Chapter Text
The spray of sea water was refreshing on Minho’s face as he walked along the gangway. The droplets cooled down the skin that was exposed to the midday sun.
While he remained fully dressed, as decency dictated, his feet were bare and exposed to the ship's rough wooden panelling. Minho had found himself adapting to the commoner’s habit while among the lower-class sailors that were tasked with transporting him and his younger brother, Yongbok, across the West Sea. He did not need to be fully in character as a Yangban nobleman here – their father wasn’t present, nor their mother or any others from the upper echelons of their society. Along with his shoes, he had rid himself of his hat, finding the breeze bothersome – it had sent the hat flying from his head on multiple occasions, one time even into the sea, where a poor sailor had been tasked with fishing it out from a rowboat.
Despite remaining in his hanbok, Minho longed to strip off his outer layers to allow his skin to breathe, feeling stifled by the heat beating down on them each day on their passage. Yongbok had no such reservations. He simply stood in just his silk trousers and undershirt, which billowed in the breeze. For a moment, Yongbok looked free. He leaned over the wooden railings, peering into the navy-blue depths, uncaring that if he were to tip a centimetre too far forward, he might plummet.
Given Yongbok’s moods as of late, Minho wouldn’t be surprised if he was contemplating jumping and ending it all. Honestly, Minho wouldn’t put it past him – Yongbok was angry at the world right now, at the circumstances which had led to the voyage.
He was angry at Minho too.
“I don’t want to talk to you,” Yongbok said, proving Minho’s point as he settled by his side. Minho curled one hand into the fabric of Yongbok’s shirt at his lower back, as if that tenuous connection would stop him from hurtling himself over the edge.
“I know you don’t. But our passage will be over soon. Do you plan on ignoring me during our last days together?” Minho asked, glancing out at the horizon. It faded to nothing, but in reality, a faint outline of land would creep into their view soon, signalling they had made it across the sea safely. They would soon dock in Shanghai, where one of the Qing emperor’s high-ranking officers would be waiting, ready to present his daughter for Yongbok to marry.
The way Yongbok had acted since receiving the news of his marriage was that of a man condemned to death. It was a pretty lady, not a noose or firing squad, waiting in the Chinese port city. Whenever Minho reminded Yongbok about this, Yongbok would yell at him about how he didn’t understand, about how he was fortunate he wouldn’t need to give up his entire life for someone he hadn’t met.
Minho supposed it was true. Yongbok was jealous of Minho for inheriting their family’s title and land, and he blamed him for being their father’s enforcer. All Minho could do was obey their father’s wishes – that Minho take over as head of household eventually, be the good and pliant heir to their fortune, and ensure his younger brother have a good, prosperous life. If that life included building political ties through marriage, that was a bonus. In this case, it served to appease their King, by continuing to strengthen Qing relations, a noble duty for a second son of nobility.
“You’re shipping me off to China,” Yongbok said, glaring out at the sea.
“No. Father is. And I’m staying by your side until the wedding, that’s hardly shipping you off,” Minho argued, letting go of Yongbok’s shirt, smoothing the wrinkled fabric down with the palm of his hand.
“Don’t touch me.”
“Yongbok.”
“Don’t call me that.”
It had truly been an exasperating journey, since they left Korea. While Minho relished the freedom of letting himself act as if he weren’t of noble upbringing, he longed for Joseon and its home comforts, including the food. Ship supplies were nothing compared to the array of dishes their servants prepared back in their home. He also longed for peace and quiet – for Yongbok to stop arguing with him every time they spoke.
“What shall I call you instead?” Minho asked, amused.
“Felix.”
“Fe-lix?”
“Father gifted me a foreign book and that was a character’s name. He was brave, independent, and preferred a life at sea without a wife. That will be my name.”
“You wish to stay on the ship?” Minho laughed, not commenting on the ridiculous name Yongbok had decided on being called. “We haven’t slept well in weeks. The sea rocks us back and forth until we throw up. The food is stale or lacking taste, there’s a pungent smell of fish in the air-”
“You smell fish? While we’re at sea? Shocking,” Yongbok interrupted, a wry smile on his face.
“And it’s rough work. Have you seen the hands of the sailors? Calluses. Their muscles are constantly sore and they have nowhere to bathe properly. Do you want to spend your life washing with a rag and bucket? Don’t you want servants to draw you baths with blossom petals? Yongbok, be serious.”
Yongbok buried his head in his hands and screamed out of frustration, and Minho pinched the bridge of his nose.
“It’s like talking to a child,” Minho added, a rumble of his own irritation evident in his voice.
“I’m not a child! I don’t want to get married. And call me Felix!”
Minho raised an eyebrow as he watched Yongbok swivel in place and storm off, back into the belly of the ship where their private cabin was situated. His expression only grew more unimpressed when he noticed a sailor watching him from across the deck.
“Mind your own business!”
Why couldn’t he have a private conversation with his brother? And why couldn’t his brother act like an adult?
