TBML 12

“Stop with the nonsense and just go home.”

Normally, whenever Du-soe said things like that, Yeon would pretend not to hear and change the subject or ignore him altogether. But today, with his face beaten and swollen like a pitiful, mangy pup, Yeon couldn’t help but respond.

As Du-soe slumped down onto the wooden porch, visibly deflated, Yeon turned away without looking at him and walked into the kitchen. A moment later, he came back holding a spoonful of leftover milk and handed it to him.

“Milk? What is this, the king’s table? If you’ve got anything to give, eat it yourself.”

Despite Du-soe’s refusal, Yeon didn’t back down and offered it again. And although he’d just turned it down, Du-soe ended up lowering his nose into the bowl and sniffing at it like he couldn’t resist. The rich, savory smell whetted his appetite, and eventually he took a large spoonful and swallowed it down.

Milk was a rare treat. It would’ve been more practical to reheat the leftovers and save them for his mother tomorrow, but Yeon had decided to give a spoonful to Du-soe anyway. Because he had a sense of why that normally slow-tempered oaf had gotten into a fight.

Surely, it was because of him. It was obvious the village men had been saying things about Yeon, and Du-soe—too honest for his own good—hadn’t been able to stomach it. Yeon had never asked Du-soe to take his side, but that kind of action made him feel both thankful and guilty.

That’s why he gave him the milk. Like giving a treat to a dog that had loyally guarded the house all day—so he could feel a little less guilty. And as Du-soe gulped the milk in one go, Yeon didn’t even let him catch his breath before snatching away the empty bowl and delivering his final order.

“Now go home. Your mother’s worried.”

“Bah, worrying over nothing. So what if a grown son doesn’t come home right away?”

“Go. I’m tired.”

When Du-soe, far from leaving, only scooted further into the porch and complained about his sore wounds, Yeon snapped irritably. Like a cornered cat, his voice came out sharp. Du-soe blinked, confused by the sudden shift, and looked at him with wide eyes.

It was no secret that Du-soe’s parents didn’t approve of his constant visits to Yeon’s house. It wasn’t that they hated Yeon.

Du-soe’s family had been kind even back when Yeon’s father was alive, always helping out in whatever ways they could. They were simply overly fond of their foolish son.

Yeon understood that well. Du-soe might’ve been built like a mountain, but to his mother, he was a son she’d cradle in her arms if she could. And what mother would be comfortable watching her marriage-ready son trailing behind a hunter like a lost pup?

Right about now, she was likely pacing and wringing her hands, having heard from neighbors that her son got into a fight, waiting for him to come home.

Especially the madam—whenever Du-soe even mentioned Yeon, she couldn’t hide her discomfort. On those days, she’d inevitably show up at Yeon’s house with a guilty look, clean the sickroom thoroughly, and quietly take care of the laundry.

Because he understood her heart, Yeon often felt grateful—and guilty. Guilty for not being able to be harsher with Du-soe. Which is why he was always trying to send him home at the first opportunity. But Du-soe, oblivious to that inner turmoil, and just as oblivious to his mother’s torment, grew sulky at Yeon’s coldness.

“Why’re you being so prickly? Are you hurt somewhere?”

Rather than scolding Yeon for yelling, Du-soe worried about him instead. He sprang up from his spot and started poking and prodding Yeon’s small limbs with his big, rough hands, checking if he was injured. Irritated, Yeon slapped those fat, clumsy hands away.

“Don’t worry about me. Worry about your face! Instead of going around getting into fights, why don’t you help your father with the work?”

Startled by the sudden slap on his already bruised and battered hand, Du-soe stumbled back in shock. Despite how delicate Yeon looked, his hands were strong and his slap packed a sting, the hands of someone used to grueling labor.

“Hey—what’s gotten into you all of a sudden? Why’re you acting so cold?”

“Enough! Just go! Go home already!”

Even after getting hit, Du-soe didn’t get angry. Instead, he looked at Yeon with worried eyes, and Yeon, unable to bear that gaze, shouted again and stormed into the kitchen.

Left alone in the yard, Du-soe blinked, bewildered by Yeon’s sudden change in mood. Most people would’ve left by now, but Du-soe, frustratingly slow on the uptake, only peeked toward the kitchen as the clatter of pots and pans echoed like a tantrum. Reluctantly, he finally turned to go.

***

“Dear heavens!!”

A basket full of fresh greens was thrown to the ground with a scream. The woman who had spent all day foraging in the mountains didn’t even stop to regret her hard work spilling onto the dirt—she turned pale and bolted, running for her life.

In the spot where she’d stood, a man loomed—long, black hair flowing like a river down his back.

