Chapter 2: The Ideal Beloved (1)
“Oh, my intended didn’t come, and instead, some random person showed up.”
Seohyo had nowhere proper to focus her gaze and stared into empty space. She shifted her eyes left, then right, then up, then down—over and over.
Up, down, up, down.
This seat had never felt so uncomfortable.
Her cushion wasn’t uneven, yet her hips kept twitching, and her posture twisted as if she were a child kneeling before the village teacher, caught not doing their homework.
The reason was simple. Across from her, the young lady was holding a teacup with both hands, her clear eyes shining brightly.
“My heart flutters at the thought of marrying Chaon!”
Yes.
Finally, finally, someone had appeared in Baekhwa Apothecary not to pray for Seohyo’s intended partner, whom she had prayed for over a hundred and fifty years, but to declare that she wanted to marry Chaon instead.
Somewhere next to her, Seohyo thought she heard the grinding of teeth.
Earlier that morning.
Seohyo had been soothing a woman begging for medicine to improve her complexion. “Soothing” was a generous term—it was basically the same as a child throwing a tantrum.
“This is medicine to calm skin diseases, ma’am,” Seohyo said.
“Yes, that’s it! Will my skin get fair if I use it too?”
“Making skin appear fair is cosmetic work. We’re an apothecary.”
Seohyo silently prayed that the woman would understand.
The same words, repeated again and again—Seohyo had lost count.
“Mr. Kwak took this medicine for his daughter,” Seohyo continued.
“I saw it too. Their daughter’s skin was rougher than a quince peel, and now it’s so smooth!”
“That’s because the illness was cured.”
All medicine has side effects. If someone healthy takes a drug meant for patients, it could ruin their body.
By now, it was about time Chaon came to handle the situation—but he hadn’t, because Seohyo insisted she could manage on her own.
At that moment, Chaon’s expression would have been something to see.
Pure disdain.
“Do you want the medicine Mr. Kwak’s daughter used?”
The woman’s face brightened at Seohyo’s words. Indeed, nothing in this world was impossible. Once someone dug their heels in, they always got their way. The woman’s true intentions were written plainly on her face.
“I’ll make it clear. You don’t have a skin disease, so using strong medicine will likely cause your skin to flare up soon.”
Seohyo wore a deliberately frightening expression as she said this.
“You said it was like a quince peel… tsk, tsk.”
She wagged her index finger right in front of the woman’s face.
“Not just any quince peel, but a peel taken a hundred years ago!”
“Eek!”
The woman leaped in surprise, imagining the scene.
“What a curse to curse with!”
“But it’s true.”
So Seohyo took out a small packet of herbal medicine, advising the woman to wash her face morning and evening with water infused with the herbs, rather than waste money on unnecessary medicine.
Originally, she had set it aside for herself, but if it could get the woman to leave, it was worth it.
The woman’s eyes sparkled at the new item.
“Is it about a hundred years old? Do you know Maebi, famous for her beauty?”
“I know Maebi.”
“This is what she used.”
“This? Really?”
“Of course. I personally saw it—”
Seohyo quickly shut her mouth, realizing her slip. Selling medicine after a long time always came with verbal blunders. She smiled brightly and corrected herself.
“I’ve seen it personally. It’s recorded in a very famous medicinal text.”
“Is that so?”
The woman eagerly opened her purse. Once someone comes determined to buy, it’s hard to send them away empty-handed. Better to let them buy something.
The herbs Seohyo sold genuinely benefited the skin, so it wasn’t a lie.
The only tricky part, if Chaon found out, was that she sold it at half the original price.
“Since your birthday is the day after tomorrow, let’s just consider it a gift.”
If Chaon had heard that, it would have been twice as disdainful.
Creak.
“Welcome.”
Seohyo’s cheerful greeting was met with a slightly hesitant voice. She hadn’t noticed the guest’s face while tidying the items sticking out of the drawers. Now, seeing a young lady her own age, she smiled.
This lady didn’t seem ill—so why was she here?
Nor did she look like someone with a sick relative at home.
Seohyo had run this apothecary in the human world for a long time. By now, she could roughly distinguish between ordinary people and the other two types.
