Yeol Chanyang was born without a name, as many children were, in the days when newborns were about as disposable as nestlings—it was saddening when they keeled over only a few days into their new lives—but no one had the time to hold for them a Ceremony of Mourning. But he continued to not have one for a month, for his mother belonged to a sect where children were raised collectively, and that meant he would be frequently forgotten when another infant cried, or when an auntie was distracted by a merchant selling new wares from the south.

Fortunately, on a day ordained by fate, or simply because he had a bone to pick with his wives, the old sect leader left his roost, and passing by the field where the children were allowed to run free like scattered sheep, he spotted in Chanyang a faint thread of potential. Slashing his dagger across the infant’s thigh, the bastard found that his blood contained a scant amount, but enough, of the true Yeol lineage.

And so he was allowed to take the sect leader’s family name as his own and given a name that even at the time was archaic and drew furrowed brows: Yeol Chanyang of the winding poplars and the shadowed moon, now one of a hundred expected to rid of one another to one day lead the sect. However, as a child without a single tael to his name, his senior brothers found it much too simple to eliminate him as a threat. On a day when the poplar trees shed their leaves by the riverbank, Yeol Gyeomdae had gently picked up his wailing brother, comforted him with some striped candies, and sold him to someone Seungha warmly referred to as “HR.”

His shimmering ticket to a better yet bloody life destroyed, Chanyang spent the next years of his life from household to household working as a house boy, servant, and a playmate for the upper echelon of Jolbon. He was deemed too “insensitive” and “violent” at many of these places, which meant that he was beginning to be turned away at the door. Now, thirteen years old, still without a tael to his name, resentful and starving, his life changed again when the successor to the Chu Sect found in him that thread of potential.

Chanyang heard from the boys at the last place he was driven from that some highborn brat was looking for a personal attendant. Although it was customary for nobility to take children from other prominent families to raise alongside their own, the Chu Sect was different in that they were openly despised by the others, and they had no desire to bring in a pit of vipers. As the next in line to take over the sect, Chu Seungha no doubt wanted an attendant who would be in his debt and therefore under his thumb. Chanyang was loyal to no one, but that fact could easily be overlooked in exchange for room and board.

In a lineup of hundreds of dirty and grumbling children, Chanyang stood out like a shining beacon with his somewhat clean robe that he pawned and the best posture he could muster. Chu Seungha took one look at him and called him forward.

“You there, in the red. Give him your hand.”

His voice was soft, but it rang dull, like a mourning bell echoing against temple walls.

Until that moment, Chanyang looked straight ahead, refusing to make eye contact with the sect heir lest he deems it improper. But now, he was startled into observing Chu Seungha back for the first time. Tall and lean for his age when other noble children were stout, Chanyang could tell that he didn’t lead an easy life. He was also dressed much too severely for his age, with his hair in the topknot only worn by soldiers and wearing a robe that was scarcely more embroidered than his own. Yet there was a glint of ferocity and proudness in his eyes that stood in sharp contrast to his softer features. 

“Right away, young master.”

Warily, Chanyang stepped out of the crowd and gave his hand to the old attendant who stood in front of a stone fountain. Without warning, the old man pulled out a small knife and sliced his palm open. His blood blossomed from the open wound, at first spilling out to his feet, then curling around his wrist and bit by bit, stitching up the divide until the skin was again whole. The other children gawked and gasped. A few backed away in horror.

“What are you—what was that?”

“You possess a strong amount of heavenly blood for a street urchin,” the man squinted, “Who are your parents?”

Chanyang knew then that this family could not be trusted; if they refused to answer his questions, he had no obligation to answer theirs truthfully. “I don’t know. I heard that they sold me into servitude when I was only a few years old.”

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The man then turned to the young master and whispered a few words in his ear. The expression on Chu Seungha’s face didn’t change, but there was a subtle shift in his posture. Chanyang held his breath.

“What is your name?”

“Chanyang, with the characters ‘winding’ and ‘poplar’, young master.”

“How poetic. You will be my personal attendant. Will you remain loyal to me, and only me?”

Chu Seungha rose. Although his clothes were austere, the brilliant blues and greens were how Chanyang imagined the cresting waves of the sea to be, forever shifting and impalpable. As he stood, the future heir of the Chu Sect was finally a world away from the defeated children only a few steps from him.

