[Wheat Fields] When the Western Sky Brightens
Episode 1: That Young Lady’s Strange Butler
“…Huh?”
Seohyo’s eyes widened as she ground herbs with a bored expression by the second-floor window. Her jet-black eyes flickered like wild berries.
The pestle tumbled across the table with a clatter.
The person approaching from the main road was a servant from that house.
The red tassels dangling from the corners of his light brown hat caught her attention. From the very first glance, there was something about him that made her want to tug at it.
That wasn’t all.
The servant wore a light brown coat with a vest over it, embroidered with butterflies and bees. Such decorations might look cute on a baby’s outfit, but seeing a middle-aged man with a beard wear them felt slightly off.
All the servants brought by that person wore the exact same outfit.
Seohyo sighed. It was a little ridiculous, but every household had its rules. She couldn’t go nitpicking a servant’s uniform when marriage proposals were involved.
With an exasperated sound, she dashed down the stairs in a flash.
“Yay! It’s here, it’s here! The reply came!”
This time, she prayed it would be a kind response. That it would contain the words she longed to hear. Please, please, please… let it be so.
The servant handing her the envelope wore a stoic expression. He respectfully delivered the letter and then, just as politely, returned.
Seohyo took a deep breath and opened it.
As she read the contents carefully, her face darkened.
“Seohyo, you are a good person… yadda yadda… far too worthy for me… mumble mumble… I hope you meet a beautiful match.”
“This can’t be happening.”
The letter slipped from her hand, fluttering to the dirt below.
“Good person… good person… damn ‘good person.’”
Men never marry a “good person.” It’s a phrase thrown in when someone wants to reject a proposal without an excuse, without insulting the other party—just a filler for polite refusal.
Seohyo wanted to plead, hoping they would at least tell her the honest reason.
Ah… is wanting to cling considered clinging?
Damn that “good person.”
She had heard it so many times now that words failed her. How was it that all the rejection letters sounded the same?
Seohyo sank onto a stone chair in the yard, staring blankly into the air. A red dragonfly danced past her.
“…I’m doomed.”
A mournful voice escaped her lips.
“It’s over. I’ve failed. Waaah!”
Even a tiny dragonfly would know: in the heavens, among humans, and in the underworld, she was likely the only goddess to have been rejected by so many men.
Such dishonor could not be measured.
“Not just for a day or two. Let’s take it easy, shall we?”
Behind her came a familiar low voice.
Cha-eon, the butler with a peony-embroidered coat, was carrying a mountain of laundry. The clothes he touched gleamed brilliantly white.
Though Seohyo would have used the same washboard, the same soap, the same method, how could the results be so different?
Seohyo wasn’t incapable of housework, but compared to Cha-eon’s skill… well.
Everyone had their strengths.
“Cha-eon, the same old line again. ‘May you meet a good match.’”
He didn’t reply this time. On the clothesline stretching across the yard, garments and towels hung perfectly smooth and unwrinkled.
“This time, I really thought it went well… I don’t understand. What went wrong? Did I act too casual? Laugh too loudly? Did I look desperate for marriage?”
Seohyo examined her face in a small hand mirror. Her compact face fit entirely in the palm-sized glass.
She wasn’t stunning, but she had often been called cute. Once, a man even said she looked like a “small, delicate white butterfly.”
When she boasted about it to Cha-eon, he replied dryly, “Sounds like he called you a cabbage worm, doesn’t it?”
Her eyes drooped like a sad puppy’s.
“I guess I’m not special.”
Cabbage worm… cabbage worm.
At least a cabbage worm eventually becomes a butterfly. She, however, faced rejection without reason—was there any hope for her?
Cha-eon, still hanging the laundry with a bored expression, finally looked at his mistress. He slowly scanned her from head to toe, his calm gaze almost bordering on rudeness.
“Certainly… calling you beautiful is a bit of a stretch.”
His soft, low voice carried a sting.
“Your eyes are big, too big. It’s a little overwhelming to meet your gaze.”
