Candle to the Devil / Chapter 9

After the onslaught of the Afflicted and the migration into walled cities, livestock became a valuable asset and also a burden. Housing for the beasts was problematic, and most cities had large sections of land specifically for raising large numbers of herd animals. The distribution to slaughterhouses and butchers was regulated by the city government officials and due to this uniform system, a price limit was set for certain meats to avoid the rising of the price of meat to astronomical heights.

Most citizens had small garden plots behind their homes for basic necessities, and for what they could not grow they relied on the merchant houses. The merchants that controlled the large quantities of wheat, barley, and rice were known collectively as Gogmul Agma or grain demons. Grains were not regulated by the government as livestock were and therefore the Gogmul Agma charged whatever they wished. It was only the competition between them that kept the Gogmul Agma from making the prices unreachable. 

The Gogmul Agma grew their crops in walled compounds outside of the city. These were often less fortified and contained enough housing for several overseers and guards. Annually the Gogmul Agma would hire farmhands to help harvest their stores.

Very little was done in parliament about the unfair monopoly over grain as many merchants gave noble families bribes to keep them contented. 

--Gogmul Agma: The Survival of Agriculture in an Era Under Seige by Christopher Hutchins 1942

Chapter 9

Streets of Hanseong, Hanseong

Monday, 3:00pm, April 25^th , 1858

“I believe I found what you’re looking for.”

Kyungsoo barely flinched when a hand closed on his arm and turned him down a side street. He’d recognized the voice immediately, and this had happened so many times over the past two weeks that it hardly seemed odd anymore.

Kim Jongin had a tendency to appear sporadically, and it was usually to invite Kyungsoo to eat with him or stroll the streets as he told him of the vacant homes of Hanseong and whether or not they were worth looking into.

“The last one was hardly fitting to even be called a home.” Kyungsoo responded aridly, raising an eyebrow.

“I was misinformed.” Jongin murmured, not looking the least apologetic. He rarely did. Kyungsoo had yet to see any emotion aside from smug and amused cross the man’s face. Kyungsoo wasn’t entirely certain how Jongin found him each time. He never told him where he’d be. He simply showed up at his side and beckoned him to follow.

Kyungsoo could only hope that this time Jongin’s time had been well spent. “People are staring at us.” Kyungsoo had noticed this happening quite often when Jongin was around, and he had the sinking suspicion that they were staring at his friend and not him. Jongin cut a much more dramatic figure, after all.

“People enjoy staring at things. And gossiping about them.” Jongin glanced behind them and smirked. “It gives them something to do.”

“I’d prefer they do their jobs.” Kyungsoo responded. Which reminded him, he had a stack of essays to grade by the end of the week. “Do you know how long this will take?”

“We’ll need to take a carriage. It’s a bit further downtown.” Jongin ushered him toward the curb where a stagecoach was parked and waiting for a customer. “Geum-eocho Street.” He called up to the driver before slipping inside.

Kyungsoo climbed in after him, still unsure if this was worth it. Knowing his luck, Jongin would ask him to pay for the carriage. He always seemed to find a way to foist the expenses of their ventures onto the doctor.

Kyungsoo settled against the seat of the stagecoach and tried to ignore the heavy perfume that pervaded the compartment. The person who had used it before had left quite a mark. Kyungsoo pinched the bridge of his nose and gave a small sigh. It was going to give him a headache and he had too many papers to grade to go to bed early that night.

If they arrived back by night. He wasn’t entirely certain where they were going. Geum-eocho Street was not familiar to him, though he could hardly count himself an expert of Hanseong. He needed to find a home soon. Chanyeol had written saying that Jongdae was itching to publish his paper and that he was suspicious that someone was following the two Chinese men they’d picked up. He wasn’t entirely sure who or why, but he didn’t think it was safe that they remain in Haeju much longer.

“I never asked what your profession was.”

Jongin blinked, and his lips tilted into a smile. “No, you didn’t.”

Kyungsoo crossed his arms over his chest. “Well?”

Jongin cocked his head to the side and sucked on his bottom lip for a moment before he answered. “It involves quite a bit of lying down in various places and pondering the cruelties of fate.”

Kyungsoo gave a small laugh. “So you’re either a philosopher or a rake.”

Jongin’s eyes flashed. “A bit of both.” They fell into a comfortable silence as the stagecoach bumped across uneven cobblestones. The entire city seemed to be on the streets today.

