Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Oh no,” Mira’s voice drifted from the door that led to the courtyard, “ he’s back.”

Rumi didn’t look up from where she busied herself tuning the strings of her zither. She carefully tightened each peg and plucked the strings, cursing herself for not doing this earlier before the bustle of late afternoon preparations overtook the gibang. 

Soyi joined Mira at the door, and together they peered through the gap. “Why?” she wondered. “What’s wrong with him? He’s handsome!”

“He’s insufferable ,” Mira complained.

“That doesn’t tell us very much,” Rumi couldn’t help quipping. Mira thought every patron was “insufferable”, from the shy young masters visiting for the first time to the slovenly, handsy officials in their silk robes.

“He’s especially insufferable,” Mira insisted.

“Does he get…touchy too quickly?” Rumi asked. They were gisaeng, yes, but the gibang had standards for their patrons, and Seoyun, their haengsu, enforced them.

“Nothing like that,” Mira said. “He’s just…difficult.”

“Difficult to please?” Rumi said. “If he hadn’t been pleased last time he was here, why would he bother coming back? It’s not like this is the only gibang in Hanyang.”

“Maybe he gets pleasure from bullying gisaeng?” Soyi said. “What’s his problem, Mira? You’ve served him before?”

“Unfortunately.” Mira slid the door shut before joining Rumi, Soyi trailing after her. “He’s a court musician, but last time he visited he asked to be served by an ‘accomplished musician’, so the haengsu had me join him.”

Rumi carefully swiped a cloth along her zither’s smooth wooden body. “And?”

“He was already halfway drunk when I joined him,” Mira said. “I barely got the first few notes plucked on my harp before he threw a glass at the wall and barked at me to get out.” She rolled her eyes and shuddered, arms to her chest in recollection. “I doubt the haengsu would’ve forgiven me if he’d damaged my harp. This is why I’d rather dance for patrons given the choice.”

Soyi’s round face twisted into an unbecoming scowl. “How dare he!”

“After I escaped, he demanded another musician,” Mira said, “and just like me, he chased her out before the next bell.”

“Why would he even do that?” Soyi asked.

“The haengsu told me he was displeased with our playing,” Mira explained, some of her indignation melting into defeat.

“But you’re an amazing harpist!” Soyi said. 

“I learned how to dance before I learned how to play the harp,” Mira grumbled. “I’m not as accomplished with music, especially not like Rumi.”

“Well, what does a stupid court musician know? I bet you’re more skilled and talented than anyone that performs for royal ceremonies!”

“Does skill matter here?” Rumi wondered before Mira could argue. “If we fail to please our patrons, we don’t get paid, and if we don’t get paid…”

Soyi deflated, her eyes downcast. Despite her bright attitude, she probably had it worse at the gibang than either Mira or Rumi. She had no regular patrons, and anyone who specifically asked for her was merely curious about the rumored “foreign” or “exotic” gisaeng.

It didn’t matter how good they were at their instrument, or how well they carried a tune or even a conversation. In the end, it all came down to beauty and an ability to flatter men who’d long since grown fat off honeyed words.

An older gisaeng came along to shoo them into position. A large group apparently including one deputy minister or another was expected in the courtyard and they were needed to entertain them - Rumi with her zither, Mira with her harp (despite anything she claimed, she was an excellent harpist), and Soyi with her flute.

While other gisaeng mingled with the men in silk robes and finely beaded hats, serving them drinks, smiling, and complimenting, Rumi, Mira, and Soyi took position on a low platform and played. It was easy to lose herself to the music, to plucked strings and a high tune. She could ignore the murmur of low conversation from the group the way they all but ignored their performance.

All but one.

She found him staring in the split-second she glanced up from her hands dancing across the strings. A young man lurking at the edge of the party, not truly joining it, but not quite apart from it either. Too young for even the faintest hint of a beard, he wore the same wide-brimmed hat as the other gentlemen in the group, but something in his almost stern, narrow-eyed expression was too…hard and weary for a typical young master following an uncle or older brother to the gibang.

There was something challenging, assessing about his gaze, something that sent a shiver down her spine and brought heat rushing to her cheeks. She tore her eyes away first and told herself it was only because she needed to focus on her performance.

It ended with a single long, lingering note that echoed in her ears even as she let out an exhale. She, Mira, and Soyi stood and bowed to the gathering in unison before stepping off the platform and retreating from the courtyard.

But not before Rumi noticed the young man had disappeared.

Seoyun greeted them with approving nods. “You’ve earned your rest for the evening,” she told them. Mira and Soyi exchanged grins as they slipped past her, but before Rumi could follow them, she blocked her path. “You’re wanted elsewhere, Rumi.”

“What?” Rumi said. “But you told us that when we perform for groups, we’re not required to see individual patrons.”

“I’m sorry, Rumi,” she said, “but he’s paying extra for you - you and your instrument.”

Her arms tightened around her zither, reflexive, protective as her heart skipped a nervous beat. “Is it that–that man that Mira warned us about?”

Seoyun frowned. “What man?”

“The court musician that chased her out his first time here,” Rumi said. “Is it my turn to get chased out?”

Seoyun sighed, something in her expression softening so that she was less the proprietor of a gibang, in charge of so many abandoned girls and enslaved young women, and more the woman that raised Rumi after her mother passed away. “He asked for you personally, Rumi,” she said, “so it would be very strange. Besides, it would be grounds for banning him since it would seem to be a habit, so don’t take it to heart.” She rested a hand on her shoulder and squeezed. “Now, don’t keep him waiting too long; he’s still our patron for now.”

For now.

Not quite soothed but at least a little more…heartened, Rumi followed Seoyun’s directions to a nearby room. She clutched her zither closer, fingers gripping the wood, before raising her other hand to knock on the wood paneled door.

“Enter,” a low but unmistakably young male voice called from within.

Rumi slid the door open and stepped inside, her eyes carefully downcast as she bowed to her patron. “Welcome,” she greeted him formally, straightening. “My name is Rumi, and I will be serving you to–”

It was him, the young man at the gathering who had stared at her so intently. He watched her just as intently now while lounging to the side on one elbow, his hat discarded, a small table with an untouched cask of wine between them.

He quirked an eyebrow. “Lost for words?” he wondered, his tone insultingly informal. She might’ve been a slave, but he could at least deign to feign politeness while paying for her service.

Rumi blinked in an effort to regain her composure before gracefully sinking to the floor as far away from him as the small room would allow. “If you wanted a gisaeng who would converse pleasantly or recite poetry for you,” she said, insistently formal, “you should have asked for someone else.”

He chuckled, the sound low and sarcastic. “I’m not looking for sweet flattery,” he said, “only sweet music, or at least the kind of music that gets under your skin.”

Rumi arranged her skirts around her and her zither across her lap - the setting was as much an art as the music itself. “I would think you could provide that,” she said, “being a court musician.”

The man twirled an empty cup between his fingers. “Even musicians like to listen to others play sometimes,” he said. “I’m sure you understand.”

“I suppose I do,” she admitted. She took that as her cue to begin.

She started slowly with something that could be considered a warm-up if she hadn’t already played earlier in the evening. A test of the strings, testing their strength to confirm they were still up to the task of making music, because even instruments could be pushed too far and too hard and needed their rest.

Slow and steady, a climb up a steep hill, before a speedy, devastating cascade down. Water pumped up a mountain, a waterfall on its way down only to join the steady flow of a river towards the great expanse of the ocean - an ocean she’d never seen before and could only imagine.

She let the notes drift and fade, the way she ended a set, or the way she sometimes gave way to other musicians - like Mira and Soyi - performing with her. Because performing in a group meant giving way to others sometimes, and as much as she loved them and loved how they could bring out the best in her music, performing alone was something different.

Performing alone meant she could really, truly show off.

It was easy to lose herself in the music then, to sink into her craft till she became one with it. She could forget her one-man audience and his judgmental, crafty gaze, forget her exhaustion after the earlier performance, forget her bondage to the gibang and the weight of an absent lineage. She could forget the leering of patrons and the sternness of Seoyun and the gossip of the other gisaeng. She could run away from it all, as fast as she could pluck the strings, as easily as her fingertips skimmed over them.

And then, quiet. Deflating. The strings stilled, yet the air pulled just as taut, a heartbeat away from snapping as Rumi rested a hand against her zither and remembered her audience.

He’d laid down without her noticing, his hands clasped behind his head and his eyes closed, but they fluttered open when she stopped playing to find her glancing at him.

“Have I bored you?” she wondered, annoyed - and disappointed.

“I wasn’t asleep,” he told her. “I was…listening.”

“Listening,” Rumi repeated.

“I don’t listen with my eyes,” the truly insufferable man said, “I listen with my ears. Did you see those close?”

She bit back a scoff; so far she’d pleased this difficult patron (she thought), so it wouldn’t do to lose any goodwill over a poor comment or gesture.

“And?” she asked. “Will I be chased out of the room?”

“Not tonight,” he said. He waved a hand towards the door. “But you may leave. I’m sure playing for me right after that party has left you exhausted.”

Rumi stilled, her lips parting in surprise. “You paid for–”

“I’ll stay here for a little longer and get my money’s worth then,” he said, “but you don’t have to. Go.”

