O autumn dome our home, take our many yesterdays and many todays keep their loveliest sights and sounds under you—eternally eternal.
Series Metadata
Listing Series
-
Tags
Summary
Yeosang was sixteen.
Too pretty for his own good. Too quiet. Too polite. The kind of beauty that drew unwanted eyes, even when he was dressed in plain clothes and bowed so low his forehead kissed the floor.
He belonged to no one.
And that was dangerous.
San met him in Kyoto.
In the home of a politician who liked to "collect" pretty things. Yeosang had been brought out to serve tea—to smile, bow, and disappear into the background. Like a vase. Like a doll.
San was already wealthy then. Already feared.
And the moment Yeosang stepped into the room—elegant, silent, too composed for someone so young—San didn’t look away.
Not once.
“Who’s that?” San had asked, even though he never asked about servants.
The politician laughed. “That one? Korean. Abandoned in the city years ago. I keep him around for display.”San’s eyes didn’t move. “I’ll take him.”
Series
-
Tags
Summary
“You’ll stay here,” San said. Voice low, flat, final. “Not as a servant. Not as a guest.”
Nothing else.
He didn’t need to say more.
Yeosang’s mouth opened—just a fraction. A tiny, soundless breath escaped. Then it closed again. He stayed bowed, lashes trembling once, twice. The words refused to settle inside him. Not servant. Not guest. Then… what?
Behind them the servants moved forward—soft footsteps, rustling silk.
One of the older women stepped closest, voice gentle but firm.
“Young master,” she said to Yeosang, bowing again. “The master has already prepared everything for you. New silk kimonos—several, in colors that will suit your complexion. New combs carved from sandalwood. Hairpins with freshwater pearls and jade. They’re waiting in your room.”
She paused, eyes flicking to the small, worn bundle at Yeosang’s feet.
“You may throw away what you’ve brought. There’s no need for it here.”
Series