My surname was originally Seo.

***

“Young mistress.”

Gopdan, a maidservant of the Mun household, called to the little girl dressed in silk. But the child neither answered nor turned around. She had already called her more times than she could count.

“Young mistress.”

She deliberately raised her voice a little, but there was still no response. Gopdan felt a flicker of irritation. Still, this was the mistress she would be serving from now on, so she swallowed it.

“Young mistress!”

At the sharper call, the girl’s small shoulders flinched. Only then did she turn.

“Oh.”

Though she was only seven, the child already possessed a delicate, radiant beauty. A curious little exclamation escaped her as she hesitated, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment.

“I’m sorry.”

The sight of her apologizing, her lips parting like cherry blossoms, softened Gopdan’s heart a little. Beauty, after all, worked its charms on more than men.

“Oh, young mistress. I told you, you mustn’t apologize to a servant. And you mustn’t speak so respectfully to us, either. You should speak as our mistress.”

“Yes, please—”

“No…”

“I understand, thank you. No, I… understand.”

“When this servant calls, all you need to do is answer. Please don’t ignore me.”

Her heart might have softened, but her resentment had not entirely faded, and an edge crept into her words.

“I didn’t realize you were calling me. I’m not used to it, so it’s difficult… I mean, it is difficult. I’ll be careful—no, I shall take heed—no, I’ll be careful. I shall. I shall be careful.”

Seeing the child stumble over her words eased Gopdan’s lingering irritation.

It was understandable, really. When she was sold into this household and given a new name, how many times did she fail to realize that someone was calling her?

She had no right to sulk like this, even if she could not comprehend the situation. The girl was the mistress, and Gopdan was the servant. A servant getting angry because her mistress wouldn’t answer her? She deserved a sound reprimand.

She could only get so upset because she had yet to fully accept this little girl as her mistress and as part of the Mun family.

“This servant must go out on an errand. If you need anything, please ask Hwaran. Unless it’s urgent, you must never do things yourself. You should call a servant. Do you understand?”

Reflecting on her behavior, Gopdan spoke to Sahye in a gentler voice, coaxing her as she might soothe a child.

Sahye gave a firm little nod.

“Have a safe trip, please.”

‘I told you, you mustn’t speak so respectfully.’

Gopdan was about to remind her again when she saw Sahye smiling, her small hands clutching tightly at her skirt. Somehow, her irritation faded away. Deciding to pretend she hadn’t heard, she left.

Once she was alone, Sahye turned back to whatever had caught her attention.

Before her stood a tree so tall that she had to crane her neck to see its upper branches. But it was the swing hanging from it that captivated her.

Recalling the graceful young women she had secretly watched on Dano, Sahye gazed wistfully at the swing. Then, as though drawn by an invisible thread, she approached it and tentatively reached out.

She felt a small thrill of delight as her fingertips touched the sturdy rope. She stroked it gently, stealing a glance around her.

There was no one in sight.

‘Would it be all right to ride it by myself?’

Gopdan’s warning that she should only do things herself if they were urgent made her think twice. She continued to stroke the rope gently, as though petting a puppy.

Perhaps there was no harm in simply sitting on it.

She lowered herself onto the seat. Then, deciding that standing on it might be OK, too, she cautiously stood up.

Once she was standing, she grew a little bolder. Now she wanted to sway back and forth.

But she had no idea how to set the swing in motion.

She had never ridden one before.

She stretched her feet this way and that, even trying to push her fists forward. At last, she gave up and stood quietly on the seat.

Even this felt lovely.

It felt as though she had grown taller.

She smiled as the breeze brushed her face. Suddenly, she felt a hand against her back.

The swing glided forward.

Startled, she glanced over her shoulder.

‘…Young master?’

Reflected in her dark eyes was a boy of nine—the eldest grandson of this household, wearing the composed, impassive expression of a grown man.

Mun Tae-eon.

“Young…”

Sahye quickly pressed her lips together before she could finish.

She remembered Gopdan’s firm reminder that the servants were to address him as ‘Young Master’. As the young mistress, she must never address him that way herself.

Steadying her voice, she summoned the courage to call out softly.

“Brother.”

“Why do you call me?”