She wasn’t sure if she should feel insulted to be dismissed so, but patrons rarely showed such…conscientiousness towards a gisaeng, if ever, so she decided to feel relieved instead. She stood, brushing invisible dust from her skirts with one hand and tucking her zither close with the other, and bowed.

“Thank you, sir,” Rumi said, “and I hope you enjoyed your evening with me. Please come and see me again.” It was the gibang’s generic, scripted farewell for any gisaeng serving a particular patron for the first time, yet this time Rumi found that a not small part of her meant it.

He wasn’t so insufferable with her, for some reason, and he certainly wasn’t the worst patron she’d ever had. He didn’t drink too much (or at all) or try to force himself on her, or even touch her, and though his tongue was sharp she didn’t detect any particular malice in his words.

Yes, she wouldn’t mind seeing him again - if only because he could be far worse.

Rumi had lifted her hand to open the door before glancing over her shoulder towards him. “Wait,” she said, “may I ask your name, sir?”

His eyes widened with the faintest hint of surprise before his expression relaxed into something impassive again. “Jinu,” he said.

Jinu. A given name, no surname, which didn’t surprise her. Some young men still had enough shame - and awareness of their family’s reputation - not to reveal such personal details.

It wasn’t as if she would be calling him by his given name anyway. A patron would always be sir unless they had another, loftier title as an official.

“Good night,” she murmured before finally opening the door and slipping out.

Rumi didn’t realize how stiffly she held herself until she was safely ensconced in the dormitory room she shared with Mira and Soyi, until her shoulders sagged, dropping the weight of the face she wore while entertaining patrons. A single candle flickering dimly told her that, despite their early evening, they hadn’t gone to sleep, and no sooner had she shut the door behind her than they swarmed her.

“How dare the haengsu make you work after a performance?” Mira seethed. Her hair, now in a loose braid for bed, seemed to puff up like an angry cat’s with the strength of her indignation.

“And for the insufferable court musician too!” Soyi said.

“Rumors travel fast,” Rumi said, because how else would her friends already know the identity of her mysterious patron?

“Did he chase you out too?” Soyi wondered. Her hand clasped one of Rumi’s wrists and pushed it away, looking her up and down as if for signs of physical torment.

“No,” she admitted, “he didn’t. Or maybe he sort of did, since I didn’t play for as long as I would normally.”

“How does he sort of chase you out?” Mira demanded with her hands on her hips.

Rumi clutched her zither closer. “He listened to me play for a little while, then he told me to…go to bed and rest.” When Mira and Soyi stared at her incredulously, she added, “He was at the gathering, so he watched us perform earlier.”

“How…considerate,” Mira managed through her slack jaw.

Her skin prickled with discomfort, and maybe disbelief, but she managed not to squirm under the weight of their skepticism. “I know,” Rumi said. “It was strange, but I won’t complain if it means I have a little extra time with the two of you tonight.”

She took care of her zither before stowing it carefully in its case and shedding her heavy, colorful silks for her bedwear. She plucked the pins from her hair, wincing when they tugged at her scalp, and Soyi helped take down her hair and braid it for bed.

They spent the rest of their rare night reading and giggling over snippets of a new, scandalous romance novel they’d snatched from one of the other gisaeng while sharing a discarded cask of wine not deemed fine enough for patrons.

“A noble young master eloping with a gisaeng is unrealistic,” Mira complained. “I mean, he’s the fourth son of the Minister of War and was engaged to the daughter of a grand prince, why would he run off with a gisaeng?”

“For love , of course.” Soyi sighed longingly. “And if he bought and freed her, she’s not a gisaeng anymore.”

“Because being a former gisaeng is a much better status,” Mira said. “I know how the world works; no matter how much a young master says he loves you, he’ll never abandon his status or fight his family for you. That’s what makes the story scandalous and why the officials tried to ban it, not the–the love scenes.”

Rumi leaned against the wall beside her, her gaze unfocused on the book open in Soyi’s hands. The candle cast strange, dancing shadows across the page that made the hangul difficult to read. “You speak out of experience, Mira?” she said.

“Of course not,” Mira huffed, crossing her arms. “Just…there was a girl before, I heard about her from the older gisaeng.”

Perhaps Rumi had a little too much to drink, or perhaps she’d been lost in the fun of the evening, and that was why her mind had failed to make the connection before - yet she listened to Mira recount the story with horror rising in her throat, unable to stop her.

“I heard about a girl from the time the haengsu was still just a gisaeng here herself, about a decade before the barbarians invaded,” Mira said. “She had a regular patron who was a young master from some noble family and his father and uncles and older brothers were all officials, which isn’t that unusual. They fell in love, or they thought they did, and before you know it she was pregnant.”

Rumi couldn’t breathe. Her grip on her cup tightened and, for lack of anything better to do, she reached for the cask and filled her cup again, her hands shaking so hard she spilled a few drops.

“Best case scenario for something like that,” Mira continued obliviously, “the young master’s family pays off the gibang and takes the baby and raises it, maybe even allows him to keep her as a concubine. It’s a bastard so it doesn’t have much status, but it at least grows up healthy and safe and educated. If it’s a boy, he can never take the official exam, but boy or girl they might still make a decent marriage.”

“You speak as if you know this from experience,” Soyi grumbled.

“That’s because I do,” Mira admitted. “It was the world I was raised into, before my family…” She trailed off, and both Rumi and Soyi knew better than to press.

Mira’s story was well-known in the gibang. Born to a noble family that lost everything during the barbarian invasion, with her own virtue and reputation in doubt as a result of an encounter with barbarians, her older brother forced her to choose between an honorable death (suicide) or a dishonorable life (gisaeng).

Anyone would agree it was a cruel choice to force on a girl trapped in circumstances she couldn’t control, and Mira refused to discuss if it had any merit. But it turned her into a natural cynic, her knowledge of the world of nobles and officials and wealth and status helpful for navigating the world of the gibang as much as a reminder for their own position in it.

“So if that’s the best-case scenario,” Soyi said, “what really happened to that girl and her young master and their baby?”

“I heard they did try to elope,” Mira said, “but his family caught them. The family honor was damaged, so they had their son stationed at the border. Eventually, during the invasion, he was killed by the barbarians.”

“They forced their own son to fight?” Soyi said.

“They had a lot of sons,” Mira said with shocking coldness, “and the barbarians were already preparing to invade. The border needed defenders.”

“Still…” Soyi wrapped her arms around her legs, the charm of the book forgotten. “What about the gisaeng and their baby?”

“His family threatened her,” Mira said. “She could live and keep her silence but would have to kill her baby. If she didn’t, the family would send someone to kill them both, because who would miss a lowly gisaeng and her bastard child?”

Soyi sucked in a breath while Rumi stared at the opposite wall. Her stomach roiled, the wine sitting terribly in her stomach. “That’s–that’s horrible!” she said. “That baby is their grandchild, how could they be so cruel!”

“That’s life, Soyi,” Mira said, sighing. “And it’s the life of nobles and officials, who care more about the family honor and reputation than the family itself.”

“If they really did,” Rumi said numbly, “the gibang wouldn’t have any patrons.”

“The way I see it,” Soyi said a little feebly, “the young master still must’ve loved her. He didn’t cruelly abandon her of his own will, his family forced him.”

“Maybe,” Mira conceded, “but the result is the same. They’re forced apart, and everyone loses. I don’t know if the gisaeng really did kill the baby, but I know she’s long dead herself.” She tugged the book from Soyi’s hands and flipped casually through the pages. “I doubt this version of the story has a happy ending anyway.”

“I think if the couple in the book end up having a baby,” Soyi said, “the baby should grow up and seek revenge for their parents.”

Rumi snorted into her hand, amused despite herself. “Even the children of slaves have a duty to their parents,” she mumbled.

“I’m surprised you don’t know about this one, Rumi,” Mira said. “You grew up in the gibang.”

Rumi froze. “I do,” she admitted. “I think I’d just…forgotten about it. The haengsu doesn’t like to talk about it since they were–since she knew the gisaeng.”

“I don’t blame her,” Mira said. She sagged, a dramatic sigh escaping her, before wrapping one arm each around Soyi and Rumi and pulling them close. “Promise me none of us will ever, ever, ever fall for a young master.”

“But what if he’s different?” Soyi asked.

“They’re always different,” Mira said, “whether they’re only toying with you or sincere. It’s their families that are usually the same.” She shook her. “ Promise ?”

Rumi didn’t say that Seoyun had given her this warning a long time ago, when she started to ask questions about the identity of her father.

“A man fathered you,” Seoyun had said, “but you have no father, and you must never ask about him, or know anything about him, because knowing is what killed your mother.”

“I thought my mother died because she was sick.”

“Heartbreak is a sickness. You must guard carefully against it.”

“I’ll save money and buy my freedom quickly,” Soyi said, “and fall for a nice, normal man I meet in the country. He’s probably a laborer; maybe he runs a tavern or an inn?”

Mira laughed. “I’ll wish for us all the dullest, least exciting romances,” she said.

“And a life free of servitude,” Rumi said.

“And a life free of servitude.”

Jinu didn’t return the following evening, not with the sobering conversation with Mira and Soyi hanging over her head. Rumi entertained other patrons, some of whom paid her music little attention in favor of their conversation, one of whom paid her too much attention.

