Chapter Text
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There is talk of a village in Wales, one being thrust forward by the inundating waves of industrialisation, and yet that still holds tight to many of its less modern customs. Not the least of which is the villagers' insistence upon the employment of the most holy of unholy figures.
That is, the town sin eater.
For every man, woman, or child who passes, the one known as the sin eater, a man somehow both revered and reviled, is called to ensure the safe passage of their newly cleansed soul.
He is needed, for his service comforts the grieving.
He is hated, for his existence is marred by their sins.
And he is soon to meet someone who will perhaps, finally, offer him peace.
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"For your peace, I offer my own soul. Amen."
Mingi says the last line of his small prayer, as is customary. Having already eaten a thick slice of bread and swallowed down a bowl of ale, both passed to him over the man's body, he takes his leave.
Slipping through the front door quietly, head bowed out of respect, he waits until he's outside to rub his fingertips over the coin in his pocket. A shilling. Typically, he would only be given a few pennies, sixpence at most, but a shilling would buy him butter and bread for the next two weeks, with some extra for a bit of meat. Perhaps he could even buy some buttons, to mend one of his waistcoats that lost one somewhere.
He turns to look at the door one last time, at the black wreath hung out front to signal a death in the home. The man's body had been attended to by the women of the family, as always, but it was his son who had called Mingi.
But now his work is done, and he has to head home before the real funeral attendees arrive. Mingi, for all the townspeople feel they need his services to ensure their loved ones can walk into paradise free from mortal sin, is never permitted to stay for the funeral. He comes when he is called, takes his money and meagre provisions, and eats them, eating the sins of the poor, dead soul as well. Then, he pronounces the soul cleansed and leaves, as quietly as he had arrived.
As is the life of the town sin eater.
They all know he is present at every death, visiting with the deceased before any funeral proper is had, but his role is in shadow. Not a single soul wants to see him at the service, and he knows most of them don't want to see him around town either.
He lives his life as quietly as he can, as unobtrusively as possible. He comes when needed, does their bidding, and otherwise moves through the town with his head down. It is a small price to pay for money and food, something so hard to come by at times.
Mingi knows the way the townspeople look at him, knows they all gaze upon him with an eye that says they hope their meeting will end as quickly as possible. They speak to him in places like the shops out of necessity, taking his money and giving him his goods, but never ask him of anything beyond that.
This is his life, and this, he thinks, will never change.
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On a winter's morning, the cold biting through his layers despite the sun resting high in the sky, Mingi hears the sound of hooves distantly pounding against the road leading to his cottage.
He's outside, tending to his garden and the winter cabbage growing there, but he stands straight to listen to the heavy footfalls grow closer and closer. It's not every day that a rider on horseback or a carriage passes his cottage on the outer edge of town, so he can't help but wait to see who is coming.
When the carriage rounds the bend and comes into view, Mingi's eyes widen a hair. The carriage is enclosed, painted solid glossy black, and pulled quickly by two large, dark bay horses. It is undoubtedly a carriage of the upper class, well-maintained and meant to look beautiful in addition to functioning well. As it grows closer, Mingi wonders if he should keep his head down rather than gawk at those inside, be they visitors to their town or newcomers, a part of the wave of industrial workers and owners to the area. He doesn't have enough time to decide, however, as the carriage passes Mingi in his garden in a mere minute.
So there he stands, stock still while his head follows the carriage's path. In the moment it passes, he glances to the window, where his gaze immediately remains fixed.
There, he sees a woman, dressed in refined clothing, seated to face the back of the carriage. She sits across from two younger men who are unmistakably her sons, but it's the older of the two that his eyes remain affixed to. He is seated on the side of the carriage that faces Mingi, head towards the window.
Rather than look at the road ahead or the scenery beyond, however, he looks straight at Mingi, an appraising furrow to his brow.
Mingi has only an instant to look at him, quickly taking in the man's dark hair parted to the side and his straight nose. That instant is enough, though, to set Mingi's heart pounding, racing to match the synchronised footfalls of the horses trotting past. The prospect of someone new, someone who for some reason seems… at least intrigued by Mingi, is equal parts daunting and enthralling, sending his heart aflutter.
The carriage is fully past him when he remembers the new estate, the luxurious red brick hall sitting to the southeast of town that was finally completed a few weeks ago. It is somewhat hidden, seated with a wooded area at its back, but the entire town has heard about it. Curious eyes have trekked the newly made path to get a glimpse of it, Mingi included, seeing as it is not more than a twenty-minute walk from his cottage.
