Chapter 09
Joseon Somaek Club
“What’s she saying?”
Byun Hayeon glanced at Hwang-hui while eyeing Miyu, who stood behind Yi-un.
Miyu kept silently mouthing words toward Yi-un, pointing at him.
Traitor. Traitor. He’s a traitor.
“Yeonjeong? I think she’s saying yeonjeong—like she’s got a crush on him.”
Hwang-hui chuckled.
“Well, the fellow is handsome enough to rank among the best of the Four Books and Three Classics. Second only to me.”
Byun Hayeon nodded sagely.
Yi-un frowned and turned to look behind him.
Quiet as a breeze, Miyu leaned against the wall, pretending to sleep.
Yi-un’s gaze lingered on her, the way a painter studies a subject.
Long, dark eyes under well-shaped brows; a perfectly straight nose; small peach-tinted lips. Her delicate, soft impression contrasted with a vivid, forceful energy. The combination was strangely magnetic.
Half-squinting, Miyu felt a chill at the intensity of his stare.
Did he catch me pretending?
Heat rushed to her face, her heart pounding. Her eyelids twitched like they were trembling on thin ice.
Ugh, can’t breathe. Why am I so rattled? Hwang-hui is right here!
Miyu clenched her fists and suddenly sprang up.
“He’s a traitor! A. Trai-tor!”
The room’s mood wavered.
“Ah, so that’s what she meant. Yi-un, are you out painting or plotting treason these days?”
Byun Hayeon’s tone stayed casual.
“Do I look like a traitor to you?”
Yi-un’s cool voice sent a chill across the tavern.
“I saw the constables chasing you after you posted that seditious notice yesterday!”
“Did you.”
“Was I wrong?” she demanded sharply.
“You were. I wasn’t posting notices—I was chasing the people who did.”
His calm, measured voice carried an almost lofty distance.
“You’re a constable?”
“I’m a court painter.”
“Then why chase traitors?”
“I had my reasons.”
“Sure, because a real traitor would never admit it.”
“If I’m no traitor, why insist that I am?”
Yi-un countered evenly.
“He’s really not a traitor?”
Miyu turned to Byun Hayeon and Hwang-hui.
“I vouch for him,” said Byun.
“As do I,” added Hwang-hui.
“You never truly know a person’s heart,” Miyu muttered.
“This friend’s a distant royal relative, merely angered by that slanderous poster against the Crown Prince,” Byun explained, lowering his voice.
“Really?”
“Really.”
Miyu exhaled, tension draining from her shoulders.
“Haha, Yi-un, didn’t I warn you not to meddle in royal affairs? Hunt a traitor and you end up branded one yourself.”
Byun’s joke eased the air.
Thinking it over, Miyu realized accusing him was a stretch. He hadn’t even worn a mask, and he had saved her when she nearly fell.
The memory of dashing through the rain after hiding under an eave flushed her cheeks.
“Sorry for the misunderstanding. I was rude. Let’s get along.”
“It’s fine,” Yi-un replied.
“I’m Jo Miyu. I work at the Princess Vegetable Stall.”
She impulsively held out her hand, then awkwardly pulled it back.
Yi-un stared at her. Straightforward, unpretentious, unafraid of people or situations—brazen, he thought. An untrained girl daring to offer a handshake.
“Yi-un,” he said simply.
The door slid open and the tavern mistress entered with a laden tray: sliced beef, mung-bean pancakes, rice cakes, noodle broth, tofu—an abundant spread.
“Drinks coming through!” she announced in a raspy voice as a worker followed with a ceramic jug and a jar bristling with slender bamboo straws.
“Beer and soju, the best combo,” Hwang-hui said brightly.
“Now that the misunderstanding’s cleared, let’s drink our fill,” Byun added.
Byun and Hwang-hui each took a bamboo straw and sipped the barley brew. Yi-un’s lips, red with life, touched the straw next. They shared one jar, then collectively sighed in satisfaction.
“Nothing beats maekju!”
Beer? Miyu’s eyes widened. Joseon has beer?
“Mind if I try?”
“Of course,” Byun said, passing her the jar.
Miyu drew a sip through the straw and immediately grimaced.
“This isn’t beer!”
The flavor was rich and toasty, but lacked the fizzy bite and crisp hops she expected.
“What do you mean it’s not beer?” Hwang-hui asked, puzzled.
Miyu sniffed the jar. A warm, nutty aroma wafted up. Not the beer I know.
