Chapter 148

Dan Seol-yeong

Dan Seol-yeong had grown familiar with Hwayeon Shinni’s face in recent days, moving around together with her, and they had shared quite a few conversations.

Yet, to be objective, the two of them weren’t close enough to confide in each other’s private troubles.

For one thing, their age gap exceeded a hundred years, and the paths of life they had walked thus far had no overlaps.

Dan Seol-yeong hesitated before replying.

“Worries? I don’t really have any.”

At that, Hwayeon Shinni stepped closer.

“There’s no need to lie in front of me. Do you think I haven’t seen children with the same worries as you?”

Though her height barely reached Dan Seol-yeong’s chin or nose, her presence was as towering as a great mountain. Overwhelmed, Dan Seol-yeong heard her add another sharp remark.

“You’re distressed because there’s no progress between you and Tang Mujin, isn’t that so?”

It was an accurate strike.

But Dan Seol-yeong couldn’t bring herself to ask for help. In other matters perhaps, but in this area it was obvious Hwayeon Shinni would be of little use.

Dan Seol-yeong hadn’t had a lover in twenty years or so, but Hwayeon Shinni was a nun who had never once been with a man in more than a hundred.

If she wanted to be a credible advisor, then—even putting aside the decades spent in the Amitabha Sect—she should have at least had some experience with men afterward.

Yet even after leaving the sect more than fifty years ago, the only time Hwayeon Shinni had ever driven a blade into a man was in combat. She had never once held a man’s hand.

In other words, her romance counseling was nonsense. If anything, it would be more reasonable for Dan Seol-yeong to counsel her.

Dan Seol-yeong waved her hands.

“It’s fine. Mujin’s just a little slow, that’s all. Things will move forward soon enough.”

Hwayeon Shinni’s eyes narrowed.

“No. That’s not it. You’ve misunderstood the problem.”

“The problem?”

“Yes. Tang Mujin is not slow.”

“What do you mean he’s not? If you knew what happened today, you’d clearly—!”

Of course, Hwayeon Shinni knew exactly what had happened at Neungun Temple. She had followed the two of them in secret.

Feigning ignorance, she spoke.

“If Tang Mujin were truly slow, he wouldn’t have even realized your feelings. But he already knows. Since he knows, he can’t be slow. And even if he were slow, the fact that he already knows makes it no real problem. Am I wrong?”

Dan Seol-yeong froze as if struck by lightning. The analysis was piercingly clear and precise.

She had been misdiagnosing the problem entirely—so of course her solutions were wrong.

It was like massaging her knee while expecting her shoulder pain to go away.

She asked, almost entranced.

“…Then what is the real problem?”

“He’s afraid. Tang Mujin is afraid.”

“You’re mistaken. Mujin is brave. He’s not the kind to retreat like a coward. When necessary, he fights with courage.”

Hwayeon Shinni clicked her tongue.

“A man’s courage before a woman is a different matter from a warrior’s courage. The mightiest general under heaven may be a coward in love, and the most feckless wastrel may show bravery in romance. A man who can sever his enemy’s head without hesitation may still tremble with fear at the thought of leaving even the slightest scar on the heart of the woman he loves.”

Dan Seol-yeong’s eyes widened. Indeed, Mujin was excessively cautious when dealing with her.

Holding her hand, or embracing her in secret away from others’ eyes, posed no issue—but going beyond that seemed impossible.

“Then what should I do?”

“You must express your heart more boldly, so that Mujin can find the courage to act. Show him that even if he is daring, you will not be hurt or frightened.”

It was excellent advice, but Dan Seol-yeong couldn’t readily imagine how.

She couldn’t just whisper blunt, embarrassing words into Mujin’s ear.

“…Is there a good way?”

“Sit down. I’ll tell you of several methods passed down since olden times.”

Hwayeon Shinni spoke with confidence.

***

The next evening, Tang Mujin passed his day as usual and sat on the small porch of the annex. He wished to savor the spring breeze before the air turned heavy with summer heat.

At that moment, Dan Seol-yeong strode confidently toward him.

Mujin looked at her closely. Did she have something to say?

But instead, she did something completely unexpected—she suddenly recited a poem.

“Waiting for the moon, I step out beneath the western eaves.
To greet the breeze, I half-open the door.
Shadows of blossoms brush the wall as if in motion.
Could it be that my jade-like beloved has come?”

…Why, all of a sudden?

