Chapter – 22
The commotion strode straight up to the doorway and suddenly seized her hand.
“Your hand is cold. Please let go.”
Startled, Yeonsan-daek tried to pull her hand back, but Soran did not release it.
The chill in Yeonsan-daek’s hand slowly filled with warmth, while the warmth in Soran’s hand gradually faded away.
At last, the two temperatures met in the middle—neither cold nor warm, just lukewarm.
“You’ve worked hard.”
“……”
At those words alone, Yeonsan-daek hurriedly bowed her head. Tears spilled out—tears that had not fallen even at the funeral.
“You really have.”
Soran, her eyes brimming with tears, gently stroked the back of Yeonsan-daek’s hand again and again.
Yeonsan-daek collapsed onto the floor, sobbing with choking sounds.
Soran softly patted her shoulder. An apologetic voice fell over Yeonsan-daek’s bowed head.
“I lack learning, so I don’t know what I ought to say at times like this. Still…”
After quietly drawing in a breath, Soran added softly,
“Don’t grieve for too long.”
“Please don’t say such things, Little Madam. Thanks to you… I was able to feed him beef, and I could see him off properly. I will never forget this kindness—as long as I live.”
Soran lowered her wet eyes. The room was filled with Yeonsan-daek’s sobbing, thick with damp air.
And then—
“…This won’t do.”
Slowly tilting her head back, Soran stared up at the ceiling.
Just as she had said, she lacked education. Even if she managed to get through moments like this for now, someday her limits would be exposed.
She didn’t want to be hated by these people. She didn’t want to be driven out of this place.
If only she could stay just like this—no more, no less—exactly as things were now.
To do that, she would have to make an effort herself. To move forward, to hold on to this place, she had to do something.
What should I do? What can I do?
As Soran sank into thought, Yeonsan-daek wiped her tears with her sleeve and lifted her swollen face.
She tightly grasped Soran’s hand. Startled back to herself, Soran looked down at her.
“I mean it, Little Madam. If you told me to die, I would at least pretend to.”
At that, Soran smiled gently, her eyes curving.
“No need for pretending to die. Just live a long, long life.”
“Is there anything I can do for you, Little Madam?”
“Nothing—ah!”
As if something had just occurred to her, Soran’s eyes widened. Her gaze sparkled.
Swallowing dryly, Yeonsan-daek asked with solemn anticipation,
“What should I do?”
Locking eyes with her, Soran whispered in a very serious voice,
“When there’s leftover scorched rice, please save some for me in secret.”
“…Pardon?”
Yeonsan-daek stared at her, utterly confused.
Soran smiled shyly, scrunching the bridge of her nose.
“This is a secret, but… I actually like scorched rice.”
“Scorched… rice?”
Yeonsan-daek trailed off, murmuring, “Why would you…?”
As the illegitimate daughter of the Vice Minister, she must have grown up eating all kinds of delicacies. Why scorched rice of all things?
Soran replied confidently,
“Why not? It’s delicious plain, delicious boiled, and even delicious cold.”
“……”
“But if word gets out that I like scorched rice, it might put the Commander in an awkward position. So I’d appreciate it if you saved it quietly.”
Yeonsan-daek nodded in a daze.
“…Ah, yes. From now on, I’ll bring you every bit of scorched rice.”
“No need for that. I know scorched rice is part of your meals. Just—if there happens to be some left over now and then, think of me once out of ten times.”
Soran spoke with dignity, then swallowed the saliva pooling in her mouth.
Gulp.
The sound rang out thunderously loud.
It seemed she truly wasn’t lying about liking scorched rice. Watching Soran grin sheepishly, her face flushed red, Yeonsan-daek could only nod blankly.
Then, before she realized it, she found herself smiling too.
The new madam was very strange indeed.
***
“How on earth did you know?”
Jaegwan shook his head, his face caught somewhere between awe and utter disbelief.
He already knew his superior was capable, but still—
“That not just one, but both of them were lying.”
Glancing briefly at him, Gyohum returned to what he was doing.
There wasn’t much to pack, but having stayed nearly a year, he still had a fair number of belongings.
He could leave the brush and inkstone behind, but the books he’d bought with his own money had to come along. A few pairs of shoes as well.
“It seems the fabric shop owner worked those two servants brutally. He cheated them out of their wages with excuse after excuse, and his tongue was vicious too.”
Jaegwan shrugged, as if it were a common story.
“He apparently acted like a benevolent master in front of others. Judging by how no one noticed, he must’ve been convincing. Both of those fellows harbored deep resentment toward him.”
He paused, clicking his tongue, and watched Gyohum pack.
“That day too, after working them like beasts, he claimed he couldn’t pay them because a bolt of silk had fallen—said it was a price they couldn’t repay in a lifetime, and that he should be paid instead.”
Thud.
A book fell to the floor.
Jaegwan bent down, brushed off the dust, and handed it back.
“They were organizing goods late into the night without even a moment to rest when the master showed up drunk. He pulled out money and flaunted it. The two finally snapped and stabbed him to death. A crime of passion—and afterward, they agreed to match their stories, claiming they’d been asleep in their room.”
Gyohum tied the bundle shut. Jaegwan stepped closer.
“So how did you know they were both lying? You only saw the yard that day. Did you secretly receive a shaman’s revelation or something?”
“……”
Gyohum’s expression changed.
Perfectly aware of the line he’d crossed, Jaegwan fell silent.
Then he cautiously tried again.
“So really, how did you know? I questioned them three times and noticed nothing. Did you just feel it the moment you saw them?”
Only then did Gyohum stop moving.
The reason he’d caught the culprit so swiftly—
—Both of them are lying.
—was because of Soran’s single sentence.
Without her, it would have taken far more time and manpower.
—I just know.
“‘Just,’ huh.”
“Yes?”
“Nothing.”
Shaking his head, Gyohum suddenly frowned.
“Are you done packing?”
“Packing? I barely have anything. A life that comes like the wind and leaves like the wind. Still, starting tomorrow at the palace—I can’t believe it. You in charge of the North Gate.”
“If you can’t believe it, you don’t have to come. I’ll find someone else—”
“Ah, I was just saying. Who else would serve you but me? Well, not ‘Commander’ anymore. Deputy Commander of the Fifth Rank. Incredible. You marry well once and rise straight up the ranks.”
Gyohum pretended not to hear and lifted the bundle.
“I’ll head on first. Make sure the two prisoners are dealt with properly before you leave.”
“Yes, leave it to me. I’ll handle it cleanly so there’s no gossip. After all, this is the last case here, isn’t it?”
Gyohum nodded once and walked away.
Despite his flippant manner, Jaegwan was dependable when it came to work. That was why Gyohum was bringing him to the palace.
In a hellish den where anything could happen, Jaegwan was the one man he could trust to have his back.
Lost in thought, Gyohum found himself in the middle of the marketplace.
He stopped suddenly.
“Delicious! Come have a taste!”
A taffy vendor beamed at him. He had a keen eye for customers.
And to him, Gyohum looked like someone who would buy taffy.
The vendor held out a small piece.
“Try one.”
Gyohum shook his head.
So I was wrong? the vendor thought, disappointed.
Then Gyohum added,
“I’ll pass—but give me a handful.”
“Right away!”
Of course. The vendor grinned, pleased his instincts hadn’t failed.
Staring closely at Gyohum’s face, he tilted his head.
“But sir, haven’t I seen you before…? Ah! You came yesterday with your wife, didn’t you? I remember now. Since you’re buying again, I suppose your wife liked it.”