Peering inside, she found a cloudy yellow drink, more like rice wine.
“It even looks like makgeolli.”
“Correct. It’s barley-brewed makgeolli,” Byun said.
“Then why call it beer and get people excited?”
“Barley is maek (麥), and liquor is ju (酒)—maekju. Barley wine. If that’s not beer, what is?”
“Ohhh.” Miyu let out a short laugh. Barley wine indeed.
Night deepened around the tavern.
“Yi-un, what was your wish again?”
Flushed with drink, Hwang-hui asked.
“I said I’d reveal it if I won the bet. Still thinking,” Yi-un replied.
Meanwhile, Miyu leaned over the jar again, enjoying the mellow barley flavor.
“This ‘beer’ is surprisingly tasty.”
Grinning tipsily, she looked from Yi-un to Byun.
“But how did you two know it would rain? The weather was so clear.”
“Tell us—I’m curious too,” Hwang-hui said, chewing a rice cake.
“The swallows were flying low this morning,” Byun said with a small smile.
“That predicts rain?”
“When swallows stay low, the upper air currents are rough and damp. Hard for birds to fly high. So, lots of moisture—rain coming soon. Especially when they skim the ground.”
Miyu was impressed. In Joseon, with no formal science, he reasoned it out logically—better than her science teacher ever did.
“You’re a genius.”
“Ah, you’ve uncovered my secret,” Byun teased, dipping a mung-bean pancake in soy sauce.
“Looking like a carefree rogue is just a cover, huh?” Miyu narrowed her eyes playfully.
“And you, Lady Miyu, must be a genius yourself to catch on so quickly…”
“Sounds convincing,” Hwang-hui said, nodding belatedly.
“My friend, that’s more than convincing. Show some real admiration.”
“I am admiring,” Hwang-hui deadpanned.
“Actually, the decisive clue wasn’t the swallows,” Byun added.
“There was something else?”
“The market grandmothers’ expressions. They said their joints ached. Heavy, moisture-laden air presses on the body.”
He puffed his chest in mock pride.
“And you, Yi-un—why’d you bet on rain?” Hwang-hui asked.
“Did you also watch swallows or grandmothers?” Miyu added.
“No.”
“Then what?”
“I followed him,” Yi-un said, nodding toward Byun.
“I should’ve done that,” Hwang-hui groaned.
“If you had, there’d have been no bet,” Byun laughed.
“Why follow him?” Miyu pressed, curious.
The three men looked at her as she leaned forward.
“There had to be a reason.”
“Don’t tell me you like me?” Byun teased.
“His expression,” Yi-un answered, ignoring the joke.
“My expression?” Byun touched his cheeks. “What about it?”
“Not a trace of doubt when he said it would rain.”
Yi-un’s smooth smile was like a brushstroke.
Miyu froze. Byun’s keen observation impressed her, but Yi-un impressed her more: he’d read Byun’s confidence and bet accordingly. A born psychologist, perhaps from meeting so many people as a court painter.
“Well then, I lost this round. You two win,” Hwang-hui conceded, setting a porcelain soju flask and the beer jar on the table.
“Shall we begin?”
“Gladly.”
“Of course.”
“What’s our club’s official name?” Byun asked, eyes twinkling at Miyu.
“There’s an official name?”
“The Joseon Somaek-dang—mix soju and ‘beer’ and the flavor is divine,” he said with pride.
“It’s strong, so feel free to skip,” Hwang-hui warned her gruffly.
Joseon’s somaek was unlike modern versions. The soju was a 45-degree distilled spirit, the barley “beer” around 15.5—powerful enough to earn the nickname “chaos liquor.”
“Heh, kidding? I take after my dad—I’m the queen of somaek,” Miyu boasted.
“Then allow me to craft you a fine one.”
Byun poured the fragrant barley brew into four cups and topped each with clear soju.
“Lady Miyu, how old are you?” Hwang-hui asked.
“Twenty-two.”
“We’re all twenty-two as well.”
“Nice to meet you. Let’s drink!”
As the cups filled, a gentle smile graced Byun Hayeon’s refined face.
“Great! Now that we’re friends, let’s toast in grand style,” Miyu said, raising her cup.
“Who’ll give the toast?” Yi-un asked.
“When drinking, the toast is more important than the snacks,” Hwang-hui intoned.
“Since Lady Miyu is our special guest, how about she does it?” Byun suggested.
The men watched her with expectant eyes, eager for her words.