            Kyungsoo closed his eyes and he could almost imagine the perfume to be his mother’s, and the soft rocking of the stagecoach and the shouts of vendors calling out their wares in Korean filled him with a painful nostalgia. It had been happening more and more lately. It had been easy to stave it off while in London. Few things there reminded him of the things he loved and missed.

            But here he was face to face with it every morning. It was tiring. Nostalgia could be crippling. He had seen it destroy people, those who would prefer to reminisce on what was and were constantly disappointed with the reality that didn’t add up.

            He needed to look forward. Looking back would only fill him with regret.

            “We’ve arrived.”

            Kyungsoo’s eyes flickered open to find Jongin staring at him, one slender eyebrow raised in question. The stagecoach had slowed to a halt, and the driver was shouting to them that they could alight.

            “Of course.” Kyungsoo straightened his cravat and stepped outside. He reached into his jacket pocket and walked up to the driver, “How much, sir?”

            “6 shillings.” The cabbie answered, straight faced. His clothing, though English, was poorly made and poorly kept. His coat was tattered around the edges, and the elbows had been patched multiple times. He did not have a tophat. Instead, a traditional gat sat atop a tightly bound topknot and it was so garish a contradiction that it almost fit.

            “Here. 12 shillings if you will return here within the hour.”

            “Of course, sir.” The man ducked his head in a slightly bow and hurriedly grabbed the money from Kyungsoo’s gloved hand. He watched the driver pull back out into the crowded street, shouting for people to move aside so he could turn.

            “Well?”

            “Well what?” Kyungsoo turned and paused. It was four stories high, with smooth white walls and shuttered windows boarded in black wood. The entryway was made of good, solid brick, and the entirety of the building was surrounded by wrought-iron. There was a tree in the yard—trees in London were a rarity outside the parks but Hanseong had them in abundance.

“Shall we go inside?” Jongin asked, holding up a key that Kyungsoo belatedly wondered how he’d gotten. The door opened easily, and Kyungsoo allowed Jongin to lead him into a relatively unfurnished entryway.

“How do you like it?” Jongin stepped inside, placing his top hat on the hat rack near the door. He slid off his coat and did the same.

            “I think this place certainly qualifies as a townhouse.” Kyungsoo gave a small nod, staring around the foyer. “And you said it comes with all that I asked for?”

            “A full basement complete with furnace. It seemed large enough that it could be converted to a smelter for your work. The first floor has a large parlor to the left that can be used for private practice. There are enough rooms upstairs to house the entire railway company, and there’s even a greenhouse out back. I’m afraid that the library is smaller than you would have hoped for.”

            Kyungsoo gave a small laugh. “I’d like to see the basement first.”

            Jongin led him down the large hall, and he eyed the rooms as they went until they reached a door that required another of Jongin’s mysteriously procured keys. The stairwell was dark—he’d need to get oil lamps properly installed—and about one flight down the steps turned to the right and followed along the stone foundation of the home. Kyungsoo ran his hand along it. Good stone, no signs of mold. Air tight. He’d need that for his experiments.

            “This home was owned by a former marquis whose family perished when Jeonju fell.” Jongin held up a lamp he’d retrieved from the base of the stairs and lit it.

The basement was all Kyungsoo could have asked for.

It was basically one large, open floor with a storage room in the far left corner. Alongside one wall was the furnace. It was a relatively decent size, he’d be able to make most of what he needed here.

“Those that inherited it moved to Wonju and never returned, but they’re asking for quite a hefty sum.” Jongin turned to his shorter companion. “Can you afford it?”

“If I had to rely on my pay from the university I’d only be able to afford the library.” Kyungsoo snorted. “Of course I have the funds. I can procure them within two days. When will I be able to move in?”

“You seem eager to leave the university.”

“Only because I am constantly mistaken for a student by everyone.” Kyungsoo muttered. “Looking younger than your students is terrible. Not to mention that I am younger than several of them.”

            Jongin nodded. “They’re certainly more likely to resent you than respect you.”

            Kyungsoo sighed. “As a friend, shouldn’t you be giving me something positive to think about?” He began his way up the stairs, Jongin and the light following behind. Jongin seemed oddly quiet until they reached the top and he’d locked the basement door.

            “We’re friends now?”