“Why don’t you set the zither aside and talk to me instead?” He was older, not quite old enough to be her father but definitely old enough to be a middle rank official judging by the length and gray streaked in his beard.

“Sir,” Rumi said carefully, smoothly, politely, “I’m a musician. I seek to entertain to the best of my ability. If my playing has displeased you–”

“You’re a gisaeng who plays music sometimes,” the man said. He patted the cushion beside him.

Reluctantly, Rumi joined him, without the shield her zither provided. She poured him a drink with all the care her training emphasized, laughed at his jokes, blushed at his compliments, and when he tried to pull her into his lap she let him.

Luckily he pushed her no further, and luckily she didn’t have to cause a scene. Seoyun had promised her she’d never have to lay with a patron she didn’t want to, and she intended to keep it that way.

That didn’t stop the disgust from crawling over her skin like a second layer of clothes, clingy and slimy and colder than silk. Disgust with him and the men that came to see them in defiance of any honor or status , disgust with Seoyun for putting her in this position, disgust with her mother for birthing her in defiance of every norm…

Disgust with herself for putting up with it.

Given the choice, Rumi preferred entertaining groups among other gisaeng, when she wouldn’t have to be the center of attention the entire time. Men would watch tall, stately Mira dance while she plucked her zither’s strings, or become preoccupied with the gisaeng that mingled with them.

Jinu’s attention when he returned after their first meeting unnerved her. He paid little attention to the dancers, showed only the vaguest appreciation for Soyi reciting a poem about the king’s (supposed) bravery during the barbarians’ invasion, and ignored the gisaeng beside him trying to ply him with wine. His gaze fixed on Rumi the entire time, listening to her music rather than the conversations around him.

Rumi ignored him; it was the only thing she could do.

When another gisaeng took over playing for her, she approached him. The gisaeng sitting between them glanced towards her in surprise before Rumi beckoned for her to move aside.

“Why?” she wondered. “I know our good sir here is handsome, Rumi, but he’s quite pleased with me.”

“I’m not,” Jinu said without hesitation. “I’d rather her.”

The gisaeng’s powdered cheeks flushed with anger even as she giggled. “My, Rumi, I think he fancies you.” Still, she obliged; any offense a gisaeng suffered would always lose out to pleasing their patrons (though Rumi herself might pay for it later).

Rumi took her place beside him. “You didn’t need to be so blunt, sir,” she said.

For all his insistence she sit with him, he refused to look at her and instead stared at his cup while sitting hunched over. “She was annoying me,” he said. “I don’t need someone chattering in my ear while I’m listening to music.”

She wasn’t sure if she was offended on her fellow gisaeng’s behalf or flattered that he spurned the conversation of another beautiful woman just to listen to her . “I’m sure there was a way you could’ve said so without being rude,” she said.

“Forgive me,” Jinu said in a tone that wasn’t very apologetic, “but I’m just a filthy commoner who never had time to learn manners.”

And, Rumi realized as she noticed his blush, he was also at least a little bit drunk. He’d been more guarded - though still prickly - during his last visit. “It’s not that difficult, sir,” she found herself retorting. “You just have to remember that gisaeng have feelings, same as you.”

He scoffed as he stared into his cup.

She raised the nearby cask of wine. “Shall I pour you another glass?”

“Drinking is useless,” he said. “I’d rather you play me another song.”

“Perhaps, if you were the only patron here,” Rumi said, “but this is a gathering.”

He set his cup down and rested his chin on his hand. “Couldn’t be helped then,” he said. “The haengsu told me you were needed here, so here I am.”

Her own cheeks flushed despite herself, despite knowing any interest in her was purely…well, not professional but tied to her skill as a musician. And certainly she was accustomed to receiving compliments from any number of patrons.

“Better than anyone else entertaining tonight,” Jinu grumbled under his breath. “I should’ve known that tall one wasn’t really a musician considering the racket she made with her harp last time.”

If anyone asked, Rumi wouldn’t be able to explain what came over her - nothing but a hot, heady rush of anger. It washed away the training that had been all but beaten into her for her entire life, made her forget her status and how easily she could be discarded if she offended the wrong person.

Her grip on the cask of wine in her hands tightened before she raised it and upended the contents on Jinu’s bare head.

“I appreciate any compliments to my music, sir ,” Rumi said, “but I draw the line when it comes at the expense of one of my best friends.”

Jinu’s head jerked around to look at her for the first time, his lips parted in shock as wine soaked into his hair and dripped down his face. But he recovered quickly, his nose wrinkling with disgust and mouth twisting with the same anger that gripped her. “You–”

“You should’ve kept your hat on,” Rumi told him. “It might’ve saved your hair from smelling like plums.” She set the empty cask on the table and stood swiftly, careful not to brush against him or the patron on her other side, before turning and leaving the gathering as silently and gracefully as she could.

She stood just outside for a long moment, her frustration dissipating, her clenched hands loosening, before remembering she’d left her zither inside. But even if her transgression had gone unremarked upon in the moment, she knew someone would’ve taken notice by now.

Rumi would be made to pay for offending a patron; whether that meant a scolding, a beating, or even a denial of future patrons remained to be seen.

Soyi found her first, approaching her with her zither clutched in her arms. “What happened, Rumi?” she asked her. “I’ve never seen you abandon a job like this.”

“I did something stupid,” Rumi confessed. She buried her face in her hands. “But it was so satisfying .”

“What did you do?” Soyi wondered carefully.

Rumi lowered her hands to reply…only to come face to face with Seoyun.

Seoyun had her arms crossed and eyes narrowed. “Care to explain why you made a fool of yourself, your patron, and my gibang, Rumi?”

Her shoulders hunched as her chest twinged with guilt. “Haengsu–”

“You’re forbidden patrons for a week,” Seoyun said, “but that doesn’t mean you’ll be at rest. You’ll practice your zither all day and work with the cleaners all night. Now, go, and be grateful our offended patron won’t be reporting you to a constable.”

“It’s not like I slapped him,” Rumi mumbled, but she accepted her punishment with as much grace and dignity as she could muster. She retrieved her zither from Soyi.

She’d lost him, she guessed. She’d never see Jinu again. It mattered little that he’d been less demanding of her than other patrons, that he appreciated her music and that he’d been handsome and a little sad in a way that intrigued and touched something in her chest.

But Mira was her friend and she didn’t regret defending her to a rude patron. Patrons came and went, relationships and visits with them as fleeting as the seasons, but friends endured through it all.

Friends kept a gisaeng sane where little else could.

Rumi’s week of punishment passed slowly but uneventfully. She’d never been stopped from seeing patrons for longer than a day (once when struck by a fever so badly Seoyun had summoned a healer for her), so it was a nice break not having to put on a pleasant face to serve state officials and their sons.

But spending the night cleaning exhausted her, left her body just as numb and tired as her mind. She collapsed into her bedding every night, the tips of her fingers sore and wrinkled from wringing water out of washcloths.

“How are you supposed to see patrons when your hands are like this?” Mira demanded one night. “What is the haengsu thinking?”

Rumi tugged her wrist from her grip and said, “I suppose she thought a week wouldn’t be so long it would damage my hands permanently.”

“You’re a musician,” Soyi said sagely. “You need them.”

“Being a musician is what got me into this mess,” Rumi grumbled into her pillow. She curled up into a ball and might’ve fallen asleep right then and there if Mira hadn’t spoken up.

“He came back tonight.”

Her eyes stayed closed. “Who did?”

“The man you poured wine on,” she said. “Your court musician.”

Rumi’s eyes shot open. “He’s not my court musician,” she retorted. “And really? Why would he do that?”

“I heard he asked the haengsu for you, actually,” Mira said. She lounged against a wall while dragging a brush through her long hair.

“Do you think he changed his mind about reporting me?” Rumi wondered, her chest tightening with worry.

“Would he bother asking for you at all if he did?” Mira said. When Rumi still frowned and fretted, she sighed. “Even if the haengsu seems unsympathetic, she’ll still take your side if he does report you. Besides, unless he’s a noble, you’re unlikely to be punished too terribly.”

“He’s not a noble,” Rumi said. “He’s just a fancy commoner.”

“Even better then,” Mira said. “Just stop worrying about it and go to sleep.”

Somehow, she did, but not without being plagued by dreams of Seoyun throwing her out of the gibang and onto the streets.

When she woke, she felt as if she hadn’t slept at all and passed through her morning as present (or absent) as a spirit. When Seoyun found her to announce she could return to her usual routine that evening, Rumi couldn’t quite stifle a yawn.

Seoyun didn’t bother disguising her disapproval. “Enough of that,” she scolded her. “Go wash your face. Make sure you’re alert enough for patrons.”

“Yes, haengsu,” Rumi said.

Luckily - or unluckily - it was a rainy evening when they wouldn’t normally expect many patrons thanks to the foul weather. Officials would sooner choose the comforts of their own reliably warm homes and wives to walking (or even riding a palanquin) to the gibang during a storm.

Yet Seoyun approached her and said, “It seems you have a new regular, Rumi.”

Rumi couldn’t think who it would be. “Is it that man who made me sit in his lap? Can I refuse him?”

Seoyun raised an eyebrow. “How did you play your zither while sitting in someone’s lap?”

“Because he asked me to stop.”

She frowned. “Why would a man who bothers returning after you offended him by pouring wine on his head just to listen to you play ask you to stop?”

