Chapter 14: Oath of Eternal Love (6)
“Please, you must find the hairpin.”
Looking up at the old gate, Seo-hyo felt as though she could hear Gongja’s request from that day. She could not forget the determined look in his eyes, the one that had promised he would stop at nothing—even killing if necessary.
Seo-hyo let out a deep sigh, her face darkened.
How should she even say it?
“I found the hairpin. But the person you were looking for… is already gone.”
Would Gongja even believe such a thing?
Today, Seo-hyo had come alone, without the fox girls. She still hadn’t figured out what words might change Gongja’s mind.
Even so, she had decided to visit the old house, thinking that wasting more time would achieve nothing.
Since Seo-hyo had listened to Gongja and left, he had continued sending notes. The way the ink had smudged betrayed the anxiety of the writer.
Reading the trembling letters, Seo-hyo felt the seriousness of the matter and decided she would have to visit him soon.
If she informed him of the hairpin owner’s death, he might take his own life.
If left alone, he might fall ill.
“I’m just a small deity… Life and death matters are far too complicated…”
Seo-hyo pressed her hands to her head and groaned in frustration.
She had wished for more power when confronting rogues, but it seemed her wish had only partially been granted. The great power had not come. Instead, she was burdened with responsibilities too heavy to handle with her minor role.
“Excuse me, Heavenly Emperor. I’m only a small being, incapable even of finding the owner of a lost object. Yet this matter involves a human life.”
Surely, the gods of life and death, fate, or hope—beings far more capable than she—could handle this more wisely.
“Why me… out of all the gods?”
Seo-hyo slumped her shoulders. All she could do was listen, and that was all. She had already heard Gongja’s story; there was nothing more she could do.
“Please… live.”
She whispered softly, her fragile voice trembling.
“Please, Gongja… live.”
She could not answer why he should live. Even the deceased family members would not have wished Gongja to be in this state.
Though it was the first thought to come to mind, it was a phrase Seo-hyo desperately did not want to utter.
It would not help.
Even with her limited experience, Seo-hyo instinctively knew that. How could she convey this helplessness, this frustration, this sorrow?
“Please, let me help…”
Knock, knock.
Seo-hyo knocked on Gongja’s gate. She stood there, fists clenched, but no sound answered her. She knocked again, yet still, no sign of life stirred.
“What could this be?”
He couldn’t have gone out in his frail state, so maybe he was napping. She thought of a nap because she wanted to avoid imagining anything worse.
“I feel uneasy.”
Her expression clouded.
Pushing the gate open produced a creak, and that only deepened her anxiety. A sudden chill made her hug her arms and step inside.
“Excuse me.”
The house that had felt lonely the last time she visited now felt desolate.
Had the weeds in the yard grown this much already? Were the cobwebs always this thick?
If Gongja’s condition had worsened, it made sense that the house had gone unattended, yet she couldn’t shake the strange, unsettling feeling.
“Are you home? This is Seo-hyo from Baekhwa Pharmacy.”
She opened the small house’s doors but found no trace of anyone.
Most of all, the dusty teacups in the kitchen cupboard troubled her. The thick layer of dust suggested no one had been inside for quite some time.
Seo-hyo had visited Gongja’s home this month, not years ago.
The chipped teacup was surely one Gongja had given her last time, yet why was it covered in dust as if excavated from an old royal tomb?
“I need to ask the neighbors…”
Seo-hyo left the gate.
The houses before, behind, and beside Gongja’s were empty, but she had seen residents in the house across the street. She knocked, and after a brief pause, a voice called, “Who is it?”
“Hello. I’d like to ask about the man living at the house at the end of the alley.”
“Huh?”
When Seo-hyo bowed and explained, the middle-aged man’s face showed surprise. Behind him, a woman dried chili peppers in the yard, and nearby, a girl played in the dirt with her younger sibling.
While not wealthy, the household was alive and active compared to Gongja’s home.
Seo-hyo also bowed to the woman.
“What’s going on?”
“Huh? Oh, she wants to ask about the house at the end of the alley.”
“The abandoned house?”
“Yes, that’s the one…”
“That house has been empty for decades. My wife and I have lived across the street for over twenty years, and it was already empty back then. Initially, it felt uneasy, but the previous owner preferred quiet over noise, so we left it be.”
