2 The Crimson Ribbon
Yi-hwan was a gentle man.
He was exactly as he had introduced himself—one who repaid kindness in full. From the time his wounds began to heal, he took it upon himself to chop wood and keep the room warm. There was only one problem...
"Oh no."
The food had run out entirely. Hyeon stepped out of the dilapidated hut and crouched down. Lately, she had been surviving on just enough thin gruel to keep from dying, and it was making her dizzy. Having scraped together what little remained to feed her unexpected guest, she herself had gone without.
What good is pride, anyway.
Hyeon clicked her tongue at her own foolishness. But her deal with Yi-hwan was to take care of him, and that meant she was obligated to provide shelter and food.
She had a store of medicinal herbs, but she could not go down to the village to sell them—she had been driven out. Nor did she want to sell them at a pittance to merchants as she had before. These were medicines she had painstakingly gathered by scouring the mountains day and night. Hyeon thought that this time she would drive a harder bargain, yet still she let out a helpless sigh. The night air was dry and cold.
Just then, the sound of scraping earth came from behind her. Hyeon startled and jumped to her feet. It was an overreaction, but given the years she had suffered under spirits, it was unavoidable.
"Who is there?"
She asked, wary. If it was a person, they would answer; if a spirit, they would not.
But no answer came immediately. Had she let her guard down because she had not seen any lately? Hyeon turned to hurry back inside. Her heart pounded like a war drum. Yet even so, she tried to calm herself.
Find the white cloth I always keep close. Drape it over myself. Lie down with my back to the door. Then—it will be fine.
Her muttering lips were parched and cracked. The muscles in her face, straining to appear composed, twitched as if in spasm. Then, a low voice mixed with the wind from behind her.
"You were outside."
Only then did Hyeon's tension drain away, and she drew a breath. Slowly turning around, she saw a large man carrying a heavy load of firewood on his back. The enormous carrying frame that would have been burdensome for her looked like a child's toy against his broad shoulders.
"The wind is cold."
His tone was gentle, as if coaxing a child. Hyeon nodded vaguely and averted her gaze. Yi-hwan, who had been wounded not long ago, seemed to have healed well—he had been diligently gathering wood. It was only natural, since nearly half a month had passed since she began treating him.
After a moment's hesitation, Hyeon spoke.
"Your wounds must be nearly healed by now, are they not?"
She broached the matter that had been on her mind for some time. He looked at her quietly, then said, "Well.." and set the wood down in the yard. Hyeon was displeased with such an ambiguous response.
"I would appreciate a clear answer."
"Would you care to examine them yourself?"
He asked back with perfect composure. His innocent face seemed to hold no ulterior motive. Hyeon found the prospect of examining a strange man's body awkward, but she thought it best to see for herself how the wounds were healing, and reluctantly nodded.
After all, Yi-hwan had promised to leave once he had recovered to a certain degree. The longer he stayed by her side, the worse it would be for him. The two walked into the one-room hut.
"Please lift your upper garment so I may take a look."
Yi-hwan unbuttoned his clothes with an impassive face. Hyeon swallowed dryly, praying the sound would not be too loud. Even though she had seen his body once before, she could not help but feel tense. She approached on her knees and carefully peeled away the white muslin cloth covering the wound.
"Why..."
Hyeon frowned without meaning to. The wound that had been bleeding profusely half a month ago was not healing—it was caked with pus.
He worked with his body in this condition?
"Did you not apply the medicine?"
She had made sure he took the oral medicine. Perhaps the mistake had been simply handing him the ointment and telling him to apply it himself. It was a highly effective salve for healing wounds.
"I tried quite hard, but I suppose I am still unskilled at it."
Yi-hwan spoke in a calm voice. Hyeon bit her lip as she wiped the wound clean with a fresh cloth. She let out a sigh at Yi-hwan's foolishness—pushing himself despite the worsening wound. Yet her hands moved steadily as she cleaned the pus.
"I am coarse and clumsy by nature, it seems. I cannot manage my wounds well. Would you allow me to ask you, miss?"
"I will teach you how to apply the medicine again."
"How heartless."
"As if you did not know."
Hyeon answered stiffly. She knew men who sometimes sought attention this way—and she had a fair idea of what feelings drove such behavior. She had grown quite accustomed to it and could sometimes parry with ease, but seeing the festering wound, her expression would not soften.
"Is it not in your own interest, miss, for me to recover quickly?"
Hyeon pressed her lips shut, then let out a small sigh. Lately, she had been falling for these clumsy ploys more and more often.
I have kept him too long.
She lamented inwardly.
"Very well. I will apply the medicine for you morning and evening."
"Yes."
Yi-hwan answered with a face full of satisfaction, like a general claiming victory. The slight twitch of his cheeks was rather endearing—an expression ill-suited to a man of his bear-like stature and towering frame. Hyeon nearly chuckled at this childlike side he often showed, but she bit her lip. She could not afford to let her guard down too much.
"I will prepare some tea."
It was a signal that it was time to sleep. It was a tea brewed from a potent sleeping herb—not harmful to the body, but highly effective. Once drunk, it would keep one asleep for a full six hours. Before taking him in, Hyeon had made it a condition that he must drink the tea before bed every night.
After all, she was a woman living alone, allowing a strange man into her home. Hyeon considered it the bare minimum measure to protect herself. Fortunately, Yi-hwan had agreed with a warm smile. She always watched him drink it—a time when her attention was fully on him.
The man sipped and swallowed the tea very slowly. Only after confirming the cup was empty did they each lie down on their separate pallets, one at a distance from the other, and seek sleep. Hyeon began to drift off as his breathing evened out.
