Chapter 03
The Jungseoryeong—someone whose face was as hard to see as a star in the sky on an ordinary day—was sitting in a pavilion, drinking tea.
Beside him sat Lady Munhyeon, and across from them were two sons and two daughters.
She couldn’t remember much else, but the white sunlight pouring down over the pavilion was vividly clear. The fragrant scent of flowers brushing past her nose was just as distinct.
They were a family. And there was no place for Soram in that peaceful scene.
The Jungseoryeong didn’t even spare her a glance as she carried over the refreshments, and Sehwa giggled as she whispered to her older sister, mocking Soram.
In that moment, Soram realized something: between them and her flowed a river she could never cross.
And yet, they said she would have a family too.
It would be a lie to say she wasn’t excited. Like a child receiving a present for the first time in her life, she lay awake all night, unable to sleep.
But when she met Gyohum for the first time at the wedding ceremony, a bitter smell—like medicinal decoction—clung to him.
He smiled gently, like a spring breeze, and cast her a kind gaze. And yet, all around them, that bitter scent seemed to linger thickly.
“Well… I guess if I were him, I wouldn’t like someone like me either.”
Soram knew at a glance. Gyohum didn’t like her.
“That’s why he didn’t come, even though it’s our first night.”
She nodded as if she understood, then held back tears and smiled instead.
“Still… the food’s getting cold.”
On the table covered with red silk was a lavish spread.
Glossy, oil-slicked chicken; savory pancakes; plainly seasoned vegetables; and a clear soup with beef.
Gulp.
She swallowed dryly without realizing it.
Her stomach had been growling for a while now, clamoring for food. Come to think of it, she hadn’t eaten anything since morning because of the wedding.
“Is it… okay if I eat by myself?”
She glanced uncertainly at the closed door. There was no one to answer her question.
Two bowls of white rice. Two bowls of clear beef soup.
Suddenly, a conversation she’d once had with Lady Paju came to mind.
—This is a big problem, Auntie. I’ve never been married before. What if I make a mistake?
—Not having been married isn’t the problem. Having been married is what’s truly troublesome, miss.
Unlike Soram, who had been fidgeting nervously, Lady Paju had been utterly at ease.
Thinking that experience really did make a difference, Soram had looked at her with reverence—this woman who had raised five children.
—Of course, not marrying at all would be best, but since things have come to this, what can you do?
—Pardon?
—Men are all the same. Like acorns competing over height, cut from the same cloth—six of one, half a dozen of the other. There’s one in my own house who just lies around without lifting a finger… never mind.
Realizing the conversation had gone off track, Lady Paju had grabbed Soram’s hand.
—As it happens, I’ve just been looking into the second son of General Mo’s household.
Soram’s eyes had gone wide, her ears perking up. She was curious too—what kind of man would become her husband?
Was he tall or short? Was his voice deep or light? Was he handsome or plain?
—They say he didn’t take up an official post and spent his time drinking with friends, worrying his father quite a bit. But thankfully, he came to his senses not long ago. Was it last summer? I hear the eldest son of that household took his own life over some unfortunate matter.
—Oh my… how terrible. The family must be devastated.
Covering her mouth with both hands, Soram had looked genuinely distressed.
—The eldest son’s wife and child are staying with her natal family, and General Mo himself is bedridden. As for Lady Jami, who will be your mother-in-law, she’s been in seclusion since losing her son. So there won’t be anyone to give you a hard time as a daughter-in-law.
As if that didn’t bother her, Soram had shaken her head lightly. Lady Paju tightened her grip on Soram’s hand.
—If the people in that household have eyes in their heads, they’ll surely like you. So just keep doing what you’ve always done. There’s nothing for you to feel intimidated about.
Soram had given a bitter smile and made a self-deprecating joke.
—You’re the only one who says things like that, Auntie. Everyone else calls me heartless… an eight-month baby.
—Those rotten fools! What kind of lunatics go around saying such things? If I catch them, I’ll gouge out every last one of their eyes!
Lady Paju spat out coarse curses, even curling her index and middle fingers as if she truly meant to do it.
—Everyone in this household has eyes on their toes. That’s why they can’t see how lovable you are. So at your in-laws’, live while receiving all the love you never got here.
