On a bright, clear day, the sun beat down relentlessly, as if determined to test the endurance of all who lived beneath its unforgiving gaze. The sprawling courtyard of the manor was alive with the soft rustle of hanbok silk, the fluttering of paper lanterns tied to wooden beams, and the distant hum of cicadas hiding among the eaves. Ancient ginkgo trees cast their dappled shadows on the warm stone path, while ivy crept along the carved wooden pillars of the wide verandas.
Amid this scene of rustic beauty and age-old grandeur, the young nobleman lounged lazily on the edge of a stone well. His vivid robes fluttered in the summer breeze, vibrant against the muted tones of the wooden walls and earthen courtyard. He wielded a delicately painted folding fan, fluttering it with exaggerated flair as he teased the girl drawing water.
"Oooh, it's so hot... Seriously! Don't you think so, Soran?"
Soran barely glanced up, a soft smile playing at her lips as she dipped the heavy bucket into the well's cool depths. Her sleeves brushed the smooth edge of the stone, the faint scent of jasmine and damp earth rising around her.
"Don't you?" he insisted, hiding a grin behind his fan, eyes wide with mock suffering as he leaned closer.
"It is hot," she replied calmly, the gentle light catching the intricate embroidery on her chogori, "but I can handle it. I've done hard labor all my life. Compared to that, kitchen work is nothing."
The young nobleman gave a theatrical nod, pretending to be enlightened by her simple wisdom.
"But I thought the kitchen maids weren't letting you work?" he quipped, raising an eyebrow as if it were the most scandalous thing he'd heard all day.
"I begged them," Soran said with a small shrug, balancing the full bucket with ease. "Took quite a lot of pleading before they agreed."
He curled his lip in playful disbelief, clearly baffled by her determination. "Why wouldn't you take the chance to rest like the others? Why not sneak off, shirk a little?"
Before Soran could answer, he jumped up suddenly, eyes wide as she lifted the bucket.
"W-wait! You're finished already? Leaving so soon?"
She turned, bucket in hand, to meet his incredulous gaze.
"Yes," she said simply. "And you, my lord? Any duties today? What brings you here, teasing me instead of your books?"
The nobleman pouted, fanning himself dramatically as if the heat were a personal insult.
"I don't get this household," he muttered. "They say you shouldn't work, yet here you are, working harder than anyone else. So who's lying?"
Soran lowered her eyes, the bucket's weight grounding her amid the swirl of questions and uncertainty.
"But if you're not supposed to work, then why are you here?" His curiosity got the better of him as he leaned in, eyes twinkling.
Soran met his gaze for a heartbeat, then turned away, her silence louder than words.
"Don't know, do you?"
He snapped his fan shut and gave a mock sigh.
"Then off with you! Take that water to the 'deceivers' who ordered you around."
Soran gave a small bow and hurried off, her footsteps echoing softly against the courtyard stones, the scent of pine and warm earth following her like a silent companion.
Though puzzled by his odd mixture of mischief and sympathy, something about the young lord's presence made the vast manor feel just a little less lonely.
As she neared the kitchen wing, the clatter of wooden bowls and the spicy aroma of ginger and garlic grew stronger, mingling with the laughter of servants bustling about their tasks.
"Hey, Soran!"
A familiar voice called out sharply. A round-faced woman, her apron stained from hours of cooking, came rushing toward her, cheeks flushed and breath quick.
"Yes?" Soran replied, curiosity piqued.
The woman stopped abruptly, eyes wide with urgency.
"You can't be doing this! Come quickly!"
Thud!
Without warning, she grasped Soran's hand firmly, causing the water bucket she carried to slip and spill in a clumsy cascade. Soran spun around, eyes wide as she stared at the fallen bucket.
"W-what is this?" she asked, bewildered.
Before she could receive an answer, the woman tugged at her again, ignoring Soran's confusion entirely. Soran found herself unable to pull away, held back by respect and uncertainty. With no choice, she quickened her pace to follow the woman until they arrived at a small, exquisitely adorned building, its polished wooden panels gleaming under the soft light, and the air fragrant with incense and sandalwood.
Soran's eyes roamed the surroundings as the middle-aged woman who had led her there broke into a wide, radiant smile that stretched from ear to ear, lighting up her face like a lantern in the dusk.
"Beautiful, isn't it? This place…" the woman said abruptly, her voice filled with unrestrained excitement, as though revealing a long-cherished secret. Her laughter held the wistfulness of a woman once bound by circumstance, dreaming of this moment all her life.
"This place is...?"
Before Soran could finish her question, a group of women appeared at the entrance, their hanboks vibrant and ornate, their faces adorned with delicate makeup and jeweled hairpins that shimmered like stars. They stepped forward, their voices harmonizing in a chorus as they greeted her:
"Welcome, noble lady!"
The courtesans smiled sweetly, their charm so potent that even Soran, herself a woman, felt entranced by their grace and allure.
Trying to clear her mind, Soran shook her head briskly and adopted a stern, commanding posture, her gaze sharp and unyielding, hoping to ward off any untoward advances from the women before her.
The courtesans merely stood there, smiling serenely, waiting patiently as Soran took hesitant steps toward them.
"Come along," the middle-aged woman urged, giving Soran a gentle push on the back that nearly caused her to stumble forward. Catching herself deftly, Soran looked up into the faces of the courtesans, who leaned in with bright smiles.
"Let us welcome you, noble lady!"
Without hesitation, they led her swiftly inside.
"No! Let me go at once! Auntie, please help me! They're going to strip me…please!"
Soran's voice rang out in protest, echoing beyond the doors.
Outside, the middle-aged woman listened, her expression darkening with wicked delight at the spectacle unfolding within. But soon, as if reminded of her duties being fulfilled, she turned away and strode off. Yet even as she left, she glanced back from time to time, eyes glinting with sly amusement at the commotion she had set in motion.
"N-what is this...?"
Soran's voice trembled as she shook her head from side to side, desperately trying to resist the courtesans who eagerly sought to adorn her face with layers of delicate makeup. Yet, no matter how she struggled, the nimble hands of the women soon bound her like a precious mummy, their artful fingers dressing her in silks of vibrant hues and delicate embroidery until at last, she was transformed beyond recognition.
She gazed into the mirror, her breath catching as her own reflection met her eyes. Fingertips brushed softly over the porcelain smoothness of her face, a fragile wonder blossoming within her chest.
"How beautiful you are," whispered one courtesan, stepping closer with a tender smile that held both pride and melancholy. Then, as if a solemn ritual had been fulfilled, she turned away and slipped silently from the chamber.
"We take our leave now, noble lady," the courtesans intoned in unison, bowing gracefully before retreating one by one until the room was emptied of their radiant presence.
Left alone, Soran sat still, her gaze locked upon the mirror. Tears welled in her eyes, blurring the flawless visage before her.
"Is this truly... me?" she whispered, her hand trembling as it traced the contours of her painted cheeks and the fine fabrics that draped her form.
Slowly, she sank to the floor, lying on her side upon the polished wooden planks, the weight of her emotions pressing down like the twilight shadows that crept through the lattice window. Tears spilled freely, glistening like dew upon autumn leaves.
In this moment, she knew not whether to feel joy at her newfound beauty or sorrow for the chains that beauty now symbolized. All she could do was surrender to the soft lament that welled within her heart, a silent song of innocence lost and uncertain futures.