Chapter 12: Vow of Eternal Love (4)
Even though the day wasn’t particularly chilly, Seohyo wore a hooded coat.
She walked and walked, pausing briefly to check a small note before continuing. Her steps eventually led her to an old house. It stood at the end of a narrow alley, and there was no sign of life in the neighboring houses.
The house wasn’t abandoned in a dilapidated sense—it simply radiated a lonely, desolate atmosphere.
Seohyo glanced around, then grasped the door handle and knocked.
After a brief pause, she heard someone moving inside. No one asked who it was—meaning they were expecting her.
Creak.
The door opened, and her eyes met those of the person who came out.
“Master Ga.”
Seohyo gave a light nod of greeting.
Though his complexion was still pale, his clean attire and neatly tied headcloth made him look like a scholar devoted to study. The violent gleam that once lingered in his eyes had remarkably calmed.
If one only saw him now, it would be hard to believe he was the same man who had once strangled her while screaming in madness.
“Miss.”
Master Ga returned the greeting.
“Thank you for coming.”
“I have something to tell you first.”
Seohyo felt a chill; he had changed so much it was unnerving. She deliberately took control of the conversation.
“I came here secretly, as you requested, without Chaon knowing. This isn’t something that happens often. At a glance, I may seem like a master who arbitrarily ignores the steward’s words, but whenever he seems right, I follow Chaon’s guidance. I always respect his opinions.”
Her voice was calm, but every word carried sincerity.
“I want you to know that I wasn’t happy about deceiving Chaon to go to the bookstore. If anything were to happen to me…”
Her voice faltered briefly, then flowed smoothly again like a quiet stream.
“I would feel most of all apologetic toward Chaon.”
“I understand your intentions clearly.”
“One more thing.”
She had come to the house of the man who once strangled her, taking a risk. The more precautions, the better.
“I hope it never happens, but if there comes a moment when you try to harm me, the children I brought will stop you. ‘Stopping’ here doesn’t just mean shouting ‘don’t do it.’”
Seohyo glanced down the alley beyond the wall, where large trees crowded the path. Master Ga followed her gaze.
Two girls peeked out over the wall.
They were like identical cutouts, watching the gate tensely. When their eyes met Ga’s, they bared sharp little teeth. Their fingernails, three inches long, looked dangerously sharp.
If they scratched with those claws, blood would surely be drawn.
Yet, despite their raised nails, the girls’ faces were still unmistakably childlike.
And the fox ears poking out from their thick hair were so adorable that the sharpness of their nails was almost overlooked.
“Don’t be fooled by their cuteness. They’re fierce, despite appearances.”
Seohyo warned firmly. Ga’s eyes lingered on the girls. They clicked their claws together, making a soft kya-rung sound.
It was ridiculously cute.
It seemed the girls thought they were the only threat present.
Rather than pointing that out, Ga simply nodded. Any contradiction might make the girls burst into tears.
“I will never harm you, Miss. I promise.”
“Good.”
Seohyo gestured to the girls, then followed Master Ga into the house.
They passed a yard untouched for years before entering a modest room. He offered boiled water, claiming his household was humble.
Even neighbors with meager means, who drank bitter tea daily, would at least have cheap tea leaves. But Master Ga’s house didn’t even have that. Seohyo accepted the plain water carefully.
“In truth, that hairpin belonged to my deceased younger sister.”
Ga began speaking, his face dark as ink.
“When our mother passed, my sister took to the streets, continuing the small tea stall our mother had run. Our father, who was a traveling merchant, returned after a year and a half, holding a small hairpin with a pearl.”
Ga spoke with a distant, clouded gaze, recalling the past.
“Two months later, father left again, placing the hairpin in a small wooden box and saying it was for her wedding. My sister’s name was Donga.”
He added that she had been too precious and delicate to be burdened with supporting a failing brother.
“Fortunately, her stall began to prosper.”
The market-goers encouraged the girl running the stand alone.