Countless men from the town were employed in its construction to begin with, with a few of them taking on too much work and coming to Mingi in desperation. He quietly completed some of their handiwork, allowing them to take credit when, in actuality, they couldn't complete what was asked of them. He's intimately familiar with some of the crown moulding throughout the home, though he's never seen it fully painted and installed, for he carved a good bit of it with his own two hands.
But now, that crown moulding and all other sorts of refined finishing details must have been affixed, not a single ornament out of place. The estate is complete, and the rest of its inhabitants have come to take their rightful places within its walls.
The new ironworks owner's family has finally arrived.
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It's only a day later that Mingi finds himself at the general store, looking at the price of a small amount of bacon as he does some mental calculations. He's already picked up his butter and bread, but he knows he could afford some meat if he really wanted to. The smarter thing would be to save his coins, stretch his earnings further by relying on the cabbages and potatoes in his garden, or picking up bloaters instead of meat. The smoked fish might stretch further than the cured pork.
Still, there exists a piece of him that wants to enjoy the small luxury when he has the chance. He has always liked bacon more than fish.
He finally relents, giving in to his whims. Pointing out the smallest bacon slab to the butcher, he watches as the man silently wraps it up in paper and twine, passing it to Mingi in exchange for a few of the pennies nestled in his palm. They don't exchange any words, no pleasantries are passed between them, but Mingi is more than used to it. Many of the townspeople don't speak to him more than necessary, though of course some are more civil than others. The butcher has always been more reticent, however, and Mingi doesn't speak to him often enough for it to bother him. He strives not to let any of the townspeople bother him regardless.
He leaves the general store with his few purchases, beginning the walk back to his cottage for the rest of the day. His only plans are to mend some socks and make dinner, but he wants to get home sooner rather than later. Something deep within him always feels a bit unsettled when he's further in town, far away from his simple home. He only makes it a few steps away, though, when he hears a frantic voice.
"Sir! Yes, you there," the voice calls when Mingi picks his head up to locate the sound.
Mingi quickly realises the unfamiliar, well-dressed man approaching is actually trying to speak with him, rather than anyone else on the street at this time. A quick glance around confirms there were a few other options, but Mingi assumes the man simply isn't aware yet that most people don't talk to him much.
"Good afternoon, sir," the man says, finally coming to a stop a pace or two away from him. "I beg your pardon, but do you know where a haberdashery is? Or anywhere else I could purchase buttons?"
With the man so close, the differences in their clothing become all the more apparent. They're both working class, and yet, they are clearly not cut from the same cloth, quite literally. While Mingi's coat and trousers are meant for hard work, made of sturdy fabric that has perhaps seen better days, the other man's clothes are those of a working-class man under the charge of someone of much higher standing. This man's employers don't want him to look as nice as they do, but they obviously don't want him to look poorly, either. The cut of his clothing doesn't differ much from Mingi's own, but the fabric is softer, a bit less hard-wearing. This man likely works within a home, rather than in a field or factory.
"Buttons?" Mingi finally asks, remembering his manners and simply trying to make conversation. He asks pointlessly, though, as he is already turning in the direction of the haberdashery that he knows is behind the general store.
"Yes, sir," the man replies promptly, perhaps not realising Mingi was not asking out of genuine confusion. "I'm the Lord Jeong's valet, and the buttons are needed for a bit of mending."
His being a valet would explain the nicer clothing; the man works at the new estate, in charge of doing all sorts of personal jobs for Lord Jeong. That the ironworks owner would employ staff to manage his affairs and his estate makes perfect sense, though Mingi isn't sure he's ever met a real valet before. Momentarily, he wonders how many staff they have in total.
Remembering the task at hand, Mingi quietly points around the general store, trying to indicate to the best of his ability that the man needs to go behind the building.
"The haberdashery is around the back, where you can find all sorts of buttons and other such things," he says, briefly glancing back at the man while he gestures.
Promptly, the valet nods, thanking Mingi before he begins to round the building. Mingi watches his back as he goes, taking in the man's nicer clothing once more now that the valet cannot see his staring.
It occurs to him that he has now seen some of the Lord's estate, his family in passing, and even his valet, and Mingi cannot help but wonder when he might meet the ironworks owner or his family directly. He wonders if he'll even meet them at all, as they should have no reason to seek him out unless tragedy befalls them, and he can't know if they'll venture into town often or rather keep to themselves. The owner, Lord Jeong, has lived in the town for months already, coming as soon as the estate was fit enough for him alone, and yet Mingi isn't sure he's ever seen him. Perhaps the family will be the same.
For a moment, the elder son's face framed by a carriage window flits across his mind, but he frowns and waves the thought away.
Determined to return to his routine, he begins the journey home once more.
