[CYM] 3 – Little Mouse’s Tail

“Young master, I’m curious.”

When she spoke, the tune flowing to her ears subsided. The beautiful voice ceased, and silence took its place.

“Where did you learn that song?”

There was no answer, and the sound of nails scratching resumed. His hand moved to jangjimun, creating a shadow like a large maple leaf. She urged while looking at the young master’s hand, which had been dimly stamped on the shoji* paper.

*Pulped mulberry made into paper for the jangjimun.

“It’s because it’s nice to listen to.”

There was no way an answer would come back.

“Really?” he asked leisurely, and then coldly spat out.

“Bring anything I can use to cleanse my mouth.”

He had returned to giving orders as usual. When singing, his voice became tender, but it had quickly reverted to a harsh tone. The sudden change was disconcerting.

Afterwards, perhaps due to a change of heart, the young master who sat before her, prickly as a hedgehog, started singing once again.

The war waged over the medicine bowl still occurred, but when he sang, it was almost natural to put down their blades and focus on one’s ears and mouth.

The young master lived a life of leisure and caprice. He mostly played, ate and ran wildly as he wanted. One day he complained, the next day not a word came out, and the day after, he played dead, pretending to be deceased. It was tougher than being a married woman trying to please everyone.

One day, exhausted, she asked her mother.

“What is the cause of the young master’s illness?”

“We’ve been suffering for a year now.”

It felt like an eternity since she had boiled with frustration, trying to fulfil the whims of the petulant young master.

“Is curing him even possible?”

Since the age of nine, the young master’s condition worsened, so the times she’d heard him speak became fewer.

She was truly fed up. Men who grew up pampered like weeds in a greenhouse were indeed a tiresome breed. She responded diligently to avoid increasing her mother’s workload, but wondered how long she would have to continue this charade.

“Why not use that rotting money to bring in a famous doctor from the capital? They are wealthy, after all.”

Her mother remained silent, clearly knowing something but choosing not to share it with her due to her youth. Then, unexpectedly, her mother revealed, “That child, he’s going to die soon.”

“Excuse me?”

When she asked how long he had left, her mother coldly stated he wouldn’t last six months, which shocked her twice over.

She was dumbfounded, with an added feeling of unease. She had been following her mother around and had known the young master for a year. Although their relationship hadn’t grown close enough for affection, she felt a tug at her heart.

“To die without even being named.”

Her principle that rough stones would be rounded off with affection lost its momentum. Compelled by pity, she resolved to be kinder the following day and brought him honey-coated rice cakes, that she had secretly stolen from the offerings. If caught, she would face consequences.

“What is this?”

“I sneaked it out. Try it.”

Their time together had been so long that her speech often became blunt. The young master didn’t pick on her curt manners.

She left the rice cake jar in front of him, but no hand reached out for it, and the cakes remained untouched, with only the wind blowing around them. To the son of a wealthy family who dined on lavish meals, a commoner’s snack was hardly appealing. He seemed to disdain even touching it.

She hadn’t expected him to eat it but was slightly upset to see him not even try.

“If you don’t like it, throw it away.”

“Is that supposed to taste good?”

“It’s coated with honey, so it shouldn’t taste bitter.”

She had brought it remembering how he would seek sweet treats whenever forced to down the bitter herbs. Despite her efforts, he scoffed at it like a rich child disdainful of a bone with meat scraps left for beggars.

To her, the plain rice cakes without any design or colour must seem dull compared to the fine sweets she had never seen in her life. His response, however, was appalling.

“We asked you for your skill, but you merely take our money and do nothing. It wasn’t to bring me such things that we entrusted you with my illness.”

The sorrowful words she heard the day before regarding his pitiful fate with not much time left vanished. She had wanted to treat him well, but to him, even pity was a luxury.

“Next time, I’ll bring the medicine on time.”

“A year with this medicine and its effect is as little as a mouse’s tail?”

Scattered across the yard, the pounded rice cakes lay in disarray, as if they were snowflakes brutally stepped on, bursting open and mixing with the sand. It was a moment that rendered the time she had dedicated in front of the mortar, aiming to create them, utterly futile.