UFN| Chapter 8

Episode 8

Her eyes slowly narrowed until they were just slits, then they disappeared altogether, leaving only a thin line.

Her mouth curved up like an overturned fingernail, and her cheeks puffed out sweetly.

Gyoheum couldn’t take his eyes off that shy little smile. For a moment, his gaze showed a flicker of suspicion.

“Was it a good dream, on your first night here?” Lady Jami broke the silence. Soran nodded bashfully.

“I didn’t dream. I slept soundly.”

“Good. You must’ve been exhausted.”

“Yes.”

“From now on, you’ll take care of the annex household. If there’s anything you don’t know, come to me and ask.”

“Yes.”

“Welcome to our family.”

“…Yes.”

Again, Soran smiled like a shy lily of the valley. She lowered her head and gave a faint, sad little smile.

Why not? Gyoheum frowned, trying to guess the reason, but he couldn’t find an answer.

Outside, white morning light slid over her shoulders.

“Phew.”

Once she’d made sure no one was in the room, Soran finally let out the breath she’d been holding.

Relief dropped out of her like a pebble — and a quiet little glow of pride warmed her.

“I was nervous, but I think I did okay.”

Mojinpyeong and Lady Jami had both been kind to her. That stopped her mind from going blank.

“They’re all good people.”

Mojinpyeong smelled like old dust and earth, and Lady Jami smelled faintly of herbs. Both scents made her feel calm.

“Maybe…”

A tiny seed of hope took root in Soran’s chest.

Maybe this could be the soil where she could put down roots — a place she could belong.

Just then, someone came to the door.

Before she could turn, the door opened and a girl said, “Kkeutsun,” announcing herself.

She looked a few years younger than Soran — chubby-faced and sweet-looking, with a gentle expression.

“I’ll be your maid from now on,” she said.

“Oh…”

Soran opened her eyes wide and couldn’t find words. She couldn’t believe someone would serve her.

Until two days ago, she’d been the one preparing Lady Munhyeon’s meals, warming Sehwa’s water, stitching their quilts. Now a maid would serve her.

The change was so sudden it was more than just uncomfortable — it scared her.

Her life had always been full of bad luck. Abandoned by her mother, despised by Lady Munhyeon, and looked down on by servants.

Why did hardship always fall on her? Sometimes she wondered if good days would ever come.

Still, she had never hoped for such great luck.

She’d been content if she could just eat nurungji three times a day until full.

“I…” she started, then closed her mouth.

Could this really be allowed?

What kind of misfortune might hide behind such undeserved luck?

Waking up in the morning and not having to poke at the hearth, getting white rice at meals, not being pointed at by anyone — what might all that take away from her, in the end?

Suddenly, the ground felt shaky under her feet. She looked down.

The soil she thought she’d rooted into was still the same — as if it were pushing her away.

Bringing you back here is nothing at all.

Lady Munhyeon’s voice whispered in her ear as if it were right beside her.

Soran planted her feet and braced herself like a calf refusing to be led to slaughter.

After a long beat passed with no answer from Soran, Kkeutsun, who’d been watching curiously, spoke up first.

“Breakfast is ready.”

Soran nodded. Right. Let’s eat. Once I eat, these worries will disappear.

When you’re hungry, your thoughts spiral anyway, and small things can turn you sad.

Maybe that rumbling in her stomach was the real reason for all this worry.

“Okay.”

Soran left the room with Kkeutsun, eyes sparkling faintly with hope.

Would the chicken from last night be there for breakfast, too? She’d left a bit and hadn’t wanted them to reheat it, but if it was still there, she’d be happy.

Oh, and the beef soup was good.

Even cold, it was something else — warm would be amazing. Meat sticks in your belly longer than vegetables, doesn’t it?

She felt full enough, but she was always ready to reach for more meat.

When Soran entered the dining room, she froze — Gyoheum was already there. Only then did she remember it wasn’t a meal to eat alone.

“Why are you standing there? Don’t like the food?”

“No… I just—” she stammered.

She scanned the table with a fluttering heart and stopped.

Where she’d pictured meat, there was only a bowl of pumpkin porridge and three vegetable side dishes.

Soran hid her disappointment and sat as calmly as she could. Kkeutsun poured a cup of warm water and left.

“We had a late meal last night. I told them to make breakfast light so no one would get an upset stomach,” Gyoheum said.

It was considerate, but in the Minister’s house she’d often eaten porridge instead of rice — thin porridge with hardly any bits in it.

She’d been sick with porridge.

But Soran, timid as she was, couldn’t say that.

“Y-yes…”

Also, Gyoheum smelled faintly of a full stomach — so his words weren’t a lie.

She didn’t want to sulk at the man who’d worried about her.

Well, she’d even gone hungry like it was nothing — pumpkin porridge wasn’t so bad.

Maybe she’d already gotten used to being full.

“Thank you.”

“Let’s eat.”

“Yes.”

Gyoheum picked up his spoon first; Soran watched him and then picked up hers. She took a spoonful of the pumpkin porridge.

Her eyes popped open. This wasn’t ordinary porridge.

The pumpkin was cooked so well that it tasted sweet even without any extra seasoning. The finely ground glutinous rice made it nutty and filling.

Gyoheum had been right — it wasn’t heavy at all.

This porridge felt like something she could eat two, three bowls of without stopping.

“Today I have to go on duty. I was going to rest until tomorrow, but I got a report last night — a murder happened in my district.”

Slurp.

“So I have to go check it out. We should be able to eat dinner together, though.”

Slurp.

“I’ll tell the servants. If you need anything, tell them.”

Slurp.

“My mother might call you to have tea; she said she had a few things to tell you before putting you in charge of the annex.”

Slurp.

“Wife, are you listening?”

Gyoheum paused and asked, suspiciously. Soran blinked slowly, the porridge halfway to her mouth, and finally looked up.

“…Yes.”

She’d drifted off. He narrowed his eyes.

Soran looked between Gyoheum and the porridge with anxious eyes. He sighed and said,

“First, finish your meal.”

“Yes.”

At that, she smiled and gripped her spoon tightly. This porridge was unbelievably good.

Clearly, what she’d eaten before hadn’t been real porridge. Her eyes shone with excitement.

Gyoheum murmured, half-joking, “Looks like the Minister really did starve his daughter.”

Outside the window, the sun rose in a golden color like pumpkin porridge.

Soran shifted restlessly in her chair.

She couldn’t stand staying still anymore and moved to the empty seat beside him.

She sat up straight and wiggled her fingers nervously.

“Hah.”

A sigh escaped her. Doing nothing made her itchy; a body used to constant work felt strange when still.

If you can rest a bit when you’ve always been busy, you think that’s enough — but then, when you must sit still, you want to work so badly you ache.

“I can’t just sit. I’ll walk the annex around.”

She opened the door with a little ambition and froze — Kkeutsun was there polishing a pillar with a dry rag. Their eyes met.

Soran’s expression softened.

“No wonder the pillars shine more… thanks to you. Good work.”

Kkeutsun’s eyes widened in surprise — she hadn’t expected praise.

Many nobles assume pillars are supposed to shine and floors are supposed to be smooth, and don’t notice the servants’ efforts.

“It’s my job,” Kkeutsun said.

Soran gave a wry smile. She felt oddly out of place in the fine clothes.

Still, she had to get used to these clothes: the long skirt that made walking awkward, the wide sleeves that made cleaning hard.

“Where are you going?” Kkeutsun asked.