"Let me go! Unhand me this instant!"
Soran's voice rang through the crowded air, defiant yet trembling. Her slender form writhed in vain against the grasp of two towering men whose arms were as unyielding as iron. Yet no sooner had they crossed the threshold of the noble manor's courtyard than they released her, allowing her to collapse to the ground, skirts and hair askew, like a fallen blossom cast by the wind.
"We have brought her, sir."
With a curt bow, the thugs retreated, their heavy boots echoing down the stone path as a door groaned open with a slow, aching creak.
"So... this is the one sent to entertain me today?"
The voice that drifted out was low and cracked by age, but carried the unmistakable air of authority. From the shadowed hall emerged a man in his wintering years, his steps deliberate, his gaze sharp despite the softness in his bearing. Draped in a flowing hanbok, the color of ripe ginkgo leaves, he looked less like a tyrant and more like an aging scholar ….wise, gentle, even, and yet Soran dared not raise her eyes.
She knelt there, sullied by dust and fear, until the old man came to a halt before her and stooped down, his voice gentler this time.
"Look at me, young lady."
With reluctance and trembling breath, Soran lifted her face. Their eyes met, hers filled with a storm of confusion and mistrust, his with a curious restraint. Though he did not wear the expression of cruelty she had braced for, how could one with such serene eyes command men to seize a daughter from her weeping mother?
The man, Lord Kim Young-kwang…rose slowly, folding his hands behind his back as he began to pace in a slow circle about her, like a magistrate surveying a painting for flaws.
Soran's thoughts spun. Her eyes followed him, unease growing with every turn.
"W-wait a moment... please, my lord?"
He paused, not bothering to turn, the tail of his robe fluttering gently in the summer breeze.
"Thank you, my lord."
"Enough of this," she burst out, voice cracking.
"Stop circling me like some... hawk! You brought me here to be your concubine, didn't you? Is this how you collect your debts?!"
At that, the old man let out a loud, rolling laugh…..
"Ha ha ha! What a ridiculous notion! Oh, how charmingly naive!"
Soran shrank under the weight of his laughter, heat rushing to her cheeks.
Did I say something foolish again? she wondered, touching her lips in embarrassment and casting her gaze downward.
"You're suspicious of me," he said plainly.
"Wouldn't anyone be?" she snapped before softening her tone.
"Why am I here? Is there... is there any way I can repay the debt without losing my dignity? My family... we have so little. I beg you."
For a fleeting second, his eyes flickered with something unreadable… pity, perhaps, or memory. But it vanished as quickly as it came. With a sigh, he drew a folded fan from his sleeve and opened it with a crisp snap, waving it gently before speaking.
"You're here to provide me with amusement. That is all. No one here shall lay a hand on you. I'm old, not a beast. You may look young enough to be my granddaughter, but I do not need such... companionship."
He paused. "You may rest easy tonight."
Soran let out a long, shaky breath, the weight of imagined horrors finally lifting from her shoulders. Her lips curved in faint, weary relief.
"Thank you, sir."
"Now then!" he barked suddenly. "How long do you plan to sit sulking in the dust like a forsaken pup? Get up, girl."
Startled, Soran quickly rose, brushing the dirt from her sleeves and skirt with clumsy urgency. Yet before he could vanish back into the shadows of his grand home, she called out, voice rising sweetly despite the situation…
"W-wait a moment... please, sir?"
He paused, not bothering to turn, the tail of his robe fluttering gently in the summer breeze.
"…How long do I have to work here?"
He answered without looking back.
"Until someone redeems you."
Then, he walked away.
The sound of his retreating steps echoed louder than any thunderclap. The words struck her like a slap, until someone redeems you.
She stood rooted for a moment, then slowly sank back down to the very same spot she'd tried so hard to rise from.
"Is this a joke?" she muttered. "Who in their right mind would come to redeem me? That's not a job, it's a hostage situation!"
A passing servant heard her grumble and stifled a chuckle.
Still mumbling, Soran stood and began wandering toward the inner courtyard.
"So... where do I sleep? On the floor? In a stable with the goats? Maybe under that pretty plum tree if it rains…"
She sighed.
"But at least I still have my clothes on… for now."
