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The alley was a maze of shadows, the stench of refuse mixing with fresh blood, fresh and metallic.
The boy in fine silks stumbled against a wall.
His breathing was labored, each exhale wet and rattling.
Cough.
Cough cough.
He wiped his mouth.
His hankerchief came away red.
Behind him, footsteps.
Heavy. Confident.
"Found you, young master," a voice growled. "Should've stayed in your cage."
Sobyeong straightened with effort.
His fan, iron-ribbed and deadly despite its delicate look, flicked open.
"I'd prefer you didn't," he said mildly, as if discussing finer things.
The assassin lunged.
Sobyeong's fan moved.
A slash of qi, weak but precise, deflected by the man's knife.
Sobyeong unleashed several wind qi projection, that the brutish avoided.
Well the stone pavement was slippery...
Fortunately, Sobyeong slipped.
One of his attack caught the man's throat.
Crimson splashed as he fell.
But there was another.
Always another.
Sobyeong's vision swam.
His meridians snarled in pain.
Blood rose in his throat.
He couldn't—
A rock sailed through the air.
THUNK
It struck the assassin's temple with shocking accuracy.
The man staggered, stunned.
Sobyeong didn't waste the opening.
His grip trembling, struck true.
The wind knocked and then incapacitated his pursuer.
The assassin collapsed.
. . .
Sobyeong turned, searching for his unexpected savior.
A child stepped from behind a pile of crates.
Four years old, maybe five.
Dressed in rags that had a lot of hole.
His face was partly smeared with dirt, his hair half tied.
But his eyes.
His eyes.
Dark plum blossom pink, sharp and assessing.
They held an intelligence, a weight, that didn't belong in a child's face.
Sobyeong studied him, curiosity overriding caution.
"You have good aim," he said.
The child said nothing.
Just stared.
Sobyeong reached into his sleeve and pulled out a silver tael.
"For a job well done."
He extended it.
The child's eyes locked onto the coin.
Then shifted to Sobyeong's other hand.
The one holding the package he'd been clutching all through the chase.
Sobyeong followed his gaze and almost laughed.
Of course.
He unwrapped it.
Inside it were three cha siu bao, still warm.
He'd bought them before the ambush.
Hadn't had time to eat.
The child's nostrils flared.
His eyes fixed on the buns.
"Hungry?" Sobyeong asked.
The child nodded, a single sharp jerk.
Sobyeong held out one bun.
The child snatched it.
Munch munch MUNCH.
He DEVOURED it in three bites, barely chewing.
Sobyeong watched, fascinated.
"Here." He offered the second bun.
The child took it.
But instead of eating immediately, he stared at Sobyeong's hand.
There was cha siu bao residue on his palm.
Sticky, sweet, savory.
The child looked up at him.
Without warning, he grabbed Sobyeong's wrist.
Then, his small teeth closed around the meat of Sobyeong's palm, right where the cha siu residue glistened.
And licked his palm.
Then released.
Sobyeong stared.
"Did you just... bit me?"
The child blinked up at him.
"Cha siu," he said simply. His first words.
As if that explained everything.
Sobyeong's lips twitched.
Then he laughed.
"Ha ha ha."
It was a real laugh, bright and genuine, the kind he hadn't made in months.
"You're a strange little creature," he said fondly to Cho Sam who had finished his bao.
He pressed a silver tael into the child's other hand, which that child took.
"What's your name?"
"Cho Sam."
"Cho Sam." Sobyeong tested it. "I'm—"
. . .
Should he give his real name?
The child was watching him with those pink eyes.
"—a passing traveler," he finished.
Cho Sam frowned, clearly not believing him.
But he didn't press.
. . .
++
Then his breath caught.
A wet, rattling sound in his chest.
He pressed a hankerchief to his mouth.
Cough cough COUGH
His body convulsed with it, each spasm tearing through his broken meridians like shattered glass grinding against raw nerves.
Bright red.
He staggered, his legs giving out.
His back hit the alley wall, and he slid down, clutching his chest.
Cough cough.
COUGH.
More blood. Dripping from his chin.
His vision swam. Gray at the edges.
. . .
Small hands grabbed his shoulders.
Sobyeong's head lolled, trying to focus.
Cho Sam was still right there.
His pink eyes were wide, his small mouth pressed into a tight line.
"Mister!" His voice was high and scared. "Mister, don't die!"
"I'm—" cough "—fine—"
"You're NOT FINE! You're bleeding!"
Before Sobyeong could protest, the child threw himself forward.
Tiny arms wrapped around Sobyeong's neck and torso in a fierce hug.
"Uffh."
Too tight.
Crushing.
Like the child thought if he just held on, he could keep Sobyeong from falling apart.
. . .
When was the last time someone had hugged him?
His mother, before she died?
His distant uncles and aunts certainly didn't.
They were too busy trying to kill him.
And this child—this STRANGER—was clinging to him?
"Don't die, don't die, don't die," Cho Sam chanted into Sobyeong's shoulder, his voice muffled.
Despite the pain, despite the blood still on his tongue, Sobyeong's lips curved.
'This ridiculous child.'
He returned the hug.
Gently.
One arm on the child's back, mindful to make sure the blood did not stained his robe.
The other cradling the back of his wild head.
"I'm not dying," he murmured. "Just... ill. This happens."
"It HAPPENS?!" Cho Sam pulled back just enough to glare at him with tear-bright eyes. "You cough BLOOD, and it HAPPENS?!"
"Frequently."
"That's STUPID!"
"Hahaha..."