            Kyungsoo blinked, looked a bit confused. “Well what else could we be?” They’d certainly spent enough time together to be considered such.

            Lovers. “Acquaintances.”

            Kyungsoo laughed, “I don’t believe in acquaintances. There are two types of people. Those I like and those I dislike.”

            “What about those you’re indifferent toward?”

            “Indifference is a type of distaste.” Kyungsoo answered. “Because it isn’t that you don’t care. You actively think about not caring which means there must be some kind of dislike.”

            “I disagree.” Jongin answered. “I think there are those who do not care because they are not affected by the existence of others.”

            Kyungsoo gave a smile that said he didn’t agree with him but didn’t want to say no. “That’s quite a lonely way to look at life.”

            “You’re the one who said you only like or dislike people.” Jongin answered coolly, grabbing his hat and coat from the hallway and placing them on with a rigid grace.

            “How is that lonely?” Kyungsoo blinked, “You can only like or dislike through interactions and observations with others. That’s hardly lonely.”

            “You can be in a room full of people and still be alone.” Jongin muttered. He watched a flicker of something akin to pain flash through Kyungsoo’s eyes as the other man said simply, “I know.” A smile touched his lips and his eyes were kind again, “But back to the matter at hand. Are we friends?”

            “I suppose,” Jongin murmured, and a small smile spread across his lips as they stepped out into the daylight. “Since you don’t believe in acquaintances.”

Jongin only believed in acquaintances. He had no friends and he had no enemies because he didn’t care enough for either. But he supposed, for Kyungsoo, he would make an exception.

Haeju Weekly Press, Haeju

Monday, noon, April 25^th , 1858

Zitao stared down the handle of the broom and took three long, even breaths. The broom wasn’t the same as a bo staff, but it was certainly closer in heft than the sledge hammer he’d used before.

He’d been asked to clean up a few of the rooms and had been left to his own devices with little else to do but wonder why he and his brother were still here. Yixing had gone with Jongdae to secure something—supplies, things he needed carried, grunt work for the Chinese boy that had grown used to following Korean orders.

His grip on the brook tightened, and he could feel the wood grain digging into his palms. Jongdae had housed them. He knew he should be more grateful but all he’d grown used to in this world was disappointment. Nothing ever worked out for the two. He only had Yixing to rely on. They couldn’t change that now. It would be too dangerous.

His muscles pulled, a familiar tug of disuse; not quite pain but unpleasant. E had gone too long without proper practice. The time in the deadlands had shown him how much he’d needed the practice. Wushu worked different parts of the body than simply carrying and lifting heavy objects.

If he and his brother were going to be abandoned again, they needed a secure plan. He refused to be a lackey again. He wasn’t going to put his life in the hands of others like that…This time he’d find proper work. He could be a bodyguard, couldn’t he? Nobles were always in need of some muscle. It was still dirty work but at least he’d feel more useful.

“You’re good.”

Zitao acted without thinking, swinging down the broom. The bristled ends hovered a few inches from Jongdae’s nose. The shorter man glanced at the makeshift weapon. “I’m sorry if I interrupted anything.” Though his tone was nonchalant it shook slightly. He’d obviously been startled.

            Zitao placed the broom down apologetically. He should have been cleaning, not messing around. He felt like a child caught sneaking out of doing his chores. He glanced down at the ground. You have nothing to be ashamed of. Look him in the eyes. His hands itched for the security of his Yixing’s but all they found was the rough, unfinished wood of the broom handle.

            “Is Yixing back?”

            “He’s downstairs. Lunch is ready.” Jongdae stuffed his hands into the pockets of his waistcoat and leaned against the wall beside the door. His sleeves were rolled up just below his elbow, and Zitao spotted ink stains covering his fingers. It was probably why he wore a black waist coat for work. The stains would be less obvious that way. He was eyeing Zitao calmly, with the same enigmatic smile that Zitao distrusted.

            It was the smile of a man who knew more than he ought to.

            “Well if your job working for Doctor Do doesn’t work out for you I suppose you’d do well in the fighting dens.”

            “Fighting dens?”

            “It’s a Western pastime, but it’s gained quite a bit of popularity in recent years.” Jongdae nodded, then shoved off of the wall and walked into the hallway. “Everyone likes a good bloodbath.”

Haeju weekly press, Haeju

Monday, 4:15pm, April 25^th , 1858

            “Are you sure you don’t need any help? I can manage.”

