They said it was a night for joy, a bride's night, radiant and bright. But for Soran, it was the quiet surrender of a life not her own. A night wrapped in silence, where even the moon seemed hesitant to shine upon her fate. No music, no guests, not even her family had been told. Her wedding had come and gone like a breeze no one felt.
Her legs trembled as she stepped toward the small pavilion nestled in the farthest corner of Lord Kim's grand estate. Dressed in a clean, brightly colored chogori, Soran moved quietly, her feet bare upon the cool wooden floor. She slipped off her shoes and stepped into the chamber, dimly lit by a lone candle flickering weakly against the walls. The shadows swallowed the corners of the room, leaving only the space before her faintly illuminated.
There, across the low table, sat a slender figure in dark navy robes, his face hidden beneath a scholar's hat, gat, tilted ever so slightly downward. His posture was composed, one hand resting idly on the table, the other shrouded in his robes. His silence spoke louder than any welcome could, and Soran felt the chill of reluctance settle into the space between them.
She sat opposite him, her knees tucked beneath her, the small table a quiet boundary neither dared to cross. Though the candlelight offered little warmth, it cast a gentle glow upon her delicate features. Even in such quiet sadness, Soran's beauty could not be dimmed. Nor could his, though hidden behind the brim of his gat, the subtle grace of his figure, the faint outline of his noble face, carried a quiet allure that matched his air of cold restraint.
She kept her gaze low, waiting, hoping, for a word, a gesture, any sign of acknowledgment. But silence reigned, like snow falling upon stone.
And then, his voice.
"Soran."
He spoke her name softly, but with clarity. She slowly looked up, her eyes meeting his beneath the shade of the wide-brimmed hat. In that instant, she understood: this man, her husband, was not the young master she had once laughed with, nor the one she had longed to meet again. No, it was the other. The one whose gaze had once chilled her to the bone. The true lord of this quiet house.
"H-how do you know my name?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
"It is hardly strange," he replied calmly. "My father has often tried to bring women to my side, one after another, all chosen for their beauty. The moment I saw you, I knew this day would come. But like the rest, you too will leave. They always do. I am... incapable of love now."
His tone was gentle, even polite. Yet to Soran, the words were as soft and final as the closing of a gate.
She smiled faintly, a flicker of sorrow passing through her gaze. Now she understood, he was the very same man who had once stolen her breath with a glance, the man from the house with the quiet eyes. Her husband.
"You needn't worry, my lord," she said softly, though her words trembled with the fear she tried to hide. Her voice carried the delicate grace of one who had already accepted her fate.
He sat in silence, absorbing her words before speaking again with slow, deliberate certainty.
"This marriage is as if it never happened."
And perhaps it hadn't, not in the way others would know. There had been no vows exchanged, no celebration, no shared smile to mark the moment. Not even the warmth of a touch. Just silence, and the crackle of a single candle.
Soran lowered her head, smiling faintly again, but the sadness in her chest clung to her ribs like ivy. She had no words, only a heavy heart and a thousand unspoken thoughts.
"Then... may I ask," she ventured quietly, "what shall I call you, my lord? I do not even know your name."
He stood, his robes whispering as he moved.
"Must you know it?"
His voice carried neither warmth nor malice, only distance.
Without waiting for her response, he walked to the far side of the room and began quietly laying out his bedding, leaving Soran seated where she was, alone.
She watched his back retreat into the shadows beyond the candle's reach. Her hands lay folded in her lap, motionless, her breath slow and uncertain. Surrounded by unfamiliar air and bound by invisible threads of propriety, Soran dared not move. She remained seated there, still as stone, silent as snow.
The stillness of the wedding night, a night that should have been filled with celebration, was, for Soran, a quiet requiem of a life surrendered. Where others might be lulled by joy, she was cradled by solitude. The dew and the cool wind were the only companions who dared offer her their music, a lonely chorus that played through the hours, as though they were the true groom by her side.
Loneliness took her hand in silence, pressing her gently into weariness. It lulled her into slumber, offering no warmth, no words, only an embrace made of emptiness. Slowly, Soran slid her arms across the small table, resting her head to the side, turning away from the man she had married, who lay still and unfeeling in the shadowed chamber. Her eyelids, heavy with fatigue, gradually closed, drawing her into a sleep woven not by peace but by resignation.
