Chapter 21
Seojun felt like death.
He had worked himself into a state of exhaustion. His father frequented his doorway, a heavy shadow that lingered. “You ought to eat some food with meat,” Minister Yu would remind him. “Since you can only study when you are without illness, do not be stubborn, and be careful with your health.”
Trays of food would come in, and then the trays would leave with the food barely touched. He had no appetite. He did not break from his studies, did not dare give his thoughts space to roam. The moment he did, he became instant prey to the most agonizing emotions he had ever experienced.
He studied from dawn until dusk. His plan was to know the Five Classics without reliance on commentaries, with a particular attention to the Book of Documents.
Within the Five Classics, King Jeongjo was particularly fond of the “Great Plan,” Kija’s instructions in nine articles for how to run a state.
The study he had neglected these past few weeks.
On nights when sleep eluded him, he made sure to keep his mind occupied, fixed his thoughts on the break-in that happened days ago. Between his study breaks, he questioned more servants, and even revisited the House of Bright Flowers in a futile attempt to gather information.
All the while, his manservant, Namgil—who had returned from an urgent family emergency—insisted that perhaps the robbery, the stolen manuscript, was nothing so sinister. After all, no blackmail and no literary censor had arrived.
Seojun nevertheless investigated and studied as though his life depended upon it. And for the most part, he managed to go an entire day without thinking of Shin Haewon.
And then there were days like today.
Days when, no matter his militant control, he could not ignore the echoes of birds trilling outside his open window, the wind carrying into his study the warmth of spring, fragrant with pine and flowers in full bloom.
He let his focus slip, and his thoughts at once darted away like a deer that escaped into a vast forest. A forest that was filled with memories of Shin Haewon.
Sitting before the Book of Rites, its pages fluttering in the breeze, he leaned his head on his knuckles and could not progress past the first line. Hours flew by as he reviewed his every word and action at Seogeomjeong Pavilion, and her every response and twist of her features. Again and again.
She had refused him. Magpie despised him.
The memories swelled, and he dug his fingers into his eyes, desperate to push away the weight of her disdain. But it came crushing down upon him.
Why had he confessed to her? It was a regret that haunted him, constantly.
Why had he opened his heart to her?
Why couldn’t he have chosen silence, as he usually did?
It could all have been avoided. He wouldn’t be in such torment then.
Seojun watched, feeling utterly helpless, as time wasted away.
Sunlight shifted, then withdrew. Shadows encroached as a chill bit the air.
This was foolish. This was madness. Heaving out a breath, he rose to his feet and snatched up his hat, resigned to the idea that no work would be done this day.
He needed to get away from here. To ride far, far away.
But before he could leave, he stilled at the faint creak of footsteps.
Seojun lowered his hat, recognizing his sister’s tread. She hadn’t spoken to him in days.
When a hesitant knock came, he returned to sit behind his low desk. “Come in.”
His older sister entered, garbed in her usual widow’s gown of a pure-white jacket and a white skirt.
The mourning period for her husband had ended three years ago, yet she continued to wear it, as though in penitence for being a widow who’d fallen in love with another man. A grave crime in the eyes of the law.
“The servants are whispering about you. They are all worried.” Gwideok sat before him, her voluminous skirt pooling around her. “Are you ill?”
Seojun ran a hand over his face. “You needn’t concern yourself—”
“You are my brother; of course I need concern myself.” She paused to summon a maid, who lit a floor lantern that filled the dark room with a warm glow.
“Father keeps sending servants to ensure your well-being. You sent them all away, so Father finally came to me and asked me to come speak with you.”
He remained still, his hands stretched out on either side of the Book of Rites, which had been opened on the same page since this morning.
Frustration gnawed at him. For how long would this go on, this inability to function?
To breathe, and to find breathing itself difficult?
To go a day without fearing for his sanity?
Gwideok frowned. “What happened?”
What had happened…?
He had met a girl. An intelligent, bright, and charming girl for whom he’d felt something beyond mere admiration. He had felt hope. Shin Haewon had inspired in him an excitement about life he had never felt before.
Slowly, the bitterness twisting him loosened. He tried to hold on to it, to remain angry, but the anger wouldn’t stay. He could only sit before his sister, wounded and sad. Aching at the reality that his life would forever be absent of Shin Haewon.
“I feel,” Seojun whispered, “as though I’ve been struck down by a speeding cart.”
Gwideok waited in silence.
Rising to his feet again, he strode over to the window, pushed it wide open, and fixed a stare out at the shadowy courtyard garden of bamboo, pines, and plum trees.
On most occasions he would remain reserved, even with his sister, keeping his thoughts and heartaches to himself.
But he had glimpsed Gwideok’s curious eyes and had realized, for the first time, how utterly exhausted he was.
He was tired of always holding himself together.
The truth was a burden he could no longer carry.
“I confessed my feelings to a young lady.”
“You did?” A long, stunned silence followed. “I never imagined … You open your heart to so few! And even then, you never fully let down your walls. The lady in question must be quite the force to have toppled my infamously stoic brother. Well … are congratulations in order?”
A muscle twitched in his jaw. “She hates me.”
Another long silence followed, then Gwideok folded her arms and asked pointedly, “What did you do?”
“Your tone of voice, nuwi, suggests you already see me as the one at fault.”
“Of course I do. Why would a lady refuse you unless you behaved in a way that left much to be desired?”
“I didn’t—” Seojun heaved out a breath, then paced before the window. “I don’t know why. I mean, I have theories, but I’m unsure.”
“What did you say to her?”
He shook his head, a burn searing in his chest. “I unfortunately fell for a girl of lower origins. Her family are rural folks, known for their moral laxness and crudity. They permit their daughters to visit places of ill repute; they do not discipline the youngest; the father encourages unorthodox ideas; and the mother, from what I’ve gathered, is the worst of all.
