UFN| Chapter 5

Episode 5 

“Madam?”

Startled, Soran snapped out of her thoughts and shook her head quickly.

Her round little head bobbed from side to side like a startled bird.

“I’ve never gone hungry. Really.”

“I see.”

That was all.

Gyoheum didn’t even look surprised. His tone was casual, like it was never a serious question to begin with.

After all, could anyone really believe that the Minister of State would starve his own daughter?

Even if she was a concubine’s child, even if people called her a premature weakling, she was still his daughter.

No servant would dare go that far.

The only things Gyoheum had ever heard about Soran were that she was called the fool and the eight-month child.

He watched her quietly, as if studying a puzzle.

Soran hesitated, then added softly,

“It’s true.”

“Yes, I believe you.”

Even so, she still glanced nervously at him again and again.

He smelled like winter wind — cold and sharp. She’d smelled something like it before… when she first met the Minister.

It was the smell of complete indifference.

Her eyes grew faintly sad.

Of course, he wouldn’t like me.

What kind of man would love a wife who’s known as the fool and the eight-month child?

She already knew that, so why did it still sting?

“You must be tired,” Gyoheum said gently.

Soran looked up, puzzled.

Why did he sound so kind when he clearly didn’t like her?

The more she thought about it, the stranger it seemed. People who disliked her were never kind.

Lady Munhyeon had always shown her disgust openly.

Sehwa snapped at her for no reason.

Yeonhwa bullied her whenever no one was watching.

Even the servants weren’t much different — they treated her like a maid, never mind that she was technically their master’s daughter.

Their faces were all the same: frowning, glaring, sneering.

But Gyoheum… he smiled warmly, like a spring breeze — even though that cold, wintry scent still lingered on him.

The gap between his warmth and his chill was confusing.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” he asked.

“N-nothing.”

Soran’s lips twitched awkwardly into a smile. She didn’t know why he smiled, but since he did, she smiled back.

Then Gyoheum stood up. From where she sat, he looked towering — like a mountain blocking the light.

“You must be tired from the wedding. Rest alone tonight.”

“Huh?”

Her eyes widened.

Right then, he realized he’d said the wrong thing.

There was a faint barb hidden in his words — and he cursed himself silently.

He needed to be more careful.

If he wanted to use Soran, he had to win her trust first.

There was nothing easier to control than a woman in love.

And tonight was their wedding night.

Even if he didn’t want to consummate the marriage, sleeping beside her might have been smarter.

But every time he remembered she was the Minister’s daughter, that same burning anger flared in his gut.

Sleep beside her? The Minister’s bastard child?

Not yet. Maybe when the fire cooled down.

“I mean…”

He started to fix his words, but Soran beat him to it.

“T-thank you,” she stammered, lowering her gaze shyly.

He shut his mouth and stared at her.

When she looked up again, her eyes curved softly into a smile.

Ha… a breath of disbelief escaped his lips.

Thank you? So the Minister spoiled her this much — raised her so sheltered that she couldn’t even sense contempt.

No wonder they called her a fool.

Irritation boiled in him again.

People like her — pampered and untouched by hardship — were the most infuriating.

Harsh words rose to his tongue, but he forced them down, speaking in a falsely kind tone.

“Please, finish your meal. You still look hungry.”

“Can I?”

Her dark eyes sparkled, round and bright.

It was pure sincerity — she didn’t even catch the sarcasm in his voice.

Which only made him look ridiculous.

He sighed softly. “I’ll have the maid reheat the food. Wait a moment.”

“Oh, no, it’s fine! It’s late — I shouldn’t trouble anyone.

I’ll just finish what’s left. I’m almost full anyway.”

Gyoheum studied her again.

He had thought she’d grown up spoiled, but she seemed genuinely considerate — thinking about the servants even in her own room.

What kind of person are you?

He wondered, then he shook his head.

It didn’t matter. Whatever kind of woman she was, she was still the Minister’s daughter.

That would never change.

“Then have a restful night. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Ah!”

Soran suddenly gasped, as if remembering something.

Gyoheum paused and looked back at her.

Her cheeks were puffed again, her tiny mouth chewing like a squirrel.

Each time she swallowed, her eyes squeezed shut, then opened again.

He couldn’t help but watch her.

Finally, she swallowed and looked up seriously.

“What time should I go for the morning greeting?”

“The… what?”

“The morning greeting! I heard that’s the most important part — showing respect.”

Pajuddaek told me so.

She almost said it out loud but stopped herself, holding back the rest of her thought.

She remembered that last conversation clearly.

I’ve never learned proper etiquette. What if I get scolded?

Don’t worry. Just act proud — like someone who’s never had to care. You’re the

Minister’s daughter, aren’t you? No one will dare question you.

But still…

Then just bow nicely. Half the battle’s won if you greet people well.

Bow?

Morning greetings. As long as you bow properly, you’ve done your duty.

Soran clenched her fists, determined.

She was good at bowing — years of doing it for Sehwa had made her an expert.

And the rest is easy. Just smile. Nobody can scold a smiling face.

Her eyes had widened, then curved with a small, silent laugh.

That’s a relief. I’m good at both!

“I’ll come get you at first light,” Gyoheum said.

“Yes.”

Relieved, Soran went back to eating.

Gyoheum frowned slightly, watching her.

The more he saw, the less he understood.

She seemed simple, maybe foolish — but then sometimes she wasn’t.

He finally shook his head and turned toward the door.

Outside, darkness waited. The night was deep and still.

Somewhere, an impatient frog croaked — waking spring from its sleep.

A shadow stirred. It was Kkeutsun, emerging from the dark.

Gyoheum stepped down the porch stairs casually.

“The lady is still eating,” he said. “Clean up later and prepare her bedding.”

“Yes, sir.”

He paused, smiling faintly as a thought struck him.

“Oh — one more thing.”

Kkeutsun straightened up, half-bowing again.

“Don’t wake her tomorrow morning. Let her sleep in — she must be tired.”

But what about the morning greeting?

Kkeutsun blinked in confusion. It was the bride’s first day in her new home — wasn’t skipping the greeting improper?

But Gyoheum’s gentle smile silenced the question. She nodded slowly.

“Yes, sir.”

Looks like the young master’s already smitten. Newlyweds, huh.

Her shoulders trembled as she tried not to laugh, and the sound of her footsteps faded into the dark.

As soon as she was gone, the softness vanished from Gyoheum’s eyes. He looked out into the darkness, cold again.

“She’ll oversleep and panic. That should be amusing.”

Gyoheum changed clothes, glancing out the window. The sky was still black — the roosters hadn’t crowed yet.

Once, this was when he used to stumble home drunk. Now, it felt normal to be up, clear-headed, before dawn.

He thought suddenly of Sahm, his late brother — how he used to rise early, neatly dressed, ready for the palace.

Without realizing it, Gyoheum had started to resemble him.

If Sahm saw him now, what would he say?

Probably nothing. His brother had never been one for either praise or blame.

He shook his head to clear the thought and stepped outside.

Cold air heavy with dew slipped into his collar. Last night the grass had been dry; this morning it soaked his hem.

He stopped outside Soran’s room.

Is she awake?

He wondered.

Probably not.

Only servants with endless chores woke at this hour.