GJJ 08

Between the Elf and the Traitor

The painter set his bundle of art supplies against a wall where the rain couldn’t reach and tilted his head to study the dark sky. Then he briskly flicked the water from his soaked robe—movements crisp and economical.

Before long the world was sealed in a curtain of heavy rain.

Here and there puddles formed, and barefoot children shrieked as they dashed through the downpour.

Miyu and the painter stood side by side beneath the eaves.

Miyu watched in silence as the muddy ground hollowed into round little pools, glancing at the painter now and then.

Her gaze lingered on the painter’s bundle: rolled paper scrolls and sketchbooks, brushes of various sizes, a portable ink flask, a blanket-like cloth for mounting paper, and a mountain-shaped brush rest for wet brushes. She had only ever seen such things in museums; seeing them for real filled her with awe.

Fascinated, Miyu finally spoke first.
“Are you a painter?”

No answer. Was he ignoring her?

A faint blush spread across her cheeks like red paint bleeding through water.

Honestly, good-looking men were always trouble—so openly dismissive.

Does he think I’m interested in him or something?

Annoyed, Miyu clammed up, pouting.

“I didn’t ask you out, you know. No need to be rude. Hmph, what a jerk.”

She raised her voice so he’d hear, but again, nothing.

She glared at him. As much as she hated to admit it, his looks were unreal.

If Ayoung—who knows every idol’s profile by heart—were here, she’d be going wild…

Her father’s words suddenly came back: Have fun like the other kids. Try dating.

He must have meant kids like Ayoung. Miyu wondered if she even had a single “love cell” in her body.

Since hitting puberty some boys had drawn near, some boldly confessed. When she earned the nickname “Ice Princess,” people even assumed she was arrogant about her looks.

She just wasn’t interested in dating. She never bothered to explain; she had no time to care what others thought. Chasing only success, her youth felt like a dry, empty desert.

Dad must’ve worried a lot.

Meanwhile the painter’s thoughts wandered far away.

A memory at eight years old.

Rain poured in sheets. Tears streamed down the face of a boy standing beneath the eaves, flowing like a river. To hide his tears he stepped slowly into the rain. The grown painter longed to run back through that storm to embrace the lonely child who had just lost his mother—his eight-year-old self.

Suddenly a small white dog dashed under the eaves, shaking rainwater everywhere.

Miyu crouched beside it.
“Where’s your mom?”

The puppy looked up with dark, glistening eyes and wagged its tail.

Because it was wet? Or because those black eyes were dewy? It looked so pitiful.

“Did you lose your mom?”

The dog whimpered as if it understood.

“Hey, don’t cry. You and I are the same. I don’t have a mom either…”

She kept chatting to the little dog as the rain began to ease.
“You miss her, don’t you? I do too.”

At the word mom, the painter returned from his reverie and finally noticed Miyu talking to the puppy.
Both the soaked dog and the girl speaking to it looked lonely.

A wistful smile bloomed across the painter’s beautiful face.

Three motherless creatures huddled beneath the eaves—a man, a woman, and a puppy. It hurt to watch.

The puppy trembled with cold. Miyu couldn’t just leave it there. Was it motherless and ownerless too? Her heart tightened.

She scooped up the wet dog.
“This won’t do. I’ll be your mom.”

Then the painter murmured in a low, resonant voice,
“Have we met somewhere before?”

That deep, magnetic tone—she knew it.

Where had she heard it?
Byun Hayeon? No, his voice was as soft as a spring breeze.
Hwang-hee? Too stiff. And certainly not old Man-dol.

Strange. I’ve met only a few men in Joseon…

Suddenly a memory thundered in her mind:

Forgive me. Forgive me. Forgive me…

Miyu went pale. Her eyes darted to the painter’s bundle of supplies. Startled, she almost dropped the puppy.

The moment of colliding with a man flashed vividly back: scattered art tools, running policemen, and that word they shouted—traitor.

Her blood turned cold.

“…Traitor.”

“Hmm?”
The painter looked puzzled.

Miyu instinctively stepped back.

Forgive me. Forgive me…
The echo wouldn’t stop.

She bolted into the rain, clutching the white dog so tightly it whimpered.

Now it truly felt like her breath might stop. A traitor—of all things!
Get involved and she could be executed.

