Chapter – 23
At those words, Gyoheum made no reply.
The taffy vendor, however, let out a knowing heh heh heh, an insinuating laugh.
“I put in more than usual. From the looks of it, you seem like newlyweds—use this to earn yourself some points. One good memory like this is what people cling to for a lifetime.”
Holding the taffy wrapped tightly in leaves, Gyoheum began to walk slowly away. Then, furrowing his brow, he muttered a belated excuse under his breath.
“It’s nothing. Really.”
A cold, lifeless shadow clung stubbornly to his heels.
“Yeonsan… huh? She’s not here.”
Soran froze as she opened the kitchen door and found it empty.
“She’s probably finishing up in the main house kitchen… hmm?”
Murmuring to herself as she turned around, Soran halted once more.
Only then did her eyes meet someone—or rather, something—occupying the space in front of the hearth.
“A cat.”
Meow.
A cat with white and yellow fur perfectly blended stared straight at her without running away.
Its white muzzle was darkened with soot, and the tips of its whiskers were singed—it clearly hadn’t been visiting for just a day or two.
It must have benefited greatly from the warmth of the hearth this winter.
Meow. Stretching lazily, the cat padded softly toward Soran’s feet.
Then it rubbed its cheek against her leg, acting as if they were close. Mrrrow.
“Hey, since when do we know each other…? Are you hungry?”
Stray cats weren’t unfamiliar to Soran. When she lived at the Vice Minister’s house, she would occasionally run into cats and exchange silent greetings with them.
In that house, the only ones who ever acknowledged her were Paju-daek and the cats.
But none of those cats stayed longer than three months before disappearing.
Whether they froze to death in the bitter cold, found new owners, or perhaps left in search of love—she never knew.
That was why she had sworn not to grow attached to cats.
“Let’s see… is there anything to eat in the kitchen?”
As Soran stepped inside, she rummaged through baskets and jars.
Mrrrow. At that moment, the cat sat in front of a lidded container and cried coaxingly.
The instant Soran lifted the lid—
Snap. The cat grabbed a dried anchovy from inside and darted back to the hearth.
“I’m not going to steal it.”
Murmuring softly, Soran squatted down and rested her chin on her knees.
Thanks to the firewood, the kitchen was pleasantly warm, and the cozy air was soothing enough to lull her to sleep.
It suddenly occurred to her that it had been a very long time since she’d allowed herself to relax like this.
“Maybe I’ve been trying too hard not to let anyone see my weaknesses.”
Her drowsy voice dragged lazily, as though she might fall asleep at any moment.
Mrrrow. After finishing the anchovy in no time, the cat rubbed its cheek against the hem of Soran’s skirt.
Then it leapt up onto the kitchen counter and tapped at the lid she had just closed.
“You’re such a little freeloader.”
Though she said that, Soran opened the lid again and tossed four or five anchovies toward it.
The cat devoured them in the blink of an eye, stretched, and returned to the hearth.
Just as when she first saw it, the cat sat with its front paws neatly together, then gradually scooted closer to the fire.
Hiss. Its white whiskers burned and curled at the tips.
“See? I told you not to get too close.”
But the cat paid her no mind.
Perhaps human relationships were like fire as well—too close and you get burned, too far and you freeze.
Soran didn’t know what that proper distance was. She had never once grown close enough to anyone to be burned.
So she couldn’t be sure how far she was allowed to step forward.
“I’ll call you Nurungji. You’re yellowish, just like scorched rice.”
Meow. The cat buried its face between its front paws and closed its eyes.
It seemed asleep, yet its ears twitched at every word Soran spoke.
“I came looking for scorched rice to eat, but I found Nurungji instead.”
Soran chuckled softly to herself. The cat, once again, pretended not to hear.
Still, it was comfortable. The fact that there was no smell—no, more precisely, no foul smell.
Animals only carried the scent of what they had eaten and the brush they had passed through.
Just as Nurungji smelled of anchovies.
“Huh?”
Amid the fishy scent, there was a faint smell of ink.
“Where have you been?”
Where could it have gone to pick up the scent of ink? As Soran wondered, she tried to lift her eyelids.
