OGHOU C12

Chapter 12

“Who are you?”

The threatening voice rumbled low, and the large hand seemed ready to seize his throat once more at any moment.

“How do you know my name?”

‘Oh, right.’

Cheongyeon wanted to bite his tongue off. He had been so shocked that he’d blurted Muho’s name without thinking. How was he supposed to smooth this over?

As panic froze his mind, Muho stepped in closer, pressing him back. The eyes glowing red in the darkness evoked a dangerous predator.

“Well, that’s… um…”

“Are you with the Heavenly Demon Cult? Who sent you?”

“It’s not like that…”

At that moment, Muho’s hand swept past Cheongyeon’s shoulder and crashed into the wall. The sharp crack of plaster splitting rang out clearly. There would surely be a handprint left behind.

It was frightening to realize this strength came from a fifteen-year-old boy. One good blow and he was certain he’d die on the spot.

“Answer.”

The greater the danger, the clearer one’s mind had to be. For now, he just had to buy some time to think.

“I’ll explain everything. I will, so let’s not do this here—let’s go up to my room.”

“……”

Muho’s eyes, full of suspicion, bore into him. Cheongyeon doubted any answer would be believed—but what else could he say?

“Come on, okay? Before someone comes.”

Almost pleading, Cheongyeon gently grasped the sleeve Muho had braced against the wall. All the while, his mind raced frantically.

‘How do I convince him…’

Reluctantly, Muho followed as Cheongyeon led him up the stairs and into a room. Since Muho was currently being chased by the cult, he probably didn’t want to cause any more commotion either.

Scanning the room with wary vigilance, Muho’s gaze settled on a pile of medicinal herbs.

‘Hm… herbs?’

Watching him closely, Cheongyeon suddenly had a bright idea.

He didn’t know if Muho would believe it, but he might as well try.

“In truth, I…”

But he didn’t even get a chance to start. Cheongyeon clamped his mouth shut, breaking out in a cold sweat.

‘What are you doing… Why are you ripping off your sleeve… What are you planning?’

Muho was tearing a long strip from his own sleeve with his teeth, all the while shooting Cheongyeon a wild, unblinking stare.

‘Ah, I just want to pass out.’

Why couldn’t he just faint at times like these? He wished someone would just hit him on the head and knock him out.

Striding over in broad steps, Muho seized Cheongyeon by the collar and dragged him to the bed.

“Why! What are you— Ow.”

He flung Cheongyeon onto the bed. His back throbbed from the hard surface.

“Did you have to throw me like that? I said I’d explain— Wait, why are you tying my wrists?!”

Using the torn sleeve, Muho bound Cheongyeon’s wrists tightly to the bedpost.

In an instant, he was trussed up, helpless as an offering placed before a beast. He was as good as a rat in a trap—was this really necessary?

Such a cautious bastard.

Cheongyeon wanted to glare at him, but the razor-sharp eyes looking down at him broke his nerve and he dropped his gaze.

Overpowered by a ninth grader—he’d have to take this shame to the grave. If, of course, he had a grave to be buried in.

“I won’t run, so could you please untie me… sir?”

“……”

“My wrists hurt… sir.”

He’d never been so pathetic in all his life.

Just as the shame threatened to outgrow his fear, Muho dragged a chair over and sat across from him. Slouching in the seat, Muho stared at Cheongyeon and finally spoke.

“Just answer the questions I ask.”

“Okay! I’ll tell you everything!”

Sensing his moment, Cheongyeon nodded vigorously. Muho raised an eyebrow. No longer concealing his demonic energy, a black aura unfurled around him. Cheongyeon nearly gasped aloud.

“Name.”

“Same as this inn—Cheongyeon… Yoo Cheongyeon. I’m the owner here.”

“Origin.”

“What is there to say about my origin… Oh, you mean my hometown? Hubei1).”

At that, something flickered in Muho’s eyes. Cheongyeon continued quickly with the explanations he’d prepared.

“You’re from Hubei, too. Right?”

“……”

“You asked how I knew your name? You wouldn’t remember—it was a long time ago—but we grew up in the same neighborhood. You were so small and cute back then. Anyway, there were rumors you were taken by the cult. Did you escape from there?”

“…You recognize me after more than ten years.”

Muho scooted his chair even closer. His expression was a tangled knot of emotion.

“A penniless brat from a dirt-poor village? Do you really think that’s possible?”

He still didn’t believe it. Honestly, it was a stretch even to Cheongyeon, but he had no choice. He just had to say something.

“You—your mother was sick, so you came to the pharmacy every day. My family owned the pharmacy.”

“……”

Truth was, the original story revealed next to nothing about Cheon Muho’s past, except that he’d grown up in Hubei, struggled with a sickly single mother, and was kidnapped. Cheongyeon was doing his best to flesh out the details.

On hearing this, Muho’s face twisted in confusion; he even brushed his hands over his face, muttering something to himself in disbelief.

“The pharmacy… You were that person?”

“Huh?”

‘What, did it work?’

Cheongyeon seized the opportunity.

“Do you remember me?”

“I don’t remember your face…”

“What do you remember then?”

“The pharmacy boy… You always gave me free herbs… Was that really you?”

‘Oh, so that actually happened?’