Yet what she could not know was that a hand, warm and steady, had reached forth into that loneliness, lifting her gently into comfort. That hand, silent as the wind, bore her into slumber with unexpected tenderness, then disappeared into the hush of night.
Morning light spilled gently into the room, piercing through the papered windows and dusting the tatami mats with gold. Soran stirred and slowly sat up, startled to find herself lying haphazardly upon the bedding. In confusion, she clutched her clothes, scanning the room with wary eyes. But the young lord was nowhere to be seen.
A sigh escaped her lips.
Had something happened while she slept? Had she lost something that could never be taken back? But no, everything seemed untouched. She stood and slid open the door, letting the cool morning air greet her cheeks. Her breath caught.
There he was.
Leaning against one of the wooden pillars just outside, the young lord had fallen asleep in silence, his expression calm and serene. His elegant features, so often unreadable, were softened in sleep, his presence oddly endearing beneath the faint sunlight. She turned to glance back into the room, remembering with a touch of disbelief that she had last been asleep, slumped over the table. That was her final memory from the night before.
Her gaze returned to the young man before her. A smile, soft and unsure, tugged at her lips.
A Storm Behind the Walls
"How could Father do such a thing!?"
Pyeonghwa's voice thundered through the chamber, laced with disbelief and betrayal.
"Pyeonghwa," Lord Kim replied, his tone heavy and deliberate, "you know well what your younger brother is like. So why raise such a fuss now?"
Pyeonghwa clenched his fists in frustration. The woman he had given the jade bracelet to had ended up with his half-brother, right before his eyes.
"If you spent less time wandering about and more time refining your character, you might understand," his father continued sharply. "I had hoped for a son who would become a great official by now. Yet here you are, jealous of a woman. And not for lack of company either, you have no shortage of women."
With that, Lord Kim turned his back and walked into the inner chambers, leaving Pyeonghwa fuming alone.
"Tch… as if he ever truly understood anything," Pyeonghwa muttered bitterly under his breath.
It was true, Pyeonghwa was the eldest son of the Kim household, but not born of the same mother as his younger brother. His mother had passed away during childbirth, and he had been raised in the strict, loveless formality of the inner court. Meanwhile, his half-brother, Yeongwon, had grown up under the warm gaze of both parents, at least until their mother too had succumbed to illness.
Though Pyeonghwa was clever, daring, and skilled in combat, Yeongwon was of a different mold entirely. Frail of body, quiet of demeanor, and immersed always in books and scrolls, he seldom left the estate grounds and rarely spoke to outsiders. He was delicate, more scholar than warrior, and the contrast between them was stark.
Though bound by blood, few ever saw the two brothers share a bond. Their silences were deeper than any quarrel, their indifference louder than any feud. And yet, in this house of noble lineage, their quiet tension was a tale that every servant knew, and no one dared speak.
In the hush of a fading afternoon, the old lord sat alone beneath the latticed eaves of the central pavilion. The amber light slanted through the wooden slats, casting long, quiet shadows across the worn surface of a forgotten game of Baduk. The black and white stones lay still, frozen mid-contest, untouched for years. Yet within Lord Kim's heart, the game of life pressed forward, relentless as ever.
His gaze was not fixed on the board, but instead drifted toward the veranda, toward emptiness. Once, long ago, a frail figure had reclined there, her breaths shallow, her body scented faintly of herbs and porridge. That memory, carried on the gentle rustle of leaves, returned to him now with startling clarity.
Autumn, twenty years passed.
The first chill of the season had swept through the ginkgo trees, their golden leaves fluttering like coins cast to the earth. The final plum blossoms of the year scattered across the stone courtyard, brushed away by the soft sigh of the wind.
From the inner chambers came a cough…soft, labored.
A younger Lord Kim, not yet hardened by the weight of years, had sat at her bedside in silence. One hand clasped hers firmly, the other gently dabbing at the cold sweat on her pallid brow.
"Beloved…" Her voice, thin and raspy, trembled like a reed in the wind. "If I should… leave this world…."
"Say no such thing," he interrupted, his tone sharp with denial, his voice faintly trembling. "You will recover. I've summoned the best physician from the capital."
She smiled, weary and knowing. Her eyes turned to the corner of the room, where a quiet boy of five sat watching, his small hands folded in silence.
