Chapter 13: Vow of Eternal Love (5)
Seohyo stared fixedly at Chaon.
She had never considered a life without him, the days when he wouldn’t be by her side. She had taken his presence for granted.
“…Miss?”
Sensing something was off, Chaon set down the towel. His eyes quickly and thoroughly scanned her, meticulous yet swift. Seohyo ran to him and threw herself into his embrace.
She clung tightly to his broad chest.
“Chaon.”
Her voice stretched out, unconsciously whining like a child. She hadn’t intended to show this side of herself. She had wanted to speak more maturely, more earnestly. She had wanted to convey her true feelings.
But she couldn’t stop herself from clinging.
A sudden wave of fear gripped her.
“Thank you for staying by my side. Thank you for not leaving me.”
“Miss.”
“I’ll listen to you from now on, Chaon. I’ll wake up at dawn, grind the herbs on time, and I’ll stop sneaking out and worrying you without a word.”
Her nose tingled as if she were about to cry. But if she showed tears here, Chaon would probably think something serious had happened and scold her. So she buried her face even more to hide her twitching nose.
Chaon’s stiff voice came, not moving to hug her fully.
“Are you feeling unwell?”
“No.”
“Do you have a fever? Are you dizzy?”
“I’m fine.”
Even though her body wasn’t ill, Chaon checked for it first. He raised his rigid hand, touched her forehead, and measured her temperature.
Next came the pulse check. He grasped her wrist and, wearing a dark expression, measured it.
Nothing abnormal. Seohyo’s words were true. If it wasn’t a physical ailment, then what could be causing her behavior? Chaon seemed to reach his own conclusion.
“Just what… kind of trouble did you get yourself into this time?”
This was one of those moments that revealed exactly how a butler thinks of his mistress.
Seohyo, thinking he would scold her with a sharp remark, only shook her head.
“No, it’s nothing like that.”
“Humans aren’t the only ones scared by sudden changes. Don’t frighten me.”
“I said it’s not like that.”
She mumbled in his arms.
“I read a book earlier… and there was a story where someone regrets it only after losing a precious person. After reading it, I wondered if I’d been too harsh to you, Chaon.”
Chaon, still tense, gradually relaxed. He realized nothing had happened to her. He brushed his hand down her back.
It was the same gentle touch he had given when Seohyo had cried after a nightmare long ago.
“Are you still feeling faint from the heat?”
Pat, pat.
“You’ve never given me reason to feel hurt, miss. I will never leave your side.”
“I’m not faint from the heat.”
“Last time you blamed the heat, yet your face seems to be getting warmer now. Could a fever be coming on?”
Seohyo’s playful protest didn’t last—how could it, with Chaon speaking so kindly? She buried her face again.
Don’t leave.
Stay unchanged.
It was a selfish request, surely. But could he, as he always had, stay by her side, Chaon?
Today, she had heard such a sad story. And thinking that she might experience what the young lady in the tale had, she felt suddenly terrified.
She had never even imagined a world where Chaon was gone.
If she revealed these inner thoughts, would he laugh at her foolishness?
Actually, she wanted to confess everything. She wanted comfort. Usually, Seohyo comforted others, but today was different.
The weight of the story she had heard was so heavy that even Seohyo wanted to lean on someone.
Even those who comfort others sometimes need comfort themselves.
And in times like this, the first person she thought of was none other than Chaon.
“I wonder what book you read, miss.”
“Why?”
Mumbling, she asked as Chaon gently brushed her back and smiled.
“After all my efforts up to this point, it’s fascinating—and a little aggravating—that a single book could make me be reevaluated by you. What book could have snapped our carefree miss back to her senses?”
Chaon would likely never know the title. He would never find it. Because it didn’t exist in the first place.
“I don’t know. I don’t remember.”
“What a convenient memory you have.”
Chaon was strange today. Even though Seohyo’s words were full of holes, he didn’t press further. Instead of scolding her to tell the truth, he comforted her gently. He embraced her.
As if he knew exactly how much she was suffering.
Thump, thump, thump.
The strange sound she heard? Her own heartbeat. She pressed her hand to her chest. Not that it would matter, but she worried Chaon might hear it.