Cheongyeon nodded earnestly, delighted things were falling into place.

“That’s me! See, you DO remember! Hard to believe, but I recognized you the moment I saw you. You look exactly the same as you did as a kid, except for the scar by your eye.”

“……”

Muho touched his scar, lost deep in thought. It seemed like now was the time to drive it home.

“After hearing rumors your mother passed away, I tried to visit you, but you were already gone. I was so worried, you know?”

“…Bullshit.”

His tone was blunt, but his voice trembled ever so slightly.

Unintentionally, Cheongyeon felt a prick of guilt at stealing credit for someone else’s kindness—but it couldn’t be helped. Survival first.

Muho rubbed the scar for a while, then abruptly asked,

“If you grew up in Hubei, how come you’re running an inn all the way out here?”

Caught off-guard, Cheongyeon scrambled for an answer.

“Uh, after my father died and the pharmacy closed, I moved to Sichuan to stay with relatives… I was always interested in running an inn anyway, so… hahaha…”

“……”

Muho’s continued suspicion was understandable. Anyone raised in such circumstances would struggle to trust. He was only fifteen, after all. The thought panged Cheongyeon’s heart, taking the edge off his fear.

“Can you untie me now? My arms are really numb.”

“……”

So there was no intention of untying him. Time to unveil the secret weapon.

“Aren’t you hungry?”

At the unexpected question, Muho looked up.

“Should I go to the kitchen and whip something up?”

“…Don’t try anything.”

Muho’s tone was sharp but Cheongyeon caught the flicker in his gaze.

No matter how much he was destined for greatness, for now, he was just a teenage boy—one likely always hungry. No way he could resist food.

Korean to his bones, Cheongyeon began his food-based seduction.

“There are leftovers from tonight’s service. I’m no master chef, but don’t worry—I can cook. Should I make you some hot noodle soup? Or dumplings loaded with meat? Oh, and since we’re in Sichuan, how about something spicy?”

“……”

Cheongyeon suppressed a grin as he watched Muho gulp.

As expected, Muho ate an astonishing amount. By the time Cheongyeon steamed the dumplings, Muho had already polished off his third bowl of noodles. Cheongyeon brought over the fourth bowl.

‘How long has he been starving?’

The pile of empty bowls under the lantern made Cheongyeon click his tongue inwardly. His wrists were still red from being tied, but all fear had long since faded.

It reminded him of demolishing cup noodles after high school classes.

Muho, finally emptying the fourth bowl, awkwardly set down his chopsticks as if coming to his senses.

“Eat as much as you want—just tell me what you want, I’ll make it if I can.”

“…Why?”

Muho eyed him warily, suspicion plain in his stare.

Understandable, considering what he must have eaten in the cult’s underground prison—if you could even call it food. The sheer deprivation Muho must have endured weighed on Cheongyeon’s heart and drew out the first honest words he’d spoken tonight.

“I pity you.”

“What?”

“You. I pity you. It hurts to see a kid go without even basic meals.”

Here he was, having just narrowly escaped with his life, yet still feeling sympathy for Muho. Maybe the word stung Muho, but Cheongyeon couldn’t sugarcoat the truth.

Muho seemed flustered; his voice faltered.

“I still… have questions…”

“Wait. Let me get the dumplings.”

Cheongyeon cut him off and headed back to the kitchen.

Reading the novel was one thing—bad guys all have their stories, after all. Muho was just another villain among many. But watching him live and breathe made everything feel different.

Cheongyeon pulled out the freshly steamed dumplings. Hot broth dribbled out with the first bite.

‘Truly, I have no weaknesses—excellent liar, excellent cook, that’s me.’

Maybe he should switch genres and write a cooking novel instead. Something titled, “I Became the Heavenly Demon’s Chef.”

‘I feel like I’m being played.’

Muho watched as Cheongyeon busied himself hauling water for a bath. His skin was itching all over, and a warm bath was a luxury he’d never experienced—it made him forget whatever questions he’d meant to ask.

Soon, Cheongyeon pulled out a set of clothes from the wardrobe.

“I’ll lend you my clothes for now. They might be a bit small, but just bear with it for tonight—I’ll buy you new ones tomorrow morning.”

Muho shook his head, but accepted the clothes anyway.

Was this really kindness without a price? Or would he have to pay for it tenfold later?

He still couldn’t be sure if Cheongyeon’s story was true. He remained suspicious. Yet if it weren’t, how could Cheongyeon have spoken so freely of his hometown and mother?

Most confounding of all was himself. Rather than kill this suspicious man and move on, he found himself accepting sweets quite literally handed to him, bewildered by his own behavior.

“Don’t worry. I won’t charge you.”

Cheongyeon seemed to read his mind.

“It’s late, so let’s just take a bath and get some sleep.”

“Get out.”

“Huh?”

“I said I’m going to undress, so get lost.”

“…Yes, if you insist. But this is my room, you know.”

Cheongyeon replied absently, scratching the back of his neck as he turned for the door, humming some strange song he’d never heard before in his life.

Left alone at last, Muho stared at the closed door in a daze.

‘What kind of person is he, really?’

Footnotes

1. Hubei (호북) — A province in central China, often used in these stories as a character’s origin point, especially for those from humble or rural backgrounds.