            Chanyeol glanced back at the shorter man hobbling across the room. “It’s fine. There aren’t many dishes left.”

            “You have your own work to do.” Baekhyun glanced in the direction of the attached printing office. “I can get the dishes.”

            Chanyeol wasn’t sure if he believed him. For the past several days Baekhyun had been walking around more but he was limping heavily and never stayed standing for long. Chanyeol had pulled up a chair next to his desk near the telegraph and had taught Baekhyun a bit of the code they used so he couldn’t get bored. He became anxious if Chanyeol wasn’t easily accessible. Chanyeol figured it was because he worried something might happen and he didn’t trust any of the others to allow them to help.

            But the limp was all in his head. Kyungsoo had told him the term for it once, but he couldn’t remember it now. Any time that Chanyeol brought up Baekhyun’s leg or Kyungsoo, Baekhyun snapped at him. Even Chanyeol had a limit to his patience.

            “Fine.” Chanyeol murmured. “I have some telegrams to decode.” And this was the first time that Baekhyun had decided to try it on his own. He seemed to live with the constant desire to show he was just fine and the fear that he wasn’t.

            Chanyeol walked into the printing office and saw Jongdae at the front desk glancing over  the newspaper for Wednesday. He looked up when he heard Chanyeol enter. “Glad to see you decided to come to work today. I thought you’d quite to become a nurse.”

            Chanyeol shrugged. “Any news from Kyungsoo?” It was best to ignore Jongdae’s teasing. If no one took the bait he’d get bored and stop.

            “I haven’t checked since noon. See if there’s anything we might have missed.”

            “Where are the Chinese guys?”

            “Cleaning the bathhouse.” Jongdae answered readily. “Would you get Yixing for me—”

            The sound of glass breaking was followed by a loud thump. Chanyeol crossed the room in two strides and met Yixing and Zitao in the hallway outside the kitchen. He opened the door to find Baekhyun lying on the ground, the large biscuit platter in pieces all around him. He looked pale, but his face was tinged with an embarrassed flush.

            “Are you alright? Did you get cut?” Chanyeol knelt next to him, wary of the ceramic shards littering the floor.

            “I’m fine.” Baekhyun hissed, eyes trained on his leg. He could still feel it, the humming of gears vibrating up his leg into his stomach. The doctor had said he’d get used to it, that eventually he wouldn’t notice at all but that was bullshit. He’d never get used to this. A metal knee? It wasn’t possible. He’d never walk again, not the way he used to.

            “That was my aunt’s plate.” Jongdae announced from the doorway before he said something to the other two in Chinese. The taller one disappeared down the hall and returned a few moments later with a broom.

            “You get Baekhyun back upstairs.” Jongdae sighed. “I’ll be up later to check on his leg. We need to make sure he didn’t dislocate any wires.”

            “Ok.”

            “I can do it myself!” Baekhyun yelled.

            “Obviously you can’t.” Jongdae countered. “If you could have you wouldn’t have dropped my aunt’s china—unless that was a mad grad for attention. If that’s the case I’mm adding more to your debt.”

            “Go ahead. I can’t pay it back. I’ll never be able to.” Baekhyun said through clenched teeth. “I have no money and I can’t get a job with this leg.”

            “Of course you can.” Chanyeol insisted. “Once your leg gets stronger—”

            “It’s never going to get stronger! Don’t you get it? The doctor was wrong. Whatever this is,” He motioned to his knee, “it doesn’t work.”

            “Or maybe you just don’t want to believe that it will work.” Jongdae replied coolly. “Up to this point you haven’t had an excuse to give up. Well now you do. Go on. Limp your way to debtor’s prison, you know where the door is.” Jongdae pulled a shard out of his thumb. “Chanyeol we have a paper to print. He said he could do it himself.”

            Chanyeol watched his retreating back before looking to Baekhyun. The other man was glaring into his lap.

            Chanyeol sighed. “Come on.” He grabbed for his arm but Baekhyun threw him off. He knelt there for a few more minutes before he returned to his work. Baekhyun remained crumpled on the floor long after Yixing and Zitao had cleaned up and left.

Kim Manor House, Hanseong

Monday, 8:34pm, April 25^th , 1858

            “Here’s your tea, m’lord.”

