UN 11

Chapter 11

It had been the same ever since.
Soran ate each spoonful as if she were receiving this meal for the very first time, her eyes wide with astonishment.
Even when eating plain rice, she reacted the same way. Her cheeks flushed red, and she continuously let out exclamations of delight between bites.
Her dark eyes sparkled like wet pebbles, and her small lips moved without pause.
Suddenly, Gyohum felt a sense of emptiness. Whether she was the daughter of the Chief of the Secretariat or a matter of revenge, none of it seemed to matter anymore.
It seemed she had a peculiar talent for disarming those around her.

Gyohum took a spoonful of rice and chewed it slowly without any side dishes. A subtle sweetness came through, but it was hardly enough to be worthy of exclamation. White rice was such a common food, eaten every day.
Even so, he emptied his bowl faster than usual. Just moments ago, he hadn’t had an appetite due to his incompetent subordinates, but now, for some reason, the rice went down smoothly.
He wondered how the Chief of the Secretariat had raised his daughter. Blaming the absent Chief in his mind, he took a sip of the warm nurungji (scorched rice water).
Meanwhile, Soran was smiling brightly, clearing the plates from the table one by one.
Suddenly, Gyohum raised an eyebrow, thinking, Where does all that food go in that tiny frame?
The more he looked, the more inscrutable she seemed.

Soran crossed the yard with a contemplative expression. Her heavy steps betrayed a hidden hesitation.
What should I do? No, more importantly, is this even something I should interfere with?
Lost in thought, she failed to notice the shadow in the distance or the voice calling, “Madam?”

Stopping in front of the kitchen, Soran slowly lifted her head. Inside, there was the clatter of dishes being put away.
Once the dishes were washed and dried, they needed to be returned to their proper place so they could be used comfortably the next day. This had always been Soran’s responsibility. Managing the fire so it didn’t go out had also always fallen to her.
Thus, at dawn, she would tug at her collar and poke around the hearth. Though it had only been a few days, it already felt like ages ago.

Creak. The wooden door let out a loud groan as she pushed it slightly. The woman organizing the dishes turned in surprise, then froze when she saw Soran, her expression turning even more puzzled.

“Is something needed, Young Mistress?”
It was the woman Soran had seen earlier—the Lady Yeonsan.

“You didn’t call for Kkeutsuni.”
Lady Yeonsan wiped her hands on her apron and stood up in response to Soran’s prolonged gaze. Meanwhile, Soran had yet to reach a conclusion.

“Young Mistress?”

Should I even intervene?

Once, Lady Paju had clicked her tongue in disapproval and said:
—Some of the salt has gone missing from the storeroom today.
—Salt? Why?
—Why? Because someone took it without the mistress knowing, of course. It’s obvious who it was.

Lady Paju lowered her voice toward the hesitant Soran.
—If the mistress ignores her household, the servants will cunningly take their share. They’re clever in that way. Today it’s just a small amount of salt, but eventually, the pillars of the house could be at risk.
—Nonsense.
—It’s no nonsense. A needle thief eventually becomes a cattle thief. If someone steals a little salt and isn’t caught, tomorrow it’ll be more, and the day after, even more. But the more frightening part is…
—Frightening part? What is it?

Soran swallowed dryly.

—One person becomes two, two becomes three. And then the mistress’s authority will plummet. They may bow to her face, but behind her back, they’ll mock her. What will become of the household then?
—Ah.
—That’s why the mistress is so important. If she’s too lenient or too harsh, it won’t work. Balance must be maintained. Politics isn’t only for men.

“Young Mistress?”

Soran’s face, devoid of any smile, seemed like that of a different person. She finally spoke, her expression firm.

“Pork wasn’t served at lunch today.”
“…Excuse me?”
Lady Yeonsan was caught off guard by the sudden statement. As her eyes blinked, Soran continued.
“Pork wasn’t on the dinner table either.”

Finally, Lady Yeonsan laughed, creating wrinkles at the corners of her eyes.

“Did you want to eat pork? Tomorrow’s lunch…”
“No, that’s not it.”

Soran slowly shook her head, and Lady Yeonsan’s smile faded.
“This afternoon, you took a piece of pork while preparing the meal, didn’t you?”
“!”

Soran’s voice was calm, her speech measured. Yet Lady Yeonsan looked as if she’d been scolded loudly.
“But I couldn’t find the pork on either the lunch or dinner table.”
“Well… actually, I thought beef might be better… so I left the pork and brought beef instead. The yukjeon (beef slices) on the dinner table is that beef.”

At that moment, a stench of rotten pork wafted from Lady Yeonsan.
Soran decided to take a gamble. Normally, she would not have intervened, but she bore responsibility for managing this household.

“I checked the storeroom on my way here. The pork you took wasn’t there. The amount hadn’t increased or decreased since lunch.”

“Hmph!”

Lady Yeonsan drew in a sharp breath. Soran knew then that her suspicion was correct. Lady Yeonsan had not placed the pork properly—it was a blatant lie.

Thud. Her legs gave way, and she sank to the floor. Staring blankly at Soran, she finally bowed her head.
Her shoulders trembled lightly, and through her ragged breathing came soft, muffled sobs.

Soran watched silently. Her mouth felt dry, as if chewing salt.

“Please forgive me, Young Mistress. If I’m expelled from this house, I’ll have nowhere to go. I will replace the pork I took. Just this once, please turn a blind eye…”

“What happened?”

“Pardon?”

Lady Yeonsan raised her wet face, confused.
She had only stolen a single pound of pork. Not a great crime, yet the stench was overwhelming.
This meant her guilt was immense.

Why? For just a pound of pork?

“First time?”

Soran asked. Lady Yeonsan’s wide eyes nodded frantically.

“Yes, first time. Please believe me.”

Soran did. There was no more stench of rot emanating from her.
Instead, there was the smell of a rainy season—damp, musty, and suffocating.

Soran knew that smell. It was the dense scent of sorrow.

“Why did you steal the pork?”

Lady Yeonsan’s head drooped in resignation. She opened her mouth reluctantly.

“The youngest… is very ill. They’ve been struggling since birth.”

Soran swallowed quietly at the unexpected confession.

“They were too weak to even nurse properly. We thought they wouldn’t live ten days, but by luck, they turned three. We thought we could relax… but recently, a high fever…”

Tears poured from Lady Yeonsan’s eyes like relentless rain, unending, unstoppable.
Like the rainy season itself.

“When they were briefly conscious this morning, they said they wanted meat… but where would I get money for that? I knew it was wrong… yet…”

Soran clenched her fists and slowly cleared her throat. Suppressing her own tears, she asked in a trembling voice:

“Then why pork?”

“…Pardon?”

“Why was it only pork you stole?”

“I couldn’t bring myself to steal beef, could I?”

“!”

Soran bit her lower lip, swallowing back a sob. She inhaled the damp, oppressive air deeply.
She felt pity. The heart of a mother stealing meat for a dying child, yet unable to take beef—the pitiful state of it.

“Young Mistress, I won’t do it again. Please…”

“Stand up. Go home.”

“Ma’am!”