“Um…”
The young lady held a bundle that looked like a package of clothes. Indeed, she seemed unfamiliar—perhaps not from the village.
“Are you looking for something?”
“Uh, I… I’m looking for someone.”
Why were the customers acting strange today?
Earlier, a woman had been searching for medicine she shouldn’t take; now, this guest was looking for a person. Only Chaon and Seohyo were here.
“I was told I could find them here.”
“Um, ma’am, I’m sorry, but if you’re asking about a person, the vegetable store over there—”
Then, a completely unexpected name left the young lady’s lips.
“I’m here to see Chaon.”
“Huh?”
She clutched her bundle tightly and repeated herself.
“I was told Chaon would be here.”
“Chaon… is here, but…”
Seohyo was about to ask why she wanted to see her steward when Chaon entered the apothecary through the door from the main house. At that moment, the young lady’s face lit up. Chaon didn’t even look at her, but she was radiant.
“Chaon!”
She shouted loudly, her voice carrying the weight of all her anticipation.
“Please marry me!”
Everyone in the apothecary froze. Even the spirits playing among the herb drawers seemed shocked. But none were as surprised as Seohyo behind the counter.
Marry Chaon?
Two words so out of place together suddenly collided.
The young lady’s name was Mirang. If you walked southwest from here for a full month, you would reach a small river—she was called the daughter of the river god there.
The daughter of the river god, perhaps that’s why she wore water-colored clothes.
Seohyo had a fleeting, silly thought as she listened to Mirang. Normally, she would listen even to the village children, but this was no ordinary moment.
This was right after a young lady had suddenly appeared and confessed that she had fallen in love with Chaon at first sight twenty years ago.
Mirang had said that the loneliness behind Chaon’s handsome face had deeply moved her heart.
Yes, loneliness. Chaon’s loneliness.
Seohyo had no idea how to respond. The Chaon depicted through Mirang’s eyes was so different from the one Seohyo knew.
“The shadow under his eyes, heavy with regret, his sighs, the solitary back I saw.”
Her voice trembled slightly as if recalling that time.
“It was heartbreaking. I could feel his suffering from the back of Chaon’s figure as he stood there.”
Mirang wiped her tears with her sleeve.
“I wanted to comfort him, even if it was just me.”
“What a warm heart.”
“From that day, Chaon kept appearing in my thoughts. I asked my father if I could marry him, but he said I was too young.”
At that time, she was barely fifty years old. In the realm of the gods, that age is treated like a ten-year-old human child.
Indeed, she was still very young.
And if that was twenty years ago, she’s still young now!
Seohyo’s lips twitched.
“I’ve been thoroughly trained in how to be a bride.”
Since Chaon appeared, Mirang’s eyes had been fixed solely on her future husband.
“I will surely be a good wife.”
Wife.
Chaon’s wife.
No matter how many times Seohyo repeated it in her mind, it felt unfamiliar. She couldn’t explain why it felt so strange, awkward, and a little bitter.
Seohyo stared at Mirang across the table.
There had been other women confessing to Chaon before. He was always popular.
Even without saying a kind word, human or divine, they were drawn to him, even though he was just an apothecary’s steward.
Seohyo realized that other women could see a charm that she couldn’t. Once, she had thought to ask someone seriously but decided against it after seeing a girl in tears from rejection.
And asking girls with ongoing crushes only brought back incomprehensible answers. So Seohyo decided it was easier to imagine there was another Chaon somewhere.
Anyway, someone had shyly confessed. Someone had courageously spoken.
But no one had spoken with certainty like Mirang.
The pure belief that her heart would be accepted made Seohyo unconsciously uncomfortable.
Why am I feeling this way? Shouldn’t I react like a doting older sister?
She had trained for twenty years to be Chaon’s bride, and had walked a long way to get here.
Goodness, admirable. Yes, please take this chatterbox away. Then my future will feel much more peaceful.
Why is it so hard to say that?
A strange, indescribable feeling coiled in Seohyo’s stomach.
“What do you think, Chaon? When would be the best time to hold the ceremony?”
Mirang’s cheeks flushed as she chattered.
