Poison Human — 7
"Hwarin, are you all right?"
I set aside my bewilderment at her sudden appearance, asked after her well-being, and looked her up and down.
Was she really okay?
Contrary to my worries, Hwarin looked perfectly healthy. Her skin was as clear as it had been before we parted, and she showed no sign of pain or illness.
"Yep! I'll be waiting outside, so get ready and come out."
Hwarin answered with plenty of energy and bounced out of the room.
"What on earth is going on?"
It felt like a dream even though it was real. If not for the chill of the winter wind drifting through the window Hwarin had left open, I might have convinced myself I was dreaming.
Visits weren't even allowed until yesterday. So what was this?
I felt dazed. It was like being caught in a hail of bullets only for a beautiful woman to suddenly appear out of nowhere, throw open the door of a convertible, and tell me to get in if I wanted to live.
Wait — could it be someone disguised as Hwarin?
"Yunho!"
While I was still frozen in confusion, Hwarin opened the door and poked her head in to call for me.
"Huh?"
"We're going out to have fun! Don't just throw on anything! Dress up nicely and come out!"
Given that she knew perfectly well how I usually dressed, it had to be the real Hwarin.
"Got it?"
All I could do was nod at her expectant face.
"You'll be fine."
"...Right."
Once the servants had helped me dress and I stepped outside, I saw the Medical Pavilion Master and Hwarin talking some distance away.
He had said he'd arrange a meeting between us — had he really gone out of his way to pull some strings for us? I owed him my thanks at the very least.
"Take this."
"Okay."
"As I've told you several times..."
"Medicine? Hwarin! Are you sick? Are you not fully recovered yet?"
Up close, I could see that what Hwarin had taken from the Medical Pavilion Master was a pill. Was her body still in poor condition? I asked her, worry plain on my face.
"Th-that's not it."
Hwarin, why are you avoiding my eyes? Looks like something's weighing on you.
"'Not it,' she says, when she can't even look me straight in the eye."
"She has only just awakened. This medicine is to help her body recover from the lingering strain, so do not worry yourself."
When I seemed about to press Hwarin for answers, the Medical Pavilion Master smoothly interjected between us, his tone reassuring.
"Hwarin. In that case, why don't you rest a while longer before we go out? We don't have to go out today, you know."
She had been unconscious for a long stretch, then the moment she woke, she'd consumed the Human-Faced Spider's poison core within a single day. Mercifully she'd awakened as a Poison Human, but even after that she'd spent days bedridden, barely moving.
Even a patient made of solid muscle wastes away like a deflated balloon after a long hospital stay — a martial artist like Hwarin couldn't possibly be in top condition.
"No!"
"What's wrong?"
That startled me. Hwarin had shouted, her face a picture of alarm.
"I — I want to go out now."
Hwarin's eyes trembled as she looked at me.
"She's taken her medicine, so she'll be fine. I guarantee it."
Coming from the Medical Pavilion Master, that guarantee probably counted for something.
"Then let's go."
"Yes!"
At the suggestion of going out, Hwarin's face bloomed.
"I've prepared a carriage and a driver, so you may leave whenever you like."
The Medical Pavilion Master gestured toward the lavish carriage before us. Wasn't this a bit too nice to lend us? Even the exterior alone screamed expensive.
I opened the carriage door carefully — the interior was every bit as luxurious. Hwarin would be astonished.
"You must return before nightfall."
I turned to see the Medical Pavilion Master admonishing Hwarin like a father sternly forbidding his daughter from staying out overnight.
It wasn't Cinderella's pumpkin coach — we were going to come back together regardless. Was there really any need for the solemn warning? Besides, I'd asked my friends about this sort of thing, and they'd assured me history doesn't strictly require nighttime.
"...Yes."
Hwarin gave me a resolute look, nodded, and climbed into the carriage.
Something felt off.
There was no sign of illness in Hwarin. Judging by her high spirits, she seemed fully recovered. Her skin was flawless. And yet, something gnawed at me.
That flicker of unease I'd glimpsed in the Medical Pavilion Master's eyes as he saw us off, the way Hwarin seemed to be dancing around something — it all troubled me.
Was I being paranoid?
"Yunho. Are you just going to keep staring at me like a statue?"
Had she noticed me watching her in silence the whole ride? Hwarin spoke with a wounded tone.
"Hwarin, that is..."
"And if you're going to keep staring at me, shouldn't you have something to say?"
"Hwarin, I'm just glad you came back safe—"
"Something else!"