As she spoke, Lady Paju dabbed at the corners of her eyes with her sleeve. Soram’s own eyes stung as well.
—I will.
Soram nodded with a bright smile. The tears clinging to her lashes fell to the floor.
“I’m sorry, Auntie. Looks like I won’t be loved here either.”
Shaking her head gently, Soram brushed away her thoughts and grasped her spoon with resolve.
“They say a ghost that dies after eating is at least well-fed.”
If the groom wasn’t going to come anyway, shouldn’t she at least eat the food herself?
Making a plausible excuse, Soram scooped up a big spoonful of rice.
“It’s been so long since I’ve had white rice.”
No matter how she searched her memories, she couldn’t recall the last time she’d eaten it.
“No… this must be the first time.”
The rice had already gone cold, but that didn’t matter to her.
At the Jungseoryeong’s house, it had been rare to eat warm rice at all.
“Mm!”
She stuffed the spoon into her mouth in one go, her cheeks puffing out from just that single bite.
Her small lips moved busily as she chewed.
“The more you chew white rice, the sweeter it gets.”
This time she brought the beef soup to her lips. Oil floated on the surface, but it wasn’t greasy at all.
“What should I try next?”
Reaching out with her left hand, she grabbed a chicken leg. It had been boiled so tenderly that it came off with a soft snap.
“Ha!”
Letting out a battle cry, she bit into the meat like a ferocious beast. In an instant, her cheeks puffed out again.
The tender flesh slid down her throat before she could even chew.
Soram’s eyes melted with bliss. Maybe it would be okay not to be loved—if only she could eat meals like this every day.
“Being loved doesn’t exactly fill your stomach anyway.”
For someone whose lifelong wish had been no more than scorched rice, the food before her was far more than she deserved.
“Mmm…”
Having polished off an entire bowl of rice, Soram gazed thoughtfully at the bowl across from her.
It was packed tightly with rice.
“Maybe this kind of meal is a one-time thing.”
Starting tomorrow, it might be like the Jungseoryeong’s house again—mixed grains and a couple of vegetable dishes at most.
Even then, she wouldn’t be able to eat her fill, having to compete with the servants.
“And there won’t be an auntie to save scorched rice for me anymore.”
Lady Paju had been wrong. Anyone with properly functioning eyes disliked Soram.
So these people would soon come to dislike her too.
“This is my last supper.”
Murmuring solemnly, Soram reached for the groom’s bowl. She pressed the rice into a neat mound with her spoon and swallowed it in one bite.
“Hah!”
The white rice slid smoothly down her throat, as if it had been polished with oil.
Gulp.
This time, she pulled the soup bowl toward herself and took a decisive bite of the last remaining chicken leg.
“Hm?”
Just then, a faint sound came from outside the door.
With meat still unswallowed, her cheeks puffed out again.
Chew, chew. Was it just the wind?
If Gyohum were going to come, he would’ve come long ago. He didn’t like her, and he clearly had no intention of spending their first night together.
Soram let out a short sigh and, like a fierce beast once more, was about to tear into the chicken leg—
Clatter. The door slid open.
“I’m sorry. I kept my wife waiting on our very first night—”
“!”
Unable to swallow or spit out what was in her mouth, Soram could only blink her wide eyes.
In the next instant, the door—pushed by a sudden gust—slammed shut with a bang.
“……”
An inexplicable silence settled over the room. Still biting into the chicken leg, Soram slowly lifted her gaze.
Gyohum was a man with an unmistakable presence.
As befitted the son of a military family, he was a full head taller than most men, broad-shouldered, and solidly built beneath his clothes.
Compared to him, small and scrawny Soram looked pitiful—like a gnawed dog bone tossed aside.
Glance. She moved only her eyes again.
His dark brows were sharply defined, and the eyes beneath them were so deep it felt like you couldn’t see the bottom.
His nose bridge, slightly crooked as if once broken, only made him look more masculine, and his angular jaw spoke of stubbornness.
No matter how much she’d hoped otherwise, this man was undoubtedly the husband she’d stolen glances at across the wedding table.
“……”
For a brief moment, disbelief flickered in Gyohum’s eyes.
With the chicken leg still in her mouth, Soram’s face crumpled miserably.
Auntie… what am I supposed to do at times like this?