It wasn’t the cold rain; it was the thought of losing her life that sent chills through her.

If I die here, it really would be a dog’s death.

Songpajang Tavern Street

At the entrance with its tall willow tree stood the Nose-Chief Tavern, and beside the bustling gaming room was a small drinking room.

Byun Hayeon and Hwang-hee watched the thinning rain through the open door.

“Heh, looks like I win again. Three in a row,” Hayeon said happily, eyes on the tavern entrance.

“No point waiting,” Hwang-hee scoffed. For a worldly man like Hayeon to wait for Miyu was surprising. Why would she show up, owing drinks after losing a bet—and they’d only just met? It seemed naive of him, though that innocent streak was something Hwang-hee secretly liked.

“She didn’t strike me as that type…”
“If she does come, she might feel awkward. If luck shows up, we’ll just drink without her.”
“Still, it’s odd for Un to break a promise.”
“The rain’s delaying her, that’s all.”

Just then Miyu entered, rain-soaked and holding a white puppy.

“You’re not… planning dog stew, are you?”
“Always full of surprises, but I’m not eating that,” Hwang-hee muttered, startled.

Miyu borrowed a towel from the tavern mistress to dry her face, neck, and the filthy belly of the little dog.

Whether from running or fear, her heart still pounded against her ribs.

As she looked at the puppy and tried to calm herself with deep breaths, she sensed eyes on her and glanced up.

Hayeon and Hwang-hee stared from the drinking room. Relieved, she waved the towel; after just one meeting, she’d never been so glad to see someone.

Soon she carried the puppy inside.
A low chest stood against the wall with blankets stacked neatly on top, and a lantern glowed softly.

The two men exchanged wide-eyed looks. Letting a dog indoors was unthinkable.

They’d heard of northern Siberians or the Ainu of Japan keeping dogs inside tents, and even Europeans bringing pigs or cows into their homes, but in civilized Joseon? Unheard of.

“Sorry I’m late. The rain slowed me down. Why those faces?”
“You brought a dog inside… how unexpected,” Hwang-hee said.
“I know it’s not the norm, but it’s shivering. Cut me some slack,” Miyu replied boldly, glancing at the puppy.

“Anyway, we were waiting, Lady Miyu,” Hayeon said warmly.
“Thought you’d skip out after losing the bet,” Hwang-hee added gruffly.

Hayeon’s kindness touched her; Hwang-hee’s bluntness felt reassuring.

“I don’t go back on my word,” she said—and shivered.

“Sit by the warm floor and dry off,” Hwang-hee suggested.

“You’ll catch a cold,” Hayeon said, pulling a blanket from the chest and handing it to her, his thoughtfulness matching his looks.

Exhausted, Miyu settled by the heated floor and leaned against the wall. The puppy found comfort on her lap and closed its eyes.

As tension melted, drowsiness crept in. Before she knew it she was asleep.

The two men watched her. With her flawless pale skin and quiet demeanor, she looked like a noble maiden. Sleeping, she was as endearing as the pup she held.

“A lone girl in a room with two men—innocent or fearless?” Hwang-hee whispered.
“She must be worn out from the vegetable-pancake stall,” Hayeon murmured.

“Still no sign of Un,” Hwang-hee said, glancing toward the door.

When Miyu awoke from her nap, there was a third man.

Tall and broad-shouldered, he sat with his back to her. Something about him felt familiar.

No way…

She slowly reclined, narrowing her eyes to see his profile.

A striking face, steeped in quiet melancholy—unmistakably the traitor.

Did he follow me?

Fear, surprise, and confusion churned inside her. Why did fate keep tangling her with a fugitive?

Yet the three men laughed together with easy familiarity.

Hayeon and Hwang-hee, so calm, couldn’t possibly be traitors.

Have they been fooled by a rebel disguised as a painter? What should I do? If I run and make a scene, they might all be accused of treason—and face execution.

Thoughts whirled like a blizzard.

Moments later, Hayeon and Hwang-hee’s eyes widened as Miyu slowly rose behind the newcomer. She pressed a finger to her lips, signaling for silence.

This man is a traitor. A traitor.

Miyu removed her finger and silently mouthed, It’s him, pointing straight at I-un.