Her dreams were restless—but as always, she woke feeling nothing but refreshed.
---
When she opened her eyes, Yi-hwan was not in the room. By the door where he slept, only a neatly folded blanket remained. He must have gone to gather wood. She had told him there was still plenty left and he need not bring more. Hyeon stirred lazily and straightened the bedding. Today, she would have to search the kitchen and at least make some thin porridge before heading out.
"What are you doing?"
In the kitchen, where she had expected no one, stood Yi-hwan. He was staring blankly into the pot. Hyeon approached and peered in—inside was a whole chicken, covered in knife marks, floating in a pot full of water.
Yi-hwan spoke up, looking slightly abashed.
"You seemed worried about meals..."
"You got a chicken from somewhere."
He must have gone out and brought back ingredients after seeing her crouched over the rice jar yesterday. Yi-hwan was sharp that way.
"I tried to prepare it myself, but it was not easy."
His face was unusually deflated. The pot, filled to the brim with water, had nothing but a chicken bobbing about. He had managed to procure the meat, but cooking was clearly not his forte. His clumsy appearance was amusing—Hyeon chuckled softly and headed to where she kept her herbs.
"Go inside and rest."
Yi-hwan did not move. He stood there stubbornly, and it seemed urging him further would change nothing. Hyeon glanced at him and began selecting medicinal herbs for cooking. She poured out some of the water, added the remaining rice, and seasoned it. Finally, she stuffed the herbs inside the chicken.
Because Yi-hwan had already stoked the fire beneath the pot, sweat soon beaded on her brow despite the cold. Her hair hung loose and heavy—the silk ribbon she used to tie it up had frayed and broken. Then Yi-hwan reached out from behind and lightly touched her hair.
"You seem to have no free hands—let me tie it for you."
In his hand was a ribbon of flowing crimson. Hyeon's eyes went wide with surprise.
In Wolryeon, there was a custom for maidens to tie their hair up with silk ribbons. It came from a superstition that a smooth ribbon of good color would protect them when wrapped around their hair.
Hyeon, too, had once changed her ribbon daily to the finest silk—but now even her last one had snapped.
How does he always manage to produce exactly what is needed, time and again? He had mentioned having a little money, so she could understand him going down to the village to buy a chicken and a ribbon, but...
"I am always watching you, miss."
He spoke as if he knew everything she was thinking. Then he gently wiped the beads of sweat from the nape of her neck with his fingers. At his blatant touch, Hyeon's face stiffened.
"We have been living under the same roof for days now—how could I not know? I am not one to lack discretion."
Yi-hwan was a man skilled at slipping away with ambiguous words. And Hyeon deliberately looked away from his shrewd pretense of ignorance. He was a man who kept trying to enter her heart—but it was not simply a matter of liking or disliking him.
Hyeon had always lost the people she loved, as the price of that love. Now, that process had become unbearable.
"Please, let me at least set the table."
He asked, gently ushering her aside. Hyeon said nothing more and retreated into the small room. Then she pressed her hand firmly to the nape of her neck, where his cool fingertips had touched.
The skin is hot, as if fevered—clearly from standing so long before the fire.
Hyeon thought that, and merely fiddled with the ribbon for no reason.
He soon arranged the food neatly and came into the room. He placed a spoon in Hyeon's hand, then began to shred the chicken meat himself.
"You must eat well."
"Thank you."
Hyeon said so, and began to eat the porridge and meat.
The boiled chicken was delicious. It was a far cry from the dry, plain rice balls and thin gruel she usually ate. As she eagerly devoured the meat he had transferred to her bowl, she paused mid-sip of the broth.
"I am sorry."
Hyeon mumbled, flustered with embarrassment. She picked up her chopsticks, scraped the now-scant meat from the chicken, and placed it before him.
"Please eat."
"I am fine."
"I have eaten my fill. I am full."
He smiled gently and continued to move his spoon. Hyeon watched him eat, dazed.
Straight and graceful. He had clearly received strict etiquette training somewhere. She studied his fair, refined features closely.
It was the first time she had shared a meal with Yi-hwan. And it had been a very long time since she had sat across from someone and eaten together.
Once, there had been someone with whom she shared warm rice every day. Her stomach felt bloated from hastily filling it.
"Why that expression?"
"...Because I am happy."
Yi-hwan slowly set down his spoon. Hyeon gazed at it numbly, then lamented flatly.
"It is nice to sit and eat with someone after so long. But I am the one who devoured my family, my friends, even my lover. And here I am, eating well and living comfortably—surely heaven must deplore me."
"Miss."
Yi-hwan called her name as if to comfort her, but Hyeon's self-deprecating lament did not stop.
"And yet, I do not know why heaven does not take me too. Irreverent as it may be, I found that rather amusing."
It had been five years. Ever since everyone had died like that, she had lived with these thoughts every single day. Her mother died of illness. Her father drowned trying to save a child who had fallen into the water. Her friends. Her lover... All had met violent ends—too many to dismiss as coincidence.
At first, she had wanted to survive to the end, to defy heaven itself. But now, even that will had faded. Yi-hwan gazed at her pale face for a long while, then spoke calmly.
"How is that your fault?"
"..."
"It was only bad luck. Heaven takes no one's side."
Yi-hwan acted as if her self-deprecation pained him. Hyeon gave no answer. Yet she could not deny that it was the very comfort she had most wanted to hear.
It had been a long time since her fingertips trembled with such warm emotion.
***
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