“Eat.”

The hand behind him lifted the bowl of hae-mul-tang[^13] to his lips. Jihan grabbed Seon’s wrist, and the broth splashed onto his chest.

“W-Why… why are you doing this?”

“Why did you do it, Hyung?”

“……”

“Did you hate me that much? They say goblin’s water has killed people before—what did you plan to do to me after poisoning me with that vicious thing?”

Jihan tilted his head back slightly, meeting Seon’s gaze—equally slanted, equally intense. Those eyes held a chilling smile. He tried to protest, to explain it wasn’t like that, but before he could speak, the bowl was tipped against his mouth.

“Ugh!”

The spicy broth flooded in, scorching his throat. He jerked his head to the side, nearly choking as he spat it out.

“What the fuck are you doing, you son of a bitch!”

Jihan shoved Seon with all his strength and slapped him twice in quick succession. A few strands of hair came loose where his palm had struck, and Seon’s youthful, flawless skin reddened instantly. Seon twitched his cheek where he’d been hit, then grabbed Jihan by the collar.

Jihan flinched, bracing for a blow—but instead, Seon’s fingers curled gently into a fist and tapped lightly under his chin.

“Your beauty is too precious to mar.” Seon chuckled, his shoulders shaking with laughter.

…He’s lost his mind.

Jihan’s heart pounded wildly. If he stayed any longer, he’d go mad too.

He roughly batted away the hand gripping his collar, then stumbled to his feet, snatching his scattered clothes from the floor. He limped toward the door, keeping as much distance as possible from Seon.

Seon’s eerie, hollow laughter followed him as he left the room.

“A tenacious one, isn’t he?”

Suddenly, the blind shaman’s raspy voice echoed in his ears.

“He won’t bite unless provoked, but if you cross him, not even I can save you from his wrath.”

Just as Jihan was about to step over the threshold of the annex, he whipped around, half-expecting to feel a hand grab him by the nape of his neck.

“……”

The courtyard was empty.

Footnotes (Cultural/Terminology Notes):

[^1]: Gat (갓) – Traditional Korean hat made of bamboo and horsehair, worn by men.

[^2]: Do-po (도포) – A type of outer robe worn by noblemen in historical Korea.

[^3]: Deok-chang (덧창) – An additional papered window or lattice, often used for ventilation.

[^4]: Mang-geon (망건) – A traditional Korean headband worn under the gat to keep hair in place.