It was clear the poem bore romantic intent, but Mujin couldn’t quite grasp the meaning—or the purpose behind her recitation.

Still, he had to respond somehow. Nodding, he said,

“Mm. A fine poem.”

At his reply, Dan Seol-yeong stared at him intently.

But Mujin had no idea what she wanted.

Disappointed, she turned and left, while Mujin watched in confusion.

The next day, and the day after that, she recited a new poem to him each time. But nothing came of it.

***

Late at night, Dan Seol-yeong sat before Hwayeon Shinni, her face full of frustration.

“I told you this wouldn’t work. What’s the point of reciting poems?”

“That can’t be…”

Hwayeon Shinni recalled the romance novels she had read.

In those stories, the man and woman always tested each other’s hearts, pushing and pulling, until finally one recited a poem of love—marking the climax.

Afterward, though the novels glossed over the details, the couple inevitably ended up together beneath the same quilt.

By all logic, Dan Seol-yeong and Mujin should already be shut away in the annex, wrapped in each other’s arms.

When Seol-yeong stood up in disappointment, Hwayeon Shinni grabbed her sleeve.

“I’ll teach you another poem. This one from the Romance of the Magistrate of Nanga. It will surely work.”

“I told you, it’s not about the poem.”

As Seol-yeong resisted, Hwayeon Shinni racked her brains and offered another idea.

“Then try embroidering mandarin ducks on silk, with all your heart. If you devote just seven nights and days, you’ll have a splendid piece.”

But Seol-yeong’s sharp eyes didn’t soften.

First poems, now embroidery? Trusting Hwayeon Shinni had been the mistake.

“Embroidery won’t work either. I’m certain.”

“Bah! Do you know how many novels I’ve read, how many courtesans I’ve spoken with? Just trust me.”

At that moment, Seol-yeong realized the problem. Copying the stories of novels or the secondhand tales of courtesans would get her nowhere.

Even courtesans wouldn’t have shared their raw, intimate truths with Hwayeon Shinni. Most likely they had only spoken in roundabout metaphors—poems and embroidery.

The diagnosis was right, but the methods were useless.

As Seol-yeong rose, intending to think up her own means, a deep male voice sounded beside her.

“I believe I can provide the solution.”

Startled, she turned—and found Sam Anbul standing there.

Her face darkened.

Why was it that the only two people offering help were both former monks?

She thought bitterly that tomorrow she would just go ask the village women at the well for advice.

Sam Anbul chuckled at her expression.

“You don’t believe me? But try following my suggestion tomorrow, even if only as a gamble. You’ll see great progress.”

Unlike Hwayeon Shinni’s long-winded theorizing, his voice was simple and confident.

So Seol-yeong nodded, deciding to give it one more chance.

***

The next late afternoon, while Tang Mujin was training with Sam Anbul as usual, Dan Seol-yeong approached.

Sam Anbul asked,

“Miss Dan, what brings you here?”

“I was wondering if you could also teach me how to fight.”

“Fighting? Why all of a sudden?”

“Even just body-movement techniques are endlessly useful, but if I could learn some simple self-defense, it would help a lot.”

“That’s a fine idea. Sit and wait a bit. I’ll finish Mujin’s training first, then teach you.”

Sam Anbul readily agreed, then resumed sparring with Mujin.

But today his teaching was far harsher than usual, leaving Mujin’s body battered.

Bruises, scrapes from rolling on the ground, even a shallow cut where a fist had grazed him—his condition was truly a mess.

Only when the sun was dipping low did Sam Anbul finish and call for Seol-yeong.

“Since you’ve already learned the basics of body-movement, it would be better to begin with footwork for evasion, rather than swordplay or fist techniques. Do you agree?”

“Yes. That sounds good.”

Sam Anbul demonstrated a simple footwork technique for Dan Seol-yeong. Since it shared commonalities with the body-movement techniques she had already learned, she was able to mimic his demonstration fairly well.

“Excellent. Shall we try it in practice?”

“Yes.”

Sam Anbul slowly extended a fist toward her. There was no killing intent in it, nor was it particularly dangerous. It was perfectly suited to her level.

Dan Seol-yeong easily evaded his first few strikes. But as the attacks continued, her space to move narrowed, and eventually her stance faltered.

This was something every novice experienced when being instructed by a master for a full day.

Normally, a teacher would signal to stop at an appropriate point, but Seol-yeong was unaccustomed to such training.

