Chapter 8
Soran’s eyes slowly narrowed until they were nothing but thin lines.
Her lips curved like an upside-down fingernail, and both cheeks puffed adorably.
Gyohum couldn’t look away from her shy smile.
Suspicion flickered faintly in his gaze—just as Lady Jami broke the silence.
“It was your first night in this house. Did you have a pleasant dream?”
Soran lowered her head bashfully and nodded.
“I slept soundly without dreaming at all.”
“Well done. You must’ve been exhausted.”
“Yes.”
“From now on, the household affairs of the detached wing will be your responsibility. If anything confuses you, come to me anytime.”
“Yes.”
“Welcome to our family.”
“…Yes.”
There it was again.
Soran smiled gently, like a shy lily-of-the-valley.
She lowered her head modestly, her expression soft and subdued.
Why?
Gyohum frowned slightly, trying to guess the reason behind that smile.
But no matter how he thought, he couldn’t figure it out.
By then, the pale white morning had already risen behind her shoulders.
✦✦✦
“Haaah…”
Only after confirming she was alone did Soran finally exhale and pat her chest in relief.
At the edge of her fading anxiety bloomed a small sense of pride.
“I was nervous… but I think I did better than expected.”
Both Mojinpyung and Lady Jami had been kind to her.
Thanks to that, she had avoided completely freezing up.
“They’re all such good people.”
Mojinpyung smelled like old dust and dried earth.
Lady Jami smelled faintly of fresh grass.
Both scents made her feel at ease.
“…Maybe.”
A small, trembling hope sprouted in Soran’s chest.
Maybe this place could be my land too—
A place where I could plant my roots deeply.
Just then, footsteps approached outside.
Before she even turned her head, the door opened and a voice called:
“It’s Ggeutsun.”
A girl a few years younger than Soran stood in the doorway.
Her chubby cheeks and friendly expression made her look gentle and kind.
“I’ll be serving you from now on, my lady.”
“Uh…”
Soran widened her eyes, unable to respond easily.
The idea that someone would serve her felt too unreal.
Just two days ago, she had cooked for Lady Munhyeon, warmed water for Sehwa, and mended their blankets.
But now a maid would serve her?
For timid Soran, the sudden change felt not just uncomfortable—but frightening.
Her life had been filled with misfortune:
abandoned by her parents, despised by Lady Munhyeon, looked down upon by the servants.
She had often wondered why hardship clung only to her.
She had wished that maybe—someday—a good day would come.
But she had never dared to hope for something this big.
Her wishes had been small:
If I could just eat crispy rice three times a day, that would be enough…
“I…”
Soran started to speak—but closed her mouth again.
Is this allowed?
What kind of disaster follows after receiving such an undeserved blessing?
A life where she didn’t have to wake before dawn to stoke the fire—
A life where she could eat warm white rice at every meal—
A life where no one scolded or insulted her—
What would such a life take away from her in return?
Suddenly she felt as if the ground beneath her feet were trembling.
She instinctively looked down.
The soil she thought she had finally stepped onto was still not solid—
as if trying to push her off.
— Dragging you back is nothing to me. I can take you any time.
Lady Munhyeon’s voice whispered vividly beside her ear.
Soran stiffened, bracing herself like an ox resisting the pull toward a slaughterhouse.
“…”
When Soran remained silent for too long, Ggeutsun tilted her head and spoke first.
“Breakfast is ready.”
The words made Soran lift her head.
Right. Breakfast.
If she ate something warm, maybe all this fear would melt away.
When people are hungry, thoughts spiral easily, and even small worries feel enormous.
Since earlier her stomach had been growling—
Maybe all these dark thoughts were simply from hunger.
“…Alright.”
Soran’s eyes glimmered faintly with anticipation as she followed Ggeutsun out.
Would the chicken she ate last night be served again?
She hadn’t finished it—
It would be nice if it were still there, even cold.
Oh, and the beef soup was delicious too.
Imagine how wonderful it would be warm.
She wasn’t hungry yet, but if there was meat, she could always make room for more.
But the moment she entered the dining room and saw Gyohum already seated, Soran froze.
