Cheoseo 1787 (10th)
Village jumak

The courtyard was so awashed with mud after the rainstorm in the night that those who went about their business cautiously in namaksin (wooden clogs), wished there were additional heels affixed to their already augmented footwear. The muck ridged higher and higher that feet and beoseon would have been soaked through if the the wet dirt was not shaken off now and then. It was fortunate the girl need not have to step down to the muddy ground. She walked along the porch all the way to the kitchen where her call brought the tavernkeeper who handed her a soban. Carefully, she made her way back to the room, hoping she would not run into anyone and upset the soban. The door opened to her call. A sleepy face lit up at the sight of the food.

"Wash up first," she scolded when he made to eat. Grimacing, he pulled the basin and towel towards him as she rummaged in the bandaji to bring out a small pouch. "How long do you suppose we have to stay?" she said as she weighed it in her hand contemplatively. It was one-third full.

"It does not matter." He finished his wash and turned to the soban. "As long as we're not setting out in a storm, getting muddy and wet. We're not in want and the others are in no hurry."

"Does uncle seem more distracted to you?" She dug around for the small wooden scoop in the pouch and flipped up the cloth covering the birdcage.

"Maybe he has found someone he likes? Who can blame him if he wants to stay longer? Oooh, this is good," he licked his lips as he swallowed a spoonful of jatjuk.

"That's bad," she murmured under her breath, thinking of the difficulties that could arise before she clicked her tongue at the pigeon that bobbed its head as she tipped a spoonful of grain into its food cup in the cage. At least the little one posed no complication. "Sojo, Sojo," she cooed, smiling when it returned her soft cry.


Uiryeong gibang

Although the night had been cool, the appealing warm company throughout the night had induced a far longer sleep period than what he was used to. Would it that every night was of warmth than of cold loneliness. Someone waiting for him beside a warm hearth. He gave the bowl of sokmieum (glutinous rice gruel with jujubes and ginseng) a stir. Why was he getting maudlin? He must be feeling his age. Perhaps he should give up. The search had almost taken him ten years. Could he afford to wander till his last breath? There were others who depended on him. There were many who would want to settle down after wandering for so many years. Was there no hope of success?

"Is the sokmieum too cold?" she asked anxiously when she noticed he was not eating.

"No," he smiled at her. "What is happening outside?" For there seemed to be some excitement, judging from the babble of women's voices.

She glanced at the door. "One of the patrons has painting talent. My sisters are clamoring to be his subjects," she said, turning back to her embroidery.

"Have you no interest in trying?"

"His skill is crude and he is too assuming." She hid her distaste unsuccessfully.

He finished the sokmieum and moved the soban aside. "Why does that distress you?"

"To be so unrestraint.," she made a face when she recalled the painter's behaviour. "Propriety is but a breeze."

Amused by her censorious opinion, he got to his feet. "I must see this exponent of such virtue myself," he said and pulled on his coat and gat.

"But.," she was dismayed that he was leaving so soon and wished she had held her tongue. Hastily, she followed him as he left the room.

The disturbance was easy to spot as the room they were in faced the pavilion. A considerable bevy of gisaeng was congregated at a corner. A few men hovering at the fringe tried to use their height to advantage by peering over the women's shoulders. Some new arrivals were considerably astonished that not a single gisaeng was in attendance. Their annoyance impelled the gatekeepers to tug at the skirts of a few gisaeng to remind them of their duty. Reluctantly, they left the group to attend to the customers. Master Um quickly made his way to the vacated space. Unable to see over the forest of heads and shoulders, Hyeja glanced about.

Where was Iseul, she wondered, for surely the lot at the pavilion would not be so neglectful if she was around. As if her thoughts had conjured her up, Iseul appeared from behind the gibang, talking to someone. The sight of the crowd brought a look of startlement before a frown settled. Equally curious, the man beside her followed her to the pavilion. A sharp word caught the attention of those gisaeng who were closest. They promptly scattered, rushing tantivy to their tasks, revealing at large the preoccupied object of their attentions; Chung Eon-kon.

Was he so absorbed that he did not know what was going on? Hyeja drew in a sharp breath when she saw what he was painting and glanced at master Um who watched impassively as the picture took shape. A look at Iseul whose face was twitching ever so subtly in incredulity. The man with her leaned forward, intently taking in everything while the two gisaeng with Chung fluttered and hid their coy titter behind the buchae they held. The other patrons merely leered, passing comments to one another.

