The Lady Called Eun Pyeong
I wondered if this was really happening.
To be honest, I was a man too.
The Five Great Beauties of the Central Plains? I had never seen them in person, so comparing them to Eun Seollyeong was impossible. But one thing I could say with certainty: calling her merely pretty missed the mark entirely.
There was something dreamlike about her, cold and intellectual all at once.
…
I take that back.
She was beautiful.
Fate had brought us close enough to talk side by side like this, but if I had simply passed her on the street or crossed paths for any other reason, I never would have managed a single word. She carried an atmosphere that crushed any impulse to speak lightly or casually.
And yet that very woman had asked me to go somewhere alone with her.
This was not one of our usual journeys with a shared official goal. Nor was it some urgent crisis. When a lofty beauty of her caliber requested a private outing, even preparing a change of clothes and telling me to put them on, any man who was not a complete fool would feel at least a little flutter of excitement.
“…Yeah. Of course.”
“It suits you well. Let us go.”
The clothes she had prepared were a neat set in soft gray, practical for moving around. Compared to the worn, frayed black martial robes I usually wore, they were far cleaner and more refined. The only thing that remained the same was the Chiljong-heukjusa-gap on my left hand, and even that was mostly hidden by the sleeves.
I hesitated, then held up what I was carrying so she could see it.
“You prepared this for me to bring along too, right?”
In my hand was an apron.
“That is correct. Is there a problem?”
“No. No problem.”
To be precise, the black apron swaying in my grip was actually two—one for her as well. I stared at them and muttered under my breath.
“Yeah, no problem at all. None whatsoever. I’m a grown man. Too old for empty fantasies. It’s not like I’m some half-baked kid.”
She blinked her silver eyes and tilted her head slightly.
Perfect winter… Ugly winter…
Mumyeong whispered softly.
A spring breeze was blowing. Beneath a clear blue sky we walked along a stone-paved path still slick with rainwater that had not fully dried. She spoke as we went.
“There are many places to visit today. We will move quickly.”
“No matter how I look at it, we’re heading toward the outskirts of Shaanxi. Is there some big fight scheduled among martial artists today?”
I quickly felt around my lower face. Of course there was no mask or anything of the sort. Noticing my unease, she spoke calmly.
“No. Today has nothing to do with that, so set your mind at ease. Though there is a little cause for concern. Hmm.”
She stroked her chin and looked me up and down.
“You have already surpassed a certain level as a martial artist, so there should be no need to worry.”
She tilted her head in small increments, as if recalling something, and sank into thought.
“You handle a short blade well enough. Heavy things will not be an issue either. Center of gravity is fundamental. Ah, now that I think of it, there is truly nothing to worry about.”
She looked at me.
“If you are uncertain, simply copy the movements I demonstrate. When one considers it, the applications of your authority are truly endless.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, but that just made me more nervous instead of reassuring me.”
All of that confusion was resolved not long after.
“Twenty-two bundles of eggplant over here!”
“Hey, young man! Peel these onions already! People are starting to crowd in!”
“Ugh, why is this giant cauldron so heavy?! You there, the one with the scary face! Those muscles look strong—lend a hand with—whoa, he actually lifted it.”
I hoisted a wok larger than my own head with one hand, set it on the stove, and took up a knife again. Under my furiously swinging blade, eggplants, pumpkins, and every other ingredient were mercilessly chopped. The knife completed its next stroke faster than the previous pieces could even fall.
The auntie who had been doubtful at first was now clapping her hands and dumping every kind of ingredient in front of me as fast as she could.
“…I’m a martial artist. I’m a martial artist. I’m a martial artist…”
I kept muttering the same words like a broken waterwheel while I chopped. It felt strangely familiar—like the sense of futility I had once experienced around the Namgung Clan, only this time it was not an illusion.
Mumyeong’s voice reached me.
There are two more sacks of onions behind you. Do not forget them.
“Sometimes I really hate you, you know that?”
I muttered and reached back without looking, dragging the two sacks of onions into view. Squatting down, I dumped them into a basin and began peeling.
You claim to dislike it, yet your hands are quick.
“Well.”
I lifted my head and let out a small sigh.
Children with dirt-streaked faces filled the dining hall, packed tightly around tables that would have been full with just four adults. More than seven kids sat at each one, both hands resting on the tabletop as they swallowed hard and waited for food.
The auntie sitting across from me, peeling potatoes, spoke up.
“Still, it’s admirable. When that young lady first said she’d come at least once every two years no matter what, I thought she was just boasting.”
“Pardon?”
“That young lady over there.”
The auntie jerked her chin toward Eun Seollyeong in the distance.
Right in front of me, Eun Seollyeong was wiping faint beads of sweat from her brow as she sliced ingredients and stir-fried dishes without pause. She had rolled up the sleeves of her white martial robes and secured them with ties so they would not get in the way, and she wore a black apron over it all. Her long silver hair was tied up, exposing the pale nape of her neck as she focused completely on the cooking.
The auntie continued.
“As you can see, we’re always short-handed here, so we can only make the simplest dishes. But whenever that young lady comes, we get to prepare something special. The kids love it.”
“Has she been helping out here for a long time?”
At my question the auntie counted on her fingers.
“At least five years ago, during that great famine when the number of orphans exploded—she was already helping by then. She always times her visits for the fireworks festival that happens in Shaanxi every even-numbered year.”
“Fireworks…?”
“Oh my, look at me.”
As if suddenly remembering, the auntie clapped her hands.
