If Silk Flowers Bloom by the Water’s Edge Chapter 4

The left and right sides of the servant’s quarters each had a middle gate that led to a passageway. The old woman explained that the gate the lower-ranking members mainly used was the one on the left. The style of a traditional Korean house was followed behind the right passageway and near the main gate, but coming out to the left revealed a total of eight modern buildings made of red brick. She said that since the ancestral homes of musa clans easily surpassed 500 years, it was often more economical to just build new structures if need be.

The place the old woman, who seemed to be a fixture of the clan, took him to was a dormitory surrounded by pine nut trees. She mentioned that when spring came, the haenang¹ would go out to the small garden in front and plant potatoes and lettuce. It was late at night and the dormitory was locked, but it didn’t look much different from the old woman’s description. A red dormitory with arched windows going up to the fourth floor, it had the atmosphere of a ranch where they leisurely raised flocks of sheep.

“Come in, Yirok. It’s your first day as a probationary haenang.”

‘Probationary haenang’ was just a nice-sounding term for what was essentially a fragrant pouch for the young ladies and young masters of the clan to hang on themselves. Without even giving the reply that it was an honor to be staying in the haenang dormitory, Yirok passed through the door.

“It’s too late today, so let’s have you formally greet everyone during lessons tomorrow.”

“Yes.”

The old woman held up a lotus-shaped lantern to illuminate the dark staircase. She said she didn’t turn on the lights for fear of waking the other sleeping haenang. Without him even having to ask, Yirok’s room was assigned to the third floor. The second floor was for the female haenang, the third for the male haenang, and the fourth was for family members who stayed on even after becoming adults.

“Now, come up carefully.”

All of this was a distant story to him, someone who would be spending six months at the Nanjubeol clan if he was lucky, and two years at the most. The old woman pointed to the room at the end of the third-floor hall with her lantern, then patted Yirok’s shoulder.

“You must be tired from the long journey, so get some rest. The boy you’re sharing a room with will tell you most of what you need to know, so don’t you worry too much.”

He hadn’t thought he would be sharing a room. At the Bansi clan, they warned the haenang not to even make eye contact with each other, worried they might conspire together. Perhaps misinterpreting Yirok’s expressionless face, the old woman smiled gently.

“No need to be nervous. They’re all good kids. If any problems arise, you can come find me. I’m called ‘Yomyeong Halmeom’² in Nanjubeol. If you ask people, they’ll show you to my room.”

When he nodded to show he understood, the old woman left with a benevolent smile. From now on, it seemed better to keep his mouth shut than to make a slip of the tongue. Yirok waited until the sound of the old woman’s footsteps had completely faded, then finally pulled the long, vertical doorknob.

He wasn’t curious about the person he would be sharing a room with. There was no need to know them, and he had no energy to get close to them.

He opened the door, silencing his footsteps, even his breath. It was less out of consideration for his sleeping roommate and more because he wanted to skip the tedious introductions. But hope had a knack for betraying Yirok. The candlelight of his sleepless roommate spilled out through the crack of the open door.

Upon opening the door, it wasn’t the candle, nor the awkward atmosphere, but a gaze that Yirok sensed first. It was the gaze of a man, sitting elegantly with a candle lit, reading a book. It was obvious from head to toe that he was a different breed of human from himself.

He wore thick pajamas for the winter, had fine, well-kept hair, and was composed even in front of a stranger. At the moment he should have spoken, Yirok shifted his gaze toward the empty bed. Seeing a fish that had grown in such clear water made his stomach churn for no reason.

Here he was, with a bruised cheek, a shabby shirt, and the same clothes for winter and summer. If he had to be involved with someone, he’d rather see a miserable person who lived with nothing.

“Hello.”

Just as the man put down the book he was reading and offered a greeting, Yirok kicked the door shut. The room was so well-heated by the boiler that you could sleep naked and not catch a cold. The desk and bed on the left seemed to be the man’s, and the desk and bed on the right, Yirok’s.

He tossed his bag lightly onto the bed and unbuttoned his shirt. He planned to sleep in the short-sleeved t-shirt he wore underneath. He was taking off his socks in sequence and sitting on the edge of the bed when he saw it. An object that did not belong to Yirok was lying on the bed. It was a pair of fleece pajamas, identical to what the man was wearing.

“That’s yours. I haven’t heard your name yet, but… anyway, Yomyeong Halmeom prepared them for you to wear.”

Nanjubeol wasn’t Bansi, so they must have put out a carefully chosen item. But Yirok, without a change in expression, picked up the pajamas and placed them under the bed. He hung his easily-wrinkled shirt on the bed frame.

“I’m Shinwoo of the Hwaeul clan. Just call me Shinwoo, comfortably.”

If I pretend to be asleep, he’ll get the hint and leave me alone. However, even through Yirok’s closed eyes, he could feel the flickering candlelight. Wouldn’t it be normal to be offended, thinking, are you treating me like a radio you can just talk at on our first meeting? It seemed the meddlesomeness of this pretty-faced young master was on another level.

“You must be tired, I’m sorry. Let’s talk tomorrow. That’s right. Let’s go down together for breakfast. I’ll introduce you to the others.”

