Chapter 7

Gyohum had meant to mock her, yet somehow ended up complimenting her instead.
He shook his head tiredly.

He began walking again, and Soran hurried after him, glancing around with curiosity.

The estate was divided into a main house and a detached wing.
The detached wing was where she and Gyohum stayed.

“That wing originally belonged to my older brother and his wife.”

His voice was as heavy as his steps, making Soran look up at him.

Because the wall cast a thick shadow over his face, she couldn’t tell what expression he wore.

“My sister-in-law is staying at her parents’ home with her child.”

“Oh…”

Was it last summer? I heard their eldest son ended his life because of something terrible.

She remembered Paju-daek clicking her tongue as she spoke.
Soran lowered her gaze without thinking.

Whatever she looked like in that moment, Gyohum interpreted it in his own way and added, in an emotionless tone:

“My brother didn’t hang himself in the detached wing. It was in the office building at the palace. So you don’t need to worry about ghosts.”

“That’s not what I was thinking!”

“…”

“I mean… that’s not…”

Soran tried to explain but couldn’t finish.
She dropped her gaze again.

She had never learned what to say at times like this.

How nice it would be if she could comfort people smoothly—if she could take away even one spoonful of their sorrow.

“It was a joke.”

Gyohum let out a soft, deflating laugh and sped up again.

Soran watched only his heels as she scurried to keep up.

***

The Minister’s household—Lady Munhyeon’s pride—had been dazzlingly glamorous.

Everywhere you looked, the pillars, the eaves, the details—everything was carved so beautifully that guests couldn’t help but gasp.
Some part of the estate was always under construction: a new pavilion one month, an expanded annex the next.

It was a house made of trends and extravagance, and Lady Munhyeon would pretend humility while soaking in the praise.

Gyohum’s home was nothing like that.

His house was simple and quiet, yet not shabby at all.

And Soran quickly understood why.
Everywhere, she felt the presence of careful, loving hands:

The polished wooden floors,
The perfectly intact roof tiles,
The clean, unbroken paper screens,
Even the tree branches that didn’t crowd each other.

“…”

Her eyes softened unconsciously.

She didn’t know whose taste shaped this place, but she liked it far more than the Minister’s overwhelming home.

Just then, Gyohum—walking ahead—stopped abruptly.

Soran managed not to bump into him and lifted her head with proud relief.

Gyohum raised his voice toward the closed door.

“Father, it’s me. I’ve brought my wife to pay our respects.”

“Come in.”

Gulp.
Soran swallowed her dry throat quietly.

Her relaxed heart tightened instantly.

Paju-daek had said she only needed to greet them properly, but surely a greeting had rules and etiquette.
And she had never learned any of that.

She could read a little, yes—
But she had grown up doing chores from the moment she opened her eyes until she closed them again.
There was no time for lessons.
No time even for sleep.

She wanted to do well.
But she didn’t know what “doing well” looked like.

One wrong word could expose her completely.

She didn’t want to be disliked here too.
The more she tried to calm herself, the worse her heart pounded.

So Soran simply copied Gyohum.
If he bowed, she bowed.
If he sat, she sat.

Gyohum glanced warmly at his father over the table.
Soran clenched her fists and stared only at the table, too nervous to look anywhere else.

“Did you sleep well last night?” Gyohum asked politely.

“Did you sleep well?” Soran repeated, stiff with determination.

At least that way, she wouldn’t say anything stupid.

Gyohum glanced at her, but she was too busy studying the table to notice.

Then, cautiously, she shifted her eyes upward to peek at Mojinpyung.

Her father-in-law had fierce, sharp eyes, thick brows—
He looked like a stone guardian statue.

“!”

Terrified he might catch her looking, she bowed her head again before sneaking another glance.

But though he had a scary face, his thin build and pallor softened the impression.
Right now he looked more like a toothless old tiger.

Mojinpyung coughed dryly before speaking:

“So, did you both rest well?”

“Yes.”

His throat rattled with phlegm.

“Today, I accepted your morning greeting since it’s the first day. Starting tomorrow, you don’t need to come.”

“!”

Soran’s eyes widened.

But Paju-daek said greetings were half the battle!
What would she do if she wasn’t allowed to greet him?

Her gaze darted helplessly between father and son.
Gyohum seemed to notice her panic and added calmly:

“Father’s health is poor. The physician told him to avoid cold air. Don’t worry about it.”

His tone was indifferent, but his eyes were sharper than ever.

Look carefully, wife.
This is what your father did.
See how he ruined an entire family.

“….”

Gyohum hid his thoughts behind a polite smile.
Soran tilted her head, puzzled.

When he smiled kindly, she smelled winter wind—cold enough to freeze the heart.
But earlier, when he looked indifferent, she had smelled sweetness, like syrup.

It made no sense.

Kind people smelled sweet.
Emotionless people smelled like cold wind.

But Gyohum smiled kindly while smelling icy,
and looked emotionless while giving off warmth.

It made her unable to look away—
because she couldn’t see his real feelings at all.

***

“Let’s go.”

“Yes.”

They left Mojinpyung’s quarters and went to Lady Jami’s room.

Soran found herself sneaking glances at Gyohum’s back again.

The icy scent that clung to him earlier was gone.
His gentle face had returned to a blank, unreadable expression.

It confused her every time.

***

The three of them sat around a low table.
The silence wasn’t uncomfortable.

Lady Jami didn’t glare at Soran or scold her.
She simply observed her calmly.

Gyohum spoke first.

“Mother, did you sleep peacefully?”

“Did you sleep peacefully?” Soran echoed immediately.

“Did anything trouble your rest last night?” Lady Jami asked in return.

“I heard your dreams were restless these past few days—did you have a good dream today?”

“Did you have a good dream?” Soran repeated again.

“…”

This time Gyohum narrowed his eyes.

So that’s how you want to play it?
He smirked slightly in irritation.

Mocking me on purpose, aren’t you?
Well, as the minister’s daughter, I suppose you would be sly.
Too straightforward would be boring, after all.

But he certainly wasn’t planning to lose.

He was just wondering how to counter when Lady Jami’s gaze turned to him.

“I heard the two of you slept in separate rooms last night.”

Some loose-lipped maid must have run to report it.

Gyohum replied lightly:

“We woke early for the ceremony and were both exhausted.
We slept separately so we could rest comfortably.”

“You only see things one way.”

Lady Jami scolded him with a firm expression.

Soran’s eyes rolled anxiously back and forth between them.

“Your wife came to this house without even a single maid.
She has no one but you.
If word spreads that you slept separately from the first night, what will people think?
Won’t the servants start looking down on her as well?”

That had been Gyohum’s exact intention—
but he pretended he hadn’t considered it.

“I was thoughtless. I didn’t think that far.”

He turned to Soran.

“If I upset you, I apologize.”

Soran jumped in surprise and waved both hands frantically.

“No! Not at all! I slept very comfortably—having that big warm bed all to myself.”

“…”

See? That’s real skill.
She compliments and mocks at the same time—impressive.

“I’m glad you slept well,” Lady Jami said warmly.

Suddenly, Soran sniffed the air—like a puppy sensing a new scent.

Her eyes widened… and widened further…

“!”