At length, the painting was completed. The painter looked up, directly at Iseul with a grin, as if aware of her disapproval. The insolent look in his eye challenged her to take him to task but she said nothing. His eyes roved to Hyeja and became more impudent. The gisaeng with him broke into rapturous compliments as he visibly made to speak, drowning out whatever he was going to say. The rest of the crowd made offers to buy the painting. Feeling a hand at her elbow, she realised master Um was urging her out of the pavilion and down to the gates. He was leaving, she realised and quelled the questions she wanted to ask.

"I'll come by tonight," he said.

The lines around her eyes that shouted her anxiety eased when she heard that. He nodded to her and stepped through the gates. Involuntarily, her feet moved forward before she halted herself. She watched until he turned the corner. As she turned back to the gibang, the man Iseul was talking to walked pass with an air of purpose and vanished as well down the street. Iseul, she saw, was exchanging words with Chung before she turned away, not seeing the hand he put out to stop her. The other gisaeng caught hold of his arm and pelted him with questions. The painting, she noted as she hurried to catch up to Iseul, was in one of the other men's hands as he held it aloft to admire it. Had he sold it then?

"What did you say to him?" she asked when she caught up.

Iseul snorted. "Nothing good to grace the morning. Such blatant coarseness is best suited for the sleazy reprobate lurking in the darkness of bookshops." She turned to look back at the crowd at the pavilion. "This establishment may not be the fount of excellence but I will not have such depravity besmirching all the work I have done."

"Why do you suppose he chose this form of enticement?" Hyeja pulled up short when Iseul halted. "I feel there is a purpose to his action."

"You sense it too?" Iseul touched Hyeja's arm. They resumed their walk to the houses. "His paintings are an uncouth facsimile of someone's style of work. Have you heard of Hyewon?"

"Hyewon. Wasn't there some furor in Hanseong years ago? Some competition?" Hyeja tried to remember what she had heard. "Master against apprentice?"

"Of which, neither man won but it caused the downfall of the influential merchant who held the competition." Iseul smiled with satisfaction for the ruin and death of the merchant released her friend. "There was that rumor five years ago that he was here."

"Didn't it turn out that someone was trying to pass off a fake painting as Hyewon's. Is it possible," Hyeja paused, glancing at the pavilion, "he is trying to pretend to be Hyewon?"

"Can a crow be an eagle?" Iseul said dryly. "His skills are mediocre and he is older. Hyewon was seventeen or eighteen at the time of that competition. That would make him twenty-nine this year. Those who saw him commended his talent but also noted that he was not robust. He would look different now but not so drastically. Current rumor put him with the gisaeng in various provinces but there was nothing about the quality of his paintings lapsing into the realms of blatant obscenity."

"That is true." Hyeja tried to recall the rumors she had heard. "It's said too he is of modest comportment."

"Which does not describe Chung."

"But isn't it strange? Why do you suppose Hyewon disappeared for several years only to appear rather prominently up in the north before moving south?"

"It is said there are foreign powers of considerable influence residing there," said Iseul. "It is possible he desires to study foreign artistry." That was the mostly the speculations she heard from merchants and local officials whenever the subject of Hyewon turned up, especially when there were paintings to debate over. "There is the possibility his disappearance has something to do with the royal court," she added judiciously,

"Yes," Hyeja nodded in agreement. "That he went against his master has always been the subject of much debate."

"We cannot adjudge him since we do not know what went on. Hyewon is not of immediate concern here. Chung is."

"Perhaps he's looking to earn easy money?" suggested Hyeja. "There's nothing more profitable than catering to the cravings of men."

"If he intends mischief here, he will regret it," Iseul said firmly.

Of that, she was certain. A mere painter of no consequence could not hope to prevail against those whose support she could count on. Still, she should proceed with caution for she knew nothing of his background. Various plans came to mind as she invited Hyeja into her house. It was doubtful she would learn anything more of master Um from her but every little bit would help. The rest of it would have to come from the man sent by old master Han.

At the pavilion, Chung took his leave amidst much pouting and exhortations from the gisaeng who had entertained him. Calling a cheery farewell to the rest at the gates, he went down the street. Pulling on the strap of the painting tube more securely over his shoulder, he lightly touched the pouch under his coat in passing. Fifty nyang for that painting, none for the first painting but he got a free night with that gisaeng. It was worthwhile to tarry longer. There was more to cull and he was looking forward to it. Perhaps he should consider staying in this town, settle down and set up a painting workshop. A smile lifted his lips as he envisioned the cash that would come his way.

