Chapter 08
It was nothing short of a nightmare.
Sohwa knew she had to get up quickly—she couldn’t afford to be a burden to her family. Her mother needed every extra bite of food she could spare. Yet whenever Sohwa closed her eyes, the memories surged back, refusing to let her sleep.
The red lanterns dimly lighting the dark alley. Naked bodies tangled together without shame. Sinister hands unfastening her clothes.
And above all—the eyes of the man whose head had been severed.
Those eyes, veins bulging red.
The blade dripping with blood.
The black combat boots.
Those boots had saved her from being swallowed by the red-light district… yet they had also drenched her world in blood.
Bokrye’s venomous words echoed endlessly in her head.
Moon Sohwa, you bitch. You’re a murderer. A murderer…
All of it tightened around her neck like a barbed noose. She survived only by force of will, slowly swallowing the thin porridge Kkotbun made for her. On the fifth day, she clenched her teeth and got up. Kkotbun and Pandong begged her to rest longer, but from Sohwa’s perspective, she had already endured enough.
When she returned to work, she spotted Bokrye among the women lounging in the shade, laughing as they played. Kkotbun nearly lunged at her, desperate to rip out her hair, but she stopped herself—touching the “playing women” meant punishment from the Toya soldiers. Sohwa’s heart pounded wildly, half-expecting Bokrye to rush over and scream, Moon Sohwa is a murderer!
But Bokrye only glanced at her coldly, eyes narrowed, then looked away as if she hadn’t seen her at all.
That night, back in the tent, Sohwa spoke quietly.
“Flower girl… I want you to tell me everything.”
Kkotbun stared at her, startled.
“What do you want me to tell you, miss?”
“You know what almost happened to me.”
“Well—yes, but not now—”
“You have to tell me. Because I was ignorant, I didn’t recognize the danger. Because I was ignorant, I followed her. And because I was ignorant, the shock nearly destroyed me. If I had known, even roughly, what those women were doing, I would never have gone. Tell me everything, one by one, so I won’t be deceived again. I’m twenty now. I should know.”
Kkotbun hesitated, then slowly nodded.
That night, Sohwa learned for the first time about the union between man and woman.
“A woman’s body is a field,” Kkotbun explained gently. “For a child to sprout, it must receive the seed given by a man. But seeds do not always take root. The field must be prepared. If the seed is planted at the right time, a child will grow. If not, the field sheds what it doesn’t need and prepares itself again. That is the monthly cleansing we women experience.
“After that, a new field forms. The best time to plant the seed is two days before that cleansing. But such a precious field cannot be given to just anyone. If seeds are planted recklessly—like the women who play—the field becomes barren, and healthy children become difficult to bear. If the field rots, death may follow. That is why elders emphasize virtue. A woman should accept only the seed of the man she loves—her husband.”
Afterward, Kkotbun explained in detail how man and woman join, how a man enters a woman’s body to sow his seed. Only then did the gaps in Sohwa’s understanding finally fill.
“Shouldn’t you have been taught something so important earlier?” Sohwa asked softly. “At least when I first came of age?”
“Your parents were afraid,” Kkotbun replied. “They feared that knowing too early might lead you astray.”
“That seems even more dangerous,” Sohwa murmured. “Learning by accident, without guidance… I don’t even know if Bokrye truly understood any of this. She’s my age. I doubt anyone taught her properly.”
“Why concern yourself with someone who cornered you like that?” Kkotbun said firmly. “Forget her. Rest.”
But Bokrye lingered in Sohwa’s heart.
Late that winter, Bokrye’s body was carried to the crematorium. Through quiet inquiries, Sohwa learned the truth: a child of unknown father had been conceived. A poisonous drug had been used to abort it. The damage was severe. Bokrye fell ill and eventually died.
The guilt pierced Sohwa deeply.
Shouldn’t she have dragged Bokrye out of that place instead of fearing her? Even if it meant slapping sense into her? Sohwa alone had escaped that den alive and unharmed.
“…We did have good days,” she whispered at dawn, pouring water and offering a prayer. “How did we end up like this… Rest in peace, Bokrye.”
In that moment, Sohwa felt keenly the sorrow of ignorance—and the cruelty of powerlessness.
“It is Princess Yeonhui’s wedding,” the guards announced, “so today we serve meat soup. Be grateful to the royal family of Doya and Her Highness.”
In mid-May, the empire celebrated its first royal wedding since the conquest. Princess Yeonhui, the second daughter of Emperor Dogukhan, was to be married. Labor was suspended, and a massive cauldron of meat soup was brought out for the people.
After months of bland porridge and famine rations, smiles finally appeared.
If the rebellion had never happened, Sohwa thought bitterly, today would have been my happiest day.
This was the day she was meant to marry Juan.
If Muyeon had not fallen, she would have been a radiant bride, surrounded by blessings. But she could not hide in the tent and cry. She needed strength—for the day Juan and her brother returned. Sohwa carried soup to her mother, then joined the others in line. The portions were generous. She made sure to eat her fill.
“It’s nice not having to work today.”
“Yes. If only every day were like this.”
People gathered around the cauldron, chatting and lingering, waiting for seconds.
“But who is the princess marrying?” someone asked. “I heard he’s not a Taoist priest, just a noble with no backing.”
“That’s right.”
“I thought all the nobles were dead. How did he survive?”
“It’s obvious. He became a citizen of Toya. Shouted ‘Long live Toya’ loud enough. Quite a few nobles lived that way.”
Back at the tent, Sohwa saw Pandong’s troubled face.
“Madam… you haven’t eaten much.”
Lady Baekhwa sat staring blankly, unable to finish even half her soup. Sohwa placed the spoon into her mother’s hand.
“Mother, you have to eat. You need your strength. Juan will come soon. I heard people talking—some nobles survived. Juan must be alive. He doesn’t know where we are yet, but he’s searching. Just endure a little longer. When Juan and I leave here, we’ll find Brother Jiseok too.”
Hope flickered to life.
Juan was alive. He would come for her. Jiseok would come as well.
And perhaps that desperate wish finally reached the heavens.
Ten days later, as spring deepened and warmth settled into the land, the man Sohwa had been waiting for—Juan—arrived in Sari Village.
