Chapter 1
1. The Magnolias Have Already Fallen — Where Might You Be?
The blue of the sea beyond the window was so clear it stung the eyes.
The water, in perfect harmony with a sky so bright it seemed about to ring out, was so beautiful that anyone who saw the view would surely break into a generous smile. The only exception was Shin-yi, who was perched precariously on the windowsill of the top floor of the three-story building, wiping the window.
It was not that the dangerous windowsill work frightened him. He had been doing it since he was too young to remember, living as a dependent in the house of his eldest uncle, Baek Miryu, so there was nothing new to be afraid of. What was making Shin-yi frown at this very moment was the shrill voice coming from behind him, Moran’s voice.
“Hey, rice-beggar! Are you so stupid your ears have gone deaf too?”
Shin-yi doubted whether Moran, his same-age cousin, even knew that his name was Shin-yi. From the very first day Shin-yi came to this house, Moran had called him rice-beggar, and she had never once called him by his proper name.
“What is it?”
Shin-yi slowly turned his head back. Impatient with Shin-yi’s slow movements, she hurried over to him, holding up the hem of her newly made red silk skirt so the dust on the building floor would not soil it.
“Did you finish writing the farewell poem I told you to write, and now you’re just lazing about like this?” Shin-yi looked at Moran with a look of disbelief. Could it be that those big, beautiful eyes of hers, praised by the men of this area as having the gaze of a deer, could not see him wiping the window right now?
“I finished it and left it on your dressing table.”
Shin-yi answered flatly, then turned his gaze back to the windowsill. The farewell poem she was talking about was the reply to the seven-character quatrain Jang Hoehwa had sent, the man who had lately been ardent toward her. Of course, since she had nothing to do with studying, she did not know how to match the couplets, so the task always fell to Shin-yi.
Jang Hoehwa was a tall man with a handsome face, the only son of the Jang family, who held more than half of the flower distribution rights in this area, and he was the object of admiration for the women here. Moran, who had had her eye on him ever since he returned a few months ago after finishing his studies overseas, had deliberately dropped the fan on which Shin-yi had stayed up all night writing the poem as she passed by him, and Jang Hoehwa fell head over heels for Moran, with her beautiful face and her mastery of poetry. Not long after, they became lovers who met secretly every night, hardly a day passing without it.
Moran was the only daughter of Baek Miryu, who owned the largest garden in Hwaguchon, famous for its flowers, but selling flowers alone was nowhere near enough to satisfy the vanity of Moran and her mother, who was exactly like her in character. And so Moran lived with the words “I’ll marry a rich man” always on her lips, and for her, Jang Hoehwa was quite a good target.
But a few days ago, a large crate brought in from the harbor changed all of this. Inside the crate, which had been carried from far across the sea to Moran’s house, were gold bars worth an amount that Baek Miryu could not have earned even if he planted flowers for a hundred years, nor Jang Hoehwa’s father even if he sold flowers for fifty years.
While Moran and her mother were still reeling from the dazzling gold bars, the brown-haired, blue-eyed Westerner who had brought the crate delivered an even greater shock. The Westerner, who introduced himself as Robert, revealed that this crate was a proposal gift his master was sending to Moran. And he added that his master would soon visit Hwaguchon to formally propose to Moran.
At his words, Moran clasped her mother’s hand and cheered, saying her dream had finally come true. Baek Miryu’s remark, wondering whether the proposal gift was not too extravagant, was thoroughly ignored by his overbearing wife and daughter.
From that day on, Moran spent all day taking care of her skin and fussing over every detail of the clothes she would wear to greet her suitor, a man whose face she did not even know. And the sacrificial victim created by this turn of events was Jang Hoehwa, who had been kicked aside without warning.
“What do you mean by that! Why did you leave it on my dressing table?”
Moran shrieked and yanked the hair of Shin-yi, who had turned his back to her. Shin-yi, his hair suddenly gripped hard, winced and curled in on himself.
“Wh… what should I do, then?”
At Shin-yi’s stammered question, Moran gave a cold smile.