Sobyeong laughed again, softer this time.
It hurt, but he couldn't help it.
"Yes. It is rather stupid."
Cho Sam's glare intensified. Then, abruptly, he pressed his face back into Sobyeong's neck.
And inhaled.
Then exhaled.
Like he was trying to breathe life into Sobyeong himself.
"You smell like... like..." The child struggled for words. "...after rain. When everything smells clean."
His small hands fisted in Sobyeong's robes.
"I like it. Don't die and take the smell away."
. . .
"I won't die today," he promised quietly. "I'm too stubborn."
"Good." Cho Sam's voice was muffled. "Be stubborn."
They stayed like that.
A dying prince and a beggar child who saved him.
Wrapped around each other in a filthy alley.
. . .
++
Finally, Sobyeong's coughing subsided.
The blood flow stopped.
He could breathe again.
Cho Sam pulled back slowly, his small hand rising to Sobyeong's hair.
The child's fingers moved through the dark strands, patting and stroking with surprising gentleness.
Sobyeong felt the slight dampness on those small fingers.
"Are you cleaning your hand in my hair?" he asked, lips twitching.
"No," Cho Sam said seriously, his hand continuing its gentle ministrations. "I give you a head pat. Good job on surviving."
Sobyeong's expression softened.
Then he smiled.
A real smile, quiet and warm, with no trace of bitterness or pain.
Just genuine amusement and something dangerously close to fondness.
"Thank you," he said softly.
"You bet!"
"I need to go," he said finally. "Before more come."
Cho Sam pulled back.
His hands lingered on Sobyeong's shoulders.
"Will you be okay?"
"I always am."
A lie, but a kind one.
Cho Sam narrowed his eyes, clearly not believing him.
But he stepped back.
Sobyeong stood. He reached into his sleeve again.
This time, he pulled out two silver taels.
"One for the rescue," he said, pressing them into the child's palm. "One for the hug."
"You're paying me to hug you?" Cho Sam looked baffled.
"Consider it hazard pay. I bled on you."
He had. There were red smears on the child's ragged shirt.
Cho Sam looked down at the blood, then back up at Sobyeong.
"...You smell good even when you bleed."
Sobyeong blinked.
"You're the strangest child I've ever met."
"You're the nicest dying person I've met."
"I'm not dying."
"You're not NOT dying."
Sobyeong conceded the point with a nod and became acutely aware of the state of Cho Sam's clothing.
Sobyeong made a decision.
"Turn around," he said.
Cho Sam blinked. "Why?"
"Just do it. Unless you want to keep freezing."
Suspicious but curious, the child turned his back.
Sobyeong quickly unfastened the white silk outer robe.
The cold air hit his skin immediately, making him suppress a shiver.
'I've survived worse.'
He draped the white silk robe over Cho Sam's small shoulders.
It was absurdly large on him.
The hem pooled on the ground.
The sleeves dangled past his hands like empty streamers.
He looked like a child playing dress-up in an adult's clothing.
"What—" Cho Sam tried to turn.
"Don't move yet."
Sobyeong knelt behind him and began to folding the excess fabric, rolling the sleeves, and creating a makeshift but functional garment.
It still looked ridiculous.
But it was silk.
It was clean.
And it would keep him warm.
"There," Sobyeong said, standing. "Now turn around."
Cho Sam turned and Sobyeong resumed to tie the sash neatly.
Cho Sam small hands came up to touch the fabric, his fingers tracing the smooth texture with wonder.
"This is... for me?"
"Yes."
"But it's expensive."
"Yes."
"You just gave it to me."
"Yes."
"...Why?"
"Because you saved my life," Sobyeong said simply. "And because you said I smelled good. That seems like a fair trade."
Cho Sam stared up at him.
"Can I keep this? Really?"
"Really."
Cho Sam looked up at him.
"Then I'll keep it forever."
Sobyeong's breath caught.
'Forever.'
'He's five. He doesn't know what "forever" means.'
'He'll probably sell it for food within a week.'
But the way the child was clutching the robe, like it was the most precious thing in the world...
Sobyeong gave Cho Sam’s head one last, pat. “Keep it safe.”
"I will." Cho Sam pressed his face into the silk. "Thank you."
. . .
'I really need to leave before I do something foolish like adopt a street child. I can barely keep myself alive.'
"Stay safe, Cho Sam."
"You too. Don't die."
"I'll try very hard not to."
Sobyeong turned to leave.
Cho Sam, wrapped in white silk far too large for him, standing in the mouth of the alley.
Watching him go.
'I'll find you again.'
And, in a way, he did.
++
Years later, in the Great Tiger Woods, when a financier with a cold iron fan and an sly smile stepped from the shadows, Cheongmyeong felt something settle in his chest.
A knowing that this person stronger than he looked.
They fell into step like old friends reunited, trading barbs and strategy with the comfortable rhythm of people who'd known each other far longer than a single afternoon should allow.
There was something familiar about the way Im Sobyeong moved, the cadence of his voice, the particular tilt of his head when he was amused.
The cough, well, the hacking COUGH was nostalgic.
Cheongmyeong couldn't place it.
But it didn't matter.
What mattered was the four million nyang Cheongmyeong extorted, eh no, negotiated from Nokrim's coffers in exchange for the life-saving elixirs.
And...
The alliance they build.
Neither of them remembered a filthy alley, the smell of cha siu bao, a white silk robe, or the promise to keep it forever.
They just knew that when they looked at each other, something in their bones recognized each other.
"You look familiar."
And they had no idea why.