His voice and solemn manner were every bit as unchildlike as his expression.

Sahye had to think hard about her answer.

Why had she called him, anyway?

She simply wanted to. There hadn’t been any particular reason. It was like the way friends call each other’s names when they meet.

Even as she pondered this, the swing kept moving. Tae-eon watched her quietly, as though waiting for an answer. He pushed the swing when it came back to him, giving it another push the next time.

“I just wanted to call you.”

After much thought, Sahye answered honestly.

“And I merely wanted to ask.”

A faint smile touched his face, so solemn for a child.

Now that she thought about it, he had smiled at her like that on the day she first came to this house, too.

‘Brother. Brother.’

It had such a lovely sound.

***

Six or seven girls, aged around twelve, sat chatting in the pavilion. They were all daughters of the Mun family and were either her first cousins or second cousins.

They were having an easy conversation, yet Sahye had been silent for some time.

They amused themselves by composing poems in classical Chinese, a language she still struggled to understand.

Many noble families only taught their daughters the Korean script. In the Mun household, however, girls received an education that would enable them to participate in their future husbands’ literary pursuits, and they could study further if they wished.

Sahye was learning to read and write, too.

Composing poetry was still beyond her, though.

She had worked diligently ever since her lessons began, sometimes reading until dawn. Even during her breaks, she would trace characters on the ground to try to remember them.

But there was so much more to learn than characters alone.

Until the age of seven, she had grown up in a small side room at a tavern in an impoverished village. Above all, she had to rid herself of the habits and manners she had acquired there — all that was considered inappropriate for a daughter of the Mun family.

Everything she would have learned naturally had she been born into the family now had to be painstakingly taught to her, one lesson at a time. As well as her studies, she had to work constantly on improving her manners and habits.

It was no surprise, then, that her progress was slow.

Even so, she was much slower than she should have been.

When a bright younger cousin recited a poem she had written, the other girls burst into delighted laughter.

Unable to grasp what was so amusing, Sahye could only manage an awkward smile.

A second cousin, who was a year or two older than her, gave her a curious glance, then leaned over to whisper in her younger sister’s ear.

Pretending not to notice, Sahye moistened her dry lips with small sips of the cinnamon punch that the others had barely touched.

“Sahye, have you finished the Thousand Character Classic yet?”

The younger sister, who had received the whisper, spoke up. Although she addressed Sahye as an older cousin out of respect for their family standing, the two girls were actually the same age.

The other girls, still amused, all turned to Sahye at once.

For a moment, she froze with the bowl against her lips.

Unable to meet any of the many gazes fixed on her, she stared only at the brown liquid in the bowl.

“No… Not yet.”

She managed the answer with a strained smile.

“Oh.”

Her cousin let out a soft, peculiar sound.

She lifted her chin slightly. She exchanged a glance with her older sister, snickered quietly and turned away.

The next day, Sahye sat on the wooden veranda, staring listlessly into the courtyard.

Her shoulders drooped. She propped her chin in her hand, then finally buried her face in her knees.

“You are not lacking in intelligence. You are simply slow to learn.”

Sahye looked up at the sound of a voice.

Tae-eon was standing beside her. She hadn’t noticed him approach.

After making that quiet remark, he said nothing more.

He must have heard what had happened yesterday.

The thought that even Tae-eon knew made her feel even more miserable. Sahye lowered her head again.

“But I’m far too slow…”

A wave of hurt welled up inside her.

“I feel so ashamed before Mother and Father…”

They had shown her a kindness greater than anything she could ever have imagined.

She ought to repay them.

Yet instead, she was bringing shame upon them and becoming a burden.

“If they had known I was a fool, they would never have taken me in. They must be so disappointed…”

Her guilt and sorrow grew heavier, and tears burned behind her eyes.

Unable to finish, she hid her face and struggled to swallow her sobs.

She and Tae-eon had never been close enough to speak freely. Showing him such a humiliating side of herself only deepened her misery.

‘How pathetic he must think me.’

Tae-eon gazed down at her in silence.

Her small shoulders trembled beneath a burden he thought so slight. The sight stirred his pity, though he found it a little amusing, too.

But as she clenched her teeth, stubbornly trying to hide her tears, he found himself unable to look away.