PABO Ch 15

“Winter’s still a long way off. There’s already a place selling fish-shaped bread?”

With that, he untied the bundle, his excitement easily a thousand times greater than when he’d received the herbal tonic. Fumbling with the wrapping in his clumsy way as he tried to take a pastry out, he even dropped one onto the floor. Picking up the fallen fish-shaped bread, Nachalsa grumbled, “Eat the one that fell, hyung.”

He then tore the oil-soaked paper wrapping lengthwise to use as a tray and set the warm, freshly heated fish-shaped bread onto the low table. When Haryeon Sol reached out with a dispirited look, he placed a clean one into his hand.

Even when given a perfectly intact pastry, Haryeon Sol promptly mangled it by squeezing and prodding it in his grip.

“What are you doing to it? That’s so messy.”

Nachalsa snapped at the Muhwa, who always had something odd about him. Instead, Haryeon Sol clicked his tongue.

“Hold on. I need to figure out where the mouth is and where the tail is.”

“Why does that matter?”

“What do you mean, why? You’re supposed to eat fish-shaped bread starting from the mouth. There’s more red bean paste up top, so you start there and adjust the ratio of filling to bread with each bite. Being some imperial young master, you wouldn’t know stuff like this, right?”

Between the confident attitude and the bizarre explanation, Nachalsa was dumbfounded. Letting out a short, incredulous laugh, he took the pastry from Haryeon Sol’s hand and turned it so the mouth faced up. Haryeon Sol nodded in satisfaction. Whatever happened to the gourmet who’d been lecturing about ratios—after a single decisive bite, only the tail of the fish-shaped bread remained.

“Your eyes.” Nachalsa spoke again.

“Are they still not seeing clearly at all?”

At that, Haryeon Sol clicked his tongue once again. Just moments ago, he had been grumbling about being treated like an eighty-year-old grandfather, yet now it was Haryeon Sol himself who was acting like a cantankerous old man.

“Tsk, tsk…. If it were a sickness that was easy to cure, who would come live in this palace?”

“Why not? Some people might come because they like the emperor.”

When Nachalsa replied curtly, Haryeon Sol jutted out his lower lip. Still chewing, he seemed to think for a moment—then, unexpectedly, nodded in agreement, “Yeah, well, I would come to live here.”

“What? Why? Because you like the emperor?”

“No. Because I can eat, sleep, and laze around.”

“Ah…”

Nachalsa scratched at his temple, letting out an utterly soulless sound of realization. Unaware of the other man’s expression, Haryeon Sol earnestly explained his reasoning.

“No bills flying at me, no suffocating rent deadlines, not much to do—which also means nothing to be scared of…. And sometimes there are visitors who bring me fish-shaped bread like this.”

He popped the tail end of the pastry into his mouth. The crisp crunch of the well-baked crust mingled with his satisfied “Mm.”

Watching him eat made the fish-shaped bread look especially delicious. Nachalsa glanced at what he’d brought, then picked up a slightly squashed one and took a bite from the top. Unlike Haryeon Sol, who punctuated every bite with a new exclamation, Nachalsa found it utterly ordinary. Just a simple, everyday snack.

“I’m not dissatisfied.” Haryeon Sol spoke up all of a sudden.

It seemed he had kept in mind the words Nachalsa had tossed out in a petulant tone. Haryeon Sol was the sort of man who blurted out whatever thoughts remained with him at once—simpler even than a fish-shaped bread.

“I’m talking about my eyes. I’m satisfied with this much. These days I can tell morning from night, and I can see the colors of grass and sky pretty well…”

He walked over to the window and pushed it open. As his upper body leaned past the frame, the wide-open window made him look precarious enough that Nachalsa quickly reached out and grabbed a fistful of his shirt.

Dangling almost entirely from Nachalsa’s right hand, Haryeon Sol alternated his gaze between the ground and the sky before speaking.

“Do you think they’d eat it if I threw them some bread?”

At the sudden question, Nachalsa also leaned his head out the window, cautious in case someone passing by might recognize him. But at the very edge of Munjeong Palace, in front of the so-called loophole, there was not a single eccentric in sight.

“‘They’? Who?”

“Over there… those little birds sitting all in a row. Aren’t those crow-tit?”

Following the direction of Haryeon Sol’s finger, Nachalsa lifted his gaze. But on the eaves his finger indicated, there was not a single crow-tit—not even a sparrow. Turning his head, Nachalsa carefully inspected the roofline. There were no birds, but there was a small stone haetae^[1] ornament perched there, carved in a different posture for each season.

‘Did he mistake that for crow-tits?’

It was a strangely pitiful misunderstanding. Anyone would feel that way, seeing the smile on a face gazing fondly at a lifeless stone decoration.

Unaware of Nachalsa’s thoughts, Haryeon Sol continued to chatter, “They sit there every day. If I scatter something on the ground, would they come down….”

