[CYM] 2 – Insane Young Master

“How come he won’t drink it all at once? No matter how bitter the medicine is, he’s not a child, really.”

“Hurry up and stop talking. We will be late.”

Unable to resist the urging of her mother, she trudged toward the young master’s room.

The young man was sickly. There, at the age of nine, he went boating with his father, and fell into the river, almost drowning. His mind wandered from time to time – apparently, from the terrible amounts of water he had drunk, parasites were said to have nested in his brain.

She didn’t know what kind of disease he had, but the medicines had no effect at all – to the point they had called a shaman for healing.

“Take your medicine.”

The way to communicate with the young master was through a hole the size of two palms under the jangjimun*. Through it, she pushed the herbal medicine: a bowl containing its soup contents.

*Doors that slide with papered panels.

“Young master.”

“….”

“My mother told me to come back with an empty porcelain bowl.”

There was something she came to realise whilst following her mother for a year. He had a ferocious temper and was reluctant to swallow the bitter medicines.

And although he was a sick person, he did not live with an incomplete conscience.

There were times when the words he said made sense.

Frankly, she did not believe that the young master was completely insane. Even now like this,

“Argh!”

Suddenly, a white hand reached out of the hole and flipped the bowl upside down.

It was the servants who took care of the medicines spilt on the daecheong*, but how nice it was to see the medicinal herbs she worked so hard for being thrown away like rainwater.

*The main room.

“Did you have a grudge against me in your past life?”

Whether or not her cheeks were red from embarrassment, he ended up kicking the soup bowl.

“If you’re paid money, you’re supposed to heal my illness,” he said.

The voice that rumbled out through the pitch blackness was unbelievably clear for an insane person. Seeing how irritated he was every time she came, he must have recognised her present and seemed to enjoy provoking her.

“All sick patients die.”

“Stop bringing this kind of medicine and bring me something proper.”

The young master alternated between maniacal laugher and irritable scolding; his mind twinged with insanity.

When that brutal scolding subsided, a fresh voice like the dewy wildflowers spoke.

“Bring me something sweet, hurry up.”

Perhaps his tastebuds were haunted by a spirit that had died due to a scarcity of sugar.

She silently arose and asked the maid sweeping the daecheong for a wet cotton cloth. She intended to clean the spilled medicine.

‘A whole bowl has been wasted.’

Did this esteemed person know the toil it took to extract these precious herbs, how many fields one must hoe, or the number of days and nights one had to spend at the market with baskets of vegetables?

Clicking her tongue, she looked at the hole in the jangjimun. A familiar presence came from the other side. It was right in front of her as if to gauge her reaction.

Dark blue eyes lurked quietly in the dark.

The young master, who had ended his complaints, watched her. To describe him with an analogy, his form was like a glowering beast prowling the outside.

His appearance drawn in calligraphy in the painting was comparable to a flower arrangement, but the reality was completely different.

It would be less exhausting if he were simply mad, but asleep.

“It’s hot.”

“Then come out to the daecheong. It must be cool to be buried in a blanket in midsummer, huh.”

She also had the desire to coax him out. Truly, she was curious about the handsome young master’s appearance.

He was quiet. It was what she expected. At that moment, the sound of a rustling blanket flowed through the opening.

Instead of answering, the young master began to scratch the floor with his fine fingernails, as if he had never touched sol or sand before.

“Young master.”

Did he really go insane from the heat? Oh, he right, he already was.

What followed was the sound of a tune being hummed. Nonsensical at first, the melody turned soft and exquisite.

Beodeul must have had heat stroke and gone insane too. She was momentarily mesmerised by the enchanting voice. It was a song from a foreign land whose language that she had never heard in her life.

Did he learn to sing from a tutor? As far as she knew, the young master’s mental illness was so severe that he put away the books he once read and his former teachers, no longer were worthy to walk in this mansion.

She suddenly remembered Lim Yeong, a scholar of Dogok, who had been invited to teach the young master. He had fled the manor with his arm broken; his face was white as if he had seen a spirit.