She had no idea why her chest was pounding so violently.
Even after searching the desk and drawers thoroughly, she couldn’t find what she was looking for.
“Did I use it all?”
Tilting her head, Seohyo asked toward the kitchen.
“Chaon, have you seen my red ink stick?”
“If you mean that pitifully small piece left, I already put it away.”
“Pitifully small? I could still use it for at least half a month!”
The sound of a knife tapping rhythmically on the cutting board followed.
“Are you misremembering? It looked to me about the size of your thumbnail.”
“You saw it wrong, Chaon.”
Chattering, Seohyo headed for the storage room but paused mid-step, struck by another idea. She didn’t need a new ink stick immediately. The storage room was far, but Chaon’s room was near.
There, on his desk, she found a red ink stick perfectly ready to use.
“Maybe I’ll just borrow it for a moment.”
Just as she was about to leave with a joyful expression, an odd feeling stopped her.
Her breath was strangely quick even though she hadn’t run. Placing her hand on her chest, she felt a rapid thumping.
Thump, thump, thump.
It shook so strongly her palm could feel it.
What was happening?
She wasn’t in pain. This wasn’t the thrill from the other day when she had hugged Chaon.
It was a sensation she couldn’t quite describe, drawing all her nerves to one focus.
Suddenly, the room darkened like midnight, yet one spot shone brightly.
Her curiosity might have drawn her toward the light, but her instincts warned otherwise.
Don’t be fooled. Don’t be seduced.
“Seduced… by what?”
The strange sensation immediately answered.
It’s not seduction. It’s to guide your vision.
“To guide my vision?”
Standing in the middle of the room, talking to herself, Seohyo looked ridiculous—but Chaon wasn’t there to pull her back to reality.
Open the third drawer and look inside.
The sense spoke again. In a room without its owner, Seohyo was digging through someone else’s belongings. Yet even here, her actions were restrained.
No matter how close she and Chaon were, she didn’t want to touch his things carelessly.
This was separate from taking the red ink.
You must see this. You’ll regret it if you don’t.
The odd sensation urged her on. Seohyo’s feet hesitated, then approached the drawer. She hooked her hand on the handle of the third drawer. Pulling it halfway, she saw neatly folded clothes inside.
She needed to pull it further.
Biting the inside of her lip, she asked herself,
“Is it really okay to do this?”
Whether she looked or not, she would regret it either way.
Her instincts, silent until now, whispered firmly. The strange sensation didn’t argue.
She soon realized what it meant.
Beneath the clothes in the box was the bronze hairpin she had only seen in pictures.
The very hairpin that Master Ga had desperately sought.
Why was it in Chaon’s room?
Seohyo leaned against the drawer, sitting down, staring at the hairpin endlessly. The delicate vine patterns, the clear jade—everything matched the illustrations perfectly.
The more she thought, the worse she felt.
She felt as if she had touched the depths of her own darkness.
Don’t think alone. There’s no answer in thinking. Ask Chaon. He doesn’t lie. Hearing his explanation will at least stop these bitter suspicions and confusion.
She walked to the kitchen, stiff-legged.
Chaon was placing a clean radish on the cutting board. Tonight’s dinner was radish soup.
Even amidst her serious thoughts, she remembered the simple table she had glimpsed earlier.
“Chaon.”
After hesitating a few times, she finally spoke. He looked at her, holding the knife to the radish as before, calm and ordinary. He had no idea what she was about to ask. She didn’t want to disrupt that peace.
But she had to.
“Sorry. I went into your room to find the red ink…”
Getting straight to the point, she continued.
“Why do you have Master Ga’s hairpin?”
She pulled the hairpin from behind her back. The late afternoon sunlight passed through its clear jade. Chaon’s expression stiffened, but he returned to slicing the radish.
He didn’t ask how she found it, nor did he probe her motives. He chose silence.
Seohyo wanted answers.
“Why do you have it?”
He cut the radish in half again.
“I found it.”
“You… found it?”
The unexpected answer made Seohyo pause. Indeed, Chaon had been there when Master Ga demanded the hairpin.