And with that small, bitter silver lining, she disappeared into the manor, the stone path warm beneath her feet, her fate uncertain, but not yet lost.
Soran muttered in despair, brushing dust from her skirt with the enthusiasm of someone cleaning spilled rice with a leaf. She sat there in a defeated heap for a while before finally, and rather dramatically, heaving herself to her feet and trudging away from Lord Kim's courtyard.
"So… where will I sleep tonight?"
She grumbled, squinting up at the sky like it might offer suggestions.
Since her arrival, no one had told her anything concrete. No list of duties. No room. Not even a humble corner with a straw mat. All she could do was wander aimlessly through the grand estate, her feet stirring dust as her thoughts wandered to her mother's worried face and her little brother's tearful eyes. She wanted to cry but settled instead for a deep sigh.
Maybe if I just lie down and play dead in the middle of the courtyard, someone will at least offer me a pillow...
But fate, it seemed, had other plans.
Thud!
"Ow!"
Soran yelped, stumbling backward and landing squarely on her backside for the second time that day.
Honestly, at this rate, she should consider padding her skirts with hay.
A tall figure reached down quickly, strong hands gently pulling her to her feet.
"Are you okay?"
The voice was deep, familiar, warm with concern.
Soran blinked up... straight into the eyes of the young man she had last seen across a jade bracelet at the market. His silhouette was framed perfectly against the dappled light, like some painting given inconvenient life.
"It's... you!"
She gasped.
"It's... you!"
He echoed, equally stunned, his voice cracking slightly as if his cool composure had taken a direct hit to the knee.
They stood there for a long moment, frozen, until his lips curved into a sly grin.
"So, what are you doing here? Don't tell me... did you come to pay off my father's debt?"
He raised an eyebrow dramatically, feigning shock.
Soran narrowed her eyes. "D-do you think so?"
"Well," he shrugged, "you said you didn't have money to buy that bracelet, so I figured you might've decided to sell yourself to the household."
Her mouth fell open in mock offense.
"That's rude!"
"Is it wrong?" he teased.
Soran crossed her arms, straightened her spine, and lifted her chin with as much dignity as she could summon. "I didn't come to pay the debt with money."
"Oh?"
His smirk faded as her tone changed.
"I came... to repay in another way."
The air grew quiet again. His teasing faded, replaced by something softer, melancholy, perhaps even guilt.
"You came to work here... didn't you?"
His voice dropped, and with it, his shoulders.
"Yes," she admitted. "That's right."
He nodded slowly. "Then… I suppose you should go do your duty."
His voice held no mockery now, just sympathy wrapped in restraint.
"I should," she said, bowing respectfully, though a flicker of mischief remained in her eyes. "I've been wandering aimlessly, talking to strange men instead of finding a mop or something. Someone might think I enjoy getting lost."
He chuckled, despite himself. "Well, you do have a talent for dramatic entrances."
"And you seem to have a hobby of catching me when I fall," she added, stepping around him with a playful glance.
He turned to say something, but the moment passed too quickly. Soran was already walking away, skirts swaying, her figure growing smaller with every step.
"Ah..."
His hand hovered briefly in the air, as if trying to stop time.
He sighed, then slowly reached into his robe and pulled out something he had almost forgotten, the jade bracelet.
Delicate. Incomplete.
The very thing that had brought them together.
He stared at it for a moment, then tucked it back into his sleeve with a mutter,
"Well, that went better in my head."
Soran walked briskly in the direction he had pointed, heart still pounding from the unexpected encounter. Her wrist still tingled faintly where his hand had touched her, a warmth that lingered longer than it should have.
Leave my house... then turn left...
The instructions echoed in her head, half-practical, half-poetic, as if she'd just been dismissed and guided all at once.
She sighed, her cheeks still flushed.
Honestly, why do all the men in this place look like they walked out of a painting?
She shook her head, trying to brush away the ridiculous thought.
After following the narrow corridor that twisted like a garden path, she finally found it, the real kitchen, filled with the clang of pots and the earthy scent of ginger and boiled radish. The door was wide open, and a whirlwind of activity unfolded inside: servants chopping, stewing, stirring, and shouting over one another like a battlefield of spoons and soup.