I'd assumed she was skipping the tearful reunion speech because she wanted something else entirely. I was right.
Hwarin gazed into my eyes, her face full of expectation, waiting for me to say what she wanted to hear. But what was it?
When I hesitated over my answer, she tilted her chin up slightly, looking a little frustrated. Ah, of course.
"Your face cleared up beautifully. I'm really happy for you, Hwarin."
"Close, but wrong!"
As if to tell me to look more carefully, she showed off the clothes she was wearing this time.
By now, even the most oblivious man alive could have figured out what she wanted to hear.
"Hwarin. You look beautiful today."
"Hnn? What was that?"
Flowers bloomed across Hwarin's face. A direct hit.
She had heard me perfectly well, but she made me say it again anyway, unable to hide her smile.
"Gorgeous. Hwarin, you're gorgeous."
"Again. Say it again. One more time."
Why so shy about it?
"A beauty worthy to stand beside Xishi, Wang Zhaojun, Diaochan, and Yang Yuhuan. So Wind and Cloud of the Tang Clan's 'Finest Beauty of Sichuan' referred to none other than Lady Tang Hwarin."
I teased her in an exaggerated stage voice, like a street storyteller playing a lover confessing his devotion atop a wooden platform.
"Pfft! You're insane! Truly!"
Delighted by my theatrics, Hwarin jabbed my ribs with her elbow, over and over.
"Ow!"
Even playfully, it hurt, Hwarin.
"We have arrived."
Like a true professional, the driver paid no mind to whatever we were doing and announced in a flat, mechanical voice that we had reached the market Hwarin had wanted to visit.
"Pfft. Young Master Kang, allow me the honor of escorting the Finest Beauty of Sichuan."
Hwarin, playing at being the great beauty herself, extended her hand to me with an air of mock elegance.
"The honor is all mine."
When in Rome, as they say.
"Are they with the Sichuan Tang Clan?"
"What's going on at the market?"
It must have felt like a luxury limousine pulling up in the middle of a market square. The moment I took Hwarin's hand and opened the carriage door, I heard the crowd take notice, whispering among themselves as they turned to stare.
"Y-Yunho."
Hwarin's voice wavered with anxiety. Her face had gone rigid with nervousness.
"Yes?"
"This is... this is my first time going out with my veil off. So you have to lead the way. Got it?"
Once she stepped out of the carriage, Hwarin kept her head bowed low despite her restored face. The hand gripping mine trembled uncontrollably.
What had I even been worried about?
The moment her body healed, she'd come running straight to me. Wasn't now the time to cast off every worry and just enjoy an outing with a healthy, whole Hwarin?
My unease belonged to the future. Hwarin's unease was here and now — and here and now, protecting her was my heart's duty.
To put her at ease, I held her hand tight and spoke.
"Just trust me."
"Everyone keeps staring at me... Honestly, I'm scared my cure wasn't real."
Her anxiety had eased once she'd hooked her arm through mine, but Hwarin still couldn't stop darting nervous glances at the people around us.
Hwarin. The people staring at you — that's not your imagination.
With her skin cleared up, Hwarin had become beautiful enough to induce total brain shutdown in any man who passed by and took a single look. And even after recovering from that momentary stun, one glance downward would freeze a man from the waist down.
She was a walking red light, that girl.
I reassured her that it was simply because she was beautiful, but whenever anyone drew near, Hwarin only clung harder to my arm.
Which, naturally, meant the sensation of certain regions pressing against me grew stronger all the while. Not that I had any complaints about her staying anxious forever.
"Let's check out the Gokmadan first. Everyone will be watching the acrobatics, not you."
"Mm-hmm."
As luck would have it, this world's traveling circus troupe — the Gokmadan — had set up in the market.
"How does a person's arm stretch out like that?"
"An elephant! Did it come from India?"
"That's Indian martial arts! The Yoga Sect!"
Astonishing, truly. Granted, this world had martial arts that made acrobatic movement comparatively easy, but the Gokmadan's performances were dazzling enough to leave both Hwarin's jaw and mine hanging open.
Just as two men who train in the same martial art may pursue different paths — one fighting in mixed martial arts tournaments, the other performing on stage — the Gokmadan's craft was devoted entirely to the art of delighting an audience.
"Wasn't that fun?"
When the performance ended, we ordered street food from a stall along the road and started trading impressions of the show.
"Yeah! But the street storyteller's got nothing on you, Yunho. Pfft."