As he walked past the nearby jumak, a customer finished his drink and paid the tavern keeper before making his way down the street. He strolled along easily, as if enjoying the clear day, but kept Chung in sight despite the crowd. His target headed straight for the minchon (commoner residences) after making a stop at the marketplace for victuals. He meandered a little way into the minchon and further in, passing several houses along the street before his target turned into the small jumak at the crossroad. On he strolled, going past the the small jumak without turning his head. After several paces, he turned about, pretending to look for something and passed the jumak again, glancing in leisurely. Yes, he was in there. Talking to the tavernkeeper. Outside the minchon, he paused to consider his options and then headed for the eastern gates.


Han Residence

The glow of the pale amber silk covered the chwadung (lantern) bathed the porch in warm light. Just enough for the man to admire the painting on his jwilbuchae. He looked up when someone rapped at the gates. He got up, snapped close the fan, put on his shoes and stepped down to the courtyard. A wide grin split his face when he saw the threesome before he realised some one was missing. Where was master Park? Had he gone away on business?

"Brother Seo, mistress Im, welcome," he bowed as a small voice piped up.

"Ajoshi."

"Oooh! Is this P'adoa? I can hardly recognise him." Young-joon pretended to be shocked.

"How can that be? Ajoshi saw me two days ago," protested P'ado.

"Aigoo, ajoshi must be growing old," grinned Young-joon. "Please, come to the daecheong."

When they entered the daecheong, Yunbok and Jeong-hyang were surprised to find someone waiting for them; Iseul. Greetings were exchanged and sobans were brought out once everyone had seated themselves. Dinner was ocheopbansang, consumed at leisure with hyangseolgo thereafter as they chatted easily. The discussion shifted from the the signs and assurance of a bumper harvest to the death of crown prince Munhyo and that of the royal concubine the year before. With no sign of any other sons during the years of the crown prince, there were anxieties there would be no forthcoming heirs. For the King to leave no issue was a matter that none wished to see stamped in reality. The ensuing struggle between the factions would spread chaos throughout the country.

There was also trouble over a form of radical Western Learning that was steadily acquiring adherents. The death of the man who was killed out of hand when he was discovered to be holding a secret gathering of such followers in his home did not seem to deter recruits. How could such learning be encouraged when it obstructed ancestor worship? The core of Confucianism which held the nation together? Truly, such paganism should not even be allowed to gain a foothold in the first place.

The debate was long and drawn. By the time the drinks had been consumed, it was end of first watch. Old master Han invited Yunbok to the sarangbang. There was a matter he would like to discuss with him.

"He has disappeared?" he said with some disbelief when he heard what Yunbok had to say about Suk-kwon.

"He has been gone three days without telling us where he was going. I don't know where to start looking." Yunbok could not keep the worry out of his voice. "It is very much unlike him."

"This was after a visit by a woman, you said. Hyun-ok?" That name sounded familiar to old master Han. He frowned, trying to remember.

"She returned yesterday to look for him again and said she will be back in three days. Sir, do you have any idea where I should look for him?"

Hyun-ok. Hyun-ok. Old master Han patted his head with his hand, struggling to cajole that tentalising memory that insisted on slipping away like a fish. The other two watched, keeping their expressions grave despite their desire to smile at the sight. Old master Han clapped his hands to his face, momentarily forgetting he was not alone.

"More than twenty years," he muttered, dropping his hands to the desk before him, staring down. He reached for the brush resting on the pilga, turning it round and round gently. It was as if he was rolling back the years with the action. A voice raised in anger.

"Mi-gyeong won't see me. What have I done to warrant such rejection?!"

"I will not go, brother Han, not until I resolve this. I cannot leave like this."

"Ah, it is so," he murmured, opening his eyes. The two waited for him to say something further but he said nothing more. His face reflecting his thoughts which were clearly not attending the present. The two exchanged a look before Young-joon leaned forward.

"Aboji? Have you thought of something?" he whispered, as if speaking in a normal tone would startle his father. "Aboji?"

Old master Han sighed. "I'm afraid I cannot tell you how matters stand between master Park and the woman, Hyun-ok. It is not my story to tell."

His sorrowful demeanor added more fire to Yunbok's suspicion that something from his master's past had caught up with him.

"I can tell you where he might be. He will not have gone far; he will not neglect his duty irregardless of what passed within his private sphere." Yunbok acknowledged this point with a nod. "He has a private retreat, somewhere in the hills, north-east of the paper mill. I do not know its exact location. He should be there."

That was something at least, Yunbok was glad that his inquiry had borne fruit. "Sir, do you have a map? Has he said anything else of it?"

