Chapter 2
The chamber was quiet, save for the steady rustle of paper as Minister Yu reviewed a stack of letters spread across the low table before him.
Seojun tugged at the stiff collar of his robe, all too aware of the envelopes. Each one bore the name of a distinguished household, sent by parents of eligible daughters who inquired after his father’s health and hinted at interest in a union between their families.
“You are a prime target in the marriage market,” Minister Yu observed, his tone as solemn as a war strategist. “We must select your bride with care. Marriage is not merely a personal matter but the binding of two households, and of great consequence to our descendants.”
“I understand, Father.”
“Therefore, everything concerning your prospective bride and her family will be investigated. A focus will be placed on the moral behavior of your future in-laws. All family secrets must be uncovered.”
The weight on Seojun’s shoulders grew heavier, but he kept his posture rigidly upright.
“Matchmaker Okshi has interviewed each family, but most have failed to satisfy me,” Minister Yu said with great condescension.
“We cannot have you marrying into a family with any ties to the Southern faction, or with any roots in the Gwanseo region.
And especially not one with daughters known to roam about the streets in broad daylight.
“There is, however, one family of note: The Minister of Rites has a daughter who is perfect in appearance, character, and position. She is said to be most superior to any other young lady. She has excellent needlework; she is skilled at meal preparation and managing a household. She is perfectly obedient, perfectly virtuous. And doesn’t talk too much.
A great sin in any woman,” continued Minister Yu, who had been speaking since Seojun’s arrival with barely a pause for breath.
“She will bring honor to our household. When I die, you will inherit this entire estate and she will be a trustworthy mistress of it all.”
Slight movement caught Seojun’s eye. He glanced down and watched as an ant crawled across the silk of his robe, the gold-threaded floor mat, then across the immaculate floor. Alone, and entirely lost in the expanse.
“You are quiet, Son.” Minister Yu’s voice prodded his attention upward. “Speak. What is your opinion on this matter? You cannot reject every inquiry of interest.”
Seojun tugged at his collar again. He couldn’t tell his father what exactly was on his mind at the moment.
The thought of marriage was merely another note on his growing list of obligations, and the lowest priority of all.
His primary concern was his sister’s happiness.
As for his own … he had long ago put it aside.
“The opinion of children ought not to matter,” his father barreled on. “I could very well choose a wife for you. Have I given you too much say and spoiled you? How long will you continue to turn the proposals down?”
“I would prefer to consider marriage after I pass the civil service exam—”
“That will take years, and I do not have the luxury of such time! My health has grown frail over the winter, and I wish to see a grandson before my death.”
Seojun felt the collar of his robe tightening around his neck, and he glanced back at the ant, now traveling with quiet determination across the golden squares of sunlight. The shadow of a bird fluttered past.
“It is said that a son’s foremost filial duty is to wed the bride chosen for him by his parents,” Seojun said, voice low.
Since birth he had been taught that filial piety was the root of all virtue.
He could not simply wander wherever he wished.
“I will meet with the Minister of Rites, if that is what you want.”
“But that is not what you want,” Minister Yu said, frustration edging his voice. He expelled a heavy breath and straightened his three-tiered hat of black gauze. “Return to your studies. I will write to the Minister of Rites regarding this matter.”
Head bowed, Seojun retreated from his father’s chamber. Once the servants drew the door shut, his rigid shoulders drooped. Attendants scurried away as he stalked down the hall, and he held his composure just long enough to unlock and enter his study.
He tried not to slam the sliding doors shut, then began to pace.
And pace.
What did it matter if he married now? Marriage was just like any other rite or ritual.
It was simply another step in the ordered progression of life.
And even if he married now, his bride would be no more than a guest in his house—a guest he would hardly ever see.
He had passed the entrance exam for Sungkyunkwan Royal Academy in the first rank.
He would enter the academy next month. And once enrolled, he would live there, only permitted to return home on the eighth and twenty-third days of each month.
He tugged at his tight collar once more, then sat before his low table, his heart thundering as he mindlessly flipped through the book he had to study. He had planned on finishing his review of the Book of Documents by the end of this month.
But he couldn’t focus.
The words shifted under his eyes, took on wings, and flew away—
Close your mind to distraction, he reminded himself, having been disciplined to focus on his studies since the age of five. Focus on the Way. On propriety, on structure and order, on pursuing virtue …
His hand ached to pick up his brush and write stories instead. To wrestle with his thoughts on paper.