Two years later, when their father decided to retire from traveling, his daughter’s eyes shone with delight as she asked,
“Please give me the pearl hairpin… Donga said this.”
Ga took a sip of water. The humble water offered was all he could provide. Seohyo watched both her steaming cup and his in silence.
“Father initially lamented that his daughter, already grown, was marrying so soon. But seeing her joy, he smiled and asked me to discreetly observe the groom the next day.”
The groom was everything Donga had hoped for. Even sitting at a market stall, he carried the aura of a grand family’s reception room. His silk garments were elegant, and his words to her sister were warm yet gallant. All women who passed by the street were captivated by him.
“It seemed impossible that such a man would promise a future with the daughter of a traveling vendor,” Ga said. Even his father had thought so.
Initially preferring a wealthier household for his daughter, the father gradually softened as he witnessed the groom’s genuine devotion.
Donga, lost in her first love, found everything sweet—but stepping back, it seemed an unusual choice.
Could this man truly be marrying a merchant’s daughter? How could one prove he wasn’t taking advantage of her innocence?
To avoid hurting her feelings, the father and Ga spoke carefully. Donga smiled faintly, as though expecting such caution.
“The man came to our house the next day, and every day after, showing respect. He even said he wanted their new home near her family so they wouldn’t be separated.”
This was her sister’s happiness. Ga felt that the more humble the man’s words, the more caution was required. A man in love could withhold nothing.
Yet, the groom’s earnest devotion gradually softened the hearts of the two men. Slowly, they began to trust him.
“Our Donga is such a fine girl. That man recognized her worth. That’s what I thought.”
The day the two men nodded, Donga clapped and kissed her father and brother on the cheek. The groom sent gifts as well.
Above all, her father, seeing how happy Donga was, stepped back. He wasn’t the only one indebted to her—Ga had been too.
“Donga insisted on wearing her father’s pearl hairpin at the wedding. She also wanted to give her fiancé a meaningful keepsake,” Ga continued.
The family consented. Their circumstances allowed it. Donga gave the beautiful hairpin to the groom, asking him to cherish it as a lifelong token.
Everything seemed blissful—until the day Donga returned home looking troubled.
- “He said we’d go boating, but he never came, even after waiting an hour. When I went to his house, the servant said he was asleep. He’s been so busy these past few days.”
“I knew the scale of the man’s work. I reassured Donga rather than scold him, telling her he must be tired from juggling work and wedding preparations. She seemed to want to say more, but nodded for the moment.”
Perhaps that was the first misstep. Donga increasingly returned home with a stern face. Once, after market closed, she didn’t return for a long time, so Ga went looking himself.
He found her pale, despite the mild weather. She only apologized when asked why she was late. Her voice was weak, and he could not press further. One more question might have broken her completely.
Two weeks later, Donga was found hanging on the hillside.
“Her body was too fragile to lift. I held her… Why did she choose this? I and her father were still here.”
Ga’s eyes reddened. Seohyo realized there were no words to comfort him and bowed her head.
It was a predictable ending, yet part of her had hoped it wouldn’t be. She wished the lovers could have overcome the odds. She hoped Donga had died after being cherished by her husband, rather than from tragedy or illness.
As Ga had once wished, as her father had wished.
Unable to prevent his daughter’s death, the father quickly became frail and passed the following year.
At the three graves, Ga wept bitterly. Then a magnolia petal drifting onto Donga’s grave caught his attention, reminding him of the pearl hairpin. He realized it had long since disappeared.
“I searched the entire house, but Donga’s hairpin was nowhere to be found.”
Ga visited the man’s house for the first time. Indeed, it was luxurious. The sound of a lute mixed with laughter drifted over the walls.
The man had sent only servants to Donga’s funeral. Anger rose in Ga’s chest, but blaming him now wouldn’t bring his sister back.
He requested a meeting, but was only told to leave. Feeling powerless and disappointed, he turned away. As he trudged along, a voice called from behind.
It was a young maid from that house.