Only then did she remember…
This wasn’t a meal she’d eat alone.
“Why are you standing like that? Is the food not to your liking?”
“N-no…”
Shaking her head quickly, Soran glanced at the table—
and froze again.
Instead of meat, the table held only a bowl of pumpkin porridge and three side dishes made of vegetables.
“…”
Trying to hide her disappointment, she sat down quietly.
Ggeutsun poured her a cup of warm water and left.
“Didn’t you eat quite late last night?” Gyohum said.
“I told them to prepare a light breakfast so your stomach wouldn’t get upset.”
It was unnecessary consideration.
In the Minister’s house, she often ate porridge instead of rice—
Not even proper porridge, but thin gruel with almost no solid pieces.
She had grown sick of porridge.
But timid Soran could never say that.
“Y-yes…”
She smelled cool pear scent from Gyohum.
It meant he wasn’t lying—he genuinely meant to look after her.
She didn’t want to complain to someone who had shown her concern.
It’s fine. I’ve gone hungry plenty of days.
Pumpkin porridge is still food. I must’ve gotten spoiled already.
“Thank you.”
“Let’s eat.”
“Yes.”
Gyohum picked up his spoon first.
After hesitating, Soran picked up hers as well and took her first bite.
“!”
Her eyes widened.
This wasn’t just any pumpkin porridge.
The pumpkin was naturally sweet and perfectly cooked,
the finely ground glutinous rice gave it richness and fullness.
Gyohum had been right—
It was light, comforting, and warm.
Soran felt she could eat two bowls, even three, without stopping.
“Today I must report to the palace,” Gyohum said.
“I had planned to rest until tomorrow, but last night a murder occurred in my district.”
“….”
Slurp.
“So I’ll need to go out for a while. I should return in time for dinner.”
Slurp.
“I’ll inform the servants. If you need anything, tell them.”
Slurp.
“Mother won’t call you separately, but she may invite you for tea. She said she had some advice before giving you charge of the detached wing.”
Slurp.
“…Wife, are you listening to me?”
Gyohum paused, suspicious.
Soran slowly lifted her head, blinking, the spoon still in her mouth.
“…Yes.”
She immediately looked away.
You didn’t hear a thing, did you?
Gyohum narrowed his eyes.
Soran glanced anxiously between Gyohum and the porridge.
He sighed.
“…Let’s just finish breakfast first.”
“Yes.”
Soran beamed and gripped her spoon tightly.
What a delicious porridge.
Apparently everything she had eaten before wasn’t porridge at all.
Her eyes sparkled with excitement.
Gyohum muttered under his breath:
“Seems the Minister really did starve his daughter.”
Outside the window, the sun rose—bright and golden like pumpkin porridge.
✦✦✦
Shift.
Soran, sitting in her room, adjusted her posture.
Shift.
Still uncomfortable, she moved to the empty seat beside her.
Shift.
This time she straightened her back and stretched her shoulders.
Her fingers fidgeted impatiently.
“Haa…”
A long sigh escaped.
Doing nothing made her restless.
Her body, used to constant labor, didn’t know how to be still.
Shouldn’t I be fetching water?
Or sweeping something?
“Humans are so fickle…”
She had always wished for moments to rest—
But now that she finally had nothing to do,
she was going crazy wanting to work.
“I can’t sit like this. I’ll at least walk around the detached wing.”
She opened the door energetically—
and froze.
Ggeutsun was there, polishing the wooden pillar with a dry cloth.
Their eyes met.
Soran’s expression softened warmly.
“No wonder. I thought the pillars looked so shiny. It was thanks to you. You’re working hard.”
Ggeutsun blinked in surprise.
People of high status usually assumed pillars were naturally shiny,
floors naturally polished,
yards naturally clean.
Most nobles didn’t understand a servant’s labor.
“I’m just doing my job, my lady.”
Soran gave a faint, bittersweet smile.
Her new clothes felt like an outfit that didn’t quite fit—
uncomfortable, unfamiliar.
But she had to get used to everything:
The long skirt that tangled around her feet,
The wide sleeves that made cleaning difficult.
“Are you going somewhere?” “Ggeutsun?” asked.
