Dreams

A "Painter of the Wind" fanfiction

immo

author's note: A trip to Beijing can really take time away from writing :D But I'm back and this chapter is longer than the other ones! So without further ado, here's another installation of this... thing. Yup. I don't make sense and I'm not thinking at all cuz I'm tired and its late, so sue me.

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Jeong Hyang had played for the painter until she was exhausted. Now she put her gayageum aside and sat back, fanning herself. The chill night air did nothing to cool her body as she looked at the painter, sprawled amidst ink and papers, watching her. The kisaeng offered the young man one of her rare smiles and he returned it with a tremulous, small smile that spoke of deepest gratitude. Sweat beaded his forehead and a stray tear that he probably didn't even know he was shedding, rolled down the side of his head.

Of course, looking back, Jeong Hyang could not have refused him when he had pleaded his case with so much emotion. She had turned away from him to slide that mask back into place, then spoke to her maid.

"Tell our young Hwagong to follow." Jeong Hyang started back towards the gibang, hearing her maid relaying the information and knowing that he would be stumbling along behind her like a sleepy puppy. Her maid had hurried after, finally falling into step close behind Jeong Hyang.

"My lady!" Mi Nyun hissed.

"Hm?"

"Is it appropriate," Mi Nyun chose her words carefully. "To let a man into your room at night?"

"I've entertained men until sunrise, before." Jeong Hyang raised an eyebrow, deliberately misunderstanding her maid.

"But that was men with the other kisaengs, he is ONE man!" Mi Nyun protested. "And it is your room! You don't let people in there! And a man has-has, a man has... needs!"

Jeong Hyang gave her maid an amused look, then looked forward again. "Our young Hwagong is barely a man. He's drunk and will probably fall asleep after the first song. And I will not be swayed on this issue. He is a paying guest."

"Five nyang!" Mi Nyun pointed out.

Jeong Hyang smiled. "And that was all his fortune. Who else is willing to pay everything they have for just music from me?"

"He had little, so he had very little to lose." Mi Nyun grumbled, clutching Jeong Hyang's zither instrument close to her chest. Finally arriving at the entrance to her room, Jeong Hyang pushed the doors open and entered, followed by the painter, who looked around the space with a little bit of wonder.

"Hwagong, please sit. I will prepare myself." The painter blinked owlishly, then walked slowly to the other side of the small table in the middle of the room and managed to sit down without any mishaps. His eyes were on her now, unwavering.

"Mi Nyun. Go fetch Hwagong some more wine."

"My lady--" Mi Nyun opened her mouth to protest but was silenced quickly by a slight wave of Jeong Hyang's hand. Her lady was being stubborn and there was no changing her mind when she was like this. "Yes, ma'am."

As the doors closed silently behind them, the painter tilted his head to the side and looked at her with an amused, sad smile. The maid's glare and the scandalized look on her face wasn't lost on the young man, even though he was drunk.

"I never thought you would say yes."

Jeong Hyang shot back, "Then why did you ask?"

"Because you're worth the effort, the fight." The painter shrugged his slender shoulders. "My last night as an artist with you accompanying me... there is nothing better than that in the world."

Jeong Hyang was captivated once again by the pale, slim hands of the painter. She knew what it would be like if he lost his ability to paint. It would be like if Jeong Hyang could not play the gayageum ever again. The thought of her hands, crippled like that, sent a shiver down Jeong Hyang's spine.

"It's unpleasant to think about, so don't." The painter smiled kindly at her and reached out almost absentmindedly to lay his hand on top of the gayageum player's. It was just for a second, but the kisaeng could feel that the painter's hand was as cold as ice.

"I'm afraid." His whisper was so low, that she was barely able to catch it. His voice was thick with emotions, strangled by his fear.

"Then why do you not run away?"

He laughed, the sound was high-pitched, almost like a girl's. "Where would I run to, Jeong Hyang? My whole life is here. What would happen to my father? My brother? They would be disgraced. And I, what kind of... kind of person was I raised to be? A coward?"

"Better a live coward then a dead brave man."

"How much is a live coward worth? How will I be able to face anyone?" The young man questioned. "They say a brave man only dies once but the coward dies a thousand times. Or something like that."

"But either way, you're disgraced. What would you do if you didn't have your hand any more?" Jeong Hyang found herself trying to argue for the young man's survival. She knew, if he were to lose his ability to draw, his life would be over. They might as well kill him.

It was probably only the drinks that he's had that made him so bold, but the painter reached for her sleeve and caught it between his fingers. Looking up at her face, he said his next words earnestly and as seriously as a drunken man could.

