Chapter 23
Milk’s Loyalty
On Samjinnal—the third day of the third lunar month, when the swallow that flew south returns to announce spring—
Miyu started her morning with noodles made from mung beans.
The merchants’ guild was handing out this seasonal dish to their workers and clerks.
And that wasn’t all: when she passed the main street toward the vegetable stall, the rice‐cake shop was giving away mugwort rice cakes.
Samjinnal must be a big day in Joseon, she thought wryly. They’re handing out such treats for free…
Though she had grown used to daily life here, little cultural differences like this still made the Joseon era feel foreign.
Still, she happily accepted the mugwort rice cake she would once have ignored and hurried to the vegetable stall.
Grandma Gongju was frying hwajeon—rice cakes made with glutinous rice flour and azalea petals.
“Grandma, what are you making?”
“We may not go out to the mountains and fields for a flower picnic, but we can at least eat flower pancakes.”
While Grandma cooked, Miyu busily carried vegetables to the stall and arranged them neatly.
It really wasn’t the time to relax and cook hwajeon.
Ever since the visit from the Four Books and Three Classics scholars, rumors of the stall’s fresh, succulent produce had spread all over Songpa Market.
For six straight days they had been at war with endless customers.
One careless moment and service could suffer.
Miyu needed to stay sharp.
But she didn’t spoil Grandma’s mood.
Grandma looked so happy frying those cakes.
Besides, when the crowd came, Grandma would roll up her sleeves soon enough.
As expected, customers packed the stall beyond what their quick hands could manage.
By early afternoon the vegetables were nearly gone and Miyu was exhausted.
“It’s Samjinnal after all. Let’s stop here for today,” Grandma said as the crowd thinned.
“I’m fine to keep going.”
“I opened up for the fun of earning money, but we should quit while we can. I’d like to visit my friends’ flower picnic.”
“But with business so good, wouldn’t it be a shame not to sell everything?”
“Don’t fuss. Rest when it’s time to rest. Miyu, will you come to the picnic with me?”
“No, I’ll just keep selling.”
She was too young to sit among elderly ladies swapping stories of departed husbands.
And she needed to sell more if she wanted to buy even one more painting.
Yet Grandma lingered at the entrance, poking at the vegetables, clearly reluctant to leave Miyu alone.
Miyu smiled and lightly held her arm.
“Go see your friends, Princess. Don’t worry about me.”
“Truly? You’ll be all right?”
“Truly,” Miyu said playfully.
“Then whatever you sell from now on is yours.”
“Oh dear, our Princess has such a soft heart. How will you ever save money like that?”
“What’s money for? To feed my people good food and buy them fine clothes. So you keep what you earn.”
“Am I one of your people?”
“Of course! You’re as dear as my own children—helping me earn money, keeping me company like a daughter. And you said you want to buy a painting, right? Mandol told me good ones cost a fortune. So you keep today’s earnings.”
Miyu’s nose tingled and her chest tightened.
After sending Grandma off, she kept the stall open.
By about 5 p.m. she was so tired she dropped into a chair.
Milk, the little dog on a leash, stood on his hind legs and rested his front paws on the chair’s edge.
“Come here, my baby.”
Miyu lifted him onto her lap.
He licked her face with his bright red tongue, then lay down, calmly watching passersby.
As afternoon deepened, no customers came.
She thought of closing early, but remembered the importance of keeping regular hours for trust.
Unless everything was sold, a merchant should keep the stall open.
Sitting in the slanting spring sunlight, she dozed off.
Before long, two court painters appeared, carrying their painting boxes: Lee Woon and Choi Gang-ja.
Lee Woon stopped when he saw Miyu nodding off on the chair.
“You look at that young lady with unusual eyes,” Choi teased.
“That’s nonsense.”
“Huh?”
“I said that’s a silly thing to say.”
“Oh, come on.”
Choi twitched his cheek and glanced at the sleeping Miyu.
