PABO Ch 6

A servant’s workload increased in proportion to the popularity of the Muhwa they served. If the Emperor so much as summoned a Muhwa, the assigned servant would have to work overtime that night. If a visitor came to see a Muhwa, the servant had to serve refreshments, verify the visitor’s identity, and record it in the log.

For Muhwa whose freedom of movement was restricted, servants ran errands to department stores, and even on days when a package was delivered at a Muhwa’s request, they had to hurry all the way to the outer parking lot of Munjeong Palace to retrieve the box.

None of that applied to the forty-first Muhwa, Haryeon Sol. While the younger Muhwa were desperate enough to consider staging self-harm scams along the paths the Emperor frequented, Haryeon Sol was not even curious about the Emperor. Judging by his attitude alone, one might think he had a lover elsewhere or some dependable backer, but that was not the case. Four days had passed without a single visitor, and he did not even have a phone with which to contact anyone. Because of his poverty, he wore only the basic clothes provided by the palace, so there were no shopping errands to run, and there were no packages to arrive for him either.

He did not so much as set foot outside his small detached building, either. So, there was no need to accompany him on even a simple stroll. In Chorong’s eyes, her Muhwa, Haryeon Sol, was a hikikomori—translated into English, a “reclusive shut-in.”

Whenever Chorong dutifully conveyed schedules and asked whether he would attend, Haryeon Sol usually declined.

“They’re saying the male Muhwa are getting together to play soccer. You’re not going out, right?”

“Yeah. Just tell them I broke my leg.” Scratching his right shin vigorously with his left toes, Haryeon Sol replied.

“Every Friday is movie day. Would you like to stop by the screening room?”

“My head hurts so much I can’t move.”

He answered instantly, lying flat on his stomach on the bed. Chorong half-wondered if he might get sucked into the mattress at this rate.

“Two Muhwa are looking for party members to split a streaming site subscription. You’re not interested, right?”

…

At the casually delivered question, Haryeon Sol did not move. Wrapped up tightly in his blanket like kimbap filling, his expression was serious. Growing tense as well, Chorong’s hand, holding the phone with the servants’ group chat open, grew damp with sweat.

“Then how much is it per month?” After a long silence, Haryeon Sol asked.

“They collect a year’s fee all at once, so sixty thou—”

“I’m not doing it.”

Chorong did not even get the chance to finish her answer. Watching Haryeon Sol roll over as if all the air had gone out of him, Chorong inexplicably felt downcast herself.

After that, Chorong had to make a difficult proposal to her lazy Muhwa.

Swallowing several times, she prepared to deliver the news of an outing he would hate the most, and then spoke, “Today… you need to go to the medical center. It’s a small clinic in the eastern part of Munjeong Palace. There are two doctors there who handle Muhwa.”

Running her tongue over her dry lips, Chorong studied Haryeon Sol’s expression. She worried whether this antisocial man, who did not even set foot in the garden, would listen.

“They need to check and record your flowering sickness symptoms…. I’ll go with you.”

“Yes. All right.”

Unexpectedly, Haryeon Sol nodded without hesitation. Without being told, he even got up on his own and crawled out of the bed. Chorong felt a sense of accomplishment, as if she had coaxed a hermit crab buried in a plastic cup out with a seashell.

Almost no Muhwa listened so readily to a servant. Most of them had been forced into the palace at a young age after falling ill, and they often showed a mean streak when dealing with subordinates. Whenever they were pressured into something, like today, they tended to dig in their heels or take offense at being “ordered around.”

“Um… but where are my shoes?”

“Oh! I-I’ll put them on for you!”

Chorong quietly revised her assessment of Haryeon Sol. In the maid’s mind, Haryeon Sol had shifted from an unsociable, shut-in recluse to a kind yet still unsociable, shut-in recluse.

Sitting on the wooden porch in front of Haryeon Sol, Chorong crouched her body as low as she could. As she took out the plain hwahye^[1] and slipped them onto his feet, Haryeon Sol fidgeted the entire time, looking burdened and uncomfortable with being attended to. Watching him, Chorong fell into deep thought. A kind disposition was a standard of one’s character and a virtue. However, a weak temperament and a small capacity were flaws and weaknesses. If he felt endlessly awkward and self-conscious even before an attendant who was no different from his own hands and feet, then the life of Muhwa could never be a happy one.

“Sol-nim!”

Grasping Haryeon Sol’s newly shod feet and setting them down on the stepping stone, Chorong spoke firmly, “From now on, you have to drop the honorifics when you speak. You mustn’t show people you’re being polite to me. What do you think passersby will think? Don’t give anyone a chance to look down on you.”

But Haryeon Sol’s reaction was underwhelming.

“Mm…. I don’t think anyone will pay attention to me anyway.”

At the flat reply, Chorong’s eyes hardened. Frustration and anger welled up in her chest. Haryeon Sol could not see her expression, but he could sense the atmosphere in the brief silence.

“All right. I’ll do that.^[2]”

“‘That’?”

Chorong latched onto his words.

“All right, Chorong-ah.”