            Joonmyun did not look up from his letter, but gave a small nod. “Leave the tray on the side table but bring me my cup and saucer Mal Chin, thank you.” He continued to stare at the sturdy, perfumed parchment in front of him as he heard the telltale chink of the tea cup being placed on the edge of his desk.

            “That will be all.”

            “The lady of the house requests that you eat dinner with her tonight, m’lord.” Mal Chin shuffled nervously in front of his master’s desk. “She wants to talk to you about preparations for the engagement.”

            “Tell her I will see to any preparations. I’m quite busy and I do not wish to be disturbed tonight. Bring me up something in an hour. And be sure to fill the lamps.”

            “Yes m’lord.”

            The heavy oak door of his study closed shut and he took a long, steady breath. Half of his letters that morning had been congratulations from the prominent Hanseong nobility on his upcoming engagement with Lord Oh’s youngest daughter. Half were asking when the wedding would be and the other half had sent barely veiled inquiries on the situation within the House of Lords. Even families without titled members in parliament knew that this was a power game.

            It was only a matter of time before Lord Kim announced the engagement of his eldest son. To whom? Perhaps one of Lord Choi’s girls? Lord Jang did not possess the courage or the income to merit an alliance with the King’s Dog. There were very few options, but those left could possibly change the current power divide between the two.

            He wasn’t entirely sure how he should feel about his engagement. A part of him was relieved that it was over and done with—and it would be a few more years before Lady Se-Jim was ready to be married. She had barely debuted and—rumor had it that she hadn’t yet reached womanhood.

            The likelier option was that Lord Oh was using the tenuous engagement to keep Joonmyun from acting out while leaving his options open for a more prosperous match.

            Either way, Joonmyun was utterly done with the entire thing. He could hardly pit himself against Lord Oh.

            His conversation with Lord Kim the day they’d met Lord Bruce had etched itself into the back of Joonmyun’s skull, and the words surfaced when he least expected them to. He’d lately begun to wonder what exactly he was striving for. Initially he had believed he would do what was right for the country.

            Now, he figured that he should be content with looking out for his own.

            Everyone loves a hero and a patriot, but few live long enough to bask in that affection. The safest route was to lay low and stay with the winning side. He could live comfortably.

            Comfortable was all he could hope for.

            He reached for his tea and took a sip. The taste was not one he’d had before. “Mal Chin,” He called loudly, knowing that the butler had remained outside the door. It opened and the elderly servant bowed low, “Yes m’lord?”

            “What tea is this?”

            “I believe it’s called Earl Grey, m’lord. It was a gift from Lord Bruce on account of your engagement.”

            “Please bring me my usual Assam.” His mouth tasted like ash.

            “Yes m’lord. Right away.”

            “Don’t worry about him siring some half-British welp,” Lord Oh gave a low laugh. “The women of the red-light district are well-trained for that sort of thing. There are plenty of herbs they can take to keep off pregnancy. And even if they didn’t…Lord Bruce’s taste is quite unique.”

He was telling him this not because he trusted him, even if Joonmyun was now unofficially engaged to his daughter. No, it was because he knew that Joonmyun could do nothing with this information if he hoped to survive.

Baggerby and Green foremen barracks, Haeju

Tuesday, 6:22am, April 26^th , 1858

            He woke up to the feeling of sandpaper on his nose.

            Wu Fan winced, eyes slowly opening to see the kitten peering down at him from its perch atop his pillow, whiskers quivering. As soon as his eyes opened it let out a high pitched meow so pitiful that Wu Fan almost felt pity.

            Irritation overrode all other emotions, unfortunately. He cursed and quickly sat up, making the cat meow again as the pillow shifted and it nearly fell off. Wu Fan glanced tiredly at the night stand and grabbed for the small rag and bottle beside it.

            Auntie Han had said the kitten was too young to drink on its own and had suggested using goat milk. She’d also refused to take the thing when he’d tried to give it to her.

            “If you’re going to save a life you must take responsibility for your actions.”

            It had only been the forlorn look on the old woman’s face that had kept him from throwing it on her doorstep and leaving. She still had no news of her son.

            He shouldn’t have saved the cat. He should have let it die. He had enough problems on hand—such as how to deal with the two Chinese immigrants that had resurfaced from the Deadlands.

            Over the past few weeks they’d done nothing remotely important—running simple errands for one Kim Jongdae, editor of the Haeju Weekly Press. When Wu Fan had first followed them there he’d panicked. A journalist was the last person they needed to know about the situation. But nothing had happened. No reports. Not even a hint that the man knew what the two  had been through.