“But she’s far too relaxed to be a spy. Unless she’s only pretending to sleep because of us?”
Lee Woon ignored him, arms crossed, eyes fixed on her.
The more he looked, the less he understood.
“Have you investigated her?” he asked quietly.
“The elders of Sunhwa-bang are on the move,” Choi replied.
Sunhwa-bang, in the northern part of Hanyang, housed retired eunuchs of the Royal Household Department.
It meant those discreet old hands were looking into Miyu.
“Good,” Lee Woon said, stealing another glance at her.
But as he watched her sleeping face, his own expression softened.
Choi, quick to notice, smirked.
“Your face just relaxed.”
“Don’t talk nonsense.”
They continued on their way.
A gentle smile lingered on Miyu’s face as if she were dreaming something pleasant, warmed by the gaze he left behind.
Ruff! Ruff-ruff! Rrrr!
Milk suddenly jumped down and barked furiously.
Startled, Miyu woke.
“Goodness, you’re fierce.”
A man with a topknot and a missing front tooth flinched, then stammered,
“I only tried to wake the young lady to buy vegetables, and your dog made such a fuss.”
Miyu stroked Milk’s head.
“Were you protecting your sister? Good boy.”
“Such loyalty from such a little thing,” the man said admiringly.
Milk bared his teeth and growled again.
“He’s friendly to people he knows, but scary to strangers,” Miyu explained.
“He never forgets anyone who scolds me or harms him.”
She patted his back twice.
“So, how much would you like?”
“Some chard and winter melon. I hear the vegetables here are top quality.”
“Indeed. They grow on clear water from Dumulmeori.”
“Ha-ha, I see.”
The man bought an armful, paid, and looked down at Milk.
“Are we friends now? Such loyalty—good fellow. Next time, greet me instead of barking. Take care.”
He walked away.
By then the sun had set and darkness gathered.
“Milk, let’s pack up before it’s completely dark.”
Stretching long, Miyu lifted her arms to the sky and suddenly froze, eyes sparkling.
That’s it! she thought.
The next morning Songpa ferry dock bustled with dozens of boats, a forest of masts.
Goods from distant regions were unloaded and carried by shirtless porters,
while innkeepers’ and traders’ wares were loaded for transport north to the capital and beyond.
People and livestock disembarked and scattered in all directions.
Government guards, the jinbu, watched the loading and unloading, keeping an eye out for suspicious folk.
The government classified ferry docks as large, medium, or small, with ten, six, or four guards respectively.
Songpa’s dock, a large one, had ten guards.
“Hello, sir guard. I’m Jo Miyu from the Gongju vegetable stall,” she said, approaching an older guard with one crooked ear who held a staff like a baton.
He was the head of the Songpa guards, humming a tune.
“Ah, from the Gongju stall?” He exaggerated his voice and gestures like an actor.
“You’re famous.”
“Me?”
“Of course. Didn’t you employ the great scholars of the Four Books and Three Classics as clerks?”
“Yes,” Miyu replied brightly.
“Especially our stern Left Po-cheong officer, Master Hwang. Everyone was shocked.”
“Well, I won a bet, so he had no choice.”
“Still, that’s remarkable—an officer selling vegetables! Songpa was buzzing about it.”
He laughed loudly, then leaned closer.
“But what brings you to me?”
“Officer Hwang said if I needed to send him an urgent message, I could tell the ferry guards.”
At that his face grew serious.
“Is there something urgent for him?”
“Yes, you’re right.”
“What shall I say?”
“Tell him: ‘We can find the culprit of Dapsimni.’”
“Culprit of Dapsimni…” the guard repeated three times, raising his staff before his eyes.
“A serious criminal indeed. I’ll deliver the message at once.”
He immediately spun around and ran toward a ferry bound north, shouting,
“Stop that boat! A matter of state—everyone disembark!”
Watching him stomp and bellow, Miyu puffed her lips.
“It’s not that urgent…”
