The Snake, the Flower, and the Tiger - Chapter 86

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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Episode 86

The small body, already worn down by cold and hunger, could not hold out. It tumbled forward toward the pond, the force so violent that stars burst across his vision with the impact.
But Gyota scrambled to his feet and leaped into the pond to escape Genboku.
The bone-chilling cold seized him as though he had fallen through ice in the depths of winter. Yet even so, Gyota waded through the water, crying out loud as he scrubbed himself down.
The pond water around Gyota bloomed red, while the boy gradually returned to his natural color. Watching from the bank, Genboku could not contain his fury. Curses and howls tore from his throat.
—You stupid fool! You miserable wretch! Ungrateful for all I’ve given you, for birthing and raising you—get out of there this instant! You bastard, when your mother abandoned you, I should have let you starve! Come out here. Come out now! You worthless piece of filth, get out this second—!
Genboku bellowed with his face flushed crimson. Yet strangely, he did not plunge into the pond. He feared what might be defiled—the thing that slept in those waters.
Gyota did not understand why his father would not come in after him.
And he did not know, either, that something was moving toward him.
—Father……, why. Sob, why are you doing this to me, why, why—!
Though the chicken blood smeared across his body had washed away, stepping out of the pond now would leave him defenseless against Genboku. Grief welled up in his chest, and tears fell unbidden.
His voice breaking with sobs, Gyota cried out to his father once more.
“What did I do so wrong? Father! Why are you doing this to me, aaahhh—!
That was when Gyota shrieked and vanished beneath the surface. The water where the boy had stood churned violently.
As he was pulled down into the depths, Gyota felt a sharp, piercing pain in his thigh, as though an awl were driving through it. In terror, the child flailed and kicked, and struck something hard against his foot.
In that instant, Gyota seized his chance. He thrashed upward with all his strength, breaking the surface to gasp for air.
—Gasps, ah, cough—!
But it clamped down on his thigh again and dragged him back into the murky depths. His screams became nothing more than useless bubbles. The small body was pulled under without resistance.
Whether what he saw then was the sky and its reflection, or two red eyes gleaming in the water, he could not tell. But it was the last thing Gyota would ever remember.
By the time Gyota regained consciousness, everything was over.
Genboku did not rage even when told his only son might become lame. And Gyota understood, in his bones, that he was no longer of use to his father.
That night, Genboku had already obtained what he sought.