Big is fine, but overwhelming? A stranger might think her eyes were ridiculously large. Couldn’t he just say they were simply clear and bright? Seohyo muttered under her breath.
But the critique didn’t stop there.
“Your body is so light it might blow away in the wind. All that nutrition seems wasted.”
Cha-eon sighed deeply.
Was it really necessary to complain so seriously? Seohyo felt a pang of injustice, running her hands over her shoulders, arms, and waist.
It was as if a choir of voices sang in unison: petite, soft, supple.
Far from the aura of a mature lady. Seohyo’s gaze wavered in midair as she desperately searched for her strong point.
Ah, Cha-eon just doesn’t see it. At least I inherited my chest from my mother…
Her hands touched her soft chest, checking the shape, texture, and size.
“Mm.”
“Even as a butler, I am still a man, you know.”
“Seems fine to me.”
Seohyo was still lost in her private world.
“Fine… or not?”
“Watching you, rejected at midday, feeling your chest, is… oddly appropriate.”
His voice was gentle, but his words stung. He always did this—pouring cold water over his mistress’ head with a calm face.
Finally, Seohyo snapped back to reality, glaring at the insolent butler.
Her cheeks puffed in frustration.
“Three invitations already this year!”
Three wedding invitations had arrived at the Baekhwa Pharmacy, famous for its white plum blossoms.
The most extravagant envelope was from the Festival Goddess, red with dozens of golden flowers. Just looking at it, one could almost hear fireworks exploding through the night.
She hadn’t attended due to the distance, but rumors said laughter and chatter hadn’t stopped for three days.
It must have been delightful—after all, it was the Festival Goddess’ wedding.
Weddings were among the top five celebrations in life. Ah-hee, the goddess, wouldn’t miss her own wedding festivities for anything. She likely spent it joyfully, without regret.
Seohyo rested her chin and stared at the sky. The early autumn sky remained indifferent and clear.
“Cha-eon.”
“Yes?”
“It’s already fall. Do you think I’ll get married this year?”
“…You have one hundred fifty years and ten days. At this point, you might as well give up.”
Ruthless.
Seohyo collapsed in a heap with a sound far removed from grace.
Why is it that others meet their matches so easily, yet she hasn’t?
Her neck felt as though it might snap from the strain.
Her destined partner—who are you?
Even just a glance, or at least a brush of your collar, would suffice.
By now, she honestly wanted to shout at the heavens:
“Hey, Celestial Deity! That person really exists, right?”
“Finish what you were doing.”
Cha-eon’s cold reprimand was the only reply. He placed the pestle she had left on the second floor onto the stone table.
Seohyo’s lips protruded in resentment. She aimed her silent hatred at Cha-eon.
Even the previous men—when alone with her—were charming, but at the sight of Cha-eon, they flinched. They avoided eye contact and shook so much that their teacups rattled.
“Are you unwell?” Seohyo asked worriedly. They all forced smiles, as if in agreement.
It was only after several failed proposals that she realized Cha-eon’s presence was the cause. Looking back, every man had behaved similarly.
Would she be doing Cha-eon’s bidding even three hundred years from now?
Still unmarried?
“Nooo…”
The pristine laundry swirled in the wind as if echoing her despair. Cha-eon stood before her, looking as steady as ever, as if a millennium could pass without change.
She remembered his words: he had no intention of marrying.
Seohyo ground, and ground, and ground with all her might.
Tears came—not from feeling, but from sheer frustration.
The world contains far more gods than people realize.
Everyone knows the Celestial Emperor, the King of the Underworld, the Dragon King of the Four Seas—but delve deeper, and the variety is astonishing.
It is said the gods even joke among themselves:
“There’s even a god of shoes; what could possibly be missing?”
Seohyo, seemingly just an ordinary young lady running an apothecary, was the goddess responsible for lost things.
In the vast cabinets of the apothecary, she kept items entrusted to her care.
A kitten that wandered out through a door left ajar.