So while he told her not to act recklessly, he had quietly ensured the hairpin was found.
One answer led to more questions.
“Why didn’t you tell me? And where did you find it?”
“The person who had it gave it to me.”
“That man?”
Did he visit the man who was betrothed to Dong-A? But that man had carelessly disposed of the pearl hairpin, so it was possible the hairpin had passed out of his hands.
Seohyo, flustered about where to begin questioning, heard Chaon speak.
“You’ve learned more about the hairpin, haven’t you?”
He set down the knife and wiped his hands.
“I only received the item; I didn’t hear the details. Could you tell me what Master Ga said?”
Seohyo recounted the story, including Master Ga’s vow to stab the heart with the hairpin in revenge. Chaon silently nodded.
Even when she mentioned meeting Master Ga alone, he didn’t scold her.
He seemed to be collecting his thoughts.
“I…”
He opened his mouth.
“I used the time when you moved alone. I tracked him, Master Ga, threatened him, and learned his birth date and time. With that, I visited the God of Fate. He was nearby. I asked about all past ties and learned that three connections remained. One was with you, one was already dead, and the last one…”
“That person, huh.”
Chaon nodded slightly, eyes lowered.
“When I asked him about the hairpin, he handed it over with trembling hands. At the time, he also spoke words I could barely understand.”
“Where is he now?”
Chaon looked at her calmly, unreadable.
“He’s dead.”
“Dead?”
Her voice rose involuntarily.
“When I went, he didn’t have long to live. I am not a god of life or death, but even from a glance, it seemed he couldn’t survive more than three nights. Probably from a life of debauchery in his youth.”
The way Chaon spoke of the man felt cold, almost detached.
“In any case, I received the hairpin and placed it in my room.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“If I did, miss, you would have handed it to Master Ga, wouldn’t you?”
Seohyo fell silent.
Before hearing Dong-A’s story, she had wanted to retrieve the hairpin herself and give it to Master Ga.
But after knowing his circumstances, she didn’t feel right giving an item that could cost someone their life.
Moreover, if the man died, Master Ga might die too. Giving him the hairpin would be like placing a double-edged sword in his hands.
Had Chaon read her complicated mind? Or had he somehow glimpsed the truth behind Master Ga’s desperate eyes?
Her hands fell limply. Chaon picked up the knife again, as if saying he had said all he needed to.
Tap, tap, tap, tap.
The rhythmic sound of cutting radish echoed in the kitchen. It was strangely calming, soothing Seohyo’s previously dizzy mind.
“Do you doubt me?”
Chaon asked suddenly.
“You found the item, acted separately, and even deceived me briefly. I understand why you might distrust me. Fair enough.”
His hands slowed slightly.
“Excuses or explanations are not my way. But one thing I want you to know…”
He met her gaze, unwavering, eyes pouring out a weight she could hardly endure.
“As long as you are happy, miss… even if there is no place for me in your happy picture, I will not cry.”
A faint smile appeared on his lips as he spoke.
And when he smiled, her tears returned. One of them had to cry. Seohyo placed the hairpin down and approached Chaon.
She fiddled with the bean sprouts she had prepared earlier.
More than the unresolved questions, she treasured Chaon before her. The same anxiety she had felt hugging him after hearing Master Ga’s story flared up again.
What if Chaon disappeared?
What if his mind changed?
“Why are you saying that all of a sudden? Don’t say that. I’ll cry. I’ll cry if Chaon isn’t here.”
Her gaze fell on his hands.
“And if Chaon isn’t here, who will cut the radish for the soup so beautifully?”
He burst into a bewildered laugh.
“Am I only valued for slicing radish now?”
“No.”
Seohyo buried her head in his arm.
“You’re great at cubing it too, Chaon.”
“Yes, I am.”
He no longer smiled, simply replied.
“And slicing it diagonally is perfect as well.”
“Isn’t that natural?”
“…Can you make flower shapes out of radish?”
That evening’s soup was adorned with radish cut into all sorts of intricate shapes. Seohyo sipped the warm broth and looked across at him.
She still didn’t want to lose him.
The remaining words she hadn’t said were swallowed along with the warm soup.