"I would listen to you play." He smiled up at her, a foolish smile, his words slurred by drink. He would probably not remember what he was saying later on, but Jeong Hyang would definitely remember. "My first love is painting. You are my second love, my mistress."

"Oh?" Jeong Hyang laughed at this man's easy compliments and his playful 'mistress' comment. The geumgi knew she should be insulted, but he made her... happy. So she played along. "And why should I stay with such an unfaithful man? Why should I be second?"

"You are my only." The painter was drunk. Jeong Hyang had to keep reminding herself this. But he was charming and she was finding it hard to keep fighting against her own feelings. "The only one who could make me unfaithful, the one I would again and again, forsake my first love for. The one who makes my first love interesting and beautiful because you are... you are what art should be..."

He leaned back, watching her lazily. "If I could buy your time forever... I would give you everything I had. And if only for a moment, I would still give everything."

"You are drunk, Hwagong." was all the gayageum player could say.

"They say drink loosens a man's tongue and makes him speak true," Yoon Bok's eyes were sharp, surprisingly sober. "So I am drunk. But everything I say is true."

"You would forget in the morning, anyways. It will be like a dream that you could not quite remember." Jeong Hyang shot back, a little bit angry. Because it was true. A man could say whatever he wanted when he was drunk, but once they were sober, they forgot. Or they said they forgot and the courtly words would disappear behind the derisive tone best suited for a kisaeng. "How many dreams have you forgotten, Hwagong?"

Before he could answer to her accusation, Jeong Hyang's maid was back with a bottle of wine, looking very much as if she had expected to find the young painter accosting her lady. The mixture of relief and disappointment made the young painter laugh lightly, causing the shy Mi Nyun to blush.

"Mi Nyun, you may go rest." To sooth her maid's hurt pride at the young painter's laughter, Jeong Hyang excused the girl and held in her own laughter. Once Mi Nyun had retired, Jeong Hyang placed her fingers against the strings of her gayageum, caressing the responsive instrument lovingly and glanced up to see that Yoon Bok was watching her hands with rapt fascination.

"Whenever you're ready, my lady." The painter teased a smile from Jeong Hyang's lips, as the beautiful kisaeng started to play. She could feel his eyes traveling over her body. She cast glances at him now and then, and he acknowledged all of those looks with his shy, pink smiles.

'Don't give up,' Jeong Hyang wished fervently, trying to convey her feelings in her music. She instilled as much life as she could, as much of her feelings as she could, into her music. She wanted him to cheer up, even though she knew he would not run away. Jeong Hyang wanted this young man to forget, just for a while, his plight. Jeong Hyang wanted to sooth away his worries and was glad when he reached over lazily, dipping into his brush holder and withdrawing a brush. Though the movement was slow and careful, the kisaeng could see that he had heard her music. With a flourish, he pulled a sheet of paper out and started taking out his inks. Slowly at first, unconsciously following the rythym of her music. Then Jeong Hyang sped up, her hands dancing across the strings of her gayageum and his brush's strokes grew quick and bold, fast and excited.

The papers filled with drawings, the ones at the beginning were rushed and ugly with nothing but blobs of ink, colours and indiscernable shapes. Slowly, but surely though, the coloured mess took form and became things that the kisaeng began to recognize. His drawings were taking form, flowers blossoming from the splotches, achingly beautiful.

And now, over and over again, as the mess of ink melted away, the flowers blossomed and molted into sheafs and sheafs of paper, over and over again of a single geumgi with a barely-there smile.

'Is that... me?' Jeong Hyang thought, glancing around at the sheets fluttering around with wonder, finally seeing what was in those first blotches of ink, the hurried strokes, the mess of shapes. In each painting was hidden the shape of a woman and her gayageum.

Jeong Hyang's slowed her hands until her music stopped and pushed her gayageum to the side. She looked over at the young artist fondly, knowing and trying to fight it. But unable to. She was thoroughly done in by this young aloof butterfly who lay there, tears mixing with the sweat on his face.

Suddenly, something occurred to Jeong Hyang. "Why did he say that in advance? I mean, your teacher."

"Teacher?" Shin Yoon Bok took a swig of wine straight from the bottle. "Ah! You mean... teacher 'Danwon'? Huh. There isn't any reason. I made trouble in Dohwaseo. And he saw me selling an obscene picture... He must be angry with me."

The sullen glumness reminded Jeong Hyang of a naughty child, rebuked by their favourite teacher. It was adorable, and Jeong Hyang tried to reason with the artist softly.

