Chapter 33 #2
Yet a strange warmth held him back, a warmth that very much felt like Haewon’s hand on his back.
We are all capable of error, she had told him.
He thought of her desperate conspiring with Jade and Boram, doing whatever they could to protect their own.
Most of society would call Yeonhee’s actions unforgivable.
And yet, he had seen it with his own eyes: her home, her parents, Haewon’s own heart, thrown open to welcome Yeonhee back.
Shin Haewon, who had so fiercely defended her sister in the gibang.
Who fought for her again. Again, and again, and again.
The sight had moved him then. It moved him still.
A burned bridge leaves no way back …
His father’s actions were more than a mere error.
But Haewon was right; this was a bridge he did not wish to burn.
Despite his rage, despite his resentment, he could not imagine a life without a father.
Once, his father had been the ground beneath his feet, and the sky above.
That would never be true again—but still, Seojun knew, with a painful certainty, that he wanted to watch his father grow old, to be by his side until the very end.
He suppressed a sigh as he studied Minister Yu, his eyes downcast, shoulders wilted like an old man.
He was indeed an old man. When had he aged so?
He saw his father’s wrinkles and brown age spots.
He realized his father’s head didn’t quite meet his shoulder.
When had he outgrown his father, once a giant to him in every way?
“I could never hate you,” Seojun finally said, defeated. “I would rather die than hate you.”
Minister Yu shuddered. Then, slowly, hesitantly, he clasped Seojun’s hand in both of his own. He patted the hand once. No words were said, but no words were needed.
“Your mother told me, before her death. Harmony is to be cherished. It was her wish that our family live harmoniously. It is, is it not, a pillar of the Confucian way. I have broken it, and now when I enter the netherworld, I shall have no face with which to greet your mother.”
Seojun stared at their hands, wondering when his father had ever held them before.
“The king will summon you. Undoubtedly. I know Inspector Wuyeong and he will not hesitate to report you. And for the king to learn of your misconduct, so soon after the edict was reinforced…” Minister Yu’s grip tightened.
“The king will not be pleased. His Majesty might deal with you severely to set an example.”
Seojun dragged his gaze to the pine trees his father so loved. Such a burden weighed upon his shoulders. He could not act without his actions shaking the roots of his entire household. “My only regret,” Seojun whispered, “will be bringing you and Older Sister further unhappiness.”
Minister Yu heaved out a breath, clucked his tongue. “How has everything gotten so tangled? Why is loving one’s child so simple, and yet so incredibly difficult?” A pause, and he averted his gaze. “The missing manuscript … I took it to read for myself.”
Seojun froze, bracing himself for criticism.
“I enjoyed it. It entertained me and I lost sleep,” Minister Yu said simply.
“But if you wish to protect your family, your sister, you must never write again. You must promise the king this, then perhaps his wrath might be alleviated from you—and from our family.” He withdrew his hands from Seojun’s, and they stood alone once more, like two lonesome trees on separate mountains.
“And that Shin girl, you were seen with her again at Five Willows—”
“You may deride me, abeoji, but I will not have you say a bad word about her.”
“So you do love her.” Minister Yu studied his son, his brows furrowing. “Indeed, I hope you have no intention of proposing to her. You must promise me that you will not.”
“It is of no use making such promises,” Seojun muttered. “She won’t have me.”
His father’s brows shot up. “She will not have you?” He appeared disoriented, even curious. “Why ever not?”
“I’m not good enough for her.”
Minister Yu nearly choked. “My son? Not good enough?” His incredulity hung between them, and then a strange, most unexpected look of bemusement tugged at his lips.
“How like your mother. She had nothing to her name, yet rejected me thrice…” His thoughts seemed to hang upon these words, reminiscing about the days gone by.
At length, he shook his head and his expression stiffened once more.
“Either way, you will promise me to never propose marriage to that girl.”
“I will not, abeoji.”
Minister Yu gave his son a long, examining stare, then let out a harrumph of disapproval as he looked away. “I am disappointed in you.”
As I am in you, Seojun withheld himself from saying, for he saw past the facade; he saw the cracks in his father’s countenance, the signs of a man defeated. A father deeply aware that he had nearly lost his son.
As Seojun walked away, he felt a terrible lightness to his soul. A freedom that did not feel quite liberating. He was on his own now, for he had chosen his own path, a path that strayed from the course set out for him in his youth.
Such thoughts burdened him as he strode down the corridor, and he was about to enter his study when a voice rang out.
“Seojun-ah!”
He glanced to see his older sister, attired as usual in her widow’s gown of pure white. Unaware of the heaviness he bore, she brushed past him and intruded into his study, then paused to examine the shelf that displayed precious vases.
“Nuwi.” Seojun waited by the door. “I wish to be alone.”
“The most curious thing arrived a moment ago. Shall I tell you about it?”
“Tell me later.”
“So you do not wish to know about this note? It is from the Shin household. Very well, I shall go then—”
In a few long strides, Seojun was before his sister, his heart pounding. He barely managed to speak. “What note?”
A smile tugged at her lips. “I had no idea why Shin Haewon visited me the other day, but I am beginning to suspect that there is something occurring between the two of you. She is the woman, isn’t she, who rejected you?”
“Gods, must you remind me? I feel beaten down already,” he said while taking the note from her. It was a message from Haewon, addressed to his sister, of all people.
Dear Lady Gwideok,
Rain has drizzled down endlessly since the morning. The lanes around your living quarters must be muddy indeed. I hope you are in good health?
Haewon continued to ramble, writing in circles, until at last, she wrote:
Forgive my boldness, but I write to you as I have no other way to reach your brother.
I knew, the moment we spoke, that you were someone I might confide in—just as you confided in me.
I cannot share in detail just yet, but a disaster nearly struck upon my family, and your brother was of great assistance.
Please let him know that my sister is safe at home now.
And please express to him how grateful I am, and will always be.
His chest felt tight as he reread her note. Her handwriting held such a spell over him, as though the strokes were the silhouette of her soul on paper. It was the closest he would ever be to her now.
“Will you write back?” Gwideok’s voice drew him back to reality.
“I will prepare an envelope, mark it clearly as a note from me. It will be a good disguise to hide your response. Bring your note to my quarters when you do,” she ordered, before taking her leave with a mischievous twinkle in her eyes.
He, himself, felt not an ounce of whatever it was that amused his sister so.
Sitting alone before his desk, Seojun picked up his brush to write upon a blank sheet, then froze; he had written to Magpie dozens of letters, but he had written none to Shin Haewon. A sudden constraint gripped his hand, and all he managed to write was:
Dear Mistress Haewon,
I am truly glad to hear that your sister is safe at home, and hope you and your family are well, too. If there is anything more you need from me, I am, and will always be, at your service.
Yu Seojun
The ink had long dried and he was still holding his brush.
There was nothing more he needed to write, yet so much more he wanted to share—about his father, the crushing disappointment, the worries, and his affection for her.
How deep they ran, how painful to silence.
But he was a gentleman. Honor, decorum, and prudence forbade him from imposing his feelings on a lady who had shown no wish to receive them.
At long last, he sent the note to his sister, and in the stillness that followed, he was convinced there was no longer anything to look forward to in life.