Soran hesitated at the threshold, unsure whether to step in or turn around and pretend she'd been looking for the restroom the whole time.
A round-faced woman in a faded apron turned, spotted her, and immediately waved a ladle in the air.
"You there! Girl with the lost puppy look, yes, you! Are you new?"
"Um... yes," Soran replied cautiously, stepping in with the grace of a cat walking into a doghouse.
"Well, don't just stand there gawking! Grab that basket of turnips and start peeling!"
Before she could protest, a small mountain of vegetables was shoved into her arms, followed by a wooden stool that seemed to have lost one leg in a duel.
"Yes, ma'am," she mumbled, plopping down.
Soran began peeling in silence, her hands moving slowly at first. The kitchen bustled around her like a world spinning on its axis. But even in the chaos, her thoughts drifted.
That young master...
She remembered his calm voice, the serene expression, the way his eyes had looked at her as though she were nothing more than a cloud passing by. But there was something else. A flicker of melancholy behind that composed face, something unspoken.
Suddenly, a sharp sting jolted her out of her daze.
"Ow!"
She had sliced her finger.
A young boy working nearby snorted. "First day? That's the initiation. Everyone bleeds on their first turnip."
Soran forced a smile. "Good to know I'm officially part of the team, then."
The round-faced head cook noticed the commotion and waddled over. "You faint on me, and I'll toss you in the stew for flavor!"
Soran blinked. "Wait, what?!"
The kitchen burst into laughter, the tension easing just a bit. Even Soran chuckled, holding her finger with a napkin and watching the world spin around her in its messy, fragrant rhythm.
Despite everything, the shame, the fear, the strange handsome men with confusing gazes, something was comforting in this noisy, spicy-smelling corner of the manor.
Maybe, she thought, just maybe, I can survive this place after all.
Thump, thump, thump.
Soran passed the threshold of the young master's residence, her steps lighter than before, though her heart thudded with the weight of something she dared not name. She pressed a hand to her chest, where the rapid rhythm betrayed the confusion inside her. Her cheeks burned, her breath caught in her throat.
"What is wrong with me…" she whispered to the wind, rubbing her face with both palms in hopes of returning it to a normal color.
But his face , that face…kept resurfacing in her thoughts. That serene, unreadable gaze. That fair skin. Those maddeningly perfect features that belonged more on a painted scroll than on a real human being.
"So beautiful…" she muttered again before catching herself.
Enough! You're just here to work. You're not the heroine in some tragic romance.
With renewed resolve, she straightened her dull chogori, patted the dust off her sleeves with mild dignity, and marched forward, as if the pounding of her heart could be silenced with firm footsteps.
Clatter, clatter, clatter.
The kitchen greeted her like a noisy market square. Pots clanged, firewood crackled, knives chopped with determined rhythm. The scent of garlic, sesame oil, and boiling broth mingled in a fragrant chaos that struck her senses all at once.
Soran hesitated at the threshold. This wasn't just a kitchen, it was a battlefield in aprons.
She stood on tiptoe, scanning the room for someone who didn't look like they might throw a ladle at her head. Her gaze settled on a middle-aged woman kneading dough with a focus so intense that even thunder might not have distracted her.
Clearing her throat, Soran stepped forward and offered her best impression of a well-trained maid (which she was not).
"Excuse me… is there anything I can help with?"
The woman looked up, startled at first, then tilted her head in a quick assessment. Her eyes widened slightly.
"Oh, so you're the new girl," she said with a grin. "Such a pretty face."
Soran flushed immediately, her hands flying up to scratch her head with faux modesty.
"Hehe… well, I'm just a maid," she replied sheepishly, looking down at her shoes like they might confirm it.
The woman laughed. "Not with a face like that, you're not."
Soran's smile faded slightly. That again. She hesitated, then spoke quietly, honesty spilling from her lips.
"My lord said he wouldn't make me a concubine. Please… don't look at me that way."
To her surprise, the woman simply smiled and patted her gently on the shoulder.
"It's not that master I worry about. You'll understand soon enough."
Soran blinked, confused.
"I can't tell whether it's a blessing or a curse," the woman continued, eyes softening with something close to pity. "Beautiful girls like you tend to attract storms. And you, my dear, have just walked into a rather large one."