"But, the reason he tried to meet you in advance was possibly because..." She paused, watching Yoon Bok and hoping he was listening to her. This was important.

"Possibly...?" He slurred, struggling to follow her line of thought through his drunken haze.

"Possibly because he wanted to protect you." A thrill of hope ran through the kisaeng. Why did she care about this young man's hand? She pushed away the answer from her mind and concentrated on the matter at hand. This was more important, stay focused. The painter blew out a dry laugh.

"Protect me..." The painter repeated the words, as if rolling the thought around in his mind.

Gently, Jeong Hyang continued, "I think your teacher may be your only hope."

"Hope?" He repeated her words again, blinking his eyes blearily. Then he giggled, sounding very girlish indeed, but that did not at all make him any less charming to the geumgi.

"You're so beautiful, Jeong Hyang..." The painter reached out a quavering hand, as if to touch her face... put at the last moment, he pulled back, sitting up straight even though he was swaying from side to side.

"I'm not supposed to." He pronounced sadly.

"No?" Jeong Hyang had wanted to lean against that hand, that seemed so soft. It had been too easy. And then he had taken his hand away and the kisaeng's heart was suddenly aching from the withdrawal.

"No." He shook his head like a wet dog. "I-I'm not... you don't know... I can't touch you."

Jeong Hyang was touched by his chivalry. And hid a smile at his drooping eyes. The young man could take his alcohol well enough, but he was fighting a losing battle against its affects.

"Hwagong, stay the night." Jeong Hyang couldn't believe the words that came out of her own mouth, but once they were out, she was quite sure of what she wanted. She would keep the painter here and keep him safe from the axe tomorrow. They couldn't punish him if she kept him here.

He nodded, in no shape to argue with her and cast around for a place to sleep.

"Here." Jeong Hyang moved so she was next to him and gently pulled him down so that his head rested on her lap. He looked up at her in wonder as Jeong Hyang pulled his abandoned jacket over his body.

"Thank you." He whispered sleepily before closing his eyes, no longer able to fight the weariness he felt. Jeong Hyang smoothed away the frowns from the painter's forehead, stroking his face gently and marveling at how smooth his skin felt and how troubled she felt at his plight.

"Hwagong..." Jeong Hyang whispered, brushing her hands across the sides of his face. She drew her hand back quickly, realizing how inappropriate she was being. What was she doing?

"What have you done to me?"

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"Ungh." Shin Yoon Bok sat up, the robe that had been covering her slipping off. She winced as pain lanced through her head and the memories of what had happened the night before rushed in and throbbed in her head.

She remembered... painting. Painting the most beautiful flower she had ever seen. And of speaking to this prickly beauty who had looked at her with such a gentle expression.

'Or was I dreaming?' Shin Yoon Bok definitely remembered Jeong Hyang telling her that her teacher may be her only hope. And also of lying in a drunken haze in the kisaeng's lap. The geumgi had been gracious, rude, fiery, angry, kind and compassionate. A mix of all these contradictory things that drew Shin Yoon Bok in like a moth to a flame.

Looking around the room, she realized that she was completely alone. Jeong Hyang was nowhere to be seen.

'What did I do last night?' In her search for Jeong Hyang, Yoon Bok cringed at the sight she beheld. Papers were flung haphazardly everywhere and it looked like a small windstorm had swept through the room. Hurriedly moving about to clean up the mess, she went through her drawings, cringing at some of the shapeless blobs she had put on paper, and sweeping them into a pile to throw away later.

But one had turned out well. Yoon Bok paused and inspected this painting with a fond eye. Even though she herself was the author of this work, her hand hesitated to touch the painting. Carefully, Yoon Bok traced the outline of the woman's face in the picture with a trembling finger, floating just a hair's width away from the paper. There she was. Here was Jeong Hyang. And deep within her chest she felt a painful tugging, a pull that threatened to rip her apart.

Longing.

This was who she longed for, the woman in the picture. She had finally managed to paint something that showed exactly that ache and immortalized her feelings. This picture would move her again and again to this same feeling. Shin Yoon Bok had found in this sharp-witted kisaeng what she was looking for and tried to calm her heart. She had seen many people moved by the pictures the painters at Dohwaseo put on paper. She had painted many of those paintings and sold them to men who delighted in the plain beauty of real life. But she herself had never been so moved by a painting. Not even Danwon's paintings made her feel like this.

'My last painting is of you. This is the perfect end to my painting career.' Yoon Bok did not regret at all this fact. If Jeong Hyang was the last thing she would ever draw again, she would be happy.