Hwarin had clearly enjoyed herself too — her anxiety had vanished entirely, and her face glowed with excitement.
"Well, naturally. No one tells a tale better than I do."
If storyteller Kang Yunho joined the Gokmadan and unrolled his repertoire, I'd eat their lunch within the week — but as the kind-hearted author Hophil, who worries about the troupe's unemployment rate, I decided to hold back.
"Right. No street storyteller could match your Yojeonbeop."
"So that's what you meant."
"Pfft. Disappointed? Your storytelling beats theirs, too."
"Disappointed? Hardly. Still — was it okay to throw down that much money?"
The moment the performance ended, Hwarin had pulled a startlingly generous sum from her pouch and tossed it over without a second thought. It was enough that every single member of the troupe on the scene came over to bow their thanks.
At my question, Hwarin studied me for a moment, then laughed once before speaking.
"Back when we were street performers, we barely scraped our way to Yichang. That's the only reason we're standing here today. We've been helped before — we can't be the kind of people who only take."
Tsk. Blinding.
Anyone gazing at Hwarin's beautiful face right now might feel an inexplicable urge to shield their eyes — and yet here she was, a young lady who lived by giving, not by extorting other people's money.
"Red bean carp buns and cream carp buns, coming right up! You waited so long I threw in two burnt ones on the house."
"Thank you."
I was about to say something about the chatter, but he'd given us free extras. I'd let it slide.
We settled into a spot away from foot traffic and began eating our fish-shaped buns. Delicious. In the depths of winter, it simply had to be red bean. I wondered if Hwarin liked them.
I turned my head to find her nibbling away at her bun with a strangely dainty, careful air.
"Why are you eating like some delicate lady? Not good?"
"Hey!"
"You must be starving. Eat up."
She nodded at that, dropped all pretense, and devoured the cream one and the red bean one in no time flat.
Thank goodness she liked fish-shaped buns, the quintessential Korean winter soul food. Though I hadn't expected her to eat my share too.
"Yunho. I've always wanted to try this."
Once she confirmed the paper bag was empty, Hwarin spoke to me carefully.
"You've never had one before?"
Don't tell me fish-shaped buns are Sichuan cuisine in this world.
"No. I just wanted to try ordinary street food for once."
"Ah."
Right — for a girl who'd worn a veil her whole life, street food must have felt like a daunting challenge.
"Even when I wanted to eat street food, if I sent someone to buy it for me it'd go cold by the time it arrived. And other girls my age wander the market laughing and chatting while they eat. I could never feel even those little things."
Why are you getting gloomy again?
"Then from now on, come buy it with me. Often."
I took Hwarin's hand firmly in mine and spoke to reassure her.
"......"
Hwarin just stared at me in silence.
"Hwarin?"
What's wrong?
"Oh, quit it! I'll get fat!"
She playfully swatted my hand away and said it with a laugh.
Really. What rhythm am I supposed to match here?
Determined to satisfy every craving Hwarin had built up all this time, I bought her every street food she took a liking to — and then she led me by the hand into a shop selling stationery.
"Why on earth are you buying this stuff?"
"You have to buy good things if you want them to last. Does it really make sense for the best-selling author in Yichang to write with cheap dime-store brushes?"
"I just need something that writes. Besides, I can buy more once I'm back in Yichang."
"...Well, I want to buy them for you now? Shopkeeper! Bring out your finest, please."
"Ah! Lady Hwarin, of course. We received word that you'd be visiting from the Sichuan Tang Clan. Allow me to bring out only the very finest — the same quality used by the Clan Head himself."
"Hwarin, one look at this and even a beginner can tell it's top-shelf luxury... Come on."
What the shopkeeper laid out was a set of writing implements so magnificent that even a complete novice would gasp at its quality. This girl, honestly. She's the one who should be tightening her own belt.
I'd forgotten that Hwarin was the daughter of one of the great wealthy families of Daehyeon County. Hwarin, I know you have good taste. But we still owe a mountain of debt to Daseogak, and our income's been cut off since the shop closed for renovations. We may be more than a business partnership — we may soon be a community of shared destiny — so I really should say something.
Just as I opened my mouth, Hwarin clapped a hand over it and delivered the single most important piece of information.
"Everything I spend today comes out of the Sichuan Tang Clan's coffers."
"Shopkeeper!"
"Yes?"
"Forget these ordinary ones — don't you have something even better?"
Of course you do. Something like a family heirloom passed down from the master's grandfather's grandfather.
Bring out the most expensive one you've got!