Chanyang knelt to where his forehead met the ground. “Yes, young master. You have my word.”

_____

“You are to start out as the young master’s errand boy and bring him his books and meals. And don’t try anything funny. The last attendant conspired with one of Seungha’s brothers to poison his dishes, and they both were tortured severely before being put to death. That one was quite courageous too; all the bones in his hands and feet were broken before he betrayed Chu Seunghyun.”

Chanyang shivered but answered in an earnest tone, “Duly noted. I will gain his trust.”

The old housekeeper handed him a stack of scrolls and leather-bound booklets. “Go to him. And don’t let him down.”

This would be the first time Chanyang would meet the young master since the day he was chosen. Since then, he appeared to be spending his days languishing in the halls and frolicking in the expansive gardens beyond the sect walls as far as his eyes could see, but he kept careful watch of all those who entered and left the palace. Keeping his ears low to the ground, it was surprising all he had already learned about the Chu family:

To say that Chu Seungha would be the next sect leader was not necessarily true; nothing was official until his ordination. However, at fourteen years of age, one way or another, he had already removed close to all of his siblings from consideration without ever spilling a drop of his own blood. There remained only a younger sister as a viable heir, but she was rumored to be weak in spirit and body and kept under close supervision in her palace.

He also now knew that the current sect leader and his son had fraught relations. Chu Kwangjo played favorites among his children, and Seungha was not one of them. But since the rest were exiled, imprisoned, or beheaded, he had no choice but to accept Seungha on better terms. He had never favoured Seungha’s mother, who though beautiful, was neither charismatic nor bright. After being pushed by the sect leader’s first wife to poison the second, she was promptly punished and her son forgotten. Until recently.

“Young master, I am here to deliver your... history and astronomy booklets,” Chanyang declared, instinctively bowing low to the ground. His previous master had the habit of kicking his servants for not greeting him properly, but Chanyang took care of that issue within a few days of service. By kicking him back, resulting in him getting kicked out of their estate.

“Leave them on the side table. But Chanyang, who taught you how to read?” a soft voice replied, growing closer and closer.

Chanyang looked up, craning his neck to see if the young master wanted him to continue bowing. Finding his back turned, Chanyang stood and quickly debated whether or not to give an honest answer—he figured that Seungha’s family already took the time to investigate his background and that this was likely a test, but he didn’t want to give everything away.

“One of my previous masters ran a school for noble children. As their book boy, I learned from watching the instructor through the window,” he responded. He also stole their scrolls after class, but Chanyang assumed thievery couldn’t be a virtue Seungha was seeking.

“And do you know how to write?”

“Only my name.”

“You will need to learn how to. What of your abilities?”

Chanyang cocked his head. “Abilities? I worked in everything from restaurants to gardens, so I can do almost anything, and I can learn the rest.”

Chu Seungha finally turned around, and Chanyang first noticed the blankness in his expression. This conversation was dull, but not a glimmer of light was in his eyes; instead, they were pools of unceasing opacity. But his hair, which Chanyang first assumed was premature greying, was actually stark white. Even his arched brows and upturned eyelashes were as white as chalk and snow against the lead grey of his irises.

There was something unhuman about Chu Seungha.

Chanyang felt chills stir in his chest and gooseflesh arise from the back of his neck. And yet, he was intrigued. The Chu Sect held themselves as deities among men, but could that be more fact than arrogance?

After a moment of silence, the young master looked him dead in the eyes; it was as if he was looking into the pupils of a snake. “You don’t know what I’m speaking of. Unless this is your attempt at blindfolding me. Either way, you and I will learn much from each other. You are dismissed, but I will see you soon.”

With those words, Chu Seungha smiled—his lips were upturned, and his brows softened, but there was nothing in his eyes but Chanyang’s own reflection.

Chanyang bowed again, resisting the urge to meet his own gaze. He backed out of the room, and for once, he had nothing sharp to retort, to test the limits of his new master’s patients. Of all the masters he used to serve, including the ones that were lecherous, calculating, inebriated, or violent, Chu Seungha felt like the one he had to tread behind most carefully.