Casting around for a brush, Yoon Bok found one buried underneath sheets of paper. She tsked at the fact that the ink had hardened the brush, but a quick dip in water softened the tip. Ink was quickly prepared and Shin Yoon Bok solemnly contemplated what she was going to write.

'My gift to you, Jeong Hyang.' Yoon Bok leaned down, carefully putting brush to paper. Yoon Bok had heard Jeong Hyang's unspoken words, the soothing quality of her music, the feelings the kisaeng had wanted to convey. Yoon Bok understood and was deeply grateful.

'If I could buy your time forever... I would give you everything I had. And if only for a moment, I would still give everything.' Shin Yoon Bok remembered her words from last night and blushed at her own forwardness. But she had meant every word of it. Yoon Bok didn't know she could feel this way about someone and she was scared, but completely amazed by her own feelings and in absolute wonder at how strong they were.

'You would forget in the morning, anyways. It will be like a dream that you could not quite remember.'

Yoon Bok had wanted to touch the kisaeng, last night. And she had boldly touched Jeong Hyang's hand to quell her desire, and caught the geumgi's sleeve between her fingers. More than anything, the painter had wanted to caress this beautiful woman's face, touch her lips, her cheeks... but had known she would have gone too far if she had done it. But at that moment last night, she had been gripped by such a strong desire, that it had been a trial to restrain herself.

The last stroke, a pause to review her words. Satisfied with what she had written, Yoon Bok used the empty wine bottle from last night to hold the painting down. Then, grabbing her scribblings from the night before and her belongings, Shin Yoon Bok left quietly, closing the door behind her.

---

Jeong Hyang had gone to the kitchen with Mi Nyun to help her get breakfast. Though she trusted her maid's eye, the kisaeng wanted to make certain that only the best was chosen for their guest who had been still sleeping when she left him. The women in the kitchen were puzzled to see the most prized kisaeng in the kitchen so early in the morning bustling about them with a grace that seemed very out of place in the hustle of the kitchen area, but they didn't question it. The gayageum player was the most sought-after kisaeng in the whole city. Which meant she was worth a lot. And anybody who helped pay the bills so well was welcome to do whatever they liked. Mi Nyun smiled as her lady fretted over some dishes, her expression not unnoticed by Jeong Hyang.

"Why are you smiling at me like that?" Jeong Hyang raised an eyebrow at her maid, who just shrugged, the small smile still on her face. Jeong Hyang chose to ignore her maid, knowing that the girl was probably teasing her for the extra attention she was showing the painter. Taking a quick glance at the breakfast Jeong Hyang had personally put together for the young painter, the geumgi signalled her maid to take the food and follow her.

The kisaeng wanted to hurry back to her room to see the painter, but she forced herself to take slow, measured steps. When she was in front of her room's door, she composed herself and spoke softly.

"Hwagong, why don't you wake up now and have your breakfast?"

There was no reply. Perhaps the painter was sleeping too deeply? She pushed the door open slowly and felt almost as if she had been punched in the stomach when she saw that the room was empty and clean, the hurricane of papers, inks and brushes gone. The bed made. It was as if Shin Yoon Bok had never been there and last night was just a very vivid dream. Jeong Hyang felt bitterly disappointed, her fast-beating heart stilled to a slow, dull and painful tempo. Where had he gone? Her eyes caught on a piece of paper, a painting, lying underneath the painter's empty wine bottle from last night.

"What happened?" Mi Nyun asked, looking past Jeong Hyang and into the room.

"I don't know either." Jeong Hyang replied softly. Entering the room, she sat down where the painter had been resting the night before and carefully moved the make-shift paperweight off the painting Shin Yoon Bok had left behind. Unfolding the paper, Jeong Hyang examined Yoon Bok's work and one of her rare, real smiles pulled up the corners of her lips.

Shin Yoon Bok had painted exquisitely. The lines were bold, but careful, and the colours centered the painting and drew in the viewer. The figure in the painting was forever caught in that moment, just before her hands coaxed the notes from the gayageum. Jeong Hyang knew what the painter had wanted to convey, could see and hear his words as if he was right in front of her. Didn't need these words that were written so elegantly on the side of the painting, but these words, nonetheless, made her heart race again.

Even if the bird's feathers are plucked, the bird doesn't stop flying.

Even if the string snapped, the tune never stops.

Even if I wake up, the dream never goes away.

'If I could buy your time forever... I would give you everything I had. And if only for a moment, I would still give everything.'

The bitterness in Jeong Hyang's throat dissolved into something warm and enveloped her completely.

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endnote: Hope all of you like this :D Enjoy!