UN 04

Chapter 04

The savory taste lingering in her mouth and the bitter, grassy scent drifting from the man left her unable to gather her senses.
…Gulp. Even so, the saliva pooled in her mouth slid down on its own.
Gyoheum’s gaze gleamed with an even more astonishing light.

In the end, Soran chose the chicken.
Munch, munch. Her small, delicate lips moved busily, though her expression looked somewhat dejected.
It was so delicious it almost brought tears to her eyes.

Gyoheum quietly looked down at the woman who was now his wife.
Her cheeks were puffed out, tight and round, like a greedy squirrel that had stuffed itself full of acorns.
A flicker of bewilderment passed through her pitch-black eyes, then the corners of her brows drooped weakly.
Thud. The chicken leg she was holding fell onto the plate.
The woman looked up at him, her eyes filled with stunned disbelief.

Even after the wedding ceremony ended, Gyoheum had much to attend to.
Every guest he encountered offered congratulations, and elderly relatives awaited his formal greetings.

—Since Sahum has ended up like this, you are now the pillar of this family.
—For your father’s sake, you must do well.
—If you mean to carry Sahum’s share as well, you’d better keep your wits about you. You can’t live so carelessly like before. Do you understand?

The same nagging lectures poured down until his ears might as well have developed calluses.
It was well past midnight by the time he finally escaped the grip of his relatives.

Only then did he think of the wife who would be waiting alone for him in the room.
He regretted not even sending a servant to attend her, but it was already too late.

“Tsk.”

Clicking his tongue softly, Gyoheum entered the detached residence where his quarters were.
Unlike the lively atmosphere of the main house, this place was as silent as if no one lived there.
Crunch, crunch. Dry grass crunched beneath his feet.

The wind brushing past his ears was sharp, though a faint hint of spring lingered within it.
Yet Gyoheum’s gaze remained cold, like a cutting winter gale.

Just as he had told his father, he had no intention of dancing to the Middle Secretary’s tune.
Illegitimate daughter or not, she was still someone of the Middle Secretary’s household—someone with the right to come and go there.
What better tool could there be for a spy?

“If I’m going to use her, I’ll have to win her favor first.”

Murmuring to himself, Gyoheum put on an intentionally gentle smile and opened the door.
He even offered an apology he did not mean.

He had expected her to be guarding the room with a forlorn expression—
or perhaps grinding her teeth in wounded pride.

But his expectations were thoroughly betrayed.

Her cheeks were swollen to the point of bursting as she happily gnawed on a chicken leg.
A glance. Gyoheum’s eyes swept over the table.
One rice bowl was completely empty, and even the bowl in front of her had only about half left.

Looking at Soran’s small, squirrel-like frame, Gyoheum wore a dubious expression.
Surely she hadn’t eaten all that rice by herself.

His eyes slowly scanned the room, sharp and cold.
Yet there was no sign of anyone else.

His gaze returned to Soran.

“……”

Soran stared down at her rice bowl, her face drooping.
If she’d known it would be like this, she wouldn’t have been greedy enough to eat Gyoheum’s portion too.

—A gluttonous parasite.

Perhaps Madam Munhyeon had been right after all.

Her puffed cheeks deflated with a soft pffft, like air leaking out.
Swallow. After gulping down the chicken in her mouth, she cautiously spoke while watching Gyoheum’s expression.

“Um… would you like to eat as well…?”

“Is there even any food left for me?”

“There is, but… no, I’ll have them bring out a new serving.”

As Soran timidly began to rise, Gyoheum waved his hand with a smile.

“It’s fine. I had a light meal earlier while receiving drinks from my relatives. I meant to send a servant to tell you to eat first, but I forgot.”

“!”

Soran’s eyes widened instantly. She could hardly believe what she was hearing.
Under normal circumstances, a furious reprimand would have flown her way.

A glutton who could do nothing but eat.
A rat sneaking into the granary to steal grain.

But Gyoheum did not get angry.
That alone was so strange that Soran froze, holding her breath as she looked up at him.

Gyoheum gently curved his lips.

“I’m glad the food suits your taste.”

“Yes, it’s very delicious.”

Soran nodded vigorously. Compared to Paju-daek, it was in no way inferior—truly the work of a skilled cook.