“Ah, ah……! Ugh!”
When the stabbing pain—as though an awl were gouging into her flesh—shot through her, Hee-seo’s eyes snapped open, her hands gripping her thigh.
The pain did not fade with waking. She rubbed her thigh, pressed it, even struck it with her fist, but it would not relent. In the end, Hee-seo had to lie motionless on the bed, drenched in cold sweat, until the agony finally subsided.
The pain was so terrible she would have welcomed unconsciousness. Only when her entire body was soaked through did it begin to fade.
‘What…… is this.’
The pain had passed, but her mind remained clouded with confusion.
Hee-seo recalled scenes so vivid they seemed to be transplanted directly from someone else’s memory.
The pain in her thigh was unmistakably the same as what the young boy named Gyota had endured in the dream. And such an occurrence was not entirely unfamiliar to her.
“……Am I experiencing Hwa-gyeong?”
Hwa-gyeong was a signal sent by the gods dwelling in the body, an ability possessed only by true Mudangs. And it most often manifested in the form of dreams, just as it had now.
A dream so vivid as this would be strange if it were anything other than Hwa-gyeong.
Through Hwa-gyeong, the gods conveyed their will or answered questions that a Mudang posed to them.
Then—had Hoseo-nang, sleeping in her body, wished to tell her something about this boy Gyota?
“What in the world is he…….”
What was this child that Hoseo-nang, whom she’d never known existed until now, would bestow upon her the Hwa-gyeong for the first time? What had happened to this boy that demanded such a revelation?
Hee-seo sat dazed on the bed, turning over the scenes from her dream again and again in her mind.
‘……The clothes looked like something from a hundred years ago. And that crude Japanese military speech—was he a Japanese soldier? But he wasn’t speaking Japanese. Did I understand it because of the Hwa-gyeong? Does it auto-translate languages too?’
Having experienced Hwa-gyeong for the first time, she could make no sense of it, and frustration gnawed at her. As Hee-seo scowled and crossed her arms, a man appeared in the doorway. At the sight of her rumpled face and disheveled hair, he let out a low whistle.
“I didn’t know your sleep-talking could be so violent, Hee-seo. You weren’t wrestling ghosts in your dreams, were you?”
At the familiar voice, Hee-seo’s eyes narrowed as she glared at the man.
In stark contrast to her own dishevelment, he looked immaculate, as always. The sight eased her mood slightly, yet Hee-seo hardened her expression and replied coolly.
“I’m not exactly on speaking terms with ghosts—certainly not well enough to dream about them.”
“Hmm…….”
Despite her cool response, a smile played at Kim Je-eon’s lips. Without a word, he disappeared down the corridor.
The way he moved through the space with such ease suggested he knew this place, though for Hee-seo it was her first time here.
‘Is this another villa? How many properties does this man have anyway? He must have bought up half the country. Rich people really are something else…….’
Whether Kim Je-eon sensed her resentment or not, his faint humming drifted back from wherever he had gone. Even as Hee-seo cursed the wealthy under her breath, the sharpness in her nerves eased slightly at his presence.
“Where am I, ah……!”
When she tried to sit up, the bed felt impossibly narrow compared to what she was used to. More troubling was that her legs had no strength. The moment her feet touched the floor, her knees buckled and she collapsed.
As Hee-seo gripped her still-aching thigh and groaned, the man appeared as if carried by the wind. His face went rigid, and he reached out carefully to grasp her knee.
“Ugh…….”
“Hee-seo, what’s wrong? Are you hurt? Did you twist something? Tell me. Is it your thigh that’s hurting?”
The ease that had lightened Kim Je-eon’s features moments ago—the humming contentment—had vanished entirely. Even for a simple cramp or sprained ankle, he behaved as though her entire leg had been severed, and Hee-seo found herself at a loss for words.
She’d been too embarrassed to admit that her legs had given out simply from the pain trailing through a dream.
“I mean, the bed is way too low. It’s not even a child’s bed. What kind of taste is this?”
She’d grumbled the words out of sheer mortification, but in that instant, Hee-seo caught something unmistakable flicker across Kim Je-eon’s face—a guilt he couldn’t hide. Not that her complaint was anything more than petty grievance.
“I’m sorry. I used it when I was young, so I thought it would fit you, Hee-seo. I’m sorry. Just a moment—let me find something to apply heat with.”
When he was young?
Before Hee-seo could so much as echo the question, Kim Je-eon had already risen and left the room. Only then could she look around properly, taking in the details of the space.
‘……It’s all shabby, isn’t it.’
How had she ever imagined this was Kim Je-eon’s Villa? Hee-seo did her best to mask her surprise.
The furnishings were all maintained meticulously, yet the desk, the bed, even the framed pictures on the wall bore the unmistakable mark of cheap goods—as if someone had simply collected discarded castoffs and brought them here. Everything bore that patina of the second-hand.
“Hee-seo. It’s a Steam Towel, so it’ll be hot. Does it hurt here?”
Only after Hee-seo had surveyed the entire room did Kim Je-eon reappear, carrying a towel from which steam rose in delicate wisps. His sleeves, usually immaculate, were dampened at the cuffs—he must have heated the towel in boiled water.
Without a word, Hee-seo rolled up her loose trousers and exposed her thigh.
“Let me know if it’s too hot. I’ll cool it down.”
Kim Je-eon placed the Steam Towel across her thigh with an expression still shadowed by concern. It was nothing more than muscle soreness, but his face held such gravity that Hee-seo found a question bubbling up that she couldn’t suppress.
“Did you grow up here when you were young?”
“……I wasn’t here long.”
“A cubbyhole under the stairs would be better than this. Are you serious? You lived alone as a child in a place like this? What is this place? Did Kim Jong-hyeop dump you in a storage shed?”

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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