"Ah, let me see. Joona, on the left of the mungap, you should see a stack of maps, bring them here." Old master Han gestured to the cabinet on the wall on his left. Young-joon soon found the pile on top of other papers, neatly tied up and handed them to his father who flipped through them and pulled out the one he wanted. Turning it this way and that, he spread it on the desk. "Here is the paper mill ... north-east ... he spoke of being able to see the Nakdong River." His finger traced the line.

"Able to see the Nakdong River? That would mean.," Yunbok frowned over the map. "The highest point in the north-east hills. I have not gone that far. Could he have been deliberately misleading?"

"He would occasionally speak of the peace of the place. The songs of the birds that he enjoyed very much."

"That would describe just about half a dozen other places in the hills," Yunbok said helplessly.

"There was something else he said too. He said he could be as a bird whenever he felt like it," old master Han said musingly as Yunbok's brows twitched.

Well, that was certainly helpful! Be as a bird. What, was his master dressing up as a bird? Perhaps that was where P'ado got the idea of pretending to be a hen to rouse the temper of the rooster. Nothing like an example set by an elder.

"I'll try the highest point to the north-east tomorrow," said Yunbok with little confidence, "and hope for the best."

"I'll come with you, brother Seo. Two at it is better than one," Young-joon said, feeling that it would not be safe for Yunbok to go alone.

"That is kind of you brother Han but I need not trouble...," Yunbok was grateful for Young-joon's offer but felt it was not a good idea to drag his friend away from his duties. He had in mind to get one of the Joon brothers to go with him although that would take away a pair of hands from the harvest preparations.

"That is a good suggestion,"old master Han put in. "I can spare Young-joon for this important task. My mind will be at ease if my old friend can be found as soon as possible."

"I shall meet you at dawn tomorrow at the paper mill, brother Seo." Young-joon said triumphantly to Yunbok.

"At dawn." Yunbok nodded in agreement. "If I may borrow the map, sir?"

"By all means, take it." Old master Han folded the map neatly before handing it to Yunbok who bowed his thanks. "There is an urgent matter I wish to discuss," he put out a hand to forestall Yunbok as he was about to take his leave.

"Ah. I have brought this, sir." Yunbok pulled the rolled up painting he had slotted into his sleeve before he left home and handed it over.

Old master Han murmured appreciatively as he unrolled it to see a painting of two roosters. "Interesting that you chose this theme. It has some mark on the current problem."

Yunbok said nothing but waited patiently for old master Han to elucidate. The next statement was totally unexpected.

"The most recent painting has gone awry," old master Han said bluntly, motioning to Young-joon to still his tongue as he start in alarm. "The courier who was to hand it over to the proxy drowned when the boat he was in capsized during a storm. His body was not found till several days later. By then, the package he was carrying was missing. A search had turned up nothing. We hoped that it was totally lost, sunk beneath the waters or if it was picked up by someone, it would too waterlogged to be of any use."

"It did not happen," said Yunbok.

"No. The man who picked it up, Chung, came to visit yesterday." Old master Han drew out a greyish piece of paper from under a pile of books stacked to the side of the desk and handed it over to Yunbok. "This is what he gave to me."

The ink on the paper had run, dyeing it grey but was not completely bleached. Yunbok was astonished by what he read for it was a collateral for a sum of six hundred nyang from master Han.

"This is the payment for the courier?" Yunbok was perplexed that such a sum was being paid.

"So it would seem to anyone who read it. However, within it are instructions to the proxy as to where he should proceed to next and when he can expect a delivery. By itself, the collateral is not a problem."

"It was attached to the painting?" said Yunbok.

"A painting that the man claimed not to have."

"The painting was not destroyed?" asked Young-joon anxiously.

"It was double wrapped in wax paper. The damage to this collateral is minimal, hence, his claim is suspect."

"If he is not trying to sell it to you, .," Yunbok said slowly.

Old master Han nodded gravely. "We may face the same problem we did five years ago."

"Two screams in the night draw all eyes," Yunbok murmured.

"What can we do, aboji?" asked Young-joon.

"We're trying to find out what we can about Chung and keep him under surveillance. He has been spending every night at the gibang since his arrival a few days ago. During the day he returns to the lodging he is putting up in at the minchon and does not step out until night."

"How good is his skill?" asked Yunbok. Young-joon stared at his friend, puzzled. How did he know the man paint?

Old master Han flipped over a piece of paper lying face down on the desk before him and passed it to Yunbok. "This is what he has been painting."