            Perhaps that was more suspicious than anything. Kim Jongdae had always been intent on ruining Baggerby and Green. Wu Fan himself had once had the pleasure of showing Jongdae personally how Baggerby and Green dealt with public nuisances.

            Yet even while his paranoia consumed him he found himself feeding a cat with a strip of cloth dipped in goat milk.

            One of the Korean foreman had informed Mr. Heath of the cat after hearing it mewling one night. Wu Fan told him he’d kept the cat to keep out the rats. Mr. Heath hadn’t asked about it since, though he had made the comment that Ramsey’s dog was likely to kill it before they’d make use of it.

            “You’re useless.” He muttered to it in Mandarin, and the cat purred against his fingertips. “Utterly useless.”

            He glanced at his watch and reached for his boots. He could mull over his decisions later. For now, he had work. A shipment from Wonju was due to arrive by nine sharp. He needed to make sure that whatever was in those compartments was out of them before 11 when the train left again.

            “Stay in here and don’t make a fuss.” He muttered, reaching down to pat the kitten’s head. Then he tightened his suspenders, threw on his coat, and headed out the door.

           

Haeju Weekly Press Haeju

Tuesday, 7:00am, April 26^th , 1858

            “Kyungsoo has procured a home and says that we can begin preparations to leave immediately. By the time Yixing and Zitao arrive in Hanseong all accounts should be settled—good morning, so glad you could join us.”

            Baekhyun paused in the doorway as four pairs of eyes landed on his slim figure. Jongdae smiled at him over the rim of his coffee cup and Baekhyun briefly entertained the idea of going back upstairs.

            He’d crawled up to his room at some point the night before and had remained there till now, contemplating what he was going to do with his weak leg. Everyone else seemed so convinced that it would heal. But how would they know? They’d never experienced what he had.

            But Jongdae’s words had cut deep, enough to make him wonder how much truth had been in them. Perhaps he really was crippling himself so that he could give up. He didn’t like appearing weak, and that was the weak way out of all this.

            He wouldn’t show that side again.

            He hobbled over towards the empty seat next to Chanyeol and lowered himself down. He grabbed for a slice of bread before anyone could ask any questions. Chanyeol seemed content with the fact that he’d come downstairs. Or maybe he was content because of Kyungsoo’s letter, Baekhyun wasn’t certain.

            The group had settled down to a relatively quiet breakfast when Jongdae broke the silence. “Everyone should have their things packed by tonight. You leave on the first train tomorrow morning.” He looked around the table. “All of you.”

            “All of us?” Chanyeol raised an eyebrow. “Why all of us?”

“I’m thinking of opening a new branch in Hanseong.” Jongdae answered. “With this article I won’t be tolerated here much longer. I’ll need both you and Baekhyun-ssi for the new branch, if he’s willing to take the job.”

Baekhyun swallowed. “I can’t read.” The admonition was hard, and he felt his cheeks begin to burn. A job. He’d yelled at the man and now he was giving him a job. But it was strange. He knew that Jongdae wasn’t giving him this opportunity out of pity or kindness. He wasn’t like Doctor Do. He was doing this because it was convenient for his current ventures.

“Neither can I.” Chanyeol grinned, “Well, not that well. But I’m getting much better. Mostly we work the machines. Once you get the basics of writing you can go out for your own interviews. Until then you’ll be a watcher.”

“A watcher?”

“While one of us asks the questions, the other person gauges their reactions. To see if they’re lying.”

“First off neither of you will be doing any journalist work until I get there to finalize everything. I’m renting a few rooms in the vacant tenant house next to Doctor Do’s new home. If you go with these two it will look less suspicious. Two Chinese men on a train is grounds enough for questioning and detainment, depending on how bored the rail company employees are feeling that day.” Jongdae turned and said something in Chinese.

Yixing and Zitao looked momentarily confused before they nodded.

“Good. Now that that is settled, pass me the jam.”

Sunkyungkwan University, Hanseong

Tuesday, 1:30pm, April 26^th , 1858

The knock on Kyungsoo’s door was not a surprise—students often dropped by to ask for clarification on assignments or parts of the lecture they weren’t sure about—but the person standing there certainly was.