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It's another week before Mingi is called upon again. The young woman's father comes to him directly, knocking on his cottage door in the early evening to request his presence in their home in two days' time. Though it may be sad to say, the death was one the whole family, and even Mingi himself, was waiting for. She was only twenty-three but taken by that great robber of youth—consumption.
When Mingi pays his visit that Friday, he has to quickly rein in his shock at the frailty of her body and the pallor of her skin. She must have been half the weight of a healthy woman of the same age. Mingi keeps his face as impartial as he can, head bowed and hands clasped in front of him as he murmurs his condolences. The mother, tear tracks staining her cheeks, silently grabs the meal she's prepared for Mingi.
And it is a meal, surprisingly. Perhaps they felt some sort of duty, something telling them to do the best by their daughter, that made them prepare more than the simple, customary bread and ale. Instead, she passes a small bowl of vegetable stew across the body, handing it to Mingi gently.
"It was a favourite of hers," the mother says, her voice low and thick with emotion.
Mingi nods, unaccustomed to being spoken to more than is necessary.
"I will… enjoy it, in her stead," he says cautiously.
Sipping the soup, he finds it hearty and comforting, a good meal for the harsh winter weather outside. He finishes quickly, setting the empty bowl beside him before he takes the ale once again offered to him from across where the woman rests in her coffin.
The ale warms his belly even further, and he sets it aside as well once he finishes. Immediately, with his head bowed once more, eyes closed and palms pressed together in prayer, he says the same small invocation that he always does.
"I wish you only ease and rest now, that you may walk into paradise with your head held high and your conscience clear. And for your peace, I offer my own soul in exchange. Amen."
The woman's father is the one who handles the money once he finishes his prayer, pressing a few coins into his palm before he shakes Mingi's hand. It feels like more than he often receives, but he gets the sense that the family have been preparing for their daughter's death for quite a while now. Perhaps they saved a few extra coins for him, but it is never his place to question what a family wishes to give. Even if they pay next to nothing, he does what he is asked and takes both their food and their loved ones' sins as if they were always his own to bear.
If he doesn't, no one else will.
Mingi has no knowledge of how the sin eater prior to him began his service. He has no clue how the man became a sin eater, what life circumstances brought him to offer up his soul and eternal rest in exchange for meagre food and coins, or what his life was like outside of his role.
He was the town sin eater and had always been so for as long as Mingi could remember. But then he died when Mingi was nineteen, and no one came to clear him of his sins, and no one knew who would take over his service.
Hungry, cold, and alone, Mingi stepped in, offering his soul for the taking.
He knew becoming the sin eater meant that the town would, in equal parts, shun him and come to rely on him. He knew he would be needed at the end of every town resident's life, trusted to take on their sins and allow them to be at peace. But he was not so naive as to think that the townspeople would be friendly with him, a sullied man, once he began his work. He remembered the lonely life of the previous sin eater.
But in these quiet moments, when he can feel the palpable relief that a family feels at the knowledge that their loved one's soul has been cleansed, absolved of all sin—in these moments, he is happy for what he can provide. He can accept that he will be damned for eternity if he can help provide this peace for others, and it helps him survive and keep his belly full at the same time. There is not, he thinks, much more that an orphan could ask for.
With this small sense of accomplishment, he bows his head one last time and accepts the father's handshake, taking his pay and leaving their home. He tucks the coins into his trouser pocket, straightening his coat as he stands upright and finally picks his head up.
Immediately, he stops.
He's sure his expression is quite laughable, eyebrows raised and mouth slightly agape, as if the upper and lower halves of his face are running away from each other.
The man he saw in the carriage, the older son of the ironworks owner, is standing across the way. Once again, he stares at Mingi, a similar appraising look on his face as the one Mingi noted last week. Strangely, the man's expression quickly changes, softening as he waves to call Mingi over to him.
Haltingly, Mingi takes a step forward before he stops himself again, looking up and down the street to check once more that it is indeed empty. He hates to imagine what some of the crueller townspeople would say should they see him speaking to an aristocrat. Seeing again that they are alone for the time being, he crosses towards the other man, stopping a few paces in front of him. Closer now, he can see that the man appears close in age to Mingi himself, and even his stature is similar. Though, his neatly pressed clothes and well-shined shoes could not be more different from Mingi's own.
"Good evening, sir," the man says, and his voice is somehow smoother and more gentle than Mingi had expected, as if a part of him expected the aristocrat to be cold or detached. Something in his chest warms at the unexpected softness in the man's voice, something that he isn't always used to hearing directed at himself. "I'm Jeong Yunho. Pleasure to meet you."
"Good evening, Lord Jeong," he responds quietly. "My name is Song Mingi, and it is a pleasure to meet you as well."
