Chapter 09
Endsoon asked, seemingly ready to follow along. Soran descended the steps and replied.
“I was getting bored staying in the room, so I thought I’d take a look around the annex.”
“Please come with me.”
Endsoon, having wiped her hands on her skirt, hurried to follow. Soran turned to her with a slightly burdened expression.
“It’s fine. Finish what you were doing.”
“No, it’s nothing. I can always clean the pillars, but you don’t know the way, and if something awkward happens, what would you do? I’ll lead the way.”
“Thank you.”
“Oh, don’t mention it. It’s naturally my duty anyway.”
“Naturally your duty.” Soran repeated the words in her mind. Who decides what is “natural”? What separates Endsoon and me?
“…….”
She already knew the answer. Because she was the daughter of the head of the office.
Even though the head had never shown her any kindness, simply because she was his daughter, Soran didn’t have to clean the pillars or fetch water.
It felt strange. What was naturally required of the head’s daughter in that house became something she didn’t have to do here.
Whether she wanted it or not, the head had always stirred her life. Like a violent storm, he swept through it.
“Although it’s called an annex, it has most of the household necessities. You probably won’t feel much inconvenience.”
Endsoon chattered as she introduced the different parts of the annex.
“As you can see, this is the kitchen.”
“I see. Do mother and father also cook here?”
“No. Their tastes are different from the young mistress’s, so their meals are prepared separately. They mostly eat plain porridge.”
Soran nodded. Of course—both of them were practically patients.
“And this is the tea room. Guests come here to drink tea.”
“I see.”
“When the mistress’s guests visit, this is where you receive them. Would you like to take a look?”
Endsoon opened the door to the tea room and stepped aside, gesturing for Soran to enter first.
Guests. Unable to resist Endsoon’s fussing, Soran glanced inside.
It was a clean and modest space—a place she would never need to use in her life.
“This used to be the room of the eldest mistress, but you may decorate it according to your taste.”
“No, it’s fine as it is.”
“Yes. Next is….”
“The dining room. We ate breakfast there, remember?”
“Right.”
Skipping the dining room, Endsoon moved her hand a bit further.
“That room is used by the young mistress for work or reading.”
Soran’s gaze followed the direction. A firmly closed door came into view.
“Next to it is the guest room, and next to that is where the young mistress sleeps. Ah—”
Endsoon suddenly covered her mouth with one hand.
“There’s no need to clean that room anymore. You’ll be sleeping together in the young mistress’s room from now on. Hehehe.”
Soran smiled awkwardly, unsure of what to say.
At that moment, a woman emerged from the storage room. A middle-aged woman wearing an apron stopped when she saw them.
Soran’s eyes fell on the piece of meat in her hands: a single pound of pork.
Without being asked, the maid started explaining.
“This is for lunch today.”
At that moment, a smell of rotting meat reached Soran.
“…….”
Her eyes focused on the red meat. It was fresh, without a trace of spoilage.
That meant the unpleasant smell was coming from somewhere else, not the meat.
Her gaze then landed on the maid’s face. The area under her eyes looked hollow, as if she hadn’t slept for days.
The moment their eyes met, she looked away. Endsoon, standing idly, introduced her:
“This is Yeonsan-daek. She prepares all the meals for the young mistress.”
“……The food was delicious. You’re skilled.”
“Thank you. I must go prepare lunch now.”
Bowing, she disappeared into the kitchen. Only then did Soran avert her gaze and continue walking.
Passing through a small door, she saw a young servant sweeping the yard.
“Good day, young mistress.”
Soran’s eyes were drawn to the broom he held, and then to the yard marked by the sweeping.
She felt the urge to say the brooming wasn’t done correctly.
To reduce dust, sweeping should be done from inside to outside. Some claim that doing otherwise will drive away fortune from the house, but that’s superstition. The most important thing is to sweep neatly in one direction. Otherwise, the yard becomes messy, like now.
“……You’ve worked hard.”
“Thank you.”
Soran swallowed her words and quickened her pace. Staying any longer would tempt her to show off her knowledge.
After walking around the annex, her stomach grumbled. She hadn’t even done any work, yet felt hungry—it was almost shameful.
She passed the kitchen calmly, pretending she wasn’t hungry, but peeked inside.
A glimpse through the half-open door revealed a maid scraping the cauldron.
Ah, scorched rice…
Delicious on its own, delicious boiled, delicious even when cold.
“Young mistress?”
Endsoon tilted her head, noticing Soran staring at the kitchen with a distant expression.
“It’s nothing. I was raised in luxury and have never eaten scorched rice before. I’m definitely not staring because I want some.”
Soran, panicking like a caught thief, hurried on.
Endsoon looked at her once, then at the kitchen, and hurried to follow.
“I want scorched rice,” Soran muttered quietly, but her words were carried away with the falling leaves, unheard by anyone.
Kyohum, walking silently, cast a displeased glance.
His subordinate, Wujaegwan, was quite perceptive. Noticing his superior’s bad mood, the man tensed.
“Is there a reason you haven’t caught the culprit yet?”
“Well….”
“Getting paid by the state without doing any work—what a comfortable job! Here is a corrupt official sucking the lifeblood of the people.”
Every word pierced Wujaegwan’s heart like a thorn. He rubbed his chest and made a strangled “ugh” sound. Perhaps it really hurt.
“We’ve inquired everywhere, but we still haven’t identified the culprit. Since it happened in the middle of the night, there are no witnesses, making the search difficult.”
“No witnesses, making it difficult?”
“Yes.”
“Is that something a military police officer should say?”
Kyohum’s voice sharpened. Wujaegwan swallowed dryly and straightened his back.
“It’s fine for a passing child to say that, but not for the military police responsible for the capital’s security.”
“Yes.”
“If you can’t catch a murderer because of such a minor difficulty, perhaps you should consider another job. Don’t just waste taxes. I say this for your sake, so take it to heart.”
“……I apologize.”
He knew he would be scolded, but it was far worse than expected. Even with ten mouths, he would have nothing to say.
While Wujaegwan frowned, Kyohum strode ahead.
“I thought you’d take a few days off, but are you already returning to work? Your wife may feel slighted; it’s only been a day since the wedding.”
“My subordinates can’t catch a murderer, so shouldn’t I return to work? I must make up for the taxes they wasted.”
“……I apologize.”
Wujaegwan fell silent, failing even to change the topic. Then, as if remembering something, he began cautiously.
“The capital is centered around the palace, with districts in the east, west, south, and north, correct?”
Kyohum frowned at the sudden topic.
“Well, they’re called east, west, south, and north gates, but the distances are considerable, so people near the north gate don’t know what happens at the south gate.”
Kyohum, thinking it not worth answering, increased his pace silently. Wujaegwan stretched his legs, chasing after him like a small bird following a stork.
“However, while inquiring about today’s murder, I heard a strange rumor from a traveling merchant.”
“A strange rumor?”
“About… the woman married to Mr. Nangjang. Since he doesn’t take interest in such matters, I thought he might not know anything.”
“Enough.”
Kyohum cut him off. He already knew the rumors about Soran.
Cruel, and yet naive.
Kyohum’s brows narrowed.
At first, he thought this marriage was simply intended to insult him—nothing more, nothing less.
But the Soran he faced was neither as lacking nor as deficient as the rumors suggested.
Then why? What hidden intent lies behind their marriage?