Of course, a stone ornament would remain in the same spot every day. After staring at the motionless tiny haetae for a moment, Nachalsa snorted loudly, as if to make sure he was heard.

“You think they don’t have anywhere to get food? Do you have any idea how fat the cats in this palace are? Even the pigeons by the back gate eat better than you.”

Haryeon Sol nodded at that. Living in such a bountiful palace, he thought, even the tiny birds would fill their bellies with dried persimmons and rinse their beaks with jujubes.

Nachalsa deliberately added a few more words.

“Don’t go throwing food around unnecessarily. If they come down to the ground and get caught by a cat, that’s it.”

It was a warning born of not wanting to see Haryeon Sol waiting for birds that would never come. Seeming to accept it, Haryeon Sol nodded and picked up a third fish-shaped bread. Opening his mouth wide, he took a bite.

“Oh…. This one’s got cream in it.”

Delighted by the small discovery, he chewed enthusiastically, and Nachalsa smiled without a sound. With that faint smile, he watched Haryeon Sol for quite a while. Resting his chin on his fist as he idly gazed at another’s face, he suddenly felt a gaze on him.

At once, Nachalsa’s expression hardened and he sharply turned his head. In the narrow gap of the open doorway stood a small-framed woman. Her shoulder-length hair was neatly braided into a single plait, giving her a tidy appearance. She wore a sky-blue jeogori on top and tailored trousers below. That was the attendant assigned to the Muhwa’s sleeping quarters. She held a tray braced on both forearms, her mouth hanging so wide it looked as though it might drop to the floor. Her eyes were fixed squarely on Nachalsa.

“…”

“…”

Haryeon Sol had mentioned her in passing before. He’d said she was decisive and sharp—her name was Cheongsa, or was it Chorong…?

Recognizing the visitor who had come to the Muhwa’s chamber, she slowly bowed. As she carefully lowered the tray to the floor and dropped to both knees, about to offer a loud, formal greeting, Nachalsa spoke, “Leave it there and go.”

Chorong flinched, her shoulders jerking as she froze. Flustered, her forehead flushed bright red, and her voice trembled as it slipped out.

“I-I sincerely apologize for interrupting your precious time. I—”

“Just leave it and go.”

Nachalsa repeated himself in a cold voice. It was a voice that dried out lips and sealed throats shut in an instant. Chorong’s face crumpled. Unable to kneel properly in greeting, yet unable to straighten her back and stand, her posture was no different from an extreme plank.

Then, Haryeon Sol—who had only been listening to the exchange—suddenly swung his arm, “Hey!”

This time, his fist landed squarely on Nachalsa’s arm. There was a light thump.

“Who do you think you are, snapping at Chorong? You’re the one who showed up uninvited, and you’re getting pissy at the person bringing food?”

Then he turned a wide smile toward the direction of the fragrant smell.

“Chorong, come on in. What did you bring? It smells nice.”

Shock, confusion, alarm, fear, and distress were all mixed together on Chorong’s face. Haryeon Sol was the one who’d asked the question, but the person she was watching for cues was Nachalsa. When he nodded at her desperate glance, she finally stepped into the room.

“I-I heard some Jeju green tea had come in, so I b-brought it…. I mixed in a bit of honey…. Your hands and feet have been swollen lately, so I thought honey green tea might help with that….”

As she spoke, Chorong quickly reached the center of the room, knelt, and extended both arms. The heavy tray she’d carried was handed over to Nachalsa. His unbothered, shameless manner made him look like a mountain tiger accepting an offering.

For Chorong, the very brief moment when their eyes met felt like an eternity. From the instant the man with tiger-like eyes raised his index finger upright to press it across the center of his lips, then lightly waved his hand as if to tell her to leave, and finally withdrew even his gaze as though he had nothing more to say—all of it was, to Chorong, an eternity, a thousand frozen photographs standing still.

By the time she barely came back to her senses, Chorong was on the verge of fainting. The visitor’s massive shoulders, his imposing build, and the inhuman aura radiating from his terrifyingly handsome face all filled her with fear. She retreated quickly, as if racing against time.

Even so, she shifted her gaze to check on her Muhwa. At the sight of him in rumpled sleepwear, his hair uncombed into a magpie’s nest, a sigh escaped her. As if that weren’t enough, crumbs clung to his clothes, and the stubborn tuft of hair atop his head bobbed with every nod.

Squeezing her eyes shut, Chorong slipped out of the bedroom and quietly closed the door behind her.

TL’s Note:
I think I haven’t explained Yirim Beom’s name yet. I don’t know which hanja is used for his name, but the beom in Yirim Beom sounds the same as beom, meaning “tiger.” That’s why the author frequently uses tiger imagery as a metaphor throughout the story.

Korean names usually have corresponding hanja (Chinese characters) in addition to their hangul spelling, which adds depth to their meaning. Even when the pronunciation is the same in hangul, different hanja can give the name very different meanings.

Just a fun fact, Chorong’s name sounds the same as the ancient lantern.