Chapter 11
Look away.
He ought to have walked past, ought to have ignored the sight of her standing between the shelves, lost in a daydream.
But he had faltered, recalling the young woman who had spoken of books with a passion that had burned into his memory.
All thoughts of decorum faded as he’d watched her, the dust motes drifting between them in the golden sunlight.
Look away.
His pulse now quickened as she glanced up at him with those luminous brown eyes. The warm brown of a summer forest, with flecks of light speckling the earth in tiny explosions. He reluctantly admitted to himself that he’d been wrong in his initial judgment. He found her quite lovely now—
Not, of course, that it was of any significance to him.
“Lord Yu?” she repeated when he did not answer.
He wrenched his gaze away, and yet just as quickly, he looked at her again—only to find her watching him, color rising on her cheeks.
A rosy blush that made her lovelier still.
And despite their apparent mutual embarrassment, she tilted her head to the side and a mocking smile tugged at the corners of her lips.
“You look positively scandalized by the sight of me, nauri,” she said.
“I—” He was rarely, if ever, at a loss for words.
But it took him a moment now to find them, grappling with his own silence as he donned his hat.
He’d taken it off earlier, thinking himself alone in the back of the shop and wanting to somehow ease his headache and the growing sense of frustration over the break-in.
But all thoughts had vanished the moment he’d laid eyes on Mistress Haewon.
Clearing his throat, he tried to speak again. “I wasn’t—I wasn’t expecting to see you here.”
Her smile sharpened. “Nor I you.”
“I came with a friend,” he said in needless explanation. “Who, it seems, is very taken by your sister.”
She darted a look toward the pair, and as she did, Seojun noticed a little bird embroidered onto her veil. The mark was small enough to go unnoticed at a glance.
“That gentleman speaking to my sister…” Alarm sounded in her voice. “Is your friend?”
He shifted his attention back to her. “Yes.”
“Your friend. I see … And how do you know my sister?”
“I caught a brief glimpse of her at the House of Bright Flowers.”
Her cheeks paled, clearly a night she was loath to recall. “Thank you for your discretion.”
He knew that now was the perfect time to bow and excuse himself.
She wasn’t his concern. Yet he remembered his own sister, and how brittle a woman’s reputation was.
“I would strongly encourage your parents to arrange for a female teacher to instruct your younger sister as soon as possible,” he cautioned.
“With lessons from etiquette books such as Nechik, so your sister might be inspired to strive for moral perfection.” And save your family from further ruin, he did not add.
Her smile remained polite, but there was a bite to her voice as she said, “But of course this is your advice, nauri.”
He slid a glance down at her. “You seem so sure of who I am.”
“I can read people as easily as that very book in your hand,” she declared, then looked away, as though expecting this to be the end of their conversation.
It ought to be the end. She was unmarried, and he was fully aware that their conversation had turned inappropriately long. Yet he was so curious.
“Then what do you make of me?” he asked.
She turned and blinked up at him. A shade of pink swept across her cheeks again, deepening under his scrutiny. He wanted her to squirm. To strip away her bravado. He expected her to meekly retreat from his challenge, to let out a sheepish laugh and, at most, mumble a nervous non sequitur.
“You would allow me to speak plainly?” she asked instead, catching him off guard. “My frankness, nauri, has left village boys in tears.”
“You could never make me cry, Mistress Haewon.”
As though hearing the test in his voice, she peeked up at him with a mischievous glint. If they were sparring, then he had struck, expecting her to falter, only to find her already braced to strike back.
“My understanding of you is this,” she mused, tilting her head in thought.
Her veil had slipped a little, baring the loose strands that had fallen from her braid.
Her hair was that of an adventurer who’d just stepped off a ship after surviving a storm rather than of a proper young lady.
“You are the most perfectly civilized man, the most perfect gentleman the kingdom has ever known. You move and breathe according to the rule. You are superior to most and therefore have no tolerance for errors, though your one failing is your inability to relate to those beneath you.”
“Your judgment of me is most severe,” he replied, unable to look away. She had remarkable nerve, which he found—much to his chagrin—oddly charming, too. “And this, I presume, is your final verdict?”
