5 Nyang

A "Painter of the Wind" fanfiction

immo

author's note: If only I had this kinda inspiration drive for 'The Twelve' :(

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She would surely die.

Shin Yoon Bok looked up at the moon and knew that if they crushed her hand, if they crushed her ability to paint, she would die. She would no longer be able to paint. Her one constant in life, taken from her.

Giggling drunkenly, Shin Yoon Bok held up her hand, closed one eye and tried to make it seem like she was holding the moon in her hands. She remembered... though it was so long ago, how her real father had done this with her and her mother. They had all tried to catch the moon. And when her mother had caught the moon, Yoon Bok had pretended to take it from her mother and eat it.

'I'll never paint again after tonight.' Shin Yoon Bok looked at her hand and clenched it into a fist. This was the last time she would be complete. What could she do for the rest of the night?

'Jeong Hyang.' Yoon Bok's thoughts turned to the surprise of the night. The beautiful woman from the cloth shop had shown up and thrown her for a loop. Perhaps it was the amount of alcohol Shin Yoon Bok had drank that night, but the gayageum player had looked more beautiful than ever.

'I thought she was perfect before, so how could perfection improve on perfection?' Yoon Bok mused, knowing she probably wasn't making any sense, but not caring.

When Jeong Hyang had entered the room, Yoon Bok caught that scent of flowers that clung to her, fresh and clean. It wasn't cloying like the expensive perfume the kisaeng's around her had, but soothing and subtle. Jeong Hyang had been as biting as ever, perfect in her soft-spoken but razor-sharp rejections to Jang Hyowon's attempts to get her to sit next to him. Her wit continued to surprise Yoon Bok, when she continued their conversation about flowers from before.

'Even if it says so itself, a beautiful flower is still beautiful.'

Indeed, she was a most beautiful flower, with thorns that probably could match and defeat a tiger's. Her poison was addictive. Yoon Bok wondered now, if she had suffered a fatal dose for she just could not get Jeong Hyang out of her mind. And the way she had played so beautifully on the gayageum... if it were not for his classmates, Yoon Bok would have wept. As the painter had grown older, her father and mother's faces had slowly begun to fade at the edges, like a beautiful painting taken out and handled too many times. She had tried her best to keep their memories fresh, but... it had been so long ago...

Jeong Hyang's music had taken her back, though. She had listened and heard, had felt the floor she sat on disappear and be replaced by a soft carpet of long grass... and she had seen her mother and father. Laughing, dancing... she had been carried on her father's shoulder, delighted at the sounds that came from his whistle made of a simple blade of grass. They had not seen her, but she had seen them. And their faces stood out in stark relief. Her mother's and her father's face, kind and gentle. Every line, every laugh mark, remembered again. Then, she had seen Jeong Hyang, sitting across from her in that same field, watching her.

Shin Yoon Bok could see Jeong Hyang clearly in her mind's eye, and lifted up her hand to hesitantly sketch her figure, her face, in the air.

This was what Yoon Bok wanted to do, while she was still able to.

Yoon Bok lowered her hand, something tugging her line of sight back to entrance of the gibang. Jeong Hyang would come out. She didn't know how, but she knew the geum gi was slowly making her way towards the exit. It was probably the wine, but Yoon Bok could feel this bond had forged between them when they had sat in a full room full of drunken men and tittering kisaengs, yet connected so deeply that they had felt that they were the only two in the world.

Yoon Bok was certain Jeong Hyang had felt it too.

And most likely it was coincidence, but within a few seconds of that strange feeling, the figure of Jeong Hyang and her servant-girl exited the gibang. Daintily holding up her skirt and walking with a slow grace, Jeong Hyang cut a beautiful figure with the light from the torches giving her a sort of halo.

Stumbling up to her feet, the drunk painter walked slowly over to intercept them.

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He stood in front of them, blocking their way. Mi Nyun, the girl who attended to Jeong Hyang, took a step back. She had always been very timid and was bullied by other girls, that's why Jeong Hyang had taken the young girl under her wing. But sometimes, her timidness could be exasperating, especially at a time when Jeong Hyang needed her to be the buffer between herself and this young man who had managed to catch a glimpse of Jeong Hyang underneath her mask.

"Ask him what he wants." Jeong Hyang turned away, deliberately brusque as her heart hammered in her chest. He was too close. And in the cold night, she seemed to be able to feel the heat from his body.

"My mistress wants to know what you want." Mi Nyun gathered herself bravely to confront the artist.

"Could I ask for one more tune?" His voice was still heavy with wine, and he thrust his hand forward abruptly, swaying at his own movement. Mi Nyun gasped and took a step back again, frightened by the sudden movement, then looked back at her mistress for help.

"What is it?" Jeong Hyang questioned.

Mi Nyun took a glance and reported her findings. "It's five nyang."

"Five nyang?" Jeong Hyang sniffed haughtily, hoping he would leave because she wanted him to stay. "Ask him 'Was my tune worth just five nyang'?"

"Just five nyang--"

"This is everything I have." The painter tried again, tilting his head a bit so he could look past the maid at Jeong Hyang.

Though his reply was clever, Jeong Hyang knew she could not play this game. It was too dangerous and the both of them had too much to lose. "Convey to him that I am not interested in his situation."

With that said, she held her head high and walked away from the young man who had so unsettled her.

Or she tried to, anyways.
As she passed him, his hand darted out to grab her wrist and swing her back around to face him. His touch on her wrist, even though they had no skin-to-skin contact, burned her through and through. Jeong Hyang had been touched by men before, rough men who had too much to drink while she entertained them, and she had always pulled away and reminded them of who she was. Their touch only managed to bring up the feeling of revulsion in her. But this touch brought her to life. It was as if she had been shut in a dark room for her whole life and suddenly, the sun had broken down her walls and her senses were bombarded by everything. The heat of his hands was unbearable, the sleeves on her arms had become unbearably heavy.

"Where are your manners?" Jeong Hyang managed to muster up as much indignation as she could while trying to ignore her heart's pounding.

"This hand will be cut tomorrow." The painter said plainly. He let go of her wrist and showed Jeong Hyang his hand. It was small, but slim and beautiful. An artist's hands. His face... was painful to look at. The distress that he was feeling, the anger, the frustration... the fear. She felt it rolling off of him. Jeong Hyang felt her heart clench in sympathy.

"This five nyang is the money earned from selling the last picture drawn by this hand." The painter let out a breath he had been holding. "I want to spend my last day with this. With the sound of your gayageum."

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endnote: woo! I love Shin Yoon Bok and Jeong Hyang!