Rumi blinked before her jaw dropped in understanding. “ Jinu? ” she blurted. “The court musician came back?” 

Seoyun’s eyebrows twitched. “You know his name?”

“Should I not?”

“ I should,” Seoyun said, “but never mind that. I would’ve thought Mira told you he returned yesterday.”

“She did,” she admitted, “but I thought…” When Seoyun crossed her arms, she said, “I’m not really sure what I thought. I’m just surprised he wants to see me again after that. What if he retaliates?”

“He insisted he wants music and not wine,” she told her. “Now, go serve him. You’ve kept him waiting and you’ve offended him more than enough.”

Rumi bowed as Seoyun left her to greet another patron coming in. The rain pattering against the roof and a distant clap of thunder drowned out their words, but she didn’t care to eavesdrop. She gathered up her zither and made her way down the hall.

Jinu stood with his back to the door when she entered, still wearing a hat with water dripping from the brim. He turned when he heard her and said, “You didn’t knock.”

Rumi tensed; of course, she’d made a mistake and possibly offended him again . “I apologize,” she said. “Do you want me to–”

“No, it’s fine,” he said. “You can go ahead and set up, I’ll be ready in a moment.”

He spoke more formally this time, Rumi realized, not talking down to her the way he had when they first met. Had he decided she was worthy of respect and formality?

It was a strange thought; she wondered what had made him decide, and why after she poured wine over his head, of all things.

As she sat down and arranged her skirts and zither, she couldn’t help watching him untie the ribbon securing his hat. The beads dangling from it clicked together pleasantly as he set it aside, before he sat across from her.

Her skin prickled with renewed discomfort, with awkwardness. Jinu himself didn’t look at her, his gaze fixed on the floor between them. She opened her mouth - either to apologize or simply ask him why he’d bothered returning, she wasn’t sure - but he spoke first.

“Please, play a song for me,” he said.

Was that it? Would they pretend that she’d never offended him? That he’d never offended her ?

“I…apologize if my zither sounds untuned,” she said then. “As a musician yourself, I’m sure you understand how the weather can affect it.”

“You’re just making an excuse for your own shortcomings,” he said almost hollowly.

Rumi’s practiced smile almost cracked out of fresh irritation. Had she really been almost eager - beneath her trepidation - when she’d heard he’d come to see her? Had she really felt contrition for her behavior at that gathering? He deserved none of it.

“Perhaps we should switch places,” she said pleasantly. “You can be the gisaeng playing the zither, and I’ll be the difficult patron.”

As soon as the words escaped her, her eyes widened in horror. She was torn between staring at him, staring down at her hands, and running away.

Again, she’d broken the very first rule a gisaeng learned:  one must never insult the patron.

She’d also broken the second:  one must always watch what they say and do, lest they offend or somehow displease the patron.

But Jinu laughed - not chuckled, not smiled, and something about it rang more sincere than sarcastic. He laughed , the sound warm and soothing and filling her chest just as warm and drowning out the sound of the rain and thunder.

It set her at ease too and even dispelled the awkwardness lingering between them.

“I almost think working at a gibang would free me from the politics at court,” Jinu admitted, “though maybe not from anything else.” The last bit he almost whispered, so quietly Rumi wondered if he’d meant to say it aloud.

“You’d be surprised how much politics there is here,” Rumi said. “But what does a court musician have to do with politics anyway? Are you secretly an official but pretend to be a court musician while visiting the gibang to preserve your reputation?”

Jinu laughed again. “No, I’m really a court musician,” he said. “I couldn’t be an official if I wanted to since I’m an uneducated commoner.”

It certainly explained his lack of surname and clarified he hadn’t just been…blustering while drunk during the gathering; it also meant he was no young master, which relieved Rumi more than it should.

“Uneducated?” Rumi echoed.

“I can read hangul,” he explained, “and enough hanja to get by, but I never studied the Thousand Character Classic or the Analects or Mencius or…anything that would help me pass the state official exam.”

“Well, me neither,” Rumi said, “although I think I have other obstacles.”

Jinu snorted. “Don’t aspire to,” he said. “The palace is a mess, even for a mere court musician. Why do you think all the officials come to drink and be entertained at a gibang?”

Men prefer women who distract them from their concerns, Seoyun had taught them. Your job is to please them; leave the worrying to their wives.

“Are you any different?” Rumi said in as soft a tone as she could manage for such a biting question.

“Of course not,” Jinu scoffed. He leaned to the side, sinking into the same carefree pose he’d taken on his first visit. He waved his other hand towards the zither in her lap. “Well?” he prompted.

“Shall I pour you a glass of wine first?” she wondered.

“I asked for you to play,” he said with a slightly petulant frown, “not to pour me wine.”

Rumi didn’t bother trying not to roll her eyes even as a slight smile tugged at her lips. Yes, he was quite strange compared to her other patrons, but she didn’t mind so much.

“Besides,” Jinu added in such a low voice she doubted she was meant to hear, “I’ve already made enough of a drunken fool of myself in front of you.”

Jinu let her play longer this time, and just like his first night she noticed him relaxing, lying down and listening with his eyes closed. Most of the time, she paid neither him nor the storm outside any mind, focusing on her music, but when she paused between songs she couldn’t help letting her gaze drift over him.

Defined, beardless jaw that betrayed youth, a slender nose just a hair too long, eyelashes that fluttered when he blinked, broad shoulders, long, thin fingers perfect for any number of instruments.

“What instrument do you play?” Rumi asked when her time with him was almost up. The storm outside had quieted, thunder fading along with her zither’s last notes.

Jinu sat up, his legs extended in front of him, hands loosely clasped in his lap. “The bipa,” he said. “I’m good too.”

“I expect you’d have to be to play for the king,” she said.

He rolled his eyes. “You’re better than any zither player living in the palace and playing the ritual songs,” he said.

The compliment startled Rumi, not least because of how he spoke it, the words flowing from his lips so easily, so bluntly, as if he merely commented on the rain or the price of rice. “You’re too kind, sir,” she said, “but I’m merely a gisaeng.”

“Maybe,” he said. “It’s too bad you have to hide your skill away like this where only rich, entitled men can hear you play.”

“Like you?” Rumi said.

“Yes, I suppose I’m also a rich, entitled man,” Jinu admitted sardonically.

“No,” she said. When he raised an eyebrow at her, she amended, “I mean, yes, but that isn’t what I meant. I meant…you also hide your skill away, but in the palace. Who else but royals and officials hear you play?”

He crossed his legs and leaned towards her slightly. “But I can leave if I wish,” he said, his voice low, almost a whisper. “Can you, Rumi?”

Was it his tone that sent a shiver up her spine? The question that pierced as sharp as his gaze? Or was it the way he spoke her name?

Patrons rarely, if ever, addressed her so directly, even if they were polite and formal about it. She doubted most of them bothered to remember her name.

“I should apologize, sir,” Rumi said. “I forgot myself on your last visit. I shouldn’t have reacted so poorly.”

“As you said, gisaeng also have feelings,” Jinu said, “and I shouldn’t have insulted your friend. I was angry at the time, but I feel nothing about it now. I could wash my hair and my clothes anyway.”

A smile prodded at her lips. “I suppose,” she said. “Thank you for not making a scene of it.”

“It wasn’t worth making a scene,” he said. “I don’t exactly have a noble’s reputation to preserve, and…” He trailed off, something loaded in his sudden silence - because his eyes drifted away from her.

“And?” Rumi prompted.

“I’m…glad for your music,” he said. “It makes me forget things I’d rather leave behind, even if it…torments me more.”

It didn’t feel like her place to ask him what he meant or what he wanted to forget, yet his words tugged at something in her chest even as she gathered up her zither and bowed.

After Jinu left, she drifted through the hall back to the dormitory in a daze, zither clutched to her chest and her hair coming out of its careful styling. When she almost collided with a young trainee gisaeng bearing a tray of dirty glasses for the kitchen, she shook herself and squared her shoulders.

But not before Mira found her. “Are you all right, Rumi?” she asked. “You look like…”

“Like?”

“Like you’re very very very lost in thought,” she said.

“I guess I am,” she admitted, her grip on her zither tightening, grounding her so she didn’t get swept further adrift.

“I hear you saw the insufferable court musician again,” Mira said. “Did he say or…do something to you after the incident at that gathering? Should I tell the haengsu he can’t see you again?”

“No!” Rumi said, so quickly Mira’s eyes widened. “I mean, it’s nothing like you’re thinking…I think.

“Well, that’s good,” she said. “I’m glad he’s still being–”

“He apologized,” Rumi said. “Or, well, not in so many words, but he seemed to regret what made me pour wine on him.”

“He apologized ?” Mira echoed incredulously. “A patron apologized to a gisaeng?”

“It surprised me too.” A smile prodded at her lips. “Maybe it’s because he isn’t as entitled as an ordinary noble, or maybe he sees me as a fellow musician. It’s…nice, almost.”

“Just remember something, Rumi.”

“Remember what?”

“He’s still a patron,” Mira said. “Not a friend, not a lover, even if you choose to be intimate with him later.”

She was accustomed to such references as a woman who grew up in a gibang, yet heat rose to her cheeks. “I’m aware, Mira,” she said, “but thank you for the reminder.”