Minho was sick of Yongbok’s temper tantrums. He was a young man of 22, well educated, creative, and back at home he had a sweet disposition. Normally, he had more patience than anyone else in their family, and was kind to everyone, from their fellow upper-class Yangban to the lowborn Cheonmin. But since boarding the ship, he had become an unpleasant little brat – well, to Minho. He somehow still remained kind to the sailors.
“Get back to work!” Minho continued, turning with a flourish of the layers of heavy fabric he was wearing.
Yongbok didn’t appear for mealtime.
To spare Minho and Yongbok the indelicate language and attitude of sailors, the pair only dined in the Captain’s quarters, with the kind and near-elderly Captain Yong.
At first, Minho had questioned the man’s age, wondering how their ship could be defended by an older gentleman if they were to be attacked, but Yong had soothed his fears, explaining that his age meant he was an expert navigator, that he had sailed this passage for longer than both Minho and Yongbok had been alive.
With time, Minho had felt at ease – he had even come to enjoy old Captain Yong’s company, finding him much more amenable than his own sour brother. Mealtimes were an opportunity for the three to come together and enjoy a lighthearted conversation, with Yongbok being temporarily polite to Minho; it was something he looked forward to.
Not having Yongbok at dinner made Minho feel strange. Lonely, even.
“Take a plate to him,” Yong said, finishing his glass of rice wine. “If it’s seasickness, he may get his appetite back soon.”
Minho nodded, grabbing the empty plate and loading it up with a little of everything from the table, wanting his brother to have a selection in case the meat wasn’t to his liking.
“Thank you, Captain Yong,” Minho said quietly.
The man rose from his place as Minho did and he slapped him lightly on the back, “One last thing – I’m the Captain here. You may be paying us handsomely for passage, but I won’t have you yelling at my crew.”
Despite the kind smile on Yong’s face, there was an undercurrent of warning in his voice. Minho gulped and rambled out a quick apology, before fleeing the Captain’s quarters with Yongbok’s food in hand.
When he reached their cabin, Minho attempted to open the door and found it was jammed. “Yongbok? Yongbokkie?” He called, knocking on the wood, two quick raps with his knuckles.
There was silence from inside.
“Unlock this door, Yongbok!” Minho commanded – if he couldn’t command the crew, he could certainly still boss around his little brother. His status as hyung and heir of their family allowed that.
Again, there was no answer. His little brother was choosing to sit stubbornly alone in their cabin, unwilling to eat dinner or accept Minho’s company.
That would be fine, if not for one thing: where the hell would Minho sleep?
“Yongbok, I’m serious. Open up.”
Nothing.
Minho let out a noise of frustration and dropped the plate onto the ground, not caring if rats crawled up from the underbelly of the ship and ate what should have been Yongbok's dinner. The ship’s mouser, Dori, would get them anyway if they came out their hiding places. Circle of life.
He stormed to the bow of the ship and sat down on the floor, arms crossed over his chest. Yongbok likely would let Minho suffer until the moon had reached the highest point in the sky. He’d come and get him, and while he wouldn’t apologise, they could slip into the small cabin bed together. Yongbok would give Minho most of the covers to heat him up from the cold night air, and together they’d let sleep take them.
The moon crept higher and higher into the sky and there was no sign of Yongbok.
Eventually Minho stood up and leaned over the railings, letting out a shriek of sheer anger, in the hopes the void below to swallow the sound. He yelled again and again, until he heard the lookout shout, “Shut the fuck up!”
After all, he shouldn’t scream when there were no signs of danger.
Except –
Except there was a tiny dot of orange in the distance.
“What is that?” He whispered, rising up on his tiptoes as if it would help him see better. Really, he’d need a spyglass to understand what the orange was.
Were they nearing China’s coast already? Surely if it were Shanghai, there would be a collection of glittering lights in the distance, the city’s bustling port town illuminated by thousands of lanterns.
Or it could be a lighthouse. That would make more sense, given the solitary nature of the light.
It hopefully was a lighthouse – Minho wasn’t ready to give Yongbok up yet, especially with their relationship as tense as it was. And the only other alternative was another ship, which filled Minho with dread.
If it were another ship, it could be merchants. It could be a Chinese or Korean navy ship. Or…
Or it could be pirates.
“Sails!” The lookout yelled, having spotted the light too. Minho turned around to see the man in the crows nest, a spyglass up at his eye.
Minho scrambled up from the ship’s bow, finding Yong at the helm, the old man with his hand steady on the wheel.
“Any flag?” One of the crewmembers asked Yong.
Yong shook his head. “They’re heading our way and fast. We’ll proceed with caution. Hopefully just a merchant vessel.”
Minho didn’t miss the hint of unease in his voice. The wind was on the other ship’s side tonight, not theirs. They could divert course, but it was likely the ship would still catch up to them. Still, it likely wasn’t going to turn into an attack. Ships passing in the night were common.
“You should go back to your cabin, Master Lee,” Yong added, eyes still fixated on the orange lights that were growing larger by the minute.