Since the incident a few weeks prior Luhan had taken to avoiding eye contact and making himself as unnoticeable as possible in class. His work had continued to be of the highest caliber, but his enthusiasm certainly seemed to be stunted.

“Yes?” Kyungsoo wondered if that time had been spent reflecting or plotting.

“I wanted to apologize Luhan glanced down the hallway before stepping inside and shutting the door softly. “I didn’t mean to imply anything. My father talked about your mother often. They met when your mother was touring China. Have you ever been?”

“Once, to Hong Kong.” Kyungsoo gave a small nod. He picked up his teacup. “I was very young.” Their parents had met? He’d never heard his parents mention it. Then again, he supposed that was not something they would have talked about, especially not in front of their young son.

“Did you like it?”

“The old parts.” The non-British ones. “There was something about old Hong Kong that makes one…”

“Nostalgic?” Luhan broached.

“Yes. The entire old Hong Kong brims with it.” Kyungsoo took a sip of his tea. “It’s beautiful. Tragic, but beautiful.”

Luhan seemed pleased, as if Kyungsoo had complimented him personally. “I love my country, Doctor Do…it is good that others can feel the same.”

Kyungsoo wasn’t entirely sure where this was going, or what to say next.

“And I did come with a question this time.” Luhan continued hurriedly, holding up a few sheets of parchment.

Kyungsoo stared for a few moments before he gave a small sigh and a nod. “Apology accepted. What did you need help with?”

“I’m having trouble understanding the Flesh Conductivity Theory.” Luhan placed the papers down on Kyungsoo’s desk.

Kyungsoo was surprised. He’d given his students two options for their current essay assignment and most—if not all—had chosen the easier option on the founders of medical biomechanics rather than a critical essay on the flesh conductivity theory, something that even medical students tended to avoid due to the complexity and variance in individual flesh electrical currents.

Kyungsoo glanced at Luhan’s paper and the first few lines. “What part seems to be the problem?” The opening looked cohesive enough, with a brief outline that might need some fine tuning. But he figured this was Luhan’s rough draft, so that could be pushed aside for the moment.

“The formula, mostly.” Luhan scratched the back of his neck. “How do you substitute for q when it varies so greatly? How do you know what to plug in?”

“The part that most people forget when solving for q is the heart cycle. The phase of the heart cycle when the initial shock occurs is very important in the conductivity of the body to the current.” Kyungsoo reached behind him and grabbed a book from his bookshelf, flipping several pages. “You can find a general outlay of the initial heart cycle phases here. You can borrow this and bring it back by the end of the week.”

“Thank you professor.” Luhan gave a bright smile. “I was worried you’d fail me after our discussion before.”

“I only fail those that don’t do their work.” Kyungsoo answered readily. “Personal matters don’t factor in.”

Luhan’s smile faded a bit. “I really am sorry, professor. I didn’t mean it to come across the way it did. I was being far too nosy for my own good.”

“I accepted your apology.” Kyungsoo answered evenly. “It is hardly something new. Though I do suggest getting to know someone before asking personal questions of them. It tends to end with better results.”

“I’ll remember that next time professor.” Luhan grinned.

“You seem oddly fascinated with medical biomechanics for a law student.” Kyungsoo broached.

“I think everyone needs to be at least a little interested in medicine in this day and age, professor. And I’ve discovered that viruses are infinitely more engaging than courtrooms.”

“And just as fatal.”

Lu Han gave a surprised laugh. “Shall we talk about it over lunch? You haven’t been in Hanseong long, but there’s a tea house down the road a bit.”

Kyungsoo thought for a moment, before he gave a shrug and stood, grabbing for his coat. “Alright, but just remember that I don’t grade based on favorites.”

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[A/N: I feel bad that I told you all that if you wrote me comments I would have an update sooner and then I got caught up and didn't post very quickly at all, even after you all left me such nice comments. But the truth is that I was caught up in real life issues that were quite time consuming and was therefore unable to go through with my plans.

But it is true. I do write more when people comment. Also, the lovely reader geopum said that this chapter would have been better with a picture of Jongin pulling of Kyungsoo's cravat with his teeth. While I was unable to fulfill the request in its entirety due to time constrains (you all wanted this chapter before Christmas didn't you?) and the fact that this was supposed to be a sketch, I was only able to draw half the picture. So here, enjoy.

There's more where this came from if you comment!

Once again, thank you for reading.]