Taken aback, Yunbok stared at the painting with distaste and handed it to Young-joon whose eyes went round.

"His skill is moderate but the theme is excessively salacious," said Yunbok. "To incite interest in his next move?"

"We can assume he is waiting for the best time to introduce the painting," old master Han nodded.

"Sir, what are your plans?"

"Whatever he does, this household will be under scrutiny." He looked at Young-joon. "Do not draw attention to yourselves unnecessarily."

"Yes, aboji. I will tell Su-dae," said Young-joon, putting the painting back on his father's desk.

"Attempts will be made to retrieve the painting. If that does not work, we will try other means to discredit his character. I hope you will find my old friend," old master Han said to Yunbok. "Things go smoothly when he is around."

"I understand, sir. We will find him."


Feeling restless at the daecheong, P'ado asked the women if he and Young-woo could not go out to the garden. A suggestion that was welcomed by the women. A walk in the refreshing air of the cool night. Accordingly, they made their way there, chatting all the while. It had been quite some time since they were able to come together and they had much to talk about. The maids followed the boys, ensuring their way was well lit. When they came to the pavilion, the women opted to sit with the chorong set to one side to provide some light.

The maids accompanied the boys who were playing a little way ahead. The conversation meandered on the subject of the tasks of making kimchi and jang. Su-dae was of a mind to try a different variety of kimchi that year; dongchimi. Turnips fermented in ganjang with no spices. The recipe intrigued the others. How would it taste?

"I will, however, make the usual kimchi too," Su-dae confessed candidly. "It will not do if the dongchimi fail."

"Did you come up with the recipe yourself?" Iseul said curiously.

"I found a cookbook tucked away in the kwe (storage chest bigger than ham for valuables/documents/money/clothes/clothes, etc) that was once used by the late halmonim. It has so many recipes in it that I am tempted to try them all at once!" Su-dae said cheerfully.

Avid interest lit Jeong-hyang's eyes. "Perhaps you could share a recipe or two once you are done?"

"Trying to fatten up someone?" Iseul remarked archly. "I seriously doubt he will put on despite your best efforts."

"True but I'm looking to expand the scope of the dishes I already know. Do you remember the sundae we had at the training institution?"

"You remember that?" Mention of the sausage brought the flavour of it into her mouth that Iseul could almost taste it. "What was it made of?" she frowned. "Pork entrails, cattle blood, bap and seasonings, yes?"

"You forgot dubu," said Jeong-hyang. "I replaced the entrails with meat."

"Were you able to get the cattle blood?" Su-dae mentally noted down the ingredients, thinking she would try it some other day.

"I used pig blood instead."

"How did it turn out?" Iseul was certain the dish would taste excellent.

"You will have to ask the tasters," laughed Jeong-hyang.

"If the bowls came back empty, there is no need for words," stated Su-dae matter of factly which was exactly what happened but Jeong-hyang merely smiled.

"I suppose Young-joon's bowls are always emptied," teased Iseul. "He is looking glossy."

"I have contemplated having him work in the kitchen once, for all the compliments I get from him," Su-dae said humorously. "Can you imagine him standing over a gamasot?"

"He would be standing there lost for a whole day, I warrant, until he's fit to pickle."

"It's totally unfair she has no one we can pick on," complained Su-dae as Jeong-hyang chuckled.

"But who can afford my price?" Iseul pretended to preen. "Those that can will not bend themselves while those who cannot, can bend all they want to no avail."

"There is no need to bend when master strokes of the brush can easily accomplish the deed. Ask our sister here," Su-dae grinned at Jeong-hyang before she realised what she said and clapped a hand to her mouth in horror at her indiscretion.

Su-dae's reaction was so unusual that Iseul looked suspiciously at her and Jeong-hyang. The controlled poise of her old friend roused Iseul's curiosity. "Master strokes of the brush?"

"I ... I meant er ... paintings that, no, that is ... a painting of worth that is equal to the price of a gisaeng," Su-dae hurriedly tried to cover her slip of the tongue, knowing she was making it worse than ever.

Silently, she berated herself for her forgetfulness. How many times had Young-joon emphasized to her never to talk about his friend's skill at painting? If he knew of this indiscretion, he would be furious. Then there was abonim who had reiterated that she should not talk about it to anyone else. He too, would be very disappointed that she had failed to keep her word. Should she confess what she had done to them? She dared not look at Jeong-hyang.