Soran tilted her head. "Storm?"
"The young master," the woman said, lowering her voice with a dramatic flair. "The youngest son of this house."
There was something almost mischievous in her tone.
"He's kind, yes," she added. "But hasn't looked at a woman in years. Doesn't drink, doesn't gamble, doesn't flirt. Spends his days locked in that quiet room of his, reading scrolls until the letters probably come out of his ears."
Soran raised an eyebrow. "Sounds like a monk."
The woman laughed.
"Worse. A handsome monk with unresolved emotions."
That earned a small laugh from Soran as well, though it quickly faded into silence. Her heart had quieted, but a faint throb still lingered ,like the echo of distant thunder.
She bowed politely and excused herself, walking slowly from the kitchen with her head slightly bowed and thoughts spinning like leaves in a spring wind.
As she stepped outside again, the scent of flour and fire still clinging to her sleeves, she murmured to herself:
"A storm, huh...? Well... I've survived worse."
She wasn't sure if she should be worried... or curious.
Soran sat beneath the wide canopy of the old tree, the afternoon sun filtering softly through emerald leaves, dappling her vibrant chogori with patches of light and shadow. Her thoughts were a tangle of doubts and worries, a tempest stirred by whispered rumors and unanswered questions.
The youngest son of Lord Kim… she murmured, tracing the bare skin of her wrist beneath the sleeve. Who is he really?
Her fingers brushed the delicate pulse there, steady yet distant, as if reminding her that her fate was no longer entirely in her hands.
A sudden breeze swept through the branches, carrying with it the faint scent of jasmine and something… teasing.
"Ahem!"
The crisp interruption jolted her, heart leaping like a startled bird.
She sprang to her feet, smoothing her chogori with hurried fingers, cheeks aflame.
Raising her eyes, she met the familiar figure, calm, confident, his dark eyes gleaming with mischief.
"Y-Your Highness!" she stammered, startled beyond measure, hand fluttering to her mouth as if to contain her surprise.
He grinned, the kind of smile that danced on the edge of a jest.
"Yes, it's me. No need to act as if you've seen a ghost. With a face as handsome as mine, surely you should be the one avoiding my gaze."
Soran blinked, caught between indignation and amusement.
"Indeed," she retorted, "I would hate to be accused of fainting at the sight of royalty… especially one who looks like he just stepped out of a painting."
He laughed…. a rich, warm sound that rolled through the still air like distant thunder softened by summer rain.
"Careful now," he teased, "or I might start thinking you enjoy my company."
Soran's eyes sparkled with playful defiance. "Is that so? Then perhaps you'd better behave yourself."
The young lord took a step closer, hands folded behind his back, a faint blush coloring his cheeks despite his feigned nonchalance.
"Ah, but you forget… I'm not accustomed to such boldness."
"And I," she replied, "am not accustomed to the way highborn gentlemen can unsettle a girl with a mere glance."
They stood beneath the ancient tree, shadows lengthening around them, the weight of unspoken words hanging lightly in the air. For a fleeting moment, the world beyond the manor….. the debts, the duties, the rumors…. seemed to fade away.
Then, with a sly grin, he bowed dramatically.
"Shall we call this our first meeting? Though I fear it may not be the last."
Soran curtsied in return, a mischievous smile playing on her lips.
"I rather hope it isn't."
As the breeze whispered through the leaves once more, carrying the scent of jasmine and possibility, the courtyard seemed suddenly less daunting, and the future, though uncertain, felt a touch more hopeful
Feeling shy, Soran quickly averted her eyes, believing he referred to her modesty rather than jest. The young lord's smile broadened as he caught the flicker of embarrassment in her gaze.
"Ah…!"
Suddenly, he plucked something from the sleeve of her bright chogori… a jade bracelet, gleaming softly in the afternoon light and held it out to her with a playful insistence.
"Come now, just take it," he urged, gently grasping her trembling hand and placing the bracelet firmly in her palm.
"I cannot accept this. I've already told you," Soran replied, carefully attempting to return the precious gift.
The young lord leaned in, eyes sparkling with mischief.
"What is my name?"
"Pardon?" she replied, confused, prompting him to repeat.
"What is my name?"