Though he already finds himself fond of the lord's voice, he cannot deny his confusion about what the man could possibly want from him. His eyes begin to flicker up and down the street to continuously check that they are still alone.
"I believe I saw you when our carriage arrived to town, unless I am mistaken," Lord Jeong says, immediately drawing Mingi's gaze back to him with that same gentle tone. His voice somehow demands attention, but not because it is forceful or overly commanding. It betrays a quiet sort of prominence, something that communicates that the lord listens attentively and expects others to do the same for him.
"You are not mistaken, but," Mingi says, hesitating. "You should be careful being seen talking to me, Lord Jeong."
The man hums, turning Mingi's words over in his mind, if the slight pout to his lips is anything to go by. Still, he continues speaking, almost daring Mingi to tell him again that he should be wary.
"Did you know the departed?" He asks, nodding his head towards the door with its large black and white ribbon hanging out front. "I noticed no one else is here to attend the funeral yet."
But Mingi cannot shake the feeling that Lord Jeong needs to know to be careful, and that he needs to make the lord understand.
"The townspeople will talk if they see me speaking to you," he says more sharply, turning his head to more conspicuously look up and down the street for prying eyes. There are still none, but there is no way to know who is peeking from behind minuscule gaps between curtains. "I didn't know her well," he says more softly, finally answering the lord's question, "But I was called here by her family. As the sin eater for this town, it is my obligation."
He had hoped disclosing his profession would alert the lord to the gravity of the situation, but instead Mingi notes the flicker of confusion on the lord's face. The pronounced furrow to his brow and the way his eyes flicker to the left as if trying to recall lost information all suggest he's somehow never heard of a sin eater before. For a moment, Mingi is baffled how that could even be possible, but it feels more important to remove himself than to unravel the lord's confusion.
"I should get home quickly before other townspeople arrive and see me here. Or see me with you, Lord Jeong."
The lord takes a long, slow breath, thinking over his words. Finally, he says calmly, "I must say I don't often concern myself with what others think of me beyond what I am forced to, Mr. Song."
It's the first time the lord says his name, and Mingi feels a bit of shame at the immediate spark of excitement it lights within him. It has been so long since he has been addressed so directly, as the townspeople often don't use his name, even when they call upon him to preside over a death.
The lord continues speaking before Mingi can linger over those thoughts, or any thought regarding the lord's rejection of others' opinions, for long, however.
"Still, if you would be more comfortable, I am happy to let you leave."
Mingi bows his head in farewell, preparing to turn and begin the journey home when the lord stops him once again.
"I must ask first, though," he says, his voice taken over by a tone of something Mingi wants to call mischief. "Would people still talk if we met somewhere else? Somewhere with… fewer people, like your home?"
The rush of shock and mortification is almost immediate, Mingi's belly ablaze with a hot feeling of something close to shame. At war with himself, he finds, embarrassingly, that part of him relishes in the idea of being alone with the lord and remembering what it is like to have an acquaintance, even if this is a man he has only just met. The larger part of him, though, baulks at the impropriety of having a stranger in his home and the possible embarrassment of an aristocrat seeing his humble cottage.
"What are you suggesting, Lord Jeong?" he sputters, rapid syllables pouring from his mouth.
For the first time, the lord also seems flustered, his eyes widening as he clears his throat to cover an awkward wheeze.
"I do apologise," he says quickly, "Forgive me, I only wanted to suggest meeting somewhere you would feel more comfortable. I didn't mean to invite myself so brazenly."
The lord's embarrassment soothes Mingi quickly, his own frantic heartrate slowing to a more normal pace in its hiding spot behind his ribs. The brief moment of humility, the quiet, nervous sound he made, is enough to help Mingi realise that Lord Jeong might not be like any aristocrat Mingi has heard of before. In that split second, Mingi makes a decision.
"The townspeople will not talk if there is nothing for them to talk about… Or," he begins, his voice growing quieter before he continues, "Or if they are not around to see anything worthy of their gossip."
Lord Jeong immediately sobers, his head cocking to the side minutely as he smiles.
"I see."
Mingi holds the lord's gaze for a moment, before straightening his coat.
"I must be on my way now," he says. "Goodbye, Lord Jeong."
This time, the lord does not stop him, another quirk to his lips as he bows his head in goodbye. Something about the motion comes off more conspiratorial than it does simply friendly.
"Goodbye, Mr. Song."
Mingi turns on his heels, beginning down the path that leads to the south side of town and with it, his cottage. He steadfastly ignores the urge to look over his shoulder and get another glance at the somewhat odd, intriguing lord. A small spark of hope burns in his chest at the idea that maybe, just maybe, Lord Jeong will take him up on his concealed offer and pay him a visit.