The man scratched his chin.
“But someone lives there now?”
“Gongja. His surname is Ga. He’s in his mid-twenties, looks pale, and dresses like a scholar.”
“I’ve never heard of that.”
The man gestured to his wife, who shook her head.
“If you mean the Huang family’s young man, he lives across from us, works in the blacksmith shop.”
“The person I’m looking for is the scholar at the alley’s end.”
“Then that is strange.”
He chuckled hollowly, then frowned at Seo-hyo.
“Are you sure Gongja didn’t lie to you? Perhaps he gave the wrong address on purpose?”
“I…”
Seo-hyo quickly changed her question.
“Do you know a woman named Dong-ah? She ran a small tea stand at the market.”
“No.”
“They’re siblings. It was several years ago, so maybe you don’t remember.”
The man called her over, now showing sympathy rather than suspicion.
“I can assure you—the house at the alley’s end has been empty for decades. Ask anyone in this alley; they’ll tell you the same thing.”
“Ah…”
“It seems you came to the wrong place.”
Seo-hyo moved on, still uncertain but not thinking the man lied.
She knocked on the house across the street, and then two others nearby, but the answers were identical:
“That house has been empty for decades. No one has lived there.”
Had Gongja pretended the empty house was his own to host her for half a day?
Where, then, did he usually stay? Where was he now? Alive… perhaps?
Before returning to the pharmacy, Seo-hyo glanced down the alley one last time.
A leafless tree at the end seemed to see her off.
Back at the pharmacy, Seo-hyo repeatedly opened and closed the medicine drawers, her mind still elsewhere. She moved to another drawer, opening and closing it.
Cha-eon, the house steward who had moved the herbs upstairs, watched her suspiciously.
“Is this a new way of playing with the spirits?” he asked.
“Huh?”
He pointed to the tiny spirits in the drawers.
“They peek out before the drawer closes and then get put back? Is this some game?”
“It’s not a game.”
Yet the spirits were clearly enjoying it, running toward any drawer that opened, squealing with delight.
Seo-hyo, however, remained dazed.
“The lady is looking for something she lost,” she murmured.
Cha-eon raised his eyebrows.
“Lost something? Who lost what?”
“I lost Gongja.”
Her lips drooped as the drawers clicked shut.
“I’ve been waiting, but he hasn’t come.”
“Why would he wait? Or… lost? That sounds strange.”
At the mention of Gongja, Cha-eon’s expression turned cold. He crossed his arms and leaned against the wall—a defiant stance. Gongja still seemed a thorn in his side.
“I went to Gongja’s house earlier, but it was empty. Neighbors said it’s been empty for decades. I feel like it’s haunted.”
Hearing this from a deity made Seo-hyo smile and cry at the same time.
“Has he not wished to do harm… is he even alive? My head is spinning.”
“You went to the house?” Cha-eon asked, his voice low, unnervingly so. Seo-hyo nodded.
“How do you change the heart of someone who has decided to die?”
Though addressed to Cha-eon, it was a question Seo-hyo kept asking herself.
“How can I help him overcome it? If not, how can he endure? All I can do is wait for time to pass.”
She banged her head against the drawer.
“What should I do?”
“Haah.”
Cha-eon sighed heavily. Seo-hyo let out a frustrated breath too.
“Don’t sigh.”
When Cha-eon took a second deep breath, Seo-hyo glared.
“Now you won’t even sigh? You saw me go look for that mysterious man alone, yet as the steward, I’m not allowed to sigh?”
“I know exactly how relieved you feel inside,” he replied.
Seo-hyo narrowed her eyes, her expression sulky.
“Gongja was too excited at first. After that, he behaved properly, with a sad story too. But you treat him like a nuisance, deciding whether he lives or dies.”
It was excessive.
“Now that he’s gone, you must feel satisfied?”
“You clearly understand how I feel about you,” Cha-eon replied, gazing at the darkening sky.
“And we’ll leave the lies aside. Yes, it’s as refreshing as pulling a bad tooth.”
“Ugh!”
Seo-hyo pounded her knees in frustration, then rested her head on the drawers. Her lingering sadness returned.
Where had Gongja gone? His health wouldn’t allow him to travel far. Yet the news of the hairpin—something he had desperately wanted—was gone without a trace.
