[CYM] 15 – Slapped

Only shadows danced above the pavilion’s curtains. The music continued until the sun tilted, but the only one who emerged from the pavilion was Master Ki alone. She had been extremely tired that day, so it might have been a misconception, yet she couldn’t shake off the strange aftertaste.

“How is the youngest doing?”

“He’s improving day by day.”

She set aside her mother’s dire predictions and reported only what she had seen.

“He hasn’t shown any signs of his usual illness lately.”

“Is that so...”

His reaction was cold. He twisted his sparse, grey eyebrows and clicked his tongue without any apparent relief. One would think a father would be relieved, even rejoice upside down, at his son’s recovery. Instead, he seemed disappointed.

“It’s fortunate that he’s getting better.”

Suddenly, she felt pity for the young master. Master Ki didn’t seem to truly care for his youngest son, who lived burdened by illness. It was all pretence, for the sake of appearances.

She thought she understood the reason behind the pretence. In this country, most sons carry on the family name and take responsibility for the household. Although there were rare cases like a shaman where a woman could inherit the head of the family, it was uncommon. A son was the face of the family lineage. The times were that petty.

A sickly non-contributor was useless. Master Ki had other healthy sons, so the unseemly, ailing young master was probably an inconvenience.

Yet he was still a rightful child.

“You may go now.”

Master Ki waved her off languidly and walked away. She stepped back and looked across at the young master’s hall, which seemed like an island buoyed in an endless sea. The courtyard, which the lonely wind blew through with a beckoning gesture, was silent without the presence of a steward, making the few trees look even more forlorn. It seemed as if petulant complaints were trying to fill the silence all the way from here.

She felt a twinge of sympathy. Despite having intact limbs, he was treated miserably because of his frailty, and his family might as well not have existed. Though he was the legitimate heir, he had been pushed out like an unwanted dog.

Accumulating wealth was pointless if one never received recognition in life, and it had probably been a long time since he had felt his family’s love.

Feeling a faint sense of kinship with the young master, she turned and walked away.

“Beodeul.”

As she trudged up the sloped path with a basket of vegetables on her arm, Ara stepped in front of her, blocking her way. The girl who had been shadowing her since early spring, eager to win her over as a potential match, shyly offered her six steamed potatoes sprinkled with salt.

“Here. For you and your mother to share, three each.”

“Thank you.”

Ara, unusually, did not run off but lingered with her hands clasped behind her back. Surprised by her behaviour, she hesitated for a moment before adding,

“Tell your mother I said thanks, Ara.”

“Are you heading home after finishing in the fields?”

“Yes.”

“It’ll be hot. You’ll have lunch and then go to the young master.”

She was not good with words. Moreover, she didn’t know what to say to a girl who considered her a man and was determined to make her a future partner.

Her wish was simply to reveal her true identity plainly and to be friends with Ara and Nanhee, doing things that girls their age do, like braiding each other’s hair and sharing persimmons.

“By the way, it reminds me of the mad young master. There was quite a commotion last night, they say. The high official went to the young master’s residence and, well...”

She frowned, having heard nothing of the sort. It seemed, however, that the rumour of last night’s event had spread among the villagers living near the Ki household. Her place, far from the centre of the village in a poor area, was untouched by such rumours.

“You don’t know yet? The high official went to see the young master, and without responding to his questions, the young master spouted nonsense. The official was so angry that he even struck him on the face. It must be hard taking care of such a person, Beodeul.”

“Struck him?”

“Mhm, that’s what I heard.”

Feeling the weight of the hefty potatoes, she turned around and walked away swiftly, almost running. By the time she reached the young master’s pavilion, she was sweating like rain, and her throat was parched.

“Young master.”

He was quietly holed up in his quarters. Despite hearing there had been trouble, there were no signs of disorder in the courtyard or main hall, and everything was as tranquil as the day before. However, the eyes that used to follow her every day did not come out to greet her, which made her suspect that something was indeed amiss.