“Yes. And I am rarely, if ever, wrong in my reading of people,” she remarked. “Though, I did err in one matter. I didn’t think you would ever deign to pick up a novel. I thought you found them to be a frivolous waste of time.”
He stared down at the book in his hand. “My opinion hasn’t changed. But my elder sister is a voracious novel reader, and so here I am on her behalf…”
His attention strayed. The golden beam of sunlight had dimmed. The window, once aglow, had turned a somber shade of gray.
“Perhaps it will finally rain,” he whispered, half to himself.
In the growing darkness, so sudden and abrupt, the shadows cloaked the shelves and swelled tight around them, as though they were the only two people in the shop. Her veil had slipped further, this time falling around her shoulders as she glanced up at the high-set window, wide-eyed and smiling.
“I hope it pours,” she said, her delight humming in the narrow space between them.
She seemed to forget herself in this moment, speaking more freely now.
“The drought has gone on for far too long. For months! Or has it been an entire year already? I’ve always been so fond of the rain.
When I was a child, I would walk right outside and imagine myself standing beneath a waterfall.
I’d open my arms and feel the rain on my skin, breathe in the smell of the damp earth—”
She turned her eyes to him, strands of hair falling down across her rosy cheeks, a visible pulse beating against the side of her throat as their gazes locked. He felt a warm rush through his veins, and a strange, most peculiar tightness in his chest. A breathlessness he couldn’t explain.
Clearing her throat, she abruptly looked away and tugged the veil back over her head.
“I’m not sure why I’m telling you this …
You came here looking for books for your sister.
I could offer your sister a recommendation,” she said with an unnatural cheerfulness.
“All ladies in this shop know to come to me. Is she interested in love stories?”
“No,” he said, his voice rough.
“History? Travel books? Those are widely favored.”
He needed to stop, to stop engaging her in conversation, to stop being so curious about her—
“She prefers books about Joseon,” he answered stiffly, “written by Joseon authors.”
“Then…” Haewon moved farther down the aisle, and he followed her without a thought, noticing her height for the first time: two heads shorter than him.
If he held her, her cheek would only reach his chest. Not that he felt the slightest temptation to hold her.
He had not the slightest, burning inclination to do so. He froze as she turned to him.
“I’d recommend Taekriji,” she offered. “It means ‘A record that helps people choose where to live.’”
She flipped through the pages, and the shadow cast by her veil had deepened over her face, making her expression unreadable.
“The author, Lee Junghwan,” she continued, “was a scholar from a prestigious family of southern descent. He rose quickly in the bureaucracy but was expelled from court after a factional dispute. In 1728, he was implicated in the Rebellion of the Throne and deprived of his position. Wandering the country with no way to make ends meet, he asked himself, ‘Where can I live without starving?’ And so, Taekriji was born.”
He found his head bowed, listening to her in genuine interest and wishing she could speak on for a great deal longer.
“Lee Junghwan traveled across Joseon, analyzing the land—topography, climate, resources, transportation, even human sentiment—and made judgments about which places were worth living in.” With a glimmer of a smile, she added, “My sisters and I devoured it, arguing endlessly over where we’d choose to live, if ever we had to move.
I think your sister would enjoy this book immensely. ”
“I’m sure she will,” he said, accepting the copy she offered him.
Suddenly, hurried footsteps thumped down the aisle, breaking whatever spell he’d fallen under, followed by a sharp voice.
“Everyone must leave at once!”
Seojun, along with the other patrons, peered out from between the crowded shelves to see Mistress Wol. She stood tall, her jaw tight and her arms locked around a stack of books like a dragon guarding its precious treasures.
“I’ve just received word that a raid is underway at a bookshop down the street,” Wol continued, her spectacles askew on her nose.
And despite the firmness of her voice, there was the slightest tremor to her hands.
“I do not believe they will trouble us, but it is best to err on the side of caution. Leave now.” She looked prepared to herd everyone out when her gaze landed on Haewon, and remained on her, even as patrons knocked by her.
“You’re still here?” Wol cried. “I thought you had already gone!”
“I was always here,” Haewon said, the confusion audible in her voice.
“I spoke to your sister moments ago. I was so certain you’d left; my father swore he saw you leave the shop!”