As the warm heat of the candle reached his cheek, Yirok opened his eyes. Shinwoo, holding the candlestick, had come right up to his bedside and was trying to smooth over the situation with a smile. Yirok didn’t like how he flinched when they made proper eye contact. As the candlelight shadow wavered on his cheek, Shinwoo asked.

“Ah… uh, I don’t know your name. But what happened to your cheek? Are you hurt?”

At the question from the young master who couldn’t see an inch in front of his nose, Yirok sat up halfway, his body stiff. On the very first day, a shameful secret he had tried to bury in the darkness had been discovered. The fact that even a person who lived like an animal knew shame was, itself, shameful. When would he become like a true beast? He wished for a life where he could be grateful for just eating and sleeping to come quickly.

The ahjumma who came with me hit me less than ten minutes after we got on the train. Judging by the strength of her hand, you’d believe she was a bull, not a person.

If he said that, the kind and gentle young master would probably get teary-eyed. He’d tattle to the adults, the woman named Juhee would be expelled, and they would dig into the matter, making it impossible for him to act as a spy. That’s why being unable to be truthful to anyone was such a wearying thing. You had to fill the gap between truth and lies solely with your words.

“Wait a minute. Yomyeong Halmeom won’t be asleep yet. I’ll talk to her and get some medicine.”

And in his experience, those who were kind but also clueless were impossible to get rid of with just any words. Their meddling would be endless until he put them to the test.

“Don’t.”

He quickly grabbed the wrist of Shinwoo, who was turning to take care of the matter. A languid, unfocused gaze; a slow yet precise voice—if Yirok had any strengths, those were them. The proof was how the other’s wariness immediately lowered.

“Is there perhaps… some reason you can’t talk about it?”

“A man hit me.”

“A man?”

“I like men, you see.”

The expression of someone caught off guard was a year-round delight. He grabbed Shinwoo’s stubbornly resisting wrist and pulled it down with force. The face of the man, holding the candlestick and flustered, turned noticeably pale. Even if he tried to shake his arm free, he would never let go. Yirok set his tongue in motion, driving a wedge into his kindness.

“I’m glad I get to share a room with a man. I was in a single room before.”

Of course, it wasn’t for the bullshit reason of liking men, but it was true that he had been in a single room. Yirok let go of the wrist of the poor soul who had turned white and couldn’t say a word. He once again lay down comfortably on his pillow and looked up at Shinwoo.

“Wanna sleep together?”

“You’re… joking, right?”

“If you think it’s a joke, come on up.”

“I, uh. I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable in any way.”

“Uncomfortable? I said I like it… Usually, people are attracted to those who are kind and take care of them, right?”

The more seriously Yirok spoke, the more the other’s emotions would double. Shinwoo, who had been gaping his mouth as if in shock, slowly backed away. Under the receding candlelight, Yirok let his faint smile disappear.

In any case, Sarira’s objective was that one young lady, whether her name was Chaehwa or Chaehee. If Yirok made up his mind to build friendships with anyone else, it would be a disgrace for both sides.

“I’m going to sleep now.”

The characteristic of a muddy life is that the more you struggle to get out, the filthier your situation becomes. Yirok’s hand, which had slipped into his pocket, gently caressed his cherished box cutter.

“Hey. I know you don’t mean it. You might not know, but… I can feel it.”

At the words that sounded like cringe-worthy song lyrics, Yirok let out a hollow laugh. The night Yirok wanted wasn’t so difficult to achieve. He just wanted to sleep peacefully in a room where Shinwoo kept his mouth shut.

“If I make you uncomfortable, you don’t have to be friendly with me. Still, if you have any problems, come find me.”

There were plenty of problems. But the problems he was caught up in were due to bad luck, not any fault or mistake of his own.

“Shinwoo.”

“Yeah?”

Shinwoo, who was blowing out the candle, answered cheerfully. Such bright things, who seemed to have escaped God’s notice, were targets for elimination in Yirok’s eyes.

“It’s just that I don’t want to have to say… ‘stop fucking minding my business.’ You know what I mean, right?”

“Um… uh… I get it.”

He turned over without a common ‘good night.’ From behind him, where it had been quiet, he soon heard the sound of rustling blankets. Yirok’s hand, with his eyes squeezed shut, once again fumbled with the crude box cutter in his pocket.

Among crooked things, he could at least think of himself as normal. But a person like Shinwoo was a mirror. He reflected the miserable cross-section of him, a person scorned by God.

In his world, where his words came out twisted even if he glossed them over with his lips, he couldn’t know. Whether his causing a scene in every situation like this was a consideration for the other person to not get mud on them, or if it was just out of spite. Without thinking too deeply, Yirok gripped the box cutter tightly.

T/N:

1. Haenang: Likely a term for young trainees or attendants within the musa clan, treated somewhat like property, as Yirok’s inner thoughts suggest.
2. Halmeom: An informal, and sometimes slightly derogatory, way to say “old woman” or “grandma.” In this context, it’s more of a familiar title. ‘Yomyeong’ is her name or identifier.