[CYM] 36 – Increasingly Intimate

She held her breath and watched. The master was digging at the same spot, trembling as if looking for something; then, once he found whatever he was seeking, he covered it up again with dirt and fashioned a mound over it. Afterward, he staggered back toward the strange pavilion.

            Curiously approached the mound the master had created. The wind seemed to pull at her heels like a puppy, telling her not to be curious, that this was not her place to intervene. Had she been properly initiated into the shamanistic traditions, perhaps she could have heard the voice of the spirits, but she heard nothing. Yet, she could sense that a deity concerned for her was trying to prevent her from proceeding.

            It was a small grave, not even reaching the height of her calves. After hundreds of deliberations, she slightly uncovered the soil’s surface, then ended up digging it out entirely. Her eyes hardened as she saw what was inside.

            “What in the world is this?”

            It was a child’s clothing.

            The dark blue collar with intertwined golden threads was unmistakably the kind of hanbok jacket worn by young noble boys when they started attending school. Additionally, there was a light blue jeogori (jacket), trousers, and a black headband.

            Why were these items buried here? Were they the remains of an elder brother, like the young master who had passed away unnamed and become a star?

            She reasoned that there must be some unknown circumstances within the noble house that hadn’t been made public. Yet, the pit containing the clothes of an ownerless child nagged at her mind unsettlingly. It was suspicious, and the stench of rot was overwhelming.

            She barely managed to move her stiffened fingers to restore the mound to its original state and was about to seek refuge in the shadows when the incident occurred.

            “Who’s there?” a hoarse voice split the air.

            “Servant, come here!”

            The sound of straw sandals approached in a rush. She curled up and hid, nearly twisting her left ankle in alarm.

            “I heard a strange noise.”

            “I shall check it out, my master.”

            While the servant searched around the fence, the master stood still, staring fixedly at the mound. The oppressive silence seemed to choke her.

            “There’s nothing here, my master.”

            “Someone might be hiding nearby, search outside the fence as well!”

            “Yes.”

            After the master spat and disappeared toward the pavilion, she, still trembling and hunched over, dashed to the young master’s pavilion once the coast was clear.

            The flowers shone like phosphorescent jewels, the intimate pavilion, the melodious sounds of a lute. The dancing pavilion swallowed the sunset. The master’s shadow fluttered over the curtains like a strange flower, surrounded by other shadows that ebbed and flowed, enlivening the atmosphere as usual.

            Were the figures mingling inside human, or demons? If they were demons, surely her mother would not be unaware. Yet, in this world, there are phenomena so vast and secretive that even a noble person’s power has its limits. She could not confirm, but she understood that there was some mysterious circumstance unknown to others in the Ki household.

            As she returned to her previous place, the young master was asleep, resting his head on his left arm. She looked down at his sleeping face with a sense of unease.

            “Why are you sleeping outside in the cold instead of inside?”

            He did not stir at her voice, deeply asleep. Hesitating, she reached out and touched his cheek. It was irresponsible for someone who naturally had low body heat to sleep with his collar open and exposed like that.

            The sunset left a warm tint on his softly closed eyelids. Beside him, an open book lay unfinished, and in one hand, he held a brush stained with ink. Seeing his face so peaceful in sleep, she couldn’t bear to wake him harshly.

            “Lying on the cold ground while sleeping can twist your mouth. Even as a young master, it won’t look good.”

            She was about to call a servant with a sigh when she felt a soft touch on her wrist.

            “Come again tomorrow.”

            It was the young master, opening one eye narrowly, his voice slightly hoarse with sleep. She placed the arm that had grabbed her onto his collar, chiding him gently.

            “You should dress properly. How can someone as frail as you risk getting sick again? You haven’t fully recovered yet.”

            “Come often.”

            “...”

            The young master squeezed her arm and smiled with the corners of his eyes. Caught off guard by his behaviour and recalling how he had endlessly gazed at the inner quarters, she found it hard to refuse. He pressed her palm with his thumb, as if to say he wouldn’t let go unless she answered. He knew his weapon well—he had long realised that her thought process slowed when he smiled.

            Such a cunning young master. In the end, she nodded, accompanied by a sigh.

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