[CYM] 12 – Fever

“The sunset will draw evil spirits, let’s clean up.”

Only after her mother’s hands became damp did she put away her sorrow. Her mother prayed for her brother’s peace at the shrine, and she hoped her mother’s sadness would soon lift.

During the journey, an unwelcome drizzle began to fall, eventually turning into a downpour as they approached the house. From afar, a girl could be seen running with her mother, clutching a newly purchased roll of jonquil silk from the drapery store. The sight of the precious light-yellow fabric she held, which they worried might get wet, and the image of the girl and her mother running affectionately together in the rain, was enough to provoke envy to the point of spitefulness.

She was tempted to indulge in idle fantasies that she seldom entertained, to the extent of possibly acting upon them. If her mind had been sound, she would immediately refuse such thoughts. Yet, for some reason, in front of the faceless, mad young master, she felt as though she could let her guard down momentarily.

That night, she found it hard to sleep. As if the pebbles neatly sitting on the floor were the spirit of her elder brother, she watched over them until dawn, absentmindedly scraping them with her fingers. If even she, who had never exchanged a word with her brother, felt this way, the melting sorrow of their mother, who had lost a son she had lived with through smiles and tears for five years, would be inescapable until her dying moment. That was her first thought when she received her brother’s relics from their mother, that she could never fill the void left by him, not even if she were to be reborn.

── ⋅ ⋅ ── ✦ ── ⋅ ⋅ ──

“It seems you haven’t gone hungry in the meantime,” the young master remarked, having learned to distinguish the sound of her shoes scraping across the yard. Before she even stepped into the main hall, the screen was lifted, and his chill gaze met her. “What have you been up to, coming back only now?”

After five days, the young master seemed in low spirits. The malice in his voice was not to be taken lightly. 

“I’ve been busy.”

“Administering medicine to me is also your job, isn’t it? What could be more important than that?”

Although she had recovered from the fever, she still felt weak. The terrible auditory hallucinations she had during her illness seemed to still crawl through her mind. Complaining about being bedridden would just invite trivialising responses, she knew.

Having experienced enough coldness from her mother, she kept silent. “Who has been bringing you your medicine in my absence?” she finally asked.

He ignored her question. Assuming the servants had brought it, she asked again, “How are you feeling?”

“...”

“Has your cough subsided?”

During her absence, boredom seemed to have grown like a poisonous mushroom in the young master, who was now very cold. 

“What have you been doing? Surely you weren’t waiting for me?”

Only then did his deep eyes slide over her, the bluish rims around his pupils reflecting her face as if it were the crescent moon. When she blinked, the young master’s eyelashes twitched as if he had seen something unpleasant.

“If you were so curious, you should have come to me sooner.”

His disapproving gaze pierced her already weakened heart like an awl. Typically, she would have brushed it off like a small quarrel, but feeling physically drained made her spirit wilt like withered grass.

“From now on, I should probably give you a heads-up before leaving.”

“What happened to your face?”

She thought he was annoyed by her attitude, but it wasn’t that. She had tried to cover up, but the man with an almost spiritly perception was not to be fooled.

“It’s just the look of someone who’s been sick day and night.”

“It’s just a passing cold.”

Not many paid close attention to the son of a shaman from the poor district, and no passerby noticed her pallor. Not that she had expected any recognition...

‘I didn’t know taking a short rest would double my workload.’

“I’m fine now.”

The young master, who had been wiping off cold sweat, turned his gaze away from her. She sat down energetically in the main hall as if to show that this minor illness was nothing to worry about and set her sewing materials aside.

“I didn’t bring anything today.”

Her mother couldn’t get out of bed last night and had only managed to cook rice using the few ingredients left, not enough to share any snacks with the young master.

On reflection, she thought there could be no worse kind of thief. It was shameful how the wealthy, who already have so much, could take the daily sustenance of a poor commoner.