Rumi was somehow spared more of Mira’s well-intended scolding by Soyi sprinting heedlessly down the hallway, skirts clutched in her hands to avoid tripping. They forgot their conversation in favor of chasing after her into their shared room, in time to watch her throw herself on her bedding and burst into tears.

Mira joined her first, making soothing noises and stroking her back while Rumi hastily returned her zither to its case. She crouched beside Soyi’s head and started to take down her hair.

Tears weren’t uncommon in a gibang, whether at the hands of a patron, another gisaeng, or Seoyun herself. And Soyi was less hardened and more sensitive - less experienced - than them, something in her still fragile and innocent in a way Rumi couldn’t remember ever being.

The trick was to swallow any tears or upset, to conceal them around everyone - not even other gisaeng could be trusted not to use them against you, and Seoyun could be unsympathetic and unforgiving, especially if you failed to stem the flow before a patron.

They silently waited for her to cry herself out, except where they needed her to move while they helped her undress and prepare for bed. Rumi filled a brass basin with water so they could all wash the powder and sweat from their faces, and Mira brushed and braided Soyi’s hair while she sulked and clutched a pillow against her chest.

If Mira had been suspicious that something happened between Rumi and her patron, they were both certain there had been something between Soyi and hers - though Rumi doubted it could be anything pleasant.

“You don’t have to tell us what happened,” Mira finally said while still sitting behind Soyi, “but tell us if anyone tried to hurt you.”

Soyi shook her head. “It’s…stupid,” she mumbled, her voice cracked and raw from her tears. “No one laid hands on me. I don’t think anyone would ever want to, not like that.”

Rumi rested a hand on her shoulder and squeezed. “What happened, Soyi?”

“Just…nothing strange or unusual,” she said. “You know how they all are about me. They hear this gibang has a foreign girl and I get trotted out to entertain them, then they see how…plain I look, and they sneer, complaining that they expected an exotic beauty but got me instead. Or that my poetry is too rustic and unrefined because my blood is impure.”

“Of course that’s not stupid,” Rumi assured her, “but they’re wrong, and you’re wrong. You are beautiful, and there’s nothing wrong with your poems!”

“B-but it didn’t stop there tonight,” Soyi confessed. “It was a small group, a-and I think one of them was a royal relative too because they were all deferring to him and flattering him, and they apologized for my appearance being so disappointing, and he said–he said–”

“What did he say?” Mira asked, her voice low and dangerous, the hairbrush in her hand gripped like a dagger.

“He said my face and poetry didn’t matter,” he said. “He s-said all women look the same under their clothes, and–and then they all started laughing and jeering at me to take–take them off so they could–could confirm and–”

Mira stood. “Are they still here?” she demanded. “I don’t care if he’s a royal relative - if he’s the king himself! He–”

“Mira,” Rumi said in warning. She grabbed her wrist and forced her to sit back down. She did, grumbling and muttering curses that made her doubt if Mira really had been raised in a noble family, but compliant all the same. Assured that Mira wasn’t about to run off and commit regicide - and condemn them all as possible co-conspirators - she returned her attention to Soyi. “You didn’t end up…disrobing for them, did you?”

Soyi shook her head. “I-I was so humiliated I forgot all my training and ran away,” she admitted.

“Good,” Rumi said.

“I’m going to be in so much trouble,” she said. “The haengsu–”

“I’ll talk to her,” she promised her. “She needs to stop letting you see patrons who are only interested in you because your mother was from another land.”

“No,” Soyi protested. “You can’t, Rumi.”

“Why not?” she wondered. “If it hurts you this much–”

“It’s still worth it,” Soyi insisted. “No one would see me if it wasn’t for that.” She sniffed and rubbed her face. “I’m not as beautiful as you two. I’m not as refined or as good of a dancer as Mira, and I’m not a skilled musician like you, Rumi. I have nothing that appeals to patrons, not even my poems - I just have my–my foreignness, and if I lose that because you and the haengsu want to protect me from cruel words, I’ll never be able to buy my freedom.”

“It’s not just about cruel words,” Mira said darkly, “because cruel words can become cruel actions.”

“I know,” Soyi said, softly, dejectedly. “I just need to…learn how to be less sensitive.”

“That too,” Mira agreed, more gently this time. A sigh escaped her. “Go to bed, Soyi. Sleep and forget it happened.”

“All right,” she said. “I’ll try.”

Her attempt proved quite successful, perhaps because she’d cried herself into exhaustion, for no sooner had she burrowed into her bedding than her soft snores filled the room.

Mira’s gaze found Rumi while they settled into their own bedding in the dark. “I still think you should tell the haengsu,” she whispered.

“I will,” Rumi said. “I’m sure she already knows that Soyi ran away from her patrons though.”

“That’s even more of a reason to explain to her,” Mira said. “You know how she is. She’ll find a reason to blame Soyi, especially if those bastards complained about her first.”

Rumi wished she could argue and defend the woman who raised her when her own mother couldn’t, but Mira was right. Seoyun would say she was running a business, and if a gisaeng couldn’t handle difficult patrons then she wouldn’t be paid and would lose any chance at buying her freedom.

Not even Rumi had been spared such a lesson.

Rumi approached Seoyun around midday, when the gibang began to wake up and prepare for that evening. She only wore her day clothes, jacket and skirts simple and unadorned, her hair styled more plainly. She quickly found Seoyun in the courtyard, overseeing the mopping of the pavement where giant puddles had accumulated during the storm.

“Haengsu,” she said, “we need to talk about Soyi.”

It didn’t surprise her when her lips pressed together in obvious displeasure. “I suppose you know about her disgraceful behavior last night.”

“They were needlessly cruel to her,” Rumi said.

“She should be accustomed to harsh words at times,” Seoyun said. “If she can’t handle a little vulgarity, even from so-called honorable nobles, then she doesn’t belong at a gibang.”

“It’s not as if she has a choice,” Rumi said. “Her father sold her to you. He won’t just take her back.”

To Rumi’s surprise, Seoyun frowned, something almost…sad in her eyes. “I think of all the girls here, I feel the most sorry for Soyi.”

This startled her even more. “Why?”

“No gisaeng has a happy past,” Seoyun said. “Not me, not you, not Mira, and not Soyi, and yet…”

“Yet?”

“I think her father truly loved her and didn’t want to let her go,” she explained. “When he brought her here, he told me he tried to get her a job as a court maid at the palace instead.”

“Why couldn’t he?” Rumi wondered.

“She was already too old,” Seoyun said. “The palace takes them young, and she was–well, her mother was a barbarian, and it wasn’t so long after their invasion.”

“Her father should’ve held onto her then if he loved her so much,” Rumi said.

“Who are we to judge the decisions anyone makes out of desperation in this cruel world, Rumi?” Seoyun scolded her wearily, almost gently.

“Then why shouldn’t we be kinder than the world?” she retorted. “If the world is cruel, we should defy it with kindness.”

“Do you think I’m harsh out of cruelty?”

“No,” Rumi said. “I know better than most how you care for us in your own way, but I don’t think that’s the only way.”

She tilted her head back, her gaze following the progress of a single wispy cloud that trailed across the blue sky - perhaps a remnant from the storm. “Maybe not,” Seoyun conceded, “but it’s the only way I know.”

Chapter Text

Day after day preparing and night after night entertaining. That was their life, with little in the way of setting each day and night apart from the rest. They always blurred together, changing only with the season, as the weather grew colder, as the summer’s flowers wilted and the plants in the garden withered and turned brown.

Day after day, night after night. Rumi played her zither and charmed her way through each encounter. She flattered, she accepted compliments to her playing, to her beauty, she deflected as gently and politely as she could requests for more than playing, more than flattery and idle touches.

Jinu didn’t return for a long time after his last visit, so long that Rumi half-wondered if something had happened to him. Perhaps he left Hanyang and the king’s employ, or perhaps some misfortune had befallen him. Perhaps whatever worries he’d suggested he wanted to forget had fled and he’d found some resolution.

Perhaps he just…lost any interest he had in her.

Which was absurd. Jinu had never been interested in Rumi; he’d only ever come to listen to her play.

Yet, every time Seoyun informed her one of her regular patrons waited for her, hope that Jinu would be behind that closed door swooped in her chest.

Only for disappointment to sink it deep in her abdomen.

It was not always so uneventful. Soyi finally acquired a regular of her own, a striking young man who wore his hair loose rather than in a top knot. He blushed whenever Soyi spoke to him, and it wasn’t difficult to glean he was quite new to the idea of a gibang.

“I do most of the talking when I’m with him,” she confided in them after his third visit. “He’s so shy. I’ve tried to coax him into talking more, but he’s still a mystery. The only thing I know is that he’s a scholar. When I tell him he should talk about himself more, he says he’d rather listen to my poetry.”

“I’m happy for you,” Rumi said. “You finally have your first regular patron.”

Soyi grinned, even while Mira looked a little skeptical. “Be careful,” she warned her.

“I know, I know,” Soyi said, rolling her eyes. “I won’t fall for him, although with the way he has his hair and doesn’t wear a hat, I doubt he’s a young master anyway.”

“Good,” Mira said before launching into an unprompted tirade about her patrons that evening.

She’d entertained two men at once, both of whom spent the evening flirting with and teasing her to varying degrees. “One of them even rolled up his sleeves and showed off how muscular and…sculpted his arms were!” Mira scoffed. “What a brute.”