She persisted in trying to dodge his fist until, at the very end, her legs tangled. She leapt backward awkwardly and ended up tumbling across the floor.

Thud! Her back scraped against the rough ground, and red droplets of blood began to stain the white robes she wore.

“Oh dear!”

From the porch, Tang Jeseon leapt to his feet and rushed over.

“Mujin! Why are you just standing there staring? Go fetch the Golden Wound Ointment, now!”

The Golden Wound Ointment was a rare and expensive medicine, highly effective for treating skin injuries.

Though it was too costly to be used lightly, Tang Jeseon cherished Dan Seol-yeong like a precious jewel, so money was of no concern.

Tang Mujin jumped up and ran to the medical quarters, quickly returning with the ointment.

In the meantime, Sam Anbul and Tang Jeseon had given Seol-yeong something to drink.

“What is that?” Mujin asked.

“Jian Nan Zhi Shao Chun .”

It was a famous liquor from Sichuan.

Unlike ordinary wine, it was extremely strong, and when a patient drank it, it helped them forget their pain.

Seol-yeong accepted it without refusal and drank it all down. Then Tang Jeseon poured a little more and handed it to Mujin.

“You’ve taken quite a few hits yourself today. You should have a drink too.”

Mujin accepted the cup without protest.

Partly, he had always wanted to taste such an expensive liquor, and partly, it would have been unseemly to refuse his father in front of Sam Anbul and Seol-yeong.

It wasn’t much, but soon a light intoxication spread through him, warming his hands and feet.

After Mujin drained his cup, Tang Jeseon returned to his seat.

Sam Anbul clapped his hands lightly.

“That’s enough training for today. We’ll continue tomorrow.”

“Understood.”

Mujin replied, then turned to offer the Golden Wound Ointment to Seol-yeong—only to hesitate.

Injuries from training usually appeared on shoulders, ribs, or arms, making them easy to treat.

But Seol-yeong’s wound was on her back, a spot difficult to reach alone.

Someone will have to apply it for her…

Among those living at the Tang family’s residence, the only other women were Seol-yeong herself and Mok Wana.

But Mok Wana had gone out after lunch and hadn’t returned.

“Father, do you know when Mok Wana will be back?”

“I sent her on an errand. She won’t return until tomorrow.”

“…I see.”

Mujin couldn’t wait until then, nor could he entrust the task to anyone else. The very thought of another person touching Seol-yeong’s skin made him uneasy.

Looks like I’ll have to do it myself.

He took Seol-yeong by the hand, led her into the annex, and shut the door firmly.

“Lie down on your stomach.”

She complied without protest.

Mujin dipped his fingers into the ointment and carefully slipped his hand beneath her robe to apply it.

“Is it here?”

“A little higher… no, maybe to the left?”

“Here?”

“Is that it…? Ow! Gently!”

But applying the medicine beneath her clothes without being able to see clearly was difficult. It wasn’t a deep wound, but it was wide, making it even trickier.

As Mujin fumbled, Seol-yeong grew impatient and slightly lifted the hem of her robe.

“Better now?”

“…Yeah.”

Nearly half her back was exposed.

Unlike the sun-darkened skin of her arms and face, her back was pale. The contrast between white skin and red wound created a strangely striking image.

Before long, Mujin’s face turned as red as her injury.

He narrowed his eyes and applied the ointment carefully.

Though the purpose was simply to tend the wound, his senses focused less on his medicine-coated finger and more on the feel of her skin against his other fingers and wrist.

Even holding her hand had felt oddly soft, but her back was on another level—smoother than the finest silk.

Her pale, flawless back. The light intoxication rising within him. The faint fragrance wafting from her.

Mujin felt a dizzying sensation that made it hard to think straight. His heart pounded heavily.

“Are you finished?”

“Uh… almost.”

It was a lie. He had already covered the wound completely.

But he couldn’t easily bring himself to stop. He spread the ointment over uninjured parts as well, until nearly her entire back was covered.

Finally, with great reluctance, he pulled his hand away. His chest was full of regret.

But the moment his fingers withdrew, Seol-yeong, still lying on her stomach, reached back and grasped his hand.

Turning her head, she looked at him. Her clothes were still disheveled, her hair in disarray from rolling on the ground. Yet Mujin thought she looked more beautiful than ever.

She spoke softly.

“…You’re hurt too. Shall I apply the medicine for you this time?”

Mujin couldn’t shake free from her slender fingers.

“…Yeah.”

He nodded, dazed, as if spellbound.