"Is there ever such a painting?" laughed Iseul, noting her friend's lack of reaction. "Even if the painting is purported to be from Danwon or Hyewon's." Was that a flinch from Su-dae? It fanned the flames of suspicion further. "It would take more than one to pay the price for a haengsu gisaeng, don't you think, Sojo?"

"Yes, it would." Jeong-hyang knew her friend of yore. There was that hunting look in her eye when she sensed a mystery.

"But who would have me? I am at the apex, released from the whims of men. Teaching the girls is what I look forward to each day. Looking at them often reminds me of days that are gone." Iseul touched Su-dae lightly as sympathy and discomfort crossed her face. "Fond memories," she smiled. "Didn't you often speak of those from the travelling troupe, Sojo?"

"That was a long time ago."

"Of whom do you remember best?" Su-dae asked curiously.

"That will be aboji." Jeong-hyang tried to bring up an image of her father's face. Did he have a round or square face? She shook her head, the image was less distinct than she realised. "There's ajoshi Heo who often play with us. My playmates," she explained as Su-dae looked puzzled. "Between him and aboji, he was always the one who spent the most time with us, showing us tricks and teaching us how to fold grasshoppers out of grasses during summer."

"Mine would be of food. Aboji would usually beg for nurungji (slightly scorched boiled rice that is usually stuck to the bottom of the gamasot) for me," sighed Iseul as she recalled following her father on his daily rounds to the back doors of the houses of the wealthy.

"Aigoo, such lonesome company tonight," Su-dae said reproachfully. "Leave the past where they are for they do not aged as well as jung. Let us talk of juak instead!"

At that the women chuckled and got up to resume their walk. Jeong-hyang picked up the chorong to light their way. They paused to watch the boys playing hide and seek with each other, laughing as they dashed around the bushes and the maids. She glanced across the flower beds to see Yunbok and Young-joon seated at the daecheong, deep in discussion over something spread on the floor. It looked like a map to her. Were they planning to go somewhere the morrow? Something to do with master Park?

Iseul glanced at Jeong-hyang to Yunbok, thinking of the fear her old friend hid so well. Master brushstrokes, Hyewon. She could have easily named some other painters, Yi In-mun or Shin Wi but chose to throw out those two names flippantly in light of her recent discussion with Hyeja concerning Chung, never dreaming it would elicit such reactions. What was it her friend had said of him; someone who had resided in Hanseong, someone she had met at the gibang, a Jungin in a low-ranking official position of a mathematician before a quarrel with his family led him to leave. She had believed it then but now she doubted the story.

Su-dae's inadvertent reactions was proof of that. Was he...? Comprehension lit her eyes. She hid it quicky. Was it possible? She had never seen him painting. Her visits to their home were not that often and when she did drop by, he was mostly doing some chores or if he was at the desk, looking through the students' work. But his script, she had seen it a few times, written with an elegance. She had put it down to his educated background but what if it was something else?

When Yunbok sat up and tucked the map into his coat, Jeong-hyang knew the discussion was over. He would be looking for them. She caught P'ado's attention, ending the game, much to Young-woo's disappointment. The women and children reached the porch just as Yunbok was thinking of getting a servant to go to the anbang to get Jeong-hyang and P'ado.

"It will be curfew soon," he said to them as he put on his shoes and stepped down to the courtyard. "Our thanks for your hospitality, brother Han."

"I look forward to hosting it again," Young-joon said.

"I'll take my leave too, master Han," said Iseul, "If our friends here would not mind escorting me part of the way?"

"But of course," said Yunbok and waited with P'ado as the women went to retrieve their jangot from the anbang.

The little group made for the gates when the women returned. After seeing them off, Young-joon turned to inform Su-dae of his intended trip the next day. Would she prepare some victuals for him? A picture of him at the gamasot flashed to her mind. She struggled to keep her giggles in, sobering instantly when she recalled her inopportuneness. She would have to tell him, she knew but it would have to wait till they had privacy for there were servants standing about.

As they walked down the winding path, apprehension grew in Jeong-hyang when she noticed Iseul's speculative gaze on Yunbok. It was no surprise to her that her old friend would figure it out with so few clues. That was so like her; a nose for mysteries. It used to land her in trouble before she learned that tact was more fulsome than bulling ahead with questions. Sooner or later, Iseul would tackle her but how should she answer? Part of it was also her own fault. Failure to react was as good as shouting an answer but her friend knew her too well. She would know she was lying if she said anything.

They made their way easily through the streets, arriving at the gibang in no time. It was a busy night as usual, judging from the number of men trooping in. Should he go in to take a look at this Chung? Yunbok changed his mind as soon as the idea came to him. It was unlikely he would find the man off by himself and very likely locked in a room with a gisaeng. It would have to wait till he found master Park.