Homework completed after battling drowsiness, only to be dropped in the street.
Old dolls left at a previous home, precious but sad memories.
All her clients.
Some returned safely to their owners; others lingered forgotten in drawers for decades, vanishing upon their owners’ deaths.
Many simply ended when their own life force ran out, regardless of their owners.
Such was the tiny kitten sleeping in the second-lowest drawer.
Still barely larger than a fist, news came that it should be returned. Being abandoned at such a young age, survival on the streets was unlikely.
Seohyo opened the cabinet and lifted the kitten’s spirit.
“Butterfly, let’s go home.”
Meow.
Half-asleep, the kitten blinked at her.
Seohyo held it, scratching under its chin until it purred. Only when she could no longer delay did she draw a gentle arc in the air.
A dark passage connecting to another realm appeared.
“Don’t be afraid. Just keep going.”
The kitten’s fur bristled.
It seemed terrified of the endless dark corridor.
Seohyo gently nudged its backside as it hesitated.
“You won’t be cold or hungry anymore. You’ll even enjoy walking on clouds.”
The kitten seemed to understand and relaxed slightly, though it still could not move forward.
Seohyo smiled wryly and waved her hand like a fluttering wing toward the corridor.
The pitch-black path instantly transformed into a vibrant rainbow. The kitten’s eyes widened at the dazzling sight.
So mesmerizing, so magical. Maybe it even smelled good. But…
The kitten turned and cried again, as if asking permission.
“Go on now.”
With her encouragement, the kitten took its first hesitant step. Once moving, it seemed thrilled.
Rolling and running across the rainbow, a few puppies and an old cat followed behind.
Seohyo stayed until the small creatures disappeared from view, then closed the passage.
This was all she could do.
Pressing her aching chest, she rose.
A few drawers were now empty. The vacant spaces quickly filled with other entities.
“Oh no, if a love letter goes missing, it could be troublesome.”
She clicked her tongue deliberately to soothe her empty heart. Though a daily morning task, it never grew familiar.
Love letters—how sweet. Perhaps she could peek at the words sent to beloveds.
Though reading someone else’s letter was slightly guilty, curiosity got the better of her.
Maybe, just maybe, it contained an important appointment.
“You must know there’s a separate god for connections.”
Seohyo read a passage comparing a beloved’s lips to crimson camellias, only to be interrupted by someone.
In the quiet apothecary, who else could it be?
Cha-eon, of course.
“Tomorrow, the county magistrate’s house will come for the moonwort medicine. Prepare it in advance so you won’t cry then.”
Seohyo glared at the most infuriating human in the world.
He might have captivated the hearts of every local girl, but his cold, unkind gaze, and lack of false kindness grated on her.
Come to think of it, Cha-eon might have been unusually warm once, about one hundred fifty years ago.
He brushed back his bangs, urging her forward. His veined, neat hands could stir the heart of any girl desperate for marriage.
If only he wouldn’t speak.
“Even gods, as long as they take human form, must eat.”
That nagging man.
“You need money to buy rice if you want to eat.”
“Yes, yes, I was wrong.”
“That tone is inappropriate.”
Why had the Celestial Emperor placed such a man by her side among so many servants?
It was a mismatch.
Her cheerful, optimistic self would have stayed in bed until noon, had it not been for Cha-eon.
Only when her back was about to break would she reluctantly rise, grab her fishing rod, and head to the fields.
Whether she caught anything mattered little; if hungry, she could forage fruits and berries.
If necessary, she could trade herbs for rice from neighbors.
Then came Cha-eon’s chilling threat: if the herbs ran out, she would starve.
Not entirely wrong, but hearing it from Cha-eon stung.
“Maybe I’ll just have crystal dumplings for lunch.”
The dumplings, with translucent wrappers, filled with fresh shrimp, chives, and minced pork, were labor-intensive and rarely eaten for breakfast or lunch.
Seohyo mischievously imagined making the kitchen sweat in early autumn. She wouldn’t even tell Cha-eon.
