Chapter 23
Haewon nervously tucked a strand of hair beneath her veil as she took in the sight before her. The capital looked so vast, so densely populated, its roads and alleys labyrinth-like, when searching for someone who didn’t wish to be found.
But she sensed, deep within, that Black Lotus wouldn’t mind too much if Magpie arrived at her gate. She had expressed as much in their last letter …
A painful knot formed in her chest at the memory.
She had avoided thinking of the letter for some time now, for it pained her to recall how Black Lotus had so abruptly cut off their communication months ago.
And so long as Haewon didn’t think of the last letter, she’d managed to stave off the reality that their friendship had indeed come to an end.
Haewon pushed away her feelings with a heave of a sigh, steadied herself, and set her shoulders. There was no time to wallow in sadness. Reputations were at stake.
“Boram-ah.” Haewon glanced at her maid, who had collapsed onto a wooden crate, wiping her brow with her handkerchief. “Do you know the directions to Myeongrye-bang District?”
Boram turned pale. “We are walking all the way there?”
“Merchant Hyoyang mentioned it a few weeks ago, that Wol had visited that district,” Haewon said, more to herself, her mind racing to gather all the loose ends. “And on that very day, Wol shared that she’d had an audience with Black Lotus.”
“I don’t follow, agasshi. I think we had better return home—”
“We’re right at the heart of the market; I’ll buy you something sweet.”
Boram shot up to her feet, smoothed out the wrinkles in her skirt, and straightened the ribbon of her jeogori jacket. “Follow me, agasshi, and I shall lead the way.”
Leaving Five Willows behind, they hurried across the bustling Jongno Street toward a boy, his braided hair swinging to and fro as he walked, calling out, “Yeot! Sweet, sticky yeot! Come buy some taffy!” He had a rectangular wooden container hanging before him, two ropes looped around the box and his shoulders.
Inside were rows of long, white yeot sticks.
“We’ll buy one.” Haewon dug into her pouch and paid, and soon they were winding their way through the crowd again, Boram very pleased with the chewy treat.
“You know—” Haewon held Boram’s elbow, maneuvering her preoccupied maid away from rushing carts. “You know how all novelists write under a pseudonym?”
“Yes, agasshi.”
“They hide their identity because novels are forbidden. And a writer’s pseudonym is often inspired by a place they live near, or the place they were born. Where do you suppose the writer Black Lotus’s hoching was based on?”
Boram bit the confectionary, twisting the stick until a satisfying chunk snapped off. Chewing, she said, “Perhaps where I am from. Shiheung Province is famous for their lotus ponds.”
Haewon shook her head. She had always suspected Black Lotus lived nearby.
There had been times when the author would send a response to Haewon’s letter on the same day that Haewon had asked Wol to deliver it.
She also remembered when Black Lotus had shared that she’d been born in Hanyang, and had been entrapped in the capital for what would soon be twenty years.
Black Lotus had never seen Nakdong River or the West Lake. The only body of water I see frequently, Black Lotus had once written, is the lotus pond.
Haewon flinched at this memory. “Is there a lotus pond nearby?”
“There is one near Sungnyemun Gate.”
Her pulse raced, recalling the place Wol had traveled to the day she’d claimed to have visited Black Lotus. “And what about—” Her voice wavered under the thrill of excitement. “And what about Myeongrye-bang District?”
“Yes, there is one there, too.”
“How do you know this?”
Boram quickened her steps to keep up alongside her mistress. “When you’re a servant, you go all around the capital, delivering notes to this person and that.”
“And you saw this lotus pond?”
“I’ve only heard of it. You’re a hermit servant if you’ve never heard of Lotus Pond Mansion before.”
“What do you mean?”
“Servants talk, agasshi, and whenever I meet them at the market, we exchange what we know—such as who belongs to a great family, where the best households are to serve in, and so on. And always, always, they speak of Myeongwoldang, the grand giwajip with the lotus pond.” Boram paused to scrape the sticky sweet from her teeth.
“Oh, you wouldn’t know it. It’s a mansion fit to rival the very residences of the royals.
The servants there never cease boasting of its splendor. ”
“A residence fit for royalty…” Haewon echoed in disbelief.
“Yes, agasshi. They say it holds ninety-nine rooms, a hundred servants, and a warehouse vast enough to store eight hundred sacks of rice.”
For some peculiar reason, Haewon’s heart sank. She had never imagined Black Lotus living in grandeur. She had imagined the author living in a humble, dusty abode much like her own.
It didn’t matter. Nothing she learned would sway her from the task at hand.
“We’re here.” Boram wiped her drenched brow after their lengthy walk, the sweet long gone. “This is Myeongrye-bang District.”
Haewon glanced around, taking in the unfamiliar streets. She had never ventured this far before. Myeongrye-bang, like Bukcheon, was a district she had no ties to. It was a place dominated by wealthy and well-respected yangban aristocracy. None of her relatives lived here.
Haewon fidgeted with the ribbon of her veil as they continued deeper into the heart of Myeongrye-bang.
Important-looking gentlemen in tall black hats and colorful silk robes strode by.
High officials perched atop sedan chairs, carried by servants who called out “Make way! Make way!” as though the world were shaped to accommodate such masters.
Disappointment sharpened in Haewon. Black Lotus lived here, and it was difficult to reconcile her hoped-for image of Black Lotus with the thought of a grand lady whose feet never touched mud, carried everywhere in a palanquin like the one passing by now, a vehicle that belonged only to the great families of Joseon.