Or rather, she tried to. Her eyelids felt as heavy as the largest boulders in the world and wouldn’t budge.
“What I can do…”
She remembered seeing a room filled with books while going in and out of the main house.
“If I lack learning… then I should… fill it.”
Her voice grew more and more languid. Finally, Soran closed her eyes tightly and murmured,
“So… starting tomorrow.”
As always, the perfect plan would begin tomorrow.
“Welcome back, Young Master.”
The servant who opened the gate bowed deeply to Gyoheum. He merely nodded once and headed straight for the annex.
He wondered what expression Soran would make when she received a whole bundle of taffy, she who had sparkled with delight over even half a piece.
Then he stubbornly muttered to himself, frowning,
“It’s just to win her favor. If I’m going to use the Vice Minister’s illegitimate daughter, I need to make her mine first.”
No one heard him.
“Madam.”
Calling her gently as he opened the door, Gyoheum frowned once again.
Soran, who usually greeted him with a bright smile, was nowhere to be seen. The room was empty.
Setting the bundle of taffy on the table, he stepped back outside. Soon, Kkeutsun was approaching from a distance.
“Welcome back.”
“Where is my wife?”
At the casual question, Kkeutsun’s eyes widened. She tilted her head in confusion.
“Isn’t she inside?”
“You don’t even know whether your mistress is in her room or not?”
Displeasure crept into Gyoheum’s voice. How could a maid who served the lady of the house most closely not know her whereabouts?
Was this insubordination? He had heard stories—about long-serving servants bullying newlywed mistresses.
Just as Gyoheum’s gaze sharpened—
“I’ll look into it right away.”
Kkeutsun ran off, her face pale. “She was definitely in the room just a moment ago…” she muttered.
Only then did Gyoheum’s expression soften slightly as he stepped down into the courtyard.
While pacing and waiting for Kkeutsun to return, he suddenly stopped.
Then he scowled. He looked like a mutt waiting for its owner.
“Honestly. Who am I waiting for?”
Telling himself that it didn’t matter where Soran was, Gyoheum turned toward the main house.
“I haven’t even greeted Mother yet.”
His own sulky muttering irritated him more than he liked.
Crossing the annex, he halted once more. Through the open side gate, Kkeutsun hurried past, her face stricken.
“Where on earth could she be?”
Her anxious voice reached him a beat late.
Gyoheum’s expression slowly drained away. Soran had left without telling even Kkeutsun. Why?
Did she have someone she needed to meet in secret? Or something she needed to do?
Only then did suspicion rear its head.
What if he hadn’t come home early today?
Would she have greeted him with that same bright smile, as though nothing had happened?
Just then, Yeonsan-daek entered through the side gate. Carrying a large basket under her arm, she bowed when she spotted Gyoheum.
“Welcome back.”
Noticing his cold expression, she stiffened slightly.
Sensing the master’s foul mood and wary of becoming collateral damage, Yeonsan-daek moved carefully.
Creak. She gently pulled open the kitchen door, trying to slip inside unnoticed—
“Good heavens!”
Startled, she dropped the basket. Gyoheum’s gaze slowly shifted.
Dried radish greens scattered across the floor. Yeonsan-daek glanced between the empty basket and Gyoheum’s face before turning back toward the kitchen.
“Oh my goodness—Young Madam! How can you sleep here?”
She hurried inside, lowering her voice.
Still frowning, Gyoheum stepped forward. Over Yeonsan-daek’s shoulder, he saw the scene inside.
Soran was crouched in front of the hearth, her face buried against her knees. Startled by the noise, she lifted her head.
Blink. Blink. Then, with sleep-clouded eyes, she looked around.
“Huh? Where’s Nurungji?”
“What are you talking about, Young Madam?”
“A moment ago, Nurungji was right here…”
“What Nurungji? There’s nothing like that here.”
Glancing at Gyoheum, Yeonsan-daek spoke smoothly, playing along.
Rubbing her eyes with both hands, Soran finally noticed Gyoheum standing in the doorway. She broke into a sheepish smile.
“Welcome back.”
“……”
And Gyoheum silently looked down at her.