As Mistress Wol urged Haewon to leave now, warning her to be on the lookout for officers, Seojun turned to frown at the bookshelves.
A raid? Surely this couldn’t be a raid ordered by the king.
His father’s cronies at the Ministry of Justice were light-lipped around him …
If the king had ordered such extreme measures, he would have known.
“Nauri? Nauri.”
Wol spoke, but her voice didn’t register.
His mind remained on the books. Stacks upon stacks of books glorifying Western teachings, Joseon novels written in secret, and Chinese novels smuggled across the border.
All books King Jeongjo criticized for promoting vulgarity and disorder.
At length, he looked to find Wol watching him, eyes clouded with worry, and there was no Shin Haewon by his side.
“Where did she go?” He looked around, scanning the shop for her green veil, but there were at least a dozen ladies in identical colored headdresses pushing through the crowd.
“You should leave, too,” Wol warned, and Seojun peered down at the bookshop keeper, his sister’s longtime friend, once more. “If your father hears of this—”
“Whoever instigated this,” he said, voice low, “it is likely to destroy the Catholic books in circulation. You ought to remove them, if you have any care for your shop.”
Wol scoffed as she turned to examine her curated collection. “Once I remove those, what will be next? All novels that contain any traces of unorthodox ideas? I will have nothing left to lend out then.”
A deep rumble of thunder shook the window frames. The sound of heavy rainfall pummeled the roof, as though the sea itself were spilling down from the sky.
Wol paled and grabbed Seojun’s sleeve. “I do have one favor to ask.”
“What is it?”
“Could you ensure that both Shin sisters make it home safely? You, of all people, should want to keep Shin Haewon safe.”
“I’ll go find them but…” Seojun frowned. “What do you mean by—”
Before he could finish his question, Byeongho appeared beside them, snapping open his fan to air his face.
He looked to have not a care in the world, watching as the last of the patrons scrambled out of the shop.
“There was a customer reading a book I wanted to borrow. Perhaps he’s left it behind.
Now, what is it you were both talking about? Find whom?”
“The Shin sisters,” Wol replied.
Byeongho hummed in response, then froze.
“The Shin sisters? Do you mean to say that the lovely young lady I was speaking with—is lost? But she was with me only moments ago—” Another deep rumble shook the shop, and his eyes widened.
“I am entirely at a loss, but I’ll go with you, Yu Seojun. I’ll help you find the ladies.”
Outside, rainwater sluiced down from the eaves like waves crashing against coastal cliffs.
The moment Seojun stepped out to retrieve his horse, which was tethered to a post, the downpour soaked him through.
Byeongho mounted his own horse, and soon they were off, leaning low against the explosion of rain.
“We should look around this area first, to make sure they’re not still here!” Byeongho shouted over the piercing thunder. “Then head in the direction of their home. Gyonam, the first village beyond the Souimun Gate.”
Seojun nudged his heels into the horse’s flanks, spurring the creature into a gallop. “I have a feeling,” he called out loudly, “that we’ll find them perfectly safe in their home.”
“What?! I can hardly hear you in this torrent!”
The sky had darkened as they searched the vicinity, the capital drowned in blue-gray light.
Rain came down in gusts, driving people into nearby shops.
Market stalls quaked, their fabric coverings billowing loose.
Merchants scrambled to retrieve their goods.
Children danced about and farmers laughed.
When Seojun and his companion reached the western gate, a drenched guard waved them through, looking delighted himself as the parched earth took in deep gulps of the long-awaited downpour.
Everyone was likely celebrating, especially the king, perhaps sagging into his dragon throne in sheer relief.
But as Seojun sped out of the fortress, he could think of nothing other than Mistress Wol’s strange remark: You, of all people, should want to keep Shin Haewon safe.
Why on earth did she believe Shin Haewon was of any particular significance to him?
His foolish heart had, indeed, quickened at the sight of her—just as foolish hearts were wont to do in the presence of the lovely and charming.
But after today, he was determined to put her from his mind. She was a lady who ought never to have caught his eye to begin with. A young woman of no social consequence.
A nobody.
Or at least … that was what his father would have him believe.