“Maybe you like that sort of thing,” Soyi observed slyly.

“I do not,” Mira said, turning her nose up even as her cheeks flushed a faint pink. “Then they both stood up and tried to dance with me, as if they can compare!”

Rumi smiled while Soyi giggled. It was rare for patrons to fluster Mira, who was usually so composed and…commanding. She was worse at flattery and lacked Rumi’s practiced charm and Soyi’s natural cheer, but patrons still found her and her dancing alluring. Perhaps they liked the challenge she posed, or maybe the nobles sensed some kind of kindred spirit in her as a former noble (though Mira herself would reject that idea).

Still, laughing and chatting with her friends about their patrons helped brighten the dullness of routine, and Rumi could almost forget Jinu and how there was no reason to miss a sharp-tongued man she’d only met three times and that insulted her friend to her face.

Almost.

The next visit came in winter.

Rumi spotted him before Seoyun did, while she lurked at the edge of the courtyard near a brazier to keep her warm. Snowflakes drifted through the air, most melting before they touched the ground, but if this carried on - if the night grew colder - piles of snow would begin to accumulate before long.

He found her first too. He paused halfway through the front gates, his gaze catching hers, something unreadable and unknowable in his eyes. His lips parted before closing, before he disdained the path ahead and cut his own across the courtyard towards her sheltered corner.

Snowflakes dusted the wide brim of his hat, and his cheeks were flushed with the cold. Her heart stuttered, and she composed herself by offering him a bow when he approached.

“Sir,” she greeted him. “I was beginning to think you’d forgotten the way here.”

“I lost my way actually,” he murmured.

Rumi straightened and met his eyes. “What do you mean?”

“Nothing,” he said. His gaze swept her up and down in a way that made the heat creep up her neck. “I’ve never seen you without your zither.”

“I can hardly bring it outside when it’s cold and snowing,” she said.

“Are you not cold standing here?” he wondered.

“Stand beside me and feel if I am,” Rumi said.

His brow furrowed, his mouth opening and closing dumbly. “What?”

She smiled and reached for his arm, so pleased to see him that she forgot herself, and tugged him closer till he stood beside her. His shoulder pressed against hers, both their backs to the burning brazier. 

His lips parted before he laughed in understanding. “Well, now I don’t want to go inside,” he said.

“You will if you want to listen to me play,” Rumi said.

“Who said that was why I’m here?” Jinu asked.

Something like disappointment pricked at her chest. She clasped her hands in front of her and stepped just far enough away from him their arms no longer brushed. “I-I just assumed since the last few times you came it was to see me.”

“I am here to see you, Rumi,” he murmured, “but I didn’t mean that I just wanted to listen to you play.”

She sucked in a breath and fought the urge to glance at him. Something in his words, or perhaps his voice, sent a shiver down her spine that had little to do with the cold. He’d just…confessed something to her, crossed a line she hadn’t realized had been drawn between them with that simple, blunt statement.

“Why tonight?” she said, her voice just as low as his. “You didn’t visit for a long time, so why choose to come back now?”

“Maybe I just wanted you to miss me,” Jinu said.

He was teasing her…or maybe even flirting. Either way, it didn’t make Rumi blush and only served to irritate her, perhaps because she sensed something dishonest in it.

Not that she should expect sincerity from him; she hardly knew him and knew better than to feel entitled to that.

“Let’s go inside,” Rumi said instead of replying. “I’ll meet you in the usual room.”

She retreated first, letting Jinu make the formal request for her company with Seoyun while she retrieved her zither. Whether he intended to flatter her or not by claiming he really was as interested in her as her music, she liked having it close - it was as much a shield between her and a patron as an instrument she used to entertain them.

She met Jinu, this time remembering to knock before he bid her enter. He didn’t look quite as relaxed as usual this time, for he sat upright with his hands resting on his knees, the low table between them, and he hadn’t bothered taking off his hat.

Rumi was about to take her usual place on a cushion with her zither when he patted a different one beside him. “Never mind that,” he said. “I want–I mean…” He trailed off, licked his lips, then tried again, “What do you do when a patron doesn’t want to listen to you play?”

“Oh,” she said. She set her zither down and joined him at the table, close enough to touch. He leaned very slightly away from her when she reached for the cask of wine and poured a measure into a cup. “Please,” she said, picking up the cup and sliding it into his hands without spilling a single drop. “Have a drink, sir.”

This was…strange. Everything about it felt strange, even stranger than their first meeting. She was sought after for her skill as a musician, even if such a pretext often fell away with some of her patrons. But Jinu had never sought anything else, and it–

It bothered her, almost made her uncomfortable in a way she’d never been with him even when he was less familiar, even when he came back after she poured wine on his head.

She watched him as he raised the cup to his lips and took a sip before putting it down. “Do you just stare at those other men drink too?” he wondered. “Do you not at least drink with them?”

“Maybe a sip or two in larger gatherings,” Rumi admitted, “but no more than that.”

“I suppose you’re not missing much,” Jinu said, “and I’m sure you need your wits about you when you’re with drunken men.” His eyes flitted to her face and…lingered. “You’re so pretty it’s hard to imagine they wouldn’t–” He broke off and looked away as color filled his cheeks.

And hers, she thought. She’d lost count of the number of times men told her she was beautiful, and yet she blushed now - just because of the one who told her.

Suddenly Jinu stood, so suddenly the wine cask teetered. “I shouldn’t have come,” he announced, and he was halfway to the door before Rumi gathered enough courage to chase him.

She grabbed his arm. “Why?” she asked. “And why did you come after all?”

“Because…” He turned back towards her, and she saw the same hardness in his gaze she’d noticed the first time she laid eyes on him. The same hardness, the same tension, the same inexplicable sadness.

She hated she barely knew him then, just as much as she hated herself for wanting to know him better, for wanting to know why he was here - what he wanted to forget if he was like any other man that visited a gibang for the entertainment provided by beautiful, charming women.

“I first came here because I have more money than I know what to do with,” Jinu explained. “I don’t understand how the nobles live with themselves, so hedonistically throwing money at meaningless luxuries while their own slaves and commoners like my family starve. Maybe I just wanted to see for myself what I was missing now that I have what they do.”

Her breath stuck in her lungs. “What did you find?”

“Alcohol, which doesn’t help me forget what I want to as easily as you’d think,” he said. “Beautiful women who try too hard to please me because I’m paying them. Music, which doesn’t satisfy me if it fails to move me.”

“So my music did?” Rumi said.

“Close,” Jinu said. “Closer than anyone else’s.”

“But not good enough?” she guessed. “Of course, I’m sure a court musician would have higher standards than a gibang, but–”

“I asked for you the first and second times because you intrigued me as a musician,” Jinu said. “The third time, I was interested in you as–as a woman. Your zither was an excuse.”

Rumi’s jaw snapped shut, her teeth clicking as she stared up at him. 

“I’m sure you’re accustomed to men seeking you out as a gisaeng,” he said with a formality he didn’t usually bother with, “and I’m sure many of them are far better than me. More polite, kinder, richer, noble lineage, titled, undamaged, unblemished, more–”

Rumi pressed a hand to his mouth to silence him. His warm breath tickled her fingers, but she didn’t flinch away. “And I’m still just a gisaeng to all of them,” she said, “so whatever they have, it does nothing for me.”

Jinu blinked at her, his eyebrows drawing together, his lips twitching against her palm.

“I don’t know much about you,” she said, “and you don’t know much about me, but I think there is something we have in common.”

His long fingers closed around her wrist to pry her hand away from his mouth. “Besides the fact that we’re both musicians?”

A smile tugged at her lips, and she decided to forget all of Seoyun’s lessons, and all of Mira’s warnings. “Yes,” she said. “I was happy to see you today. I’d…like to know you better, and I’ve never said that to a patron before.”

When Jinu smiled, it softened any hardness in his face - and it transformed him. His eyes brightened, and for the first time Rumi noticed a little notch in one of his eyebrows, a tiny, charming imperfection in his otherwise perfectly handsome face.

She wondered how he would react if she kissed it before suppressing the strange impulse. They might’ve stepped towards a precipice beneath which lurked something exciting and unfamiliar, but that didn’t mean she was ready to step over the edge.

She still wasn’t sure why he’d kept away from the gibang so long, why he’d kept her wondering and even a little worried after going to the trouble to apologize to her. She still didn’t understand him in so many ways, but there was an unspoken promise between them now, that one day she would understand him.

And maybe in return he could understand her too.

Rumi knew better than to tell her friends, especially Mira, what had transpired between her and Jinu. She managed to keep it to herself and only gave simple, noncommittal answers when Soyi asked her about his visit, although she couldn’t help a slight smile.

“You were together a long time,” Soyi noted, “and I didn’t hear your zither. What did you do that entire time, I wonder?”

“We were just talking,” Rumi said as she spread her bedding across the floor. “I know where your mind went, Soyi; I read the same books you do.”

She laughed, then sighed and slumped against her pillow. “Did you miss him?” she wondered.

Her face flushed. “Just because he didn’t visit for so long?” she scoffed.

“I don’t think there’s anything wrong with missing a really nice patron,” Soyi said, “especially if the rest of them aren’t so nice. I don’t think I’m in love with my mystery man just because I’d rather see him than any of the others the haengsu brings me.”