He was completely naked, not a single thing on him except that hair, and crouched in front of the basket the woman had dropped. Without the slightest sense of shame, he spread his legs wide and tried to tuck the overturned bundle of belongings under one arm the same way the woman had done. But of course, the hefty pack wouldn’t fit into the delicate basket.

When the sight of him holding it didn’t match the woman’s grace from earlier, the man lost interest and dusted off his hands.

“Why do they keep running away?”

He tilted his head, genuinely puzzled. Just then, a crow swooped down from somewhere and perched atop his head, blinking and cawing.

—You dimwit tiger!

“Hm…”

At the mocking voice echoing in his head, the man stared seriously at the scattered items on the ground. A sharp wind sliced through the tall grass, brushing his hair aside and revealing a young face—still faintly boyish.

The young man’s face looked like a brush painting drawn by the kingdom’s greatest artist. Broad shoulders, long legs, and a tall, lean frame made him striking enough to set many women’s hearts aflutter. But here and there, a boyishness lingered. Despite the length of his limbs, his face was still soft and round—somewhere between boy and man.

Though he acted as if he had no idea why the woman from earlier had fled in terror, anyone who saw him would have run just the same. His body was stark naked, not a thread of clothing on him, and his hands and the corners of his mouth were smeared thick with blood.

A bloodied, naked man wandering deep in the mountains? Unless one had guts spilling out of their belly, there was no way not to flee. The crow that had perched on his head moments before now flapped down and landed on the discarded bundle he had tossed aside. With a proud flutter of wings, it began pecking furiously at the pack with its beak.

— Dimwit! It’s because you’re not wearing clothes!

The crow spoke with smug certainty, though even if the man had been fully dressed, the blood alone would’ve scared most people off.

The young-looking man was a black tiger in human form, and the crow tearing into the bundle was Ja-oh, who followed him everywhere like needle and thread.

“Clothes?”

At Ja-oh’s words, the black tiger squatted before the bundle he’d discarded. A chill breeze passed between his legs, and he felt the cool air sharply. He swatted the crow away with the back of his hand and began unwrapping the bundle wrapped in white cloth. Inside were spare clothes. He pulled out a neatly folded jade-colored dopo ( a traditional Korean garment worn by men, especially during the Joseon Dynasty.) and shook it open.

Trying to recall what the human who had owned the bundle looked like, the tiger slung the dopo awkwardly over his bare body. Unimpressed with the look, the crow clicked its beak in disapproval.

Ever since getting caught in a tiger net and suffering through the ordeal, the black tiger had become obsessed with learning more about humans. Ja-oh had given him bits and pieces of knowledge here and there, but it wasn’t enough. There were limits to what Ja-oh could explain—like what happens when one is trapped in a tiger net, or how to escape from one.

So the black tiger had begun observing humans more actively. Today, he had made a bold decision to cross the mountain and venture into a neighboring village. On the way, he had encountered a scholar traveling on foot, the very man to whom the bundle had belonged. It hadn’t been his intention to devour him on the spot.

They say even if you’re bitten by a tiger, you’ll live if you keep your wits—that saying wasn’t for nothing. He hadn’t meant to kill him then and there. He just wanted to carry him off alive, get some questions answered, then maybe let him go. But the human panicked before he could even try that, and everything went awry.

Unlike the small human who had killed his mother in an instant, this larger one was far more fragile than expected. Hoping he might calm down if he saw a human figure, the tiger had taken on a human form. But the result had been the same as with the woman from earlier—screaming and fleeing.

— Humans wear clothes.

Taking Ja-oh’s advice, the tiger imagined Yeon-ah’s appearance and tried to mimic it, dressing himself in the spare garments. But the very concept of “wearing clothes” was foreign to him. He had no idea how to put on undergarments or properly wear a dopo—it was all like alien ritual.

He fumbled his way through the process, trying his best to imitate what he’d seen, but his outfit was a laughable mess—nowhere close to properly dressed. As he rummaged through the clothes and wrapped them clumsily around his body, something clattered and fell out of the bundle. It was a wooden tag, polished to a shine and wrapped in silky, dark blue tassels.

“What’s this?”

— A good thing! A very good thing. Humans need to keep it. Always.

“Even ‘Yeon-ah’?”

— Yup!

As the black tiger picked up the wooden tag, Ja-oh answered like he knew exactly what it was. He nuzzled the soft blue tassels with his beak, as if savoring their familiar, luxurious texture.

The tiger frowned and stared curiously at him. He’d seen wooden tags before—carried by the small humans—but they were different from this one. The small human’s tags had been rough and crude, but this one had a deep color, smooth grain, and a beautiful blue tassel. He had no idea what it was for, but Ja-oh insisted it was important, so he tucked it away.

Then, with a light step, the black tiger looked over the blood-soaked scene he’d left behind—and disappeared without a trace.