Soran's cheeks flushed deeper as she whispered,
"Your Highness, how could I possibly know? You must understand, I am new here."
"Don't know, do you?" he whispered near her ear, voice dropping low, sending an involuntary shiver down her spine.
"Then I shall have my men whip you until you ache all over!"
Before she could react, panic flared within her.
"Hey! You lot over there, come here!" he called out.
Startled beyond reason, Soran's instincts took over. She sprang forward, clapping a hand firmly over his mouth as if to silence the threat she imagined.
"Shh, shh… Please, Your Highness, no whipping!" she pleaded, eyes wide with terror.
"Mmmph!" he tried to protest, but she was deaf to his muffled protests.
Realizing her overzealousness, she leapt back, bowing furiously as dizziness threatened to topple her.
"Forgive me! Truly, I beg your pardon! Please do not flog me!" she repeated until her head spun.
The young lord finally withdrew his hand and laughed softly, the sound warm and amused.
"My dear Soran, your imagination is as wild as a summer storm. Fear not…..I would sooner have you paint the walls with your laughter than endure such cruelty."
Relieved yet still flushed, Soran dared a small, shaky smile.
"Well… I suppose if whipping is off the table, I shall have to find another way to repay my debt."
He inclined his head in mock solemnity.
"Wise choice, indeed. And do try to keep your hands to yourself or next time, I may have to resort to more… creative punishments."
Their laughter mingled beneath the ancient tree, lightening the weight of the day and weaving the first delicate threads of an unlikely camaraderie.
Without warning, the young lord reached out and gently took Soran's hand in his own. With the utmost grace, he pressed a light, almost reverent kiss upon her palm before slowly releasing her fingers as if letting go of something fragile and precious.
Soran stood rooted to the spot, her breath caught in her throat, words failing her as her mind raced to comprehend what had just transpired. All she could manage was a soft, trembling whisper,
"Y-Your Highness…"
A mischievous smile curved his lips as he replied,
"Your hand is so soft... that is precisely why I shall not hold it against you."
Before Soran could respond, he turned on his heel and strode away with effortless grace. It was only then that she became aware of a subtle weight encircling her wrist. Glancing down, she discovered the delicate jade bracelet… smooth, cool, and radiant, now clasped firmly in place.
She blinked in surprise, lifting her hand to the light as though to assure herself the moment was no dream. Hastily, she searched for the young lord's figure, but he had already vanished into the depths of the manor's winding corridors.
A faint, involuntary chuckle escaped her lips, half in disbelief, half in wonder.
"Truly… the ways of the noble are as enigmatic as the moon's dance upon the water," she murmured, tracing the jade softly with her fingers.
The afternoon sun cast a gentle glow, bathing the courtyard in golden light as the soft rustle of leaves whispered secrets only the heart could understand.
And in that quiet moment, Soran felt the first fragile stirrings of a new chapter, one woven with mystery, hope, and the soft promise of unexpected kindness.
Though the book weighed heavily with philosophy, in his eyes, there shone a steadfast determination to unravel the ancient teachings until enlightenment was reached to transcend the shadows of conflict and mend bonds strained by duty and fate.
A deep breath escaped him, like the voice of his heart slowly daring to hope and open itself to change.
Autumn (가을, Ga-eul)
Young-won swept his gaze outside the louvered window, through the gentle chill of autumn. Maple leaves, painted crimson and gold, drifted down along the stone path. His heart ached with memories of In-hyung, the beloved woman who once stood by his side.
He unfolded a clean, blank sheet of paper, took up his quill, and slowly began to write a poem an attempt to weave words from the haze of his tangled feelings.
Young-won's Poem
Leaves fall gently under the sky,
Like a heart torn apart, with no way back.
The wind sighs through withered branches,
Like memories fading with the changing season.
In-hyung, who once shared dreams by my side,
Has vanished like shadows in the mist.
The laughter once sweet in days gone by
Now turns to sorrow's song with time's passing.
Young-won paused for a moment, his hand trembling slightly as old memories washed over him. The pain was like leaves slowly falling from the branches, a slow, quiet loss. Yet beneath that sadness lingered a flicker of hope, not extinguished.
He focused anew on his poem, longing to express a love unforgotten, though time had stolen much away…