If Silk Flowers Bloom by the Water’s Edge Chapter 80

Even if heaven and earth were upended and the sea dried up, she thought Yirok would never change. Inwardly, she had believed that Yirok’s charming side was precisely that way of speaking—tender yet untender. Wasn’t it fun being the only one who knew the warmth inside his prickly, cold exterior? It was like a delicacy she kept to herself and savored alone.

Yet, perhaps it was because this year’s spring was not just warm but sultry. Ever since the classes began, Chaehwa had been continuously fanning herself with her hand. While walking, and even while listening to the lecture. As if her busily fluttering palm could drive away the spring days. As if she could push back the premature heat summoned by youth.

“Young lady, you’ve arrived.”

“Yeah…”

Because of the years Chaehwa had lived according to her own stubbornness, her spot in the classroom had narrowed down to just one. The seat next to Yirok, which he seemed to have left empty. In the past, he would have openly made a face showing his dislike of her sitting there. But today’s Yirok quickly cleared away his pencil case from the adjacent desk the moment Chaehwa stepped in. He even nudged his chair back slightly as if telling her to sit down quickly. Such a trivial change made her hand-fanning utterly meaningless.

How long had it taken to walk from her quarters to the classroom where the lecture was held? Chaehwa, her cheeks flushed crimson, deliberately avoided looking sideways. Setting out her Korean textbook for the first class, Chaehwa also pulled out a book meant solely for herself.

Teacher Myeongil had asked Grandmother and received permission to pull the young lady’s progress separately. Saying she lacked literary cultivation, he had her transcribe famous poetry books. Once the permission of Grandmother—who was proactive about Chaehwa’s education—dropped, Teacher Myeongil handed out homework every day. It was to transcribe poems up to the page specified by the teacher.

In the past, Chaehwa would have thrown a tantrum, lying down and saying she couldn’t do it. Her accepting it without a single grumble was not because she had grown mature. She was embarrassed. Not about lacking literary cultivation, but about showing herself throwing a tantrum. Though she wouldn’t point her finger and say exactly to whom, that is.

Teacher Myeongil, who kept time strictly to the minute, walked in, and the class began smoothly. Teacher Myeongil led the classroom, where the excited energy of the early year still lingered, with his white chalk.

“Today, we’ll analyze this paragraph simply…”

Chaehwa, who was letting Teacher Myeongil’s old-fashioned lecture flow in through one ear and out the other, opened her notebook. If she was going to be halfway listening anyway, she intended to finish Teacher Myeongil’s personal assignment.

It was just when Chaehwa, ignoring her confused heart, gripped her pencil and let out a sigh. A hand as tender as spring sunlight crossed the line where the desks touched. Realizing the intrusion a step late, Chaehwa snapped her head around. Yirok, his gaze fixed on the blackboard, flipped open Chaehwa’s closed book. The touch of his hand, flipping Chaehwa’s pages as if they were his own without even looking, was natural.

From then on, Yirok’s ballpoint pen became extremely busy. Finishing his notes in his own textbook, he crossed back over and wrote the exact same notes in Chaehwa’s. He didn’t strike up a single word with Chaehwa, nor did he cast a tender gaze. Yet, Chaehwa’s gaze followed the ballpoint pen traveling back and forth between the two textbooks.

The pink ballpoint pen—the very one engraved with Chaehwa’s initials—pushed her heart, which had been calming down. Feeling like she might get a hiccup, Chaehwa shifted her gaze in an awkward manner. If she copied down boring poems, her interest would surely vanish.

The thought of criticizing him to herself, telling him to go right ahead and diligently take notes in a textbook whose owner wasn’t paying attention, resembled malice, but it wasn’t malice. She was just about to hold still the poetry book she had flipped open with a sound and transcribe today’s poem. Chaehwa’s ballpoint pen, which had been copying the title and the poem, gradually ground to a halt.

First Love, by Gi Hyeongdo

There is a name that lingers inside the desk drawer.I can say that I have forgotten him.

Though she had read various poems and books, none had ever particularly lodged in her chest. What Chaehwa liked were sparkling, fast-paced videos, not the slow things offered by ink and paper.

However, the meaning and words written in the text blew heat into her already red cheeks. As if revealing Chaehwa’s heart in detail, a circle of sunlight was painted over the sentences. She had a premonition that she wouldn’t be able to finish today’s homework. The moment she puffed her chest with a breath taken with effort, she felt a gaze.

Someone’s eyes, stealing a glance while hidden in the sunlight, were resting on the lines of the poem. Chaehwa pulled her head back and looked at the adjacent seat. The model student Yirok’s gaze, which had been lingering on the word ‘First Love’ written by Chaehwa, slowly traveled upward. The two, who were looking at each other while forgetting the class, did not avoid each other’s gaze for the first time. Upon their two elbows, which had somehow ended up stuck together like pairs, the sunlight climbed intensively.

It was a time when everything was spring, everything was shining, and thus someone had no choice but to step into the shade.

His head was buzzing and his inside was nauseous. Like a person who had boarded the wrong ship, the sunlight surged all day long. Although he hadn’t eaten anything, Shinwoo clutched a tree and retched as if something were about to come out.