“Ah, since she brought you here herself there’s no real need to say it, but still—never speak of this outside. Don’t talk about her, and don’t go asking questions either. She made me swear it over and over.”
“…Honestly, even if I told anyone, they wouldn’t believe me.”
If I described what I was seeing right now to someone else, no one would believe a word. I had never heard of the Guardian of Mount Hua volunteering at a shabby free kitchen for orphans in some backwater corner of Shaanxi.
She stood in her apron before a massive stove belching flames, flipping an enormous pot again and again. As a powerful martial artist she showed not the slightest sign of strain. Only the heat of the roaring fire brought a light sheen of sweat to her forehead.
I could not hide my surprise.
Her cooking skill is well above average.
I was no gourmet and had never been particularly knowledgeable about food. Even so, her skill was obvious even to me. In a short time she had already produced more than seven different dishes. Every one of them was large-scale, glistening with oil, and plated with a care that was anything but amateur. She scooped seasonings with a ladle and stirred without a moment’s hesitation.
The head cook, who seemed to oversee the entire kitchen, came over, looked at the plates, and marveled.
“Truly, I can hardly believe this is the same person who used to panic because she couldn’t tell salt from sugar when she first arrived!”
Eun Seollyeong wiped her sweat-damp forehead. A faint, almost imperceptible smile touched her lips.
Just now.
I stopped peeling onions and stared at her blankly. It was the first time I had ever seen her smile.
She quickly seized the next pot and continued cooking. Gripping a rectangular Chinese cleaver with practiced ease, she rolled up her sleeves further. In an instant she sliced firm pork and vegetables, tossed them into the pot, and stir-fried them in hot oil. The golden-white shackles on both her wrists glittered in the stove’s firelight. Her eyes were utterly serious.
Countless finished dishes were piled onto huge platters. The auntie and the head cook raced each other to carry out the food she had completed.
Clatter.
The head cook paused with the last plate in his hands and looked at Eun Seollyeong. He gestured toward the dining hall with his chin.
“….”
Eun Seollyeong gave a bitter little smile and quietly shook her head. The cook did not press her further. As if this happened every time, he simply nodded, took the plate, and passed through the kitchen door into the dining hall.
Only the two of us remained in the noisy kitchen. From inside the kitchen the dining hall was mostly hidden by the wall, but the children’s cheers carried clearly over it.
“Wow! Look at all these side dishes—that noona must be here again! See? I told you! She always comes when there’s fireworks!”
“There’s plenty of food, so eat slowly!”
“Yay!”
Soon the clatter of chopsticks and the clink of bowls filled the dining hall. Listening to those sounds, Eun Seollyeong wore a faint smile. She wiped her forehead, lightly damp from the heat, and let down the silver hair she had tied up so neatly.
“The kids say Eun Pyeong noona’s face is so pretty—can’t we see it just once?”
The children called her Eun Pyeong noona. Hearing their lively voices, Eun Seollyeong’s hands paused as she was removing her apron.
“Yeah, why do you always hide? I want to see. My friend snuck a look once and said she looked just like a fairy. Maybe I should sneak a look too.”
“….”
The sound of a ladle lightly bonking a child’s head was followed by the cook’s voice.
“Don’t you know the old story about how the fairy flies away if you look? If you’re really grateful, just eat the food nicely.”
I looked at Eun Seollyeong.
“You don’t want to go out and see them?”
“Let us go.”
She answered without hesitation.
“With this, this year’s promise to them is fulfilled.”
She opened the back door of the kitchen and strode out ahead of me without looking back. This was the stove where she had been working only moments before—the place where she had cooked with her silver hair tied up and a faint smile on her face. It had been filled with lively chatter, encouragement, the heat of the fire, and the vibrant energy of cooking.
Now it was perfectly, spotlessly clean, as if none of it had ever happened. Not a single speck of dust remained. I stared at the flawlessly ordered space. It was as though everything I had just witnessed had been nothing more than an illusion, leaving no trace behind.
“….”
I did not know why. But looking at it, I somehow felt sad.
“Well. The work is done, so shall we go?”
I carefully set the peeled potatoes and onions to one side and glanced into the noisy dining hall. My eyes met those of the auntie who had been serving food to the orphans. She had already taken off her apron and was about to leave when she spotted me. Her mouth opened and she raised a hand as if to stop me—then lowered it again. Instead she tapped the cook’s elbow. The cook, who had been ladling soup for the children, soon noticed me as well.
They said nothing. The cook slowly closed his eyes and bowed his head in silence. The auntie followed suit. The children, knowing nothing, chattered and focused on their meal.
…
I quietly raised both hands. Without a sound I formed a martial salute, closed my eyes, and bowed my head in return.
I left the kitchen through the back door. Outside, Eun Seollyeong was waiting for me, cooling the sweat on her skin in the spring breeze.
“Come. We need only visit two more places. Time is not abundant.”
“What time have you been talking about this whole while? And two more places?”
“One is a place I always visit whenever I come to Shaanxi. The one before that is for you.”
“For me?”
She looked up at the sky. The sun had already shifted and was climbing toward noon.
“You helped me with my work, so I thought I should repay you.”
She pointed at my left hand, where the Chiljong-heukjusa-gap rested. Then she pointed to her own shackles.
“I will introduce you to the craftsman who made these for me—someone I visit often. Conveniently, he is in Shaanxi as well.”
My eyes widened. Eun Seollyeong nodded and continued.
“I am certain he will be able to introduce something that suits your equipment perfectly.”