[CYM] 25 – Butterflies and Spectres

She couldn’t tell how the day had passed. Her body was not at ease, yet her mind was clear, and random thoughts rippled through her head.

The cheek where the young master’s fingers had touched was now tepid and cooling. She stared blankly at the darkening clouds, which gathered into a face and then dispersed quickly.

The young master, appearing before her eyes for the first time, was a man of seamless beauty, from his fingertips to his toes, as if carved from jade. Being so close allowed her to take in every detail.

His features suggested a playful young rake, but his eyes were sharp and fierce like a tiger’s. The gaze looking down on her held the colour of river water: dark, calm, and endlessly deep.

He showed smooth gestures with a cool face. All she could do as she lay her head on the young master’s knee was to answer ‘yes’ or ‘no’ whenever the man of bewitching beauty poked around asking, ‘What about here? How is this?’ 

After confirming that she had no serious injuries, he released her. She mulled over the same scene in her head until it nearly gave her a headache.

The rumours were all lies. The young master she had seen with her own eyes was not the bizarre, spirit-like man they spoke of, but a vibrant and beautiful one. The circumstances of their meeting had been chaotic, but if she were to express her impression, that was it.

“Now you’re coming.”

“Mother, didn’t you eat first?”

As she walked fanning herself, she was already in the courtyard of the house. Her mother had finished the chores at the Ki family’s house and was waiting for her at the dinner table with a tired face.

She did not speak of the deed she had done in secret. She was afraid of her mother’s reaction if she found out that she had acted like a shaman without having received the divine calling.

Was she six years old? It was at an age far too young for a divine calling, when she had attracted all sorts of butterflies while playing in the flower garden. Her mother had been terrified at the sight. She immediately tucked her at her side and took her to the village shaman, demanding to know what this could mean.

“Never give this child a name.”

“Grandmother, I already have a name. It’s Hong Sahye. My mother named me.”

“Do you want to die early? How is that your name?”

The grandmother uttered these strange words, her eyes rolling back.

“This body already has an owner, and you must act as if you are borrowing it! Otherwise, you’ll not only lose your own body, but it will become infested with bugs! What a pitiful fate you have, child.”

Her mother, upon hearing this, wrapped her in a cloth and hurried out, spitting in front of the shrine as they left. Once they returned home, her mother took her by the hands, sat her down, and scolded her fiercely.

“You don’t need to listen to that grandmother. Never go near the flower garden again, and always stay where I can see you. No, this isn’t right, we should cut your hair off.”

A body with an owner.

The unpleasant remark had been squatting in her head for over a decade. However, whenever she tried to ask her mother about it, her mother would get angry and tell her to forget such nonsense, so she had no choice but to bury it without digging any further.

Before going to bed that night, she pondered over the day’s events. The spectres were one thing, but those butterflies... Should she mention it or keep quiet? What would happen if her mother found out?

“It’s probably best to keep it to myself.”

She could end up being dragged to some strange temple again, just to hear more bizarre remarks.

Above all, she did not want her already frail mother to become agitated because of her. If those butterflies had been harmful spirits, trouble would have arisen long ago.

It was a night when secrets she couldn’t tell her mother began to pile up.

── ⋅ ⋅ ── ✦ ── ⋅ ⋅ ──

The following day, the village was noisy all day long. In front of the Ki family’s house, a crowd had formed since dawn, either to catch a glimpse of the youngest master who had shown his face after eight years or to curry favour with the master during this opportune time.

The master had thrown a feast to celebrate the youngest master’s recovery, which gathered everyone from hungry beggars to nursing infants as if it were a bustling marketplace.

“The young master is exceedingly handsome.”

“How much the master must have suffered, with such a beautiful son bedridden for eight years.”

“Is not today a day of great joy for our village?”

Everyone threw in their flattery. No, the looks of admiration for the unexpectedly handsome appearance of the young master seemed genuine.