“That’s true enough,” Mira conceded, to Rumi’s surprise. “I prefer the pleasant and polite regulars too, even if they usually bore me.”

“And your muscle man does not bore you, does he?” Soyi teased.

Mira scowled. “I don’t want to talk about him.”

Soyi and Rumi shared a rare laugh at Mira’s expense while she all but growled at them.

In the silent darkness broken only by Soyi’s snores and Mira’s deep breathing, huddled against winter’s chill in her bedding, Rumi stared into the deep shadows beneath the ceiling’s rafters. Her mind drifted to Jinu and the way he smiled at her, the warm grasp of his fingers on her wrist, the sound of his voice as he told her he wanted to see her . She clutched her arms against her chest and giggled, far too giddy to fall asleep, excited for his next visit - which he promised would be soon.

And when she did, she knew she would dream of him.

It was sooner than she’d expected, and she’d expected he might make her wait a few days, perhaps a week, but he came the following evening.

“You’re eager,” she couldn’t help teasing when she met him in the usual room.

“You kept me waiting,” he retorted.

Rumi sat beside him without invitation, leaving her zither on a nearby cushion - close enough she could grab it if he wanted to listen to her play after all. “I’m glad,” she admitted. “You’d stayed away so long before I was worried you wouldn’t come back until summer.”

“Will we be Chilseok lovers then?” Jinu said. “You’ll be Jiknyeo and I’ll be Gyeonu?”

Her cheeks flushed. “Are we lovers?” she wondered.

Despite the attitude he’d taken with her in the beginning, he could be almost bashful. He matched her demeanor and couldn’t quite bring himself to touch her. “I don’t know,” he mumbled. “Maybe we are, or maybe we will be.”

“You’re very sure of yourself, sir,” Rumi said.

“I’ll visit you so often you will be too,” Jinu said, “or until you grow weary of me.”

She didn’t say that she feared he would weary of her first. After all, what more was there to a gisaeng than an unhappy past and an uncertain future?

Especially when neither of them could be sure they’d have one together.

But whatever lay between them was too new, too tentative for them to broach something so dire just yet.

“Maybe that’s why Jiknyeo and Gyeonu never grow sick of each other,” Rumi mused. “They only meet once a year, even if it is for eternity.”

“We’re not gods like them,” Jinu said, “so we don’t need to worry about eternity, only a lifetime.”

“And perhaps…”

“What?” He slid a little closer to her, until their arms brushed.

Rumi didn’t pull away, even if a part of her thought she should. “My mother was a gisaeng too,” she said. “My father was–my parents had a bad fate.”

“What does that have to do with you?” Jinu wondered. “Or even us?”

“They didn’t even have a lifetime,” Rumi said.

“And I repeat:  what does that have to do with us?”

“I don’t want to fall into that pattern,” she confessed. “We don’t pursue…emotional entanglements with patrons because they never end well. Someone always gets hurt in the end, and it’s usually the gisaeng as a mere slave. Heartbreak is the least of it.”

Jinu seemed to consider that, for so long she worried he’d accept her words and leave her right then and there, but eventually he said, “Maybe that’s just life. It’s full of tragedy and heartbreak no matter what.”

“You wouldn’t think so for most of the nobles that come through here,” Rumi said. “I wonder sometimes, why can’t we be as happy and fulfilled? Why were they chosen for such a privileged life? What entitles them to power and money and luxury?”

“And safety,” Jinu murmured.

“And safety,” she said. She turned towards him then. “Not all humans can have any of that, but there is something we all can.”

“And what’s that?” he asked.

“Hope for better,” she said. “Love, family, friendship.”

“We all can have that,” Jinu said, “but do we all deserve it?”

“Of course,” Rumi said.

“Even tyrants?” Jinu said. “Even the barbarians who invaded and slaughtered children and raped women?”

Disgust and an almost reflexive rage curled within her, but the knowledge that Soyi’s mother was from a barbarian tribe tempered it. “Maybe not those who commit such deeds.”

“Even the same nobles who treat their slaves and commoners so cruelly and look down on gisaeng? Even the people who ensured your parents would have a bad fate?”

Her gaze drifted down to her hands clasped in her lap, her chest tight. “I don’t know,” she mumbled. “Who am I to judge that?”

Jinu sucked in a breath, then wondered in an even lower voice, “Even someone who abandoned his own family to a bad fate?”

Words, thick and laced with a meaning Rumi wasn’t so oblivious she couldn’t instantly glean. Her hand found his under the table, letting her fingers slide between his, but she didn’t look at him. She doubted he was looking at her.

“Perhaps he had his reasons,” she said, “and perhaps he regrets and wishes to make amends.”

“What if he no longer can?”

She forced herself to lift her gaze - and met his. “Then he accepts he can do nothing to change the past,” Rumi said, “but he can always do better in the future.”

Jinu held her gaze for a long moment, so long it felt…timeless, the heartbeats in her ear keeping count far beyond her ability to measure. His throat bobbed when he swallowed, and his grip on her hand tightened as if he needed her to ground him, to keep him from drifting away.

She didn’t flinch when he reached up with his other hand, when his fingertips skimmed her cheek and traced her jaw. Her breath caught in her throat as she watched him carefully, watched the way his eyes scanned her face, watching her the way she watched him.

Waiting.

Wanting.

Hoping.

“H-have you ever let a patron kiss you?” Jinu asked, so quietly it was barely louder than a whisper.

“Once,” Rumi confessed. “He was shy but sweet; it was obviously his first time at a gibang, and he asked permission.”

“Do they ever… not ask permission?” he wondered with surprising ferocity.

“All the time,” she said, “but I’ve learned how to push them away without wounding their pride.”

“What about me?” he said. “Will you push me away?”

She knew it would go to his head - of course it would, it didn’t take much to inflate a man’s ego - yet she said, “You’re the only one I’ve ever wanted to pull closer.”

His sharp inhale sent heat rushing through her even before he grasped the back of her head to tug her closer, before his lips pressed against hers. A shudder wracked her entire body as he kissed her, his mouth tentative on hers at first, before her fingers tangled in his collar.

It was clear to Rumi that Jinu had never kissed anyone before. His lips clumsily molded to hers, and he kissed too hard as he found his courage. But he kissed fiercely, deeply, and the feeling of strong, slender fingers sliding into her carefully styled hair threatened to undo her.

His other hand escaped her grasp to slide up her arm before he grasped her shoulder, before his fingertips slid along the soft, sensitive skin of her neck. Rumi broke away from him with a gasp, her eyes snapping open to find him staring down at her in an obvious daze, his breath sharp and heavy and hot on her forehead.

“Rumi,” he said, then stopped.

Was he overwhelmed? Some of the old gisaeng sometimes discussed the difference between younger, first-time patrons and the older ones. The younger ones were shy, inexperienced, conscientious in a way the older ones weren’t.

Most of them seemed to prefer that. It made them sweet and often considerate, even if they were clumsy and clueless - but they tended to get–

No. Rumi shook such thoughts from her head; she wanted to stop thinking of Jinu as another of her patrons, not least because she…actually wanted him, in some way. He was a man - he was her man, and not a patron, which meant she couldn’t simply fall back on her experience (however it lacked in this ) and training when they were together.

Jinu, apparently unsure what to say in that moment, surprised her when he kissed her again, more gently. He held her face between his hands, and Rumi grasped his wrists while his lips slid a little more languidly over hers.

She couldn’t help the sigh that escaped her when he pulled away, nor the way her heartbeat thundered in her ears so loud she could barely hear his next words.

“I can’t stand the idea of you seeing other men,” Jinu admitted, “even if it is your job.”

Rumi had heard of such things, altercations happening between patrons vying for the attention of a single gisaeng, sometimes to the point of drawing blood, but never in her own time at this gibang - and certainly never over her.

Still, a soft warmth settled in her chest. She took one of his hands in hers and kissed his knuckles. “I could never do this with anyone else,” she promised.

“I believe you,” he said. He stroked her hair, then pulled her closer until he could wrap his arms around her.

Rumi settled against his chest and closed her eyes, listening to his heartbeat and how it all but matched hers.

She understood how he felt then when he’d closed his eyes while listening to her play her zither.

Mira and Soyi were already settled when she returned to their room. They watched her, Soyi with an expectant glint in her eyes and Mira with trepidation in hers, while Rumi changed her clothes, washed her face, and braided her hair.

It wasn’t until Mira had grumpily blown out the candle and they’d resigned themselves to falling asleep without any update from her before Rumi buried her face in her pillow and confessed, “He kissed me.”

Mira gasped.

“And I let him.”

Soyi squealed.

They didn’t sleep for a long time after that, whispering (or hissing, in Mira’s case) in the dark. Soyi, optimistic despite everything, told Rumi she was happy for her, while Mira kept her counsel.

At least until Soyi fell asleep.

“I’m not going to scold you, Rumi,” she said, “because I know that your head knows that you should be careful not to get too…attached.”

“I know,” Rumi said.

“I just don’t want you to get your hopes up and get hurt later.”

“I know,” she said, a little more quietly and somberly. “I know,” she repeated long after she thought Mira was asleep, because she knew it was already too late.

