Episode 2
“Miss! What if you fall like that?!”
Kkotbun cried out in alarm. The walls of Lord Jin Pyeonggi’s estate were so high that even standing on the backs of both Kkotbun and Pandong wouldn’t allow a glimpse inside. That was why Sohwa had set her sights on the cherry tree growing beside the wall.
“You’re making a fuss over nothing,” Sohwa said lightly. “I’m faster than most men and better at climbing trees. I won’t fall.”
Without the slightest embarrassment, she lifted her skirt, tied it neatly around her waist, and scrambled up the tree. At last, her gaze slipped over the wall.
Inside, servants moved busily back and forth—but there was no sign of the young master she assumed must be her fiancé.
“Miss, you’ll get caught!”
“You two are the ones making enough noise to get caught,” Sohwa whispered back. “I won’t be. Even if someone sees me from inside, they’ll just think, Oh, there’s a flower blooming on the wall. Isn’t my face a flower?”
“You always say you hate being called a flower and insist you’re ‘little fire,’” Kkotbun muttered. “But when it’s convenient, suddenly you love flowers.”
Just then, the servants inside all turned in one direction and bowed deeply, as if someone important had stepped out.
Who is it?
Sohwa carefully shifted her footing and leaned forward.
“Who’s that—?”
A voice suddenly rose from below.
Startled, Sohwa’s foot slipped.
“Miss—!”
Kkotbun screamed.
Ah. Is this how I die at eighteen? Sohwa thought wildly. Falling to my death before even marrying. Too pretty to die a virgin…
She squeezed her eyes shut.
Thud—no.
Instead of the hard ground, she landed safely in someone’s arms.
Warm, steady arms.
She slowly opened her eyes.
A young man was looking down at her, smiling softly.
“…I thought a cluster of flowers had fallen from the tree.”
In that instant, Sohwa knew.
This man—who looked like spring itself—was her fiancé.
And with that realization came another thought.
There’s no need to run away.
“It’s not Yoo Kang… but I can accept that.”
“Oh my goodness,” Kkotbun exclaimed on the way home. “Are your eyes glued to the Jade Emperor’s backside or something? Lord Jin Ju-an is one of the most handsome men in all of Muyeon. I’ve never seen such a beautiful face.”
“Master, don’t you like me?” Pandong asked slyly.
“You’re beautiful—but only in my eyes.”
“…Huh.”
Sohwa hummed as she walked, her steps light.
To be sure, she had shyly asked the young man if he was Jin Ju-an. When he smiled and replied yes, her heart had leapt with delight. Though he wasn’t the Yoo Kang of her fantasies, he easily passed.
After revealing her identity and confessing that she had come out of curiosity to see her fiancé’s face, Jin Ju-an laughed gently and admitted he had been curious as well. They spoke for a while before parting ways, each with a polite bow.
“He’s too gentle,” Sohwa said thoughtfully. “I like sharp, masculine features like Yoo Kang’s. Ju-an is almost too pretty—like a woman.”
“Hey!” Kkotbun scolded. “How dare you call your future husband by his given name so casually?”
“So what if I do? I was born four months earlier than him. We were even born in different years! How dare he call me ‘older sister’ when he’s the younger one—”
“…How did you know Lord Ju-an’s birthday?” Kkotbun asked suspiciously. “Did you ask earlier?”
“Yes. To check compatibility.”
“Why bother? The elders must’ve checked that before arranging the engagement.”
“They probably only checked shallow things—family status, whether I’d bear a son. I’m looking at something else,” Sohwa said seriously. “Will he continue to love me? Will he take a concubine someday? He’s handsome, so I’m worried.”
“You used to say handsome was good. Now you’re worried because he’s handsome?” Kkotbun sighed. “Miss—where are you going now?”
Kkotbun suddenly shouted in alarm.
They were headed straight toward Sari Village.
Sohwa blinked innocently.
“What? We’re going to check compatibility. Didn’t they tell us earlier to come?”
“What nonsense is that? If you want the truth, just ask the Three Thousand Dharma Masters!”
“I’m not asking the wizard who named me ‘Little Flower.’ I’ll ask a real Taoist,” Sohwa retorted. “You saw it yourself. I was fine, on my way to see my husband. If they told me to come, then there must be a celestial Taoist there.”
“There isn’t!” Kkotbun insisted. “If there were, they’d have taken you to the palace long ago. Why would they be living like beggars?”
“Oh, you’re so noisy!” Sohwa snapped. “If you’re scared, just wait here. I’ll go alone and take a quick look.”
As expected, the stubborn young lady strode ahead decisively.
How could they possibly let her enter such a place alone?
In the end, Kkotbun and Pandong had no choice but to follow, their faces pale as if marching to their deaths.
Sari Village lay on the outskirts of Yeonang, the capital of Muyeon.
Even in broad daylight, it was dim and sunless—a slum where the Saris, the lowest of the low, lived.
Though “Dosa” once meant a practitioner of Taoist arts, the term “Sari,” derived from Sari Village, had become a slur. Yet Taoists had not always been despised in Muyeon.
Two hundred years ago, during the reign of Emperor Jin-hui, Taoists and geomancy scholars held equal status. Taoists served the throne, advised the emperor, and governed the nation alongside scholars. All were members of the Yeon people of the Yeonban Peninsula.
That balance collapsed with the rapid rise of Geokmul, technological scholarship.
Fire-making was replaced by mechanical igniters. Ice by stone ice vaults. Telekinesis by lifting devices. Clairvoyance by far-seeing instruments.
Geokmul was easier to use than Taoist arts, which required years of training. As preference shifted, emperors favored scholars over Taoists, and the number of Taoists dwindled—along with their status.
Doheung, the spiritual leader of the Taoists, rebelled.
The result was annihilation.
Taoists were purged, their authority shattered, and the remnants of their clan were exiled to the frozen wasteland of Hanya in the far north. Only a handful remained in Yeonang, forming a small village to preserve their tradition.
That village became known as Sari Village.
Hanya was bitterly cold, with snow year-round. Farming was nearly impossible. When drought and plague struck, food became scarce.
Dohyang, Doheung’s granddaughter, once begged the emperor for aid.
His response?
“Can’t you make food with Taoist magic?”
From that day on, the Taoists never sought imperial help again.
Two centuries later, few remembered their suffering. Fewer still possessed true Taoist power.
It was said that celestial Taoists—born with divine gifts—served within the imperial palace, but only royalty could meet them. The fortune-tellers in the village were not true Taoists, merely scholars trained in divination.
Still, Sohwa sought a real Taoist.
Not one who learned fate through books—but one born with the power to see destiny itself.
The Fire Maiden mentioned earlier…
She was likely such a being.
“Alright,” Sohwa said calmly. “Let’s go in.”
With confident, almost ominous steps, Moon Sohwa entered Sari Village.