“I already knew you were a fool like no other in the world, but this is truly pathetic. This is a farewell poem! So how am I supposed to meet Jang Hoehwa and give this to him!” Only then did Shin-yi realize what Moran was scheming, and his face went white.
Moran’s old bad habit had started again. Whenever something troublesome came up, she dumped it on Shin-yi without fail.
“I… I can’t do it.”
Shin-yi shook his head. At that, Moran’s face, lovely as a fairy’s, turned vicious as a demon’s in an instant.
“Hurk!”
Shin-yi, his throat suddenly seized by Moran, flailed as he clutched at the windowsill. Cold sweat ran down his back as he thought of the height below the window.
“How funny! You can’t? A rice-beggar dares to say he can’t? Where did you learn such manners, you of all people!”
“Moran, don’t do this! Moraaan!”
Shin-yi, his face drained of color, gripped the windowsill even harder. As a child, Shin-yi had suffered badly from lung disease, and even afterward, the hard life of a dependent and poor nutrition had left him so thin it was embarrassing to call him a man. That was why he could never put up a proper resistance against Moran. Of course, even if he had strength to spare, he could not have laid a hand on Moran, Baek Miryu’s beloved only daughter.
Shin-yi, his hair still gripped by Moran, was flung down to the floor. His knee, scraped on the stone floor, was bleeding, but at least it was better than falling from the building and being smashed to pieces. Moran glared fiercely down at Shin-yi, who had sunk to the floor.
“Tonight at 10, go to the big birch tree in Sancheong Alley and deliver this poem to Jang Hoehwa. And tell him earnestly how much I grieve over parting from him. If word ever reaches my ears that you said anything foolish, I’ll really tear you limb from limb, so handle it yourself.” Shin-yi looked up at Moran with tearful eyes. He resented Moran, who knew perfectly well that Jang Hoehwa was the object of his unrequited love, yet made him do something that would grieve him so much.
It was only natural to let him go now that she had someone to marry, but Moran did not. Her scheme, to keep giving Jang Hoehwa room so that he could not give up on her completely, was truly horrifying.
The suitor had not arrived yet, so she probably did not want to let go entirely of the rice cake already in her hand, but for Shin-yi, the one directly involved, it was only sorrowful.
“Miss, the tailor has come. Madam says to come at once, as he must take your measurements.”
From the direction of the door came the voice of Mrs. Ma, the old maid who had worked in this house for more than twenty years. At that, Moran pouted her lips, painted red with rouge, and turned her back on Shin-yi. Then she whispered, just loudly enough for Shin-yi to hear.
“Do it well, without a single mistake. Unless you want to be locked in the back room and whipped.”
***
Mrs. Ma approached Shin-yi, who sat there dazed, unable even to find the strength to get up. She spoke to Shin-yi with eyes full of pity.
“Young master, are you all right?”
She was the only person in Baek Miryu’s house who called Shin-yi “young master,” while even the lowest servants ignored him as a rice-beggar. She had worked in Baek Miryu’s house even back when Shin-yi’s late father defied his family’s opposition and eloped with Shin-yi’s mother out of love, and she was still working as a maid when Shin-yi, orphaned overnight by his parents’ car accident, came to Baek Miryu’s house at the age of seven. And she was still a maid in Baek Miryu’s house to this day.
“I’m all right.”
Shin-yi answered haltingly as he got to his feet. As the scraped wound stung and he flinched without realizing it, Mrs. Ma clicked her tongue.
“You need to put medicine on it. Go to my room first.”
“No. I haven’t finished wiping the windows yet. If my eldest aunt finds out, it’ll be terrible.” Shin-yi shook his head and picked up the dry cloth that had fallen to the floor, then walked back toward the window.
“Young master, if that leaves a scar…”
“My body already has more than one or two scars, so it’s all right.”
Shin-yi smiled brightly with effort and wiped the window again. Mrs. Ma’s pitying expression was reflected in the glass, but Shin-yi did not look back. It was because he felt that if their eyes met now, he would no longer be able to hold back his sorrowful tears. A clear wetness welled in the eyes of Shin-yi as he silently wiped the window with force.
***
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