The wood gleamed in the sunlight, illuminating its fine lacquer finish and detailed carvings. The window was drawn shut, concealing the woman within—a true lady never exposed her face in broad daylight. As the palanquin lumbered past, carried by four servants, it seemed almost to peer down at her.
As Boram paused now and then to ask for directions, Haewon followed silently, her heart sinking further and further down into the pit of her stomach.
She realized she ought to brace herself.
It hadn’t occurred to her until now that, perhaps, she had idealized Black Lotus.
Perhaps, all this time, she had projected what she had wanted to see onto the person.
And the reverse could be true, Haewon realized, with growing dread.
Black Lotus might look at Haewon and see only the flaws and their differences.
She closed her eyes briefly.
The world disappeared—the imposing sedan chairs and palanquins, the important-looking gentlemen, all vanished. A deep breath, and she was filled with the rich and earthy scent of spring, the vitality and lightness of budding new life. The gentle breeze carried into her mind verses from Yang Sa-eon.
“T’aesan is mighty high, they say,” Haewon whispered as she caught up with Boram, “but it still is a hill beneath the sky.”
At a corner, they turned onto a lane flanked by high stone walls, the path winding between two grand residences. The flare of the eaves cast deep shadows over them.
Climbing it and climbing,
there’s no reason you can’t climb all the way.
It’s people who won’t try to climb
who say, “That hill’s too high, it’s too high.”
The alley twisted, then spilled onto a wide, open land.
Maid Boram gasped, or perhaps it was Haewon, her mind filled with a dizzying haze before the giwajip.
The mansion rose upon a stone platform, stretching the full ninety-nine kan, the largest a nonroyal residence could be.
Its wooden pillars soared, its black-tiled roof gleamed in the sun, its eaves curved skyward to ward off evil spirits.
Haewon clutched her icy fingers together, feeling as though she were standing before the gate of a palace. Then her heart stilled at what lay beyond. A serene pond greeted her, withered lotus husks poking out from the water. In steamy hot summer they would open white in full bloom.
“It’s more impressive than I imagined.” Boram blinked, then looked at her mistress. “Why, precisely, are we here, agasshi?”
“I have an urgent message for the mistress of the house.”
“You know the mistress of this house?”
“I’ve met her before,” Haewon replied, and left out, I simply don’t recall when. “Please go announce my arrival, and tell them … tell them I am Magpie, and that I have a message from Five Willows.”
A look of disapproval settled over Boram. “I thought it was your great secret.”
“This lady knows who I am.”
A look of suspicion narrowed Boram’s eyes, but after a little shake of her head, she strode toward the small side gate. She did as Haewon requested, and soon, they were both permitted in by the gatekeeper.
The breathtaking courtyard was vast and ornate, brimming with the lush green of tall, swaying bamboos and a forest of trees.
Bushes of camelias bloomed on either side of a small connecting gate, and Haewon could only imagine the splendor of the other courtyards held within the mansion compound.
The sheer expanse of the place was more than enough for one family, even ten or twenty families.
Her mother would often cope with not living in such a grand home by saying, Take away all the windows and doors, and the mansion would be nothing but pillars!
Envy didn’t even prick her heart, though—to covet such palatial grounds felt as futile as the earth envying the heavens.
“I wonder who is mistress of this house. Is she very grand?” Boram asked, glancing at Haewon. Then she let out a little gasp. “You look so ill, agasshi!”
“Do I? I feel perfectly fine.”
She was, in fact, trembling. Her heart pounded and she felt herself on the verge of tears. She was about to meet the author who had become a friend most dear to her, a friend nestled so close to her heart. And she was terrified that the writer would not be what she had pictured.
“This way.” The household attendant ushered them inside.
Haewon took off her sandals and stepped into the women’s quarter. It was light and airy, with white-papered walls and warm wooden latticed windows. Sunlight streamed in and printed bright patterns over silk floor mats, vases, and lacquered furniture.
“You!” came a female voice.
Haewon’s gaze shot up. A smiling lady sat before an embroidery stand. She was garbed plainly in white. A daughter in mourning, perhaps? Or a young widow?
“It’s me, Gwideok. I introduced myself to you at the bookshop,” the lady added, and then a quizzical look came over her face. “But it was over two years ago. I didn’t think you would remember me.”
“Of … of course I remember you, my lady,” Haewon managed to say as she desperately leafed through her memory. This occurred often: other ladies recognized her, but she had recommended books to so many strangers. Yet a moment later, a vague recollection surfaced.
“Come, sit down. You wished to speak to me about Five Willows?” she asked, a line of worry forming in between her brows.
“I’m sure I returned all the books. My brother returned them for me a few days ago.
But please, you really must sit down. You are making me nervous, standing there and staring at me as though I am a ghost.”
Haewon felt her knees grow weak; she slowly lowered herself onto a floor mat.
Was this woman Black Lotus? And this was Black Lotus’s chamber?
Haewon gripped her trembling hands as she surveyed the room, then looked out the window, at the view the author must gaze out of while writing.
A mutt happily scampered by with a ragged doll in its mouth. Then Haewon’s gaze drifted upward.
She froze.
Yellow ribbons fluttered on a pine.
The normal practice is to tie ribbons onto a village sungwhangdang tree. The words she’d written to Black Lotus threaded through her mind. But in volume seven of your book, you mention a woman tying prayer ribbons onto a pine tree. Shall I edit it to sungwhangdang tree?
Haewon had been certain it was a mistake, fully intending to make the correction. But Black Lotus had replied, Keep it yellow ribbons on pine.
No one tied prayer ribbons to pine trees. No one.
Except, apparently, Black Lotus.