Cha-eon quietly watched her slump.
“You asked how to hold someone’s heart. Perhaps even the Heavenly Emperor doesn’t know.”
“Really? It’s not just because I’m inadequate?”
“No.” Cha-eon shook his head repeatedly, as if Seo-hyo’s concern were unfounded.
“You are not lacking,” he said, a bitter smile spreading across his face.
“Never.”
“Right…”
Her heart felt slightly lighter hearing Cha-eon’s resolute words. But she couldn’t help wondering why the Heavenly Emperor had entrusted such a task to someone so small and powerless.
I already know how powerless I am in daily life. You didn’t have to go this far.
“Gongja… please don’t die…”
The words slipped out without her realizing.
Cha-eon sighed, grumbling as he left. Even he, great Cha-eon, could not endlessly comfort her. Seo-hyo touched the drawers, thinking of Gongja somewhere.
Clang. Click.
She heard the sound of the metal ring against wood. Cha-eon, whom she thought had left, reappeared at the door.
“Come.”
His expression was stern, grumbling just moments ago, yet the hand that grabbed hers was gentle.
Pulled along, Seo-hyo found herself in front of the beeswax candles quietly illuminating one corner of the yard.
At the ends of the rows of candles, flames flickered.
“Do you remember when we lived in Jeongju? They had a local custom.”
“Lighting as many candles as your age and praying?”
“You remember.”
Cha-eon pointed to the candles atop the stand.
“Even I can’t prepare one hundred and fifty candles immediately.” He added, “Ten per year.”
Seo-hyo looked at the candles, swaying in the gentle wind.
In Jeongju, people would light as many candles as their age to pray for a wish they deeply desired, believing that if none of the candles went out, their wish would be granted.
Cha-eon had recalled this custom.
Neither of them were particularly devout, but everyone has times when they need something to hold onto.
“I want to pray.”
Seo-hyo clasped her hands before her chest, closed her eyes, then opened them again.
“You do it too, Cha-eon.”
“Why me?”
“Right? Do it together. The effect will be doubled.”
“The candles we have now are all we can use.”
Finally, Seo-hyo nudged Cha-eon. Her fingers were solid, almost painful, just as she had felt with Mirang.
“Together. Pray he stays safe, Gongja.”
“Haah.”
Cha-eon pressed his hands together, reluctantly, as if nothing in the world displeased him more. Seo-hyo smiled brightly and closed her eyes.
Heavenly Emperor,
All gods more powerful than I,
Please protect Gongja.
Grant him a second chance.
I, the god of lost things, beg you earnestly.
Help him smile again.
When I open my eyes, I hope… none of the candles have gone out.
Cha-eon opened his eyes.
There was Seo-hyo, hands clasped in prayer, the soft glow of the beeswax illuminating her gentle face.
She was dedicating her efforts to the safety of a man she barely knew, trusting entirely in the story he had told.
At one time, he might have thought this foolish.
Now, however…
“Hah… does she still have the strength to hope?”
Cha-eon felt the subtle energy radiating from her shoulders down to her hands.
“What can I do now?”
Even though he could unleash lightning or upheave the earth, what more could he do here? It seemed no greater power was needed.
“I wish I could know where that reckless lady will go next.”
He noticed the candles dwindling and immediately stilled the wind. Fifteen candles were now safe.
He watched Seo-hyo, still without retracting his power. He could only watch safely when she closed her eyes, in sleep or prayer.
His hand rose, almost instinctively, to her delicate shoulder.
Perhaps if he embraced her and whispered, it might make her feel better. He wanted to share his emotions with her, to tell her quietly, “You can lean on me now.”
But.
Just before touching her, his hand froze in midair.
“…You dare?”
Hesitating, he withdrew it.
“Cha-eon! The candles are still lit! None went out!”
Seo-hyo squinted in relief, then laughed joyfully.
“The wind picks up at night, but the candles stayed lit. Amazing, isn’t it? I hope this really works.”
“Indeed.”
The sound of her happy laughter was so pleasant that he didn’t withdraw his power until she blew out the candles herself.
Hoo, hoo, hoo.
Cha-eon watched the rising gray smoke, quietly letting out the tension in his heart.
He was glad she was happy, again and again thinking, Thank goodness.