“Hey. What’s wrong with you?”

Shinwoo was someone who valued training as a Haenang more than anyone else. Yet, even though it was training time, Chaho—who had been daydreaming due to a total lack of interest—offered his attention. Because of his dazed ears, the voice of Grandma Yomyeong shaking the book containing the registry of yogwi was heard, then wasn’t.

“I’m fine. Don’t make a fuss.”

“A fuss… if you’re sick, you just quit training, I guess.”

Though Chaho sounded like he might overturn a table with his words, he knew Shinwoo’s personality well, so he stopped meddling at this point. Shinwoo knew best himself that it wasn’t something like motion sickness. It had been like this ever since he listened to Teacher Myeongil’s lecture. Chaho, too, drawn by curiosity, had looked back and seen something repulsive: the young lady and Yirok, cutting off the world and mingling their glances. Surely, the symptom was something that had risen from that exact moment.

“To become an official Haenang, you must at least have three yogwi with whom you’ve concluded a contract. The registry of yogwi is a miraculous book, so a yogwi whose compatibility fits well with you will appear in bold letters, while conversely, a yogwi that doesn’t fit will appear with a blurry name. Look through the book within ten days, conclude contracts with two fellows, and return.”

To suppress his churning stomach, Shinwoo roughly flipped open the registry of yogwi. Thwip, thwip. Chaho’s worried gaze pinned onto Shinwoo, who was turning the pages listlessly. However, it seemed the condition of the body was affecting his mind as well. Shinwoo, whose disposition had worsened to the point where he couldn’t hear the surrounding sounds, faltered while turning the pages.

[Shall I help you?]

Whether the mouths of the other Haenangs participating in the class had shriveled up, it was a voice that sounded resonant all on its own. Shinwoo slowly took his hand off the book and turned his head. In the seat where Jangsi sat, a yogwi with disheveled hair was sitting. It was the yogwi Janghui, whom he had heard about a few times through words. As if demanding he look, she tilted her head and was targeting Shinwoo precisely. Shinwoo, breaking into a cold sweat, glared at the yogwi and struck up a conversation.

“I heard you live borrowing Jangsi’s body. You are fearless.”

[The fact that you can see me… means you are also fearless right now.]

As soon as the yogwi Janghui’s voice ended, the pages flipped over rapidly as if struck by a gust of wind. Janghui pointed with her long fingernail at the book, which had stopped at the name of a certain yogwi.

[I’m not doing this for my own good. It’s about helping each other out.]

It was the first time since he got hair on his head that he heard about helping each other out with a yogwi. Shinwoo was someone meant to grow from the roots of Jeongmusa and bloom into a flower. In the future, he was to become the son-in-law of Nanjubeol.

However, in the spot left behind after Janghui vanished waving her hand like a prankster, there was Chaehwa’s back view. The image of her entering training—which she didn’t even strictly need to attend—and looking at just one person. Munching on a snack coated with sesame seeds, she was worrying about Yirok with her eyes.

Shinwoo clenched his fist painfully and cast his burning gaze downward.

“Once you find the yogwi you want, don’t contract alone; at least three people must be present at that spot. Since you never know what might happen, make sure to speak to the young lady or to me. Got it?”

From the beginning to the end of the class, Grandma Yomyeong’s teachings brushed past his dazed ears.

“Yes.”

“I’m worried since it’s your first contract as a warrior.”

At the time Grandma Yomyeong smiled while looking at the chick Haenangs fluttering their wings, Shinwoo was devoid of expression. When choosing the first yogwi, they are divided into the faction that contracts with a useful one even if the compatibility is somewhat off, and the faction that calculates compatibility safely before contracting.

The name of the ghost that the yogwi Janghui had picked out for him was written in blurry letters. It was a yogwi Grandma Yomyeong would absolutely never permit if she knew.

‘Hwanchokkkoon’ (The Illusion-Herb Gatherer).

It was a yogwi that went around carrying a bundle of medicinal herbs on its shoulders, whose face was a wild boar and whose body was like a dwarf. What was contained in the bundle was illusion-herb, which shows illusions, but on very rare occasions, it also pulled out a miracle medicine that could revive even a dead person. The lottery drawing of the Hwanchokkkoon had an abysmal probability, so it was better not to expect a miracle medicine under normal circumstances.

“Who should I contract with? Who will that fellow Yirok do it with? Since she said three… shall the three of us gather up?”

“I hate it.”

Shinwoo neatly closed the registry of yogwi and glared ahead. The clear face sitting leaned against the railing, absorbing the registry of yogwi, was the target. Yirok, who had been quietly stroking the pages with the back of his hand, turned his head as if sensing a gaze. However, the target over there was bound not to be Shinwoo.

Yirok’s gaze, which had been shifting without a sound, went toward the young lady who had joined the training. There had been a gaze stealing glances at the young lady before too, but that was definitely a sidelong glance. This time, the gaze was far too confident, dropping Shinwoo, who was watching, into a trap of anxiety.

A tender affection, a fresh and hot passion that had broken out of its egg, was contained in those eyeballs. Shinwoo bit his lips until he could taste the fishy taste of blood.

It was a matter that must absolutely never be.