Chapter – 17
Gyohum replied in an offhand tone as he brought a piece of fish to his mouth.
“It must look to Mother as though I’m being inattentive to my wife.”
“Oh, no!”
Soran quickly waved her hands. Gyohum’s eyes softened, as if he had only been joking.
“While you’re there, there are some people I’d like you to meet. Those who supply our household with rice and meat, and those who bring fabrics according to the seasons.”
“Yes.”
“Normally, when the lady of the house changes, Mother summons them and introduces the new mistress herself. But it seems meeting people is difficult for her right now, so she asked that you be introduced to them while you’re already out.”
“Ah…”
Soran lowered her gaze, her expression dim.
It had already been three days since the wedding, yet aside from the first formal greeting, she hadn’t seen Mojinpyeong or Lady Jami at all.
The two of them remained in their own rooms and never summoned Soran.
She couldn’t say she didn’t understand why. The loss of a beloved son.
Naturally, Yeonsan-daek came to mind. After losing her young child, she hadn’t even been able to cry aloud.
Then how had my own mother been able to leave me behind when I was so young? Did she hate me that much?
Gyohum, unaware that Soran’s complexion had darkened, continued speaking.
“So please come to the pavilion around lunchtime tomorrow.”
“Yes.”
Soran nodded repeatedly. For some reason, her throat felt tight. Her mouth felt dry and gritty, like chewing sand.
“Please eat.”
She took a sip of water to clear her mouth, then reached out with her chopsticks again. The chicken hadn’t done anything wrong.
Muttering dejectedly, she stuffed three pieces of chicken into her mouth at once.
Watching her lips move as she chewed, Gyohum took a spoonful himself.
Then he glanced sideways at her puffed-up cheeks. She looked like a greedy squirrel preparing for winter.
“What happened with Yeonsan-daek?”
It was highly unusual. Gyohum rarely took interest in the private affairs of servants.
Soran, who had been stuffing her mouth full just moments ago, slowly set down her chopsticks.
Gyohum clicked his tongue unconsciously. Staring wistfully at the chicken, Soran whispered softly.
“I gave Yeonsan-daek three days’ leave. I barely managed to persuade her to go home, telling her that her position would still be here after the funeral. I sent her off with three geun of beef as well.”
“I see. Please continue eating. The food will grow cold.”
“It may not be much comfort, but still… it eased my heart.”
Soran slowly lifted her head and met Gyohum’s eyes. For someone who usually turned away the moment their gazes met, it was an act of courage.
So Gyohum stared straight into her eyes. Now he understood why they felt so strikingly dark.
Her pupils were unusually large, almost like a squirrel’s.
At that moment, Soran’s eyes curved into a smile, and she grinned shyly.
“Thank you.”
“!”
Gyohum’s eyes widened without understanding why. There was no reason to be startled, yet his mind went blank.
Soran’s eyes narrowed into thin crescents. Her small lips curved gently upward, and her flushed cheeks puffed out adorably.
This time, Gyohum was the one who looked away first. It felt like he should. If he kept looking…
“….”
If he kept looking, then what?
Clicking his tongue at the thought that had crossed his mind, he poked listlessly at the fish.
Soran picked up her chopsticks again and grabbed two more pieces of chicken.
A glance.
Only then did Gyohum steal a look at her. Her cheeks were already bulging again.
He let out yet another sigh. What on earth was he doing?
His neatly set brow furrowed. He couldn’t even tell whether the food was going down his mouth or his nose.
***
“I’ll do it.”
“…Pardon?”
At Soran’s words, Bongsim stood there blankly, not understanding. Soran held out her hand.
“I’ll take care of it. Give it to me.”
“…Pardon?”
Bongsim still looked foolishly confused. Then she slowly lowered her gaze.
She looked at Soran’s hand, then at her own. In her hands was a tray with refreshments.
“We’re going to see Mother, so I’ll carry it.”
“What? Oh no, absolutely not. How could the young madam—oh dear.”
Shaking her head as if it were absurd, Bongsim stepped aside, gesturing for Soran to go ahead.