Against his better judgment, he found himself crossing the room to the red pinewood chest. He unlocked its small double doors and stared into the deep recess where his unfinished manuscript lay hidden alongside a stack of letters from Magpie.
He had forced himself to abandon these pages for weeks.
But now his hand reached, fingers hovering over the words he’d written.
Everything in him contracted with pain. He wanted to write.
The desire was like a demonic possession, haunting every corner of his mind, leaving him restless and without appetite despite his every effort to resist. If he believed in shamans, he would have traveled to the farthest reaches of the kingdom for an exorcism, to eradicate the hunger before his secret ruined his entire family.
He shoved the chest shut, then fastened a lock through the metal ring.
Once the oppressive pull to write began, he knew focus would be impossible. He knew he would sit before his desk to study, but no matter his efforts, his attention would remain fixed upon the pinewood chest.
It was no use.
Seojun snatched up his hat and donned it, the long jade-beaded string bumping against his chest as he strode out of his study and locked the door behind him. He needed to escape. The walls themselves seemed to be closing in around him.
“Namgil-ah,” he called out, and at once his young manservant scurried over from down the hall. “Bring me my horse.”
“Where are you going, doryeonnim?”
“To the House of Bright Flowers.”
“The gibang house?” Namgil’s voice pitched high as they crossed the courtyard. “Did you not turn down the invitation for this evening, doryeonnim?”
Seojun’s old friend Byeongho had finally returned from exile, the punishment his parents had imposed after he had failed the civil service exam yet again.
Though illegitimate, he was a direct descendant of royalty and had been granted a rare exception to take the exam, a privilege most in his position were denied.
But no matter how many times he took the test, he had failed.
Now, with his father’s passing and the mourning period over, Byeongho had wasted no time in summoning his friends to abandon their studies and join him at the entertainment house.
“It will be a small gathering,” Seojun muttered, “and I am in desperate need of distraction.”
“Begging your pardon, doryeonnim, but you look truly unwell. Perhaps you should rest today—”
“I am soon to be married.”
“Oh.” Namgil blinked, then scratched his head. “Well … I’m certain you will be very happy. And whom will I be addressing as mistress of Myeongwoldang one day, may I ask?”
“My father hopes it to be Mistress Deokkyung.”
Namgil’s brows shot high. “I have heard of her. Who has not, I suppose. They say she possesses a beauty so exquisite that flowers are made to feel ashamed.”
“Indeed, so I have heard…” Seojun murmured. He’d spotted her in a palanquin three days ago, window open, her eyes peeking out at him. Their gazes had locked. A sheepish smile had curved her pink lips.
Mistress Deokkyung was, he supposed, quite beautiful. But in truth, darting silver-scaled fishes and the little wildflowers flourishing across the fields and forests moved him more. He had such a deep fondness for fishes and flowers.
I know the flowers by their names.
Sunlight slanted across the brim of his hat, blinding him for a moment. Words from Magpie’s letters continued to beckon, words from the scribe whose friendship had embraced him in his darkest hour.
Forsythias, sansuyu, plum blossoms, pear blossoms, apricot flower, mugunghwa, the blossom from heaven …
He shook his head.
He had stopped writing to Magpie, just as he had to stop writing novels. He had to disassociate himself from what his father called “vulgar matters.”
Running a hand down his face, Seojun stepped out of the compound, then gazed beyond the road at the sun illuminating the capital.
The bright sky loomed large, empty and lonely.
He remained lingering under the eaves of the mansion gate for a moment longer—until he looked down and was startled to find a stray mutt sitting by his feet, looking as lost as he in the vast city.
Seojun swept aside his robe and crouched by the creature, so thin with prominent ribs, white coat tangled and dirty. Gently, he reached out his hand, and the dog scampered closer. Its wet nose trailed his palm, tail wagging in frantic delight.
“Namgil-ah,” he called out as his manservant approached, leading his horse. Seojun took the reins, then paused before mounting. “Find some scraps for this creature, then give him a good wash. Cleanliness and perfection is expected here at Myeongwoldang. Father tolerates nothing less.”
As the very words left him, he felt an uneasiness coil deep within his chest, a troubling thought that kept him awake some nights.
What would his father do if he ever learned the truth, that Yu Seojun was Black Lotus?