She is the village scandal-monger and has spent what little fortune the family has on shamans, dresses, and shoes.
So you see, nuwi, the young lady in question is one I ought never to have taken romantic interest in. ”
A beat passed before Gwideok replied.
“Please tell me you complimented her as you confessed your feelings, and shared none of your … practical social considerations.”
“I told her most of what I shared with you.” Seojun looked at his sister and was met by a flat, unamused stare. “It is the truth.”
“You ought to have lied.”
He frowned. “Lied? I have no regrets, none at all, for saying what are factual—”
“I am actually alarmed, Brother. It’s almost remarkable that someone as intelligent as you would be so—so—”
“So what?” he asked dryly.
She waved her hand. “So stupid.”
“You know Father. His expectations of me. You know what an immense sacrifice it would be, on my end, to consider her as a future bride. Gods, Father might even disown me over my choice. Being considerate was the least of my worries.”
“You’re right,” she said sarcastically. “She ought to have been incredibly honored by your affection.”
He paced the room, casting a warning glance at his sister. “Any sensible woman would have been honored by my interest in her, especially a woman in her station. She has everything to gain in my affection, and I, everything to lose.”
“It looks to me like you are the one who lost everything.”
He fell still.
“My little brother, who, since the age of five, has known nothing but his studies. No friends, save for Byeongho. Lonely, yet too guarded to reach for companionship. Tormented by the crushing weight of our father’s expectations.
Burdened by my failed existence,” she said.
And when he opened his mouth to protest, to reassure her otherwise, she ignored him and pressed on.
“A young man who has everything, yet takes up the brush to write stories, just to escape it all. My dearest brother, love is the closest thing to heaven. Isn’t that what Byeongho always says?
To win the heart of another is to gain a companion, and we are all in need of companionship.
Be it a friend or sweetheart—” Her voice faltered.
Emotion worked in her throat as she said, in a strained whisper, “This life is far too dark and lonely to journey through alone.”
He set his jaw, refusing to heed his sister’s remark. “Companionship is all well and good. But we live in the real world, not in a folktale where romantic feelings matter more than practical expectations.”
Gwideok sighed as she rose to her feet. “I am reminded of the words from your good friend Magpie.”
The mere mention of Magpie was physical pain. His heart bled and the muscles in his back spasmed, as though Magpie’s name were an iron ball piercing through him.
“You shared a quote from one of Magpie’s letters,” Gwideok said, “and you said it had made such an impression on you.”
“Which one?” he prodded, his voice gruff.
“A person is a person, just as a flower is a flower,” she quoted.
“Scholars rank one another, people and flowers, prizing the plum blossom over the common wildflowers, but to me, I love all flowers. They all bring delight. They are all beautiful. Perhaps you ought to take Magpie’s words to heart more, next time you consider matters of the heart. ”
Seojun looked away, the words of Magpie carving out a sickening hollowness in him. “There’s nothing—” His voice broke. The memory of Magpie’s letters shook him to the bone. He barely managed to recompose himself and say, “There’s nothing that can be done now. She despises me. It’s over.”
“It is the first time in your life, I think, that you have been reduced to desperately wanting something from someone, with the likelihood of never getting it. My dear brother, you have been reduced to the position of mere mortal.”
“The mere mortal I am now,” he whispered, rubbing his brow, “would appreciate the dignity of sulking in solitude, if you’d be so kind.”
“You are young, Seojun-ah. I think you will recover.” She made to leave, then paused, a frown worrying her brow. “Before I leave, I did want to ask … Have you seen Maid Daebi?”
The air chilled around him. Maid Daebi, his sister’s personal attendant. The same girl who had peered out from the shadows when he had found his study in chaos. The one who had hidden her dirt-lined nails.
“Isn’t she always with you?”
“Usually, yes. But I haven’t seen her since this morning. I know it’s horribly inconsiderate of me to be sharing this now, but … I’m worried.”
Facing his sister, Seojun collected his heartbreak and secured it in a box, to be opened later. He had learned at a young age to put his family first; their concerns came before his own. “Did anything happen to upset her?”
“I’m not sure why, but I saw Father raising his voice at her, questioning her.
I don’t know about what. And as soon as she was alone, your manservant Namgil accosted her, and he seemed rather upset with her, too.
Demanded to know how she could have put him in such a position.
They had a most heated discussion. All I heard was something about book thieves, and he also mentioned the Red Lantern—”
“The inn?” Seojun repeated, bewildered.
“Yes. And then … she simply left. I’ve been worrying about her since, but Father said he would handle it. I think he means to speak with you, too. He suspects Daebi might be up to no good. I truly hope that isn’t the case!”
Seojun folded his arms. He had questioned Daebi a few times, each interaction yielding fewer answers.
“What are you thinking about?” Gwideok prodded.
He exhaled, gaze drifting toward his study door. “You know Maid Daebi best. How likely is it that she would, out of kindness, offer to wash spring greens for a fellow servant? Because on the night of the break-in, that was her claim.”
Gwideok let out a sharp laugh. “Washing spring greens? She would never! She has no friends among the other servants—she thinks they’re beneath her.”
“You’re certain of that?”
She clucked her tongue. “Perhaps she eloped, or something explainable like that. But yes, I’m certain. Maid Daebi’s personal refrain has always been how cleanliness, decency, and decorum are inseparable virtues.”
Seojun wandered out of his study, eyes fixed on the very spot where he had seen the maid, trembling, with dirt-lined nails.
There was a strange thought floating on the outskirts of his mind, this instinct that the answer might be right before him.
This feeling that the secrets lurking in his home were not as complicated as he was making them out to be.