“Please go in first, young madam. I’ll carry it.”
“It’s fine. Give it to me.”
Soran extended her hands farther.
“But—”
Before Bongsim could finish, Soran took the tray from her hands and spoke casually.
“We’re going the same way anyway. There’s no need to separate. You go attend to your duties.”
“Please be careful—it’s heavy.”
Seeing how small and slender Soran was, as if she couldn’t even carry a sheet of paper, Bongsim stamped her feet anxiously. If she fell before even taking a few steps, who would bear the consequences?
But surprisingly, Soran carried the tray skillfully and stepped onto the wooden floor.
“Mother, it’s me.”
“Come in.”
She even opened the door while holding the tray—something that required considerable skill. Bongsim’s eyes went wide.
She wasn’t the only one surprised. Lady Jami’s eyes widened as well.
“Why are you carrying that?”
Then her expression hardened.
“Have the maids begun to take you lightly already? This won’t do—I should go speak to them myself.”
“That’s not the case.”
After setting the tray down, Soran quickly waved both hands. When her eyes met Lady Jami’s, she smiled shyly.
“I asked to carry it.”
Soran arranged the tea set on the table with quiet pride.
She might not know every rule of etiquette, but she was confident when it came to preparing tea. She’d learned diligently, enduring Sehwa’s scolding.
First, she poured water into the sugu—the bowl used for cooling water—and then poured that water into the teapot.
—You fool! How many times do I have to tell you? You have to pour water into the teapot first to warm it! This is why ignorance is hopeless.
After cooling the water in the sugu, she poured the water from the teapot into the teacups to warm them.
Then she put the tea leaves into the teapot and poured the cooled water back in.
She discarded the water from the cups into the waste bowl and poured the brewed tea into the cups.
“Please drink.”
Soran slid the cup she’d prepared toward Lady Jami and looked up at her with sparkling eyes.
Lady Jami lifted the cup to her lips. Soran’s heart thudded loudly. Her palms were damp with sweat.
Is it good? Is it tasty? How is it? Do you like it?
Her unspoken questions flew toward Lady Jami.
After taking a sip, Lady Jami set the cup down and smiled with satisfaction.
“Excellent.”
“Hehehe.”
Relieved, Soran lowered her gaze and smiled shyly. Lady Jami lifted an eyebrow in curiosity.
“Do you dislike tea?”
“What? No.”
Soran picked up her own teacup and took a sip.
The moment she did—
“……”
Her brow creased gently. Truthfully, Soran didn’t understand why people enjoyed tea.
It was just bitter.
She thought she’d rather chew grass than drink tea. At least grass would fill her stomach.
No—she remembered the time she’d been so hungry she’d eaten grass from the yard, and her brow furrowed again at the memory.
Rather than grass, she’d much prefer those sweets over there…
Gulp.
Soran swallowed the saliva pooling in her mouth. Her eyes glittered with desire as they fixed on the dasik.
In truth, she had never eaten dasik before. The pretty sweets were always Sehwa’s.
—Mmm, it’s good. Do you want some too?
Half-dazed, Soran had nodded eagerly. Laughing, Sehwa held out a piece of dasik.
—Look at you. You want it so badly you’re drooling. Here.
Just as Soran reached for it, Sehwa snatched it back and popped it into her own mouth.
—How dare you not know your place. Go eat scorched rice instead, you wretch.
Even the misshapen, failed dasik went to the maids—not to Soran.
Her status had been lower than that of a maid, the most wretched and shabby position of all.
Gulp.
“If tea doesn’t suit your taste, then have some dasik instead.”
“Oh, no. Please, Mother, you eat it.”
Soran waved her hands frantically, though her eyes remained glued to the sweets.
They’re shaped like flowers. How pretty.
And if they’re that pretty, they must taste good too, right? They say food that looks good tastes good—how delicious must they be to look like that?
Staring at the dasik as if she might bore holes through them, Soran made Lady Jami laugh softly.
Lady Jami picked up one piece and ate it. Then she slid the plate toward Soran.
“I’ve always had a small appetite. I’ve eaten my share—go on and eat comfortably.”