Minho was about to make a little quip about how he would go back to his cabin if he could, if it were a possibility, if his brother hadn’t banished him – when a loud crack filled his ears.
Seconds later, the ship rocked, pieces of splintered wood and debris spewing from the bow where Minho had been standing.
“A shot. Master Lee, Cabin, now,” Yong hissed, one of the crew members shoving at Minho’s back to get him off the deck.
Minho fled to the steps and slipped below deck. He pounded on the door of the cabin, but it flew open, revealing a dishevelled Yongbok, in sleepwear with his hair long and loose.
“Are we under attack?” Yongbok asked desperately, as Minho pushed his way into the room and shut the door behind him, fingers fumbling at the lock.
“Yeah. Yes,” Minho said, taking Yongbok by the arm and dragging him away from the door. “A ship started firing at us. I don’t know why, there was no flag. Maybe pirates.” He had lowered his voice to a whisper, as if speaking the word ‘pirate’ too loudly would will them into existence.
The ship careened dramatically, sending their books and trinkets across the bedroom floor. Another ear-splitting crash filled their ears, and the smell of smoke permeated the air.
Smoke – candle – he had to get rid of the flame in case it was knocked over from the impact of the cannons. The last thing they needed was their cabin on fire. He blew out the candle and joined Yongbok on the bed.
“It’s got to be pirates! Who else would fire at a merchant ship?” Yongbok shouted, and Minho clamped his hand down on his mouth to shut him up. The other ship would be growing closer and if they were to board, Minho didn’t want to alert anyone to their presence.
“Quiet, Yongbok,” Minho pleaded with him, his eyes wide as he heard gunshots above and the screams of the men they had been sailing with. Peaceful men who were simply delivering cargo back and forth on a popular trade route. Men who didn’t deserve to lose their life.
Minho gathered Yongbok into his arms and held onto him, pulling the blanket up to cover them as if it were an added layer of protection. “Just… stay quiet. They may never find us here. They may steal the cargo and leave the rest of us alone.”
Yongbok nodded, any remnants of his foul, argumentative mood gone, replaced with fear that he and Minho may lose their lives if they weren’t careful.
There were more wails and screams from the men above. More gunshots.
Heavy footsteps stomping around on the deck.
Footsteps descending to the lower level of the ship.
The door handle rattled.
When it was clear the door wouldn’t open, the pounding began; men outside kicking at the door, throwing themselves at it shoulder-first to break it down.
Minho glanced at Yongbok and then lurched out of the bed, ignoring his brother’s pleas to come back. He went to the small desk and opened the drawer, pulling out what he was looking for – Yongbok’s identification paper, his Hopaebeob, and the letter from the Qing noble detailing Yongbok’s upcoming nuptials.
“Hyung, what are you doing?”
Minho cursed himself for snuffing out the candle and instead began to tear the papers into tiny little pieces. He might not have enough time for his own, but he could get rid of any trace of Yongbok’s identity.
Once those papers were destroyed, he grabbed his own out the drawer.
Right. No more Lee Minho.
With a crash, the door caved in and a man was sent sprawling, face first, onto the floor of their cabin. Another stood with a gun raised, fox-like eyes flickering around the room, taking in the scene before him.
There was Minho, dressed in a fine silk Hanbok, while clutching his papers in his hand, and Yongbok curled up on the bed, dressed in his linen underclothes.
“Don’t move. Give me that,” the fox man growled, thrusting out his hand for Minho to hand him the papers.
Trembling, Minho reached forward and placed his identification in the hands of the pirate. The man lightly kicked the one on the floor with his thick leather boot. “Get up and read this shit for me.”
The pirate who had hit the floor, scrambled to his feet, revealing round eyes and rounder cheeks. Even in the dim cabin, Minho could tell this man looked less scary than the pirate who was grasping the identification papers, though both were dressed similarly in dark silk shirts and thick leather vests. Both also had various gold piercing adorning their ears, and they both had unkempt hair, kept fairly long, though not long enough to tie in a topknot like Minho’s.
“Right, give me that,” Chipmunk said. He pulled out a match from his pocket and struck it alight, holding it to the paper he had snatched from his partner in crime’s hand. “Oh, that’s interesting. Really interesting.”
“Anyone of note?”
“Yes, Innie-yah. Captain’s going to want to meet him.” With that, the pirate gave Minho a rather leering look. “You’re coming with us, Lee Minho.”
“Nobility, huh?” The one called Innie questioned. He pocketed his gun and grabbed Minho’s wrists, crossed them in front of him, and bound it tight with rope.
With Minho in his arms, he turned his gaze to Yongbok and raised an eyebrow. “And who might this be?”
“My servant,” Minho choked out, shaking his head at Yongbok to warn him not to contradict him. Stay silent and live; maybe they’ll leave him to the merchant vessel now they’ve discovered their noble prize. Or maybe they’ll drop him at a port city. They might even take pity on him and let him sail with them, seeing camaraderie with a fellow lower-class man.
“My servant, Felix.”