Iseul thanked them for the escort and watched them swallowed up by the thinning crowd as people began to make their way home and shops began to close. As she turned to step through the gates, the familiar tall and spare figure of master Um came strolling up. Had he spotted Jeong-hyang? If he had, he would not be making his way to the gibang, she decided and hurried through the gates, not seeing his gesture to her. He hastened his pace to catch up.

"May I have a word, yeosa?" he said.

"Yes?" She turned and saw it was master Um who had addressed her. Hyeja stood behind him.

"If I may be so bold but who is the man you spoke to outside the gates? I believe his family were with him."

Her heart skipped a beat. He had seen them but did he recognise Jeong-hyang? She did not believe they were ready to meet, not without approval from master Han.

"He is a friend of mine, do you know him?"

"No, no, I don't. It's..," he hesitated. "His wife resembles someone. May I inquire after her name?"

"Is this someone important?" she asked.

"It's.." He looked around them, indicating the lack of privacy.

"Come to my house, we can speak without interference." Iseul nodded to Hyeja to come along as well. They made their way to the quieter row of houses behind the gibang. His presence in the small house seemed to make the space even more constricted. "Please," she gestured to the pangsok on the floor and waited till Yung-chun had brought in the refreshments before she sat down

"I am looking for someone," he began as she looked expectantly at him. "She was lost many years ago," he paused for a moment and continued when she said nothing. "As a young girl, she used to be part of a travelling troupe but something happened and we lost sight of her."

"Master Um, there are many ways to lose sight of someone. Would you care to elaborate?" Iseul said evenly.

"She was sold to a gibang by her father." His tone was icy, betraying momentary rage before he sighed. "Under false pretenses. We only learned of the truth when he passed away almost ten years ago."

Iseul's eyes widened at the revelation. False pretenses? Did that mean her friend was needlessly sold away? What would that do to Jeong-hyang once she learned of it?

"Have you been searching for her since then?"

"Yes. We tried to track her down at the gibang she was sold to, only to be told she had been sent to the training institution and transferred to the Hanseong gibang. There, we were told she had been sold as a concubine to an influential merchant who was later killed, after having lost all his wealth and properties. It was during this turmoil that she disappeared, with no one knowing where she had gone."

"Why this urgency to find her? She may have built another life for herself," pointed out Iseul, immensely impressed by his dedication. He had been searching for ten years?

"If it is so, I can rest easy," he sighed. "But there is a family matter that must be settled."

"I see." She was not sure how she should answer him. On the one hand, she was inclined to tell him the truth. For the other, she was not certain she should in light of the information she received from the earlier meeting with old master Han. "What is her name?"

"She was to be named Min-jee when she came of age. Sojo was what we called her. She was known in Hanseong as Jeong-hyang."

He watched her keenly but her expression remained the same. He glanced at Hyeja, catching a look of trepidation on her face before it vanished. They knew her, his eyes widened. His heart leaped before it plummeted when he realised they were not willing to divulge what he wished to know. Why? Was it possible that woman he saw at the gates was her? If she was, she had prospered. It greatly eased his long held despondency but he should not rejoice too soon.

"Do you know her?" he said when Iseul said nothing.

"I'm afraid I cannot give an answer that will satisfy any of us here."

"I would know the reason for the declination," he said imploringly.

"Hot buchae wafts easily," she said, hoping he would not press her.

It hovered on his lips to ask Iseul to name a price for the information but her attitude indicated she would be affronted by such an offer. It was not money but concern that held her tongue, he felt. Why? Why did they wish to keep Jeong-hyang's whereabouts to themselves? Hyeja wished she could remove his pain and disappointment. His face turned into a mask. Ten years it had been. To have persevered and come this far only to be denied. Surely Iseul could tell him something to ease him.

"I have no intention of harming her if that's your fear," he said frostily. "She is like a daughter to me."

"Nevertheless, the answer is the same," Iseul refused to budge though her heart clamored to. "For now."

"What will change it?"

"I do not know. Only time will tell."

What was she waiting for? Should he wait or should he turn the town upside down to look for her? He should have followed the woman the moment he saw her but he had thought since Iseul seemed to know her, there would be fewer problems. Frustration welled in him. He fought to keep his calm but it was difficult. To know he was close and be denied by the women before him. Best that he removed himself lest he lose control.

"My thanks for your indulgence," he said and got up to leave, halting when Hyeja spoke.