With a soft chuckle, Gyoheum stepped toward the table and joked,

“Anyone watching would think the Middle Secretary starved his daughter.”

“She only starves once every three days—! Gah!”

Mid-sentence, Soran’s eyes rolled wildly as she clapped a hand over her mouth.

Just before leaving the Middle Secretary’s house, Paju-daek had tightly held her hands and earnestly warned her:

—Once you leave, forget everything that happened here, miss.

Soran had stared at her blankly.
She was utterly exhausted from the wedding. It had been so long since she last saw her father, yet fatigue outweighed any joy.

Paju-daek’s voice sounded distant, as though coming from far away.

When Soran weakly nodded, Paju-daek squeezed her hands even tighter.

—Take my words to heart, miss.

Her firm tone forced Soran to steady herself.

—Yes, auntie. Please tell me.

—If people learn that you were mistreated, your in-laws will mistreat you as well. Having something to lean on is more important than you think. The stronger one’s natal family, the better one is treated in marriage.

Soran had nothing to lean on.
Her father had stood by and done nothing, and her mother had abandoned her and run away.

As if sensing her thoughts, Paju-daek shook her head.

—Even if you don’t have support, you must pretend that you do.

—But…

Soran hesitated.

—Everyone must already know how I was treated in this house.

She remembered the gazes that followed her whenever she passed through the front gate—the whispers behind her back.

Paju-daek was more serious than ever.

—Even so, act as if it isn’t true. Pretend you were disliked by Madam Munhyeon but cherished by the Middle Secretary. That way, the people of your husband’s house won’t dare treat you lightly.

—……

—Fortunately, General Mo’s household is on the north side, the opposite of this place. Even if they’ve heard rumors about you, they won’t know the details like the people from the south. So deny everything outright.

Instead of replying, Soran forced an awkward smile.

—Do you understand what I’m saying?

—I understand, but…

Her voice trailed off, uncertain. She had never been good at lying.
She lacked the composure to deceive others, and she wasn’t eloquent either.

No—there was an even bigger problem.

How did one pretend to be loved?
How did one pretend to have been raised with care?

It was like imitating a life she had never once lived—surely an impossibly difficult task.

Yet Paju-daek’s demands only grew.

—From now on, you mustn’t speak politely to servants. In this house, they dared to act on Madam Munhyeon’s authority and treated you as an equal, but that is not how things are meant to be. Do you understand?

—I understa—yes.

Just last night, Madam Munhyeon had summoned her to issue a warning.
Whether it could even be called a warning was questionable, but still.

—Don’t think that just because you’re marrying and leaving this house, you’ll escape my grasp.

Soran forced her lips into a frightened smile.

—Yes.

—If you carelessly babble about what happened here and smear my reputation, I won’t let it slide. Conduct yourself accordingly.

Madam Munhyeon smelled like a fish forgotten atop a summer stove—
a rancid, fetid stench of hatred.
Knowing that someone despised her this deeply was more sad than shocking.

Every time Soran faced Madam Munhyeon’s loathing, she felt as though she were being dug up by the roots.
Her roots were small and weak, swaying helplessly in even the faintest breeze.

Did she even have roots at all?
She had been abandoned by her parents—both of them.

Perhaps she was like duckweed, drifting aimlessly.
Unable to take root anywhere, forever floating without purpose.

—Do you have some complaint about what I said?

—Ah, n-no.

—Then why do you look like that? You really do resemble your mother—vulgar and cunning.

Soran had spent her entire life trying to please Madam Munhyeon,
yet she had not succeeded even once.

When Soran smiled, she was scolded for smiling foolishly.
When she didn’t smile, she was scolded for sulking.

The stench of rotting fish grew stronger. She wanted to pinch her nose shut.

—Bringing you back here again would be no trouble at all.

—!

That threat was more terrifying than any other.
Madam Munhyeon, who looked down on her like a bug.
Sehwa, who grew angry just at the sight of her.
And her father, indifferent to her very existence.

This place was hell to Soran.
And Madam Munhyeon was declaring that she would drag her back into that hell.

—Why aren’t you answering? Have you gone deaf now, too?

—……Yes. I will remember that.