"I ask only one thing," she whispered slowly.
"Raise him… with honor. Let him grow strong and proud… even if I cannot be by his side."
Lord Kim had not answered at once. His heart cracked open with the weight of grief. But he remembered, he would always remember, the look in her eyes: overflowing with love… and laced with fear.
His grip tightened around her hand. His voice, though heavy with sorrow, rang with solemn resolve.
"By the name of House Kim, I vow… I will protect Pyeonghwa with all that I am."
Now, in the stillness of the present, Lord Kim closed his eyes. Outside, the wind stirred the maple leaves once more, just as it had on that fateful day. And with it, an out-of-season scent of plum blossoms teased his senses, an impossible fragrance that made his chest ache.
Though he had since taken another wife and fathered another son , quiet and pale as the first snowfall of winter, that promise to the one who had gone remained carved upon his soul.
"Pyeonghwa…" he whispered, as though offering a prayer to the wind.
"I know… I may have failed you, as a father. But you… You are all she left in my care."
His eyes opened again, now sharp with resolve. No longer clouded by duty or politics, they burned with something far older: a father's vow made beneath falling leaves and dying light.
"I will not let anyone harm you, not your brother… not even myself."
"Mmm…"
Yeongwon stirred slightly, leaning against the wooden pillar outside the chamber. His body wobbled precariously as sleep loosened his balance, nearly sending him tumbling to the ground.
"Y-Young Master!"
Soran, who had just opened the door, gasped and lunged forward, catching him just in time. Her arms instinctively wrapped around him, pressing him close in a clumsy embrace. Yeongwon's widened eyes shot up, straight into the soft, pale line of her neck. The sight sent a jolt down his spine.
He immediately turned his head away in flustered panic, cheeks flushed a delicate pink.
Soran, shaken by what almost happened, looked down toward the stone path beneath the steps, holding him tighter for fear he might still fall. Only after a moment did she realize, his face was nearly buried against her chest. With a gasp, she released him in a flurry of embarrassment.
Yeongwon, now freed from her arms, darted his eyes elsewhere, just as red-faced.
"I-I beg your pardon, my lord," Soran mumbled awkwardly, bowing her head.
"N-No need for apologies. You only meant to help… I should be the one to say sorry for troubling you."
He stumbled over his words as he spoke, unable to meet her gaze. Pressing a hand against his pounding heart, Yeongwon turned swiftly and retreated into the chamber like a man fleeing battle.
Soran blinked, unsure what to make of his behavior. She assumed he must have been furious with her, and the thought stung more than she expected. Meanwhile, Yeongwon, now safe within the room, could not banish the image of her snowy-white neck nor the warmth of her embrace. He paced in circles like a scholar debating a riddle he had no answer for.
Peeking through the slightly ajar door, he saw her still seated just as before.
With a long breath to collect himself, he walked back out, trying to appear composed. Soran stood upon seeing him, bowing politely before speaking with a somber voice.
"Thank you, Young Master… for carrying me to bed last night. I've been nothing but a burden. I'll return to the servants' quarters right away. I'm… sorry for earlier."
She turned, already beginning to gather her few belongings. Yeongwon's eyes widened.
Grab!
He caught her wrist, stopping her. She turned toward him, surprised by his sudden action.
"No," he said firmly. "If you move out like this, someone may very well take you as a concubine. And I… I don't think you're that kind of girl. Am I wrong?"
His eyes searched hers with rare intensity. Soran didn't answer. Instead, she gently pulled away and continued packing.
Yeongwon sighed deeply. He couldn't accept this marriage, yet neither could he bear the idea of this innocent girl being cast into someone else's grasp. He stepped forward and this time placed his hands on both her shoulders, steadily, earnestly.
"Then let's do this: stay here. We shall live under the same roof, but I vow not to cross any lines. I give you my word."
Soran stopped, standing still.
"It's not that!" she blurted out, her voice flustered. "Do you want me to just leave you out in the cold night after this? If someone finds out I had you sleeping outside the bridal chamber, I'd be tossed out of here faster than I can blink!"
Yeongwon stared at her… and then, a mischievous grin crept onto his lips.
"Then how about this?"
He leaned in, lowering his voice, whispering something softly into her ear.