"Master Um, are you leaving?"

Leave? Yes, he would leave and conduct a search on the morrow. An angry retort leaped to his lips but he did not utter it as a thought struck him. Perhaps he could persuade Hyeja to tell him what she knew.

"A little of your music would ease my worries."

It was easy to deduce why he would change his mind when his stance shouted his desire to get away. Iseul flashed Hyeja a look of caution as she followed master Um to the door, hoping she would not weaken in her growing attachment to the man. There was nothing she could do if he did find out. Should she wait till the next morning? There was but half a candle to go before curfew sounded. She came to a decision and hurriedly wrote a letter which she sent off with a servant before instructing Yung-chun to pack some clothing.

He was poring over the map, when she glanced over her shoulder while braiding her hair. How should she put it to him? She tried to imagine how he would react to the unwelcome possibility that Iseul had found out who he was. Would he suggest moving away? Or would something be done to Iseul? A chill crept up her spine. It would not be he to suggest such an action but if it filtered right to the top, she was sure the order would come.

Iseul, this is one mystery you should have left alone.

Perhaps it was just paranoia on her part, thinking her friend knew. Perhaps it was just some other matter her friend had discovered. It was a vain hope. What ought she to do? Hint to Iseul that she should keep her tongue still? Or just go right out and tell her the danger she was placing herself and all of them in?

"Found a grey hair?" Startled, she stared at the mirror of the chwagyong to see his teasing enquiring gaze. "You were staring at yourself for so long," he said.

"I was just thinking over some of the things we were sharing in the garden. Some recipes Su-dae found in a kwe," she lied, closing the chwagyong, hoping he would not pick up her anxiety. "What do you want to bring tomorrow?"

"It doesn't matter. Have I ever complained about your cooking?" he grinned, turning back to the map. He folded it carefully before placing it on top of the bandaji, weighed down by a book. "I hope we find him.

With that woman and old master Han looking for him, he's going to have plenty on his hands. He intercepted her before she could bring out her needlework. "Rest," he scolded mildly. "We have to get up early tomorrow."

The needlework would distract her from her worries but she did not say so. Instead, she chose to do as he wanted.

"Painter..," she said as he bent to blow out the oil lamp, hands plucking on the quilt.

"What?" he paused to look at her but she did not answer immediately.

"Nothing. I'm just worried about master Park," she said.

"Tsk, I'll be sure to scold him for making everyone so worried." He blew out the oil lamp, plunging the room into darkness. A yawn escaped him as he pulled the quilt over them. "He should have left a letter or something. It was impulse on his part, I'm sure. That woman upset him so much he only wants to go somewhere where he can be alone."

No answer from her. She was not asleep, he could feel her restless movements against him. Something was bothering her, he knew but he did not probe. If she wanted to share, she would have done so.

"What's wrong?" He slid his arm across her midriff to hug her closer.

"Just something I need to sort out," she sighed. "Sing me a song?"

"If you can tolerate my horrible singing," he laughed and hummed a little, thinking.

To live, I wish to live,
In the green mountains I wish to live.
Eating wild grapes and hardy kiwis
In the green mountains I wish to live
Yalli yalli yallasyeong yallari yalla

"Sing me another one," she murmured, feeling better. Despite his self criticism at the lack of a singing voice, it was the touch of his love that was more important.

"Here's one, of my own." he whispered.

Where you are, I will be
whither land or water, I will be
No elements will wither my heart where you are, I will be

"Truly?"

"Truly, Hyangya."


Korean Words

beoseon - socks

chwadung - lantern with silkcovered sides (indoors)

chorong - portable lantern

gamasot - pots to cook food in or boil water

hyangseolgo - peeled munbae fruit stuffed with black peppercorns boiled in ginger tea

juak - a kind of tteok stuffed mushrooms, chestnuts, etc and covered with sugar or honey

kwe - storage chest bigger than ham for valuables/documents/money/clothes/clothes, etc

minchon - commoner residence

mungap - writing supply box

namaksin - wooden clogs, usually worn in rainy weather, some with high heels

nurungji - slightly scorched boiled rice that is usually stuck to the bottom of the gamasot

ocheopbansang - five dish meal

pangsok - small cushion

sokmieum - glutinous rice gruel with jujubes and ginseng

yeaosa - madam (formal)

Korean Poems

To live, I wish to live,
In the green mountains I wish to live.
Eating wild grapes and hardy kiwis
In the green mountains I wish to live
Yalli yalli yallasyeong yallari yalla - Cheongsan byeolgok - Goryeo songs