“Before it gets cold would be best, but winter is fine too.”
“Miss.”
Both responded at once.
“Huh?”
“Yes?”
Chaon sighed briefly, realizing his mistake, and corrected himself.
“Mirang.”
“Yes, speak.”
For the first time, Chaon addressed her. Until now, Seohyo had been asking and answering questions while he hadn’t moved a muscle.
Mirang’s eyes sparkled like stars, as if ready to answer yes to anything he said.
Seohyo, meanwhile, remained unsettled.
Chaon had spoken to Mirang, not Seohyo.
What’s wrong with this?
Seohyo, you’re acting strange. This isn’t like you.
Chaon handled things in his usual manner. His steward got straight to the point.
“I think you’re quite mistaken.”
“Mistaken?”
“First of all, I wasn’t in that area twenty years ago.”
Chaon’s eyes met Seohyo’s. His sideways glance made it obvious he found the mistress frustrating.
“You said Baekogang. To my knowledge, that’s Haeju, but twenty years ago, we lived far north of there. It’s several days’ ride on horseback.”
His gaze shifted toward Seohyo.
“Miss, when we lived in Pyoju, did I ever leave home for more than a day?”
“…No.”
“Exactly.”
He added a remark that sounded like praise but wasn’t really.
“You sold herbs at absurd prices, yet your memory is decent.”
Upon second thought, it wasn’t really praise. Anyway, Chaon seemed satisfied with getting the answer he wanted and addressed Mirang.
“So, what you saw was not me.”
“That’s impossible.”
Mirang’s face looked ready to cry. Her hair ornaments swayed with her frantic shaking.
“It was definitely Chaon.”
“Regrettably…”
“You were standing in front of a grave at the time.”
Mirang spoke desperately, her hands clasped in pleading.
To jog his memory, or else she might be sent away. She must have felt the urgency. It was plausible since Chaon insisted it was a different person.
“You came several times. Each time you looked distressed, so I thought you had lost someone precious…”
“A grave?”
Chaon shook his head, signaling that it wasn’t the case at all.
But Seohyo saw it. Mirang hadn’t noticed, but Seohyo, who had been by his side for so long, saw it.
Chaon’s eyes trembled slightly when Mirang mentioned the grave.
So which story was true?
Seohyo had never heard of Haeju’s grave before. Moreover, since Chaon became a god of what she had lost, he had never left her side.
They had shared everything over all this time.
Yet now Seohyo doubted her own understanding. Why did Mirang know something she didn’t? And why did Chaon deny it as if it were a secret?
It felt like hitting a wall she hadn’t known existed.
Seohyo’s chest ached.
“No… it really was Chaon.”
Mirang’s unexpected response made her eyes redden, as if she might cry. Then, a thought crossed her mind, and she looked intently at Chaon. Her eyes, full of doubt and confusion, turned to Seohyo.
Mirang’s lips trembled. The young lady seemed to have made up her mind and bravely spoke.
“Um… could it be that Chaon is—”
She paused.
Though no one had stopped her, Mirang was already shrinking under the weight of the situation.
Seohyo soon understood why.
“Could it be… that you already have someone in your heart?”
The young lady began considering various possibilities. Seohyo, knowing Chaon, knew the question was misguided.
Many had admired the steward, but none had ever received affection in return.
There really wasn’t a single one among all those people.
Thinking of different scenarios was probably good for Mirang.
But the next question went too far.
“Could it be… that person is you, Seohyo?”
Ah, that one I can answer cleanly. Seohyo responded confidently after a long time.
“No.”
Mirang’s gaze slowly shifted to Chaon. She knew what she was waiting for, so Seohyo looked at Chaon too.
For the five cries of the magpie in the front yard, Chaon said nothing.
He only stared at the pale green teacup in front of him.
Mirang’s eyes wavered slightly, then returned to Seohyo.
No, that’s not it. Chaon, why aren’t you saying anything?
This would make Mirang misunderstand.
“It’s not like that.”
“It could be like that.”
Two opposing answers came out at once.
Mirang’s eyes widened. Seohyo’s mind went blank, unable to think of anything for the first time in ten years.
What did our steward just… say?