With that, they finished preparing to go out. Feeling the unfamiliar solidity of the ground beneath his feet and the snug warmth of his new shoes, Haryeon Sol moved according to Chorong’s guidance. He placed his right hand on her forearm and took one step, then another, very slowly. Like every hour of the day, the place had its own beauty, but Munjeong Palace at noon was especially striking. The sky was clear, without a single cloud.

Chorong chatted as they walked, eagerly describing the scenery and the shapes of the trees. Living in such a beautiful palace and yet being unable to take in the summer view with his eyes—it was pitiable. Judging by how Haryeon Sol lived, he would surely miss the autumn and winter scenery as well.

“If you turn left here, that’s the royal kitchen, and if you go right, you can see the eaves of the sleeping quarters where His Majesty resides.”

At each bit of her lively explanation, Haryeon Sol nodded in response. His casual acknowledgements—“Mm,” “I see”—gradually grew more natural and relaxed. That only made Chorong more excited.

“I wish you could see the dancheong here someday…. The dragon pillars are really magnificent. The patterns are like—”

“Chorong-ssi.”

Suddenly, her rapid voice cut off. Someone had approached her from behind. It was the supervisor who managed the servants.

“Could you take a quick look at this?”

“Yes?”

Thinking it might be urgent business for her, Chorong stopped. At the same time, Haryeon Sol lifted his head and stared into empty space. Tapping her Muhwa’s arm to ask him to wait, Chorong moved a few steps aside and examined the ledger thrust in front of her. A frown creased her brow. The document the supervisor handed over was extremely simple, requiring only a single confirmation signature.

“Supervisor…”

Lowering her voice so Haryeon Sol would not hear, Chorong grumbled.

“This could have been done later. I’m with Muhwa-nim right now—why do it now? Are you discriminating against my Muhwa-nim?”

“Huh? Where was your Muhwa-nim?”

“We were walking arm in arm. You didn’t see that? You need to make some sense.”

Chorong might have thought it convenient to be assigned to an unpopular Muhwa, but she did not disregard the one she served. Like any servant, to Chorong, her Muhwa Haryeon Sol came first. Looking down on her Muhwa was an insult to her as well.

Frowning, Chorong turned her head sharply to look for Haryeon Sol. She intended to make the supervisor properly look at her Muhwa’s face and ask him not to dismiss him just because he seemed ordinary.

But Haryeon Sol was nowhere to be seen.

“Huh?”

Chorong took a few steps without purpose. Her head whipped back and forth as she stepped left on the stone pavement, then diagonally again. She had only taken her eyes off him for a moment—thirty seconds at most. Haryeon Sol, who could not see, could not have gone far on his own.

“Sol-nim?”

Something strange and confusing happened to Chorong. As it was the path right before the Emperor’s bedchamber, there were many Muhwa in the vicinity. At a glance, there were three or four figures wearing white durumagi. Chorong could not tell which one among them was Haryeon Sol.

‘What… what on earth happened? Where did he go?’

Shaking her head, she tried desperately to find the Muhwa she had brushed, dressed, and shod herself. But in that instant, she could not remember Haryeon Sol’s face. Not his features, not whether he was tall or short, whether his shoulders were broad or his legs slender—she could not recall even the most basic outline.

“Hah… haha…. What is this?”

At the absurdity of it, Chorong let out a hollow laugh. She thought it strange that she was so flustered from losing a Muhwa that she had even forgotten his face. Raising her right hand to her forehead, Chorong froze, eyes wide.

While Chorong stood there bewildered and frozen, her Muhwa was walking not far away. He had placed his right hand on his companion’s forearm and was moving slowly, step by step, being guided along. Haryeon Sol mistakenly believed the person leading him was Chorong. He had been enjoying the explanations about the dancheong of the sleeping quarters and the new feather on the gate guard’s hat, and was merely wondering why the chatter had stopped.

After about twenty steps in silence, the person assisting him suddenly wrapped an arm around Haryeon Sol’s shoulders. For someone he thought was the small, young Chorong, the hand was far too large, the grip far too strong.

Startled, Haryeon Sol felt as though his heart dropped out. His body went rigid in an instant, his nape tightening. The shock seemed to travel up his spine and bloom into pain.

“Ugh….”

Frowning, Haryeon Sol stiffened his shoulders. As his body curled as if electrocuted, the unfamiliar hand only gripped him harder. Feeling the tension ripple down his back, Haryeon Sol spoke in a rush.

“W-who are you?”

He was utterly flustered. Someone had clearly stopped Chorong, and he himself had stopped as well. No more than five seconds had passed since his hand left hers. When someone took his hand and placed it on their arm, he assumed it was Chorong and followed along. But the person holding him now was not Chorong. It was a sturdy man who could wrap an arm around Haryeon Sol and still have room to spare.

Confused, Haryeon Sol tried to shake him off. As he stumbled and stretched his foot out haphazardly, the unfamiliar grip drew him even closer. Then came a whisper, “Stairs.”

“…”

Frozen stiff like someone seized by rigor, Haryeon Sol fell silent.

TL’s Note:
This is hwahye. Hwa, here, means flower-patterned

This is dancheong— The traditional Korean art of multicolored decorative painting on wooden buildings, like palaces and temples