“The man called me to stop, but he was the one with tears in his eyes. I apologized immediately,” she said.
Through her, Ga learned the full story of Donga’s death. Listening, he felt his legs give way.
“Miss.”
Ga met Seohyo’s gaze.
“They say the human heart is the most changeable. Sad and tragic as it is, once a heart has changed, nothing can be done. Donga must have accepted that.”
But the cruelty was different.
The man who had once promised eternal love mocked her in front of everyone. Donga’s body and spirit began to break.
He forced her to read poems at a banquet. When she couldn’t, he mocked her as unrefined. He demanded she dance seductively like the courtesans beside him. Unable, he ridiculed her ignorance.
Where had he changed? Why?
At times cruel, at times feigning regret, he would show the face of a sincere lover when she tried to leave. Amid disappointment, confusion, and fading hope, she wilted.
“When I heard he threw the pearl hairpin Donga gave him to a beggar, I lost my reason. He liquidated his estate and vanished. I survived only to seek revenge.”
Ga poured all his remaining wealth into finding the man, but he left no trace.
A year ago, they accidentally met on the street. The man bowed deeply and apologized, willing to do anything to atone. He wept as he confessed.
Unable to endure it, Ga recalled,
“When I tried to strike him with a stone, people stopped me. They said, despite his past deeds, he was now helping others, living humbly, feeding the hungry.”
Ga’s voice trembled with anger.
“Miss, tell me. Can apology and regret give a new life to one who has fallen so low? Is that truly possible?”
Tears streamed down his face, staining his worn clothes.
“Why should I accept that?”
While she still struggled with pain and resentment, he had repented on his own and led a virtuous life.
The beast she should have faced had appeared in human form.
A chilling light flared in Ga’s eyes.
“You must find the hairpin. I will drive it into that man’s heart and etch the grief-stricken soul of my sister deep within.”
Seohyo’s steps were heavy as she returned to the pharmacy. She had thought she was retrieving a keepsake, but the truth behind it was bitter and painful.
If she finds the hairpin, Ga will take his revenge. And having lived solely for vengeance, he would follow his family in death once it is fulfilled.
Even if she tried to prevent it, a person who has lost purpose in life cannot survive long.
In the end, the hairpin would claim two lives before becoming a true “heirloom.”
“This is difficult…”
Seohyo’s expression darkened. Chaon had been right—each had their duty. To act beyond the given responsibility out of fleeting sympathy or compassion is arrogance.
The gods of fate, reward and punishment, life and death—all are separate. Seohyo’s task was simply to manage the spirits of the lost. She must not crave more.
“I know. I know…”
Things don’t always go as planned. She sometimes wondered if life would be easier if she were simpler, satisfied only with what was given.
Then she could release small lives without feeling sorrow, leave Chaon undisturbed, and live among humans without interference.
But then, no one would hear Ga’s story.
A breeze brushed her shoulder, carrying loneliness. She wished someone would listen—
To stories of those forgotten in the world, of spirits abandoned and unnoticed.
Even if she couldn’t intervene, she wanted to listen.
Listening means sharing a moment, even briefly. In a world clamoring for attention, could she not quietly hear at least this one?
Seohyo stopped. She was in front of the pharmacy.
Pushing the door open, familiar surroundings greeted her.
“You’re later than expected.”
Chaon, cleaning the counter, looked up. The counter, polished under his care to match the cabinets, gleamed.
“After staying so long at the bookstore, you have nothing in your hands?”
Seohyo’s empty hands were noticed. Usually, her heart would sink, and she would scramble for an excuse. But today was different.
Chaon always cared for her even in the smallest matters. Even his cold rebukes carried affection.
She couldn’t imagine a life without him.
If Chaon changed…
After a century and a half together, Seohyo felt fear for the first time—fear that his feelings might not remain constant. She realized how unreasonably she had assumed his heart would always belong to her.
Seohyo stared at him intently. She had always taken his presence for granted.
“…Miss?”
Sensing something amiss, Chaon set down the towel.