He didn’t visit every night, but he came several times a week. He usually told her when he would return, at least, so there were few nights where she waited and hoped to see him in vain.

The nights he didn’t visit she longed for him, even more while entertaining other men. Men who ignored her music, or complimented it with neither knowledge nor finesse. Men who called her beautiful and asked her to pour them drinks while she smiled at them. Unwelcome men who touched her shoulder, or her hand, or her waist, or tugged her closer to whisper into her ear before she slid away as gracefully as she could.

And then Jinu would be waiting for her in the same room the following night, and she would set her zither down on a cushion and let him take her into his arms.

Stronger arms than a musician should rightfully have, but Rumi loved them anyway.

She loved his kisses too, grew addicted to them. When he kissed her, it was easy to forget where they were, that despite any promises, despite any hopes shared between them, they couldn’t really belong to each other while she was a gisaeng - a slave - that belonged to the gibang.

They built their own sort of routine, a pattern to their conversations and the time spent together. She would ask him about his day (or the days since his last visit), and he would complain about one of his fellow court musician’s technique, or how the whole palace was in chaos because a prince was getting married, or the king was in a foul mood because the officials had displeased him in some way.

He would ask about her days and evenings without him as well, and she would shrug away his questions. “Nothing half so interesting happens here,” she would tell him.

“Complain about your patrons,” Jinu said. “Give me someone to curse.”

Your patrons, he’d said, not your other patrons , because somehow there’d been an unspoken agreement reached between them, that Jinu wasn’t her patron, even if he still had to pay to monopolize her time.

“Are you not spending too much on me?” Rumi couldn’t help wondering once.

“I have nothing else to spend on,” Jinu said. “I have no lands or great mansion to maintain and no family to support. I only have you.”

She tried not to let on how much that pleased her, even if it also…distressed her. She’d grasped from one conversation quite some time ago that his family was long gone, even if he had yet to divulge the circumstances with her, but was he really so lonely? Even she had Mira and Soyi, and Seoyun, despite her coldness. “Do you have no friends?”

“I have a few,” he admitted.

She rested her head against his shoulder while he wrapped an arm around her to draw her closer. “Tell me about them.”

He wound a few strands of her hair around his finger, idly, while he talked. “One of them is a fellow court musician,” Jinu said. “One is a scholar; he’s a commoner but he impressed an official when he was young and he paid for his education. One of them is a young master - don’t look at me like that, he’s not so bad, probably because he’s the eighth son and his mother is a concubine. And another is a palace guard.”

“ Eighth son?” Rumi said incredulously.

“And twelfth child, I think,” Jinu said. “He has some sisters too. He’s the youngest though, so I think he might be a little spoiled.”

She laughed. “Nobles really are different.”

“Lots of commoners have big families too, Rumi,” he said, and she didn’t have to see his face to know he was rolling his eyes. “Are you really so sheltered in this gibang you don’t know that?”

“N-no,” she said as an embarrassed heat rushed to her cheeks, “of course not. I just…no one I know has a big family, except maybe Mira, and she doesn’t like to talk about them. Do you–I mean, did you have a big family?” she wondered before she could stop herself.

His grip on her tightened, and when the moment stretched too long and tighter than a string on her zither she thought he wouldn’t answer before he admitted, “No. It was just my mother and my little sister.”

Rumi exhaled. “Oh.” She wanted to ask if he missed them the way she didn’t know how to miss the family she never knew, the family she couldn’t help but long for sometimes.

But she couldn’t, not yet.

“I think I like the idea of a big family,” Rumi said. “Maybe because I never had one and I grew up in the gibang. I’ve always had someone who cared for me, but I wonder how different a family would be.”

“It’s not so great for everyone,” Jinu said.

He really could be as cynical as Mira; no wonder they hadn’t gotten along their first and only meeting.

“I-I mean, you’re right,” he amended. “There’s nothing better than being born into a family that loves you and is devoted to you with all their hearts, but it’s not something that can be taken for granted. Even if you have it, it can just as easily be lost.”

“I know,” Rumi said. “Most things can.”

Would she lose him one day? The question rose unbidden to her mind, but unlike every other time she managed to shake it away, it lingered.

Because every night she spent with him, playing the zither, talking, kissing, just holding him, she knew the day they’d have to confront it crept closer.

The regularity with which Jinu visited her couldn’t escape Seoyun’s attention, and when she finally asked Rumi about it, she could only be surprised it had taken her so long.

“All right,” Seoyun said, barring Rumi’s path before she could join him in the usual room, “what’s going on between you and that court musician? And don’t tell me he’s just a patron, Rumi.”

Rumi had known this moment would come, yet every excuse she’d rehearsed in preparation filtered through her mind, forgotten. She tightened her grip on her zither and said, “He…really likes my playing. I’m even teaching him how to play the zither now.”

Seoyun crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow. “I barely even hear you playing the zither while you’re with him anymore,” she said.

Her cheeks flushed. “Well, like a lot of men who come to the gibang, maybe he started to expect…more.”

“More what ?” Seoyun demanded flatly. “If you’ve been intimate with him, you need to tell me so we can take precautions. I made sure you know our rules, even if you never thought you’d need them.”

Rumi almost choked on her saliva, or almost broke her zither in half with how tightly she held it. “W-w-wait,” she hastily amended, “that’s not what I meant. I didn’t mean that I’d, um, lain with him or–or anything. Just that, well, his expectations of me…evolved.”

Seoyun sighed. “Evolved how , Rumi? And how have you ‘evolved’ in this? Because I’ve seen many patrons smitten with indifferent gisaeng, but I know you’re not guiltless in this.”

Was there a point in deflecting or lying? Seoyun wouldn’t believe her, and she was dogged enough to force a confession from her one way or another.

Rumi lowered her gaze. “I think he has feelings for me,” she said - a half-truth, of a sort. “I might’ve accidentally seduced him, or something. Y-you know how men can be.”

Seoyun didn’t react, only tapped her fingers against her arms. “And?”

Rumi raised her eyes. “And?”

“And what are your feelings?”

“Mine are…I think he accidentally seduced me too,” she mumbled in a small voice.

“Ah, yes, mutual seduction,” Seoyun said, rolling her eyes. “That’s not a term I’ve heard for it.”

“B-but we really haven’t lain together,” Rumi insisted.

“It doesn’t matter,” Seoyun said. “Once you start a stone rolling down a mountain, it doesn’t stop until it reaches the bottom.” She sighed heavily, suddenly weary rather than suspicious and annoyed, and rubbed her face. “Rumi, having feelings for a patron never ends well, especially if those feelings are returned.”

“I know,” she said. “Everyone keeps telling me that, including my own head.”

“You should consider listening to it then,” Seoyun said. “Now, before I let you go, you have two options.”

Rumi tensed, a dread she’d never expected to feel sitting heavy in her gut. “What?”

“Your first option is to enter that room and tell him he’s only a patron to you and that your relationship goes no further,” Seoyun said, “or, if you fail to do that, I will never allow him to see you again.”

Her eyes widened as horror gripped her tight, so tight she couldn’t remember how to breathe. “Haengsu, no–”

“Your patron is waiting,” Seoyun snapped, “so go to him.”

As Rumi approached the room her hands shook so hard she almost dropped her zither, but somehow she managed to open the door. She lingered in the doorway after she slid it shut, her back to Jinu, her shoulders trembling even as she sensed him drifting towards her.

When he whispered her name with worry lacing his voice, when his hand brushed her shoulder, she flinched away. Hurt flickered across his face when she finally looked at him, but he pulled away from her.

“Wait,” Rumi said, “I didn’t mean–I–I just need to play something first, sir.” Falling back on the old comfort of formality grounded her, distracted her from the heat pricking at the corners of her eyes and the lump in her throat. “Please.”

She could tell Jinu knew something was wrong, though she was grateful he didn’t ask about it and only nodded before settling himself on a cushion on the opposite side of the room.

It was an eerie echo of their first few meetings, long before they indulged in the attraction between them, when it first took root and before it blossomed into something deeper and consuming. Rumi arranged her skirts on the floor as she sat on her own cushion, while she settled her zither across her lap and inhaled.

And then she played.

She didn’t even know what song she would play until she began to pluck at the strings. Something frenetic, something desperate, sharp and harsh and almost sloppy - sloppier than she usually allowed herself for a performance. But her audience didn’t stop her, only watched her and listened.

That was different than when they first met - not him, watching, but her feeling him watching.

She loved her music, had always played it for herself before any other patron because she enjoyed it, but it had never been something of herself. She never poured herself into the music; she’d always played to entertain, even if the one she wanted to entertain was herself, but never to express.

But a dam broke inside her now while she played, and before she knew it she’d torn one of her nails and tears flowed down her cheeks, free and unbidden.

The illusion she’d tried to craft broke with it as she stopped, as Jinu crossed the room to crouch before her. He caught her hands before she could cover her face and nudged her zither away to take her into his arms before the first sob burst from her throat.

Rumi cried, though a part of her suspected Seoyun followed her to eavesdrop and make sure she obeyed her directions. She cried, though she rarely cried anymore and hadn’t in a long time, not since she was a new gisaeng overwhelmed with always trying to please, please, please and distressed when she failed.

When a drunken patron tried to force himself on her and she burst into frightened tears as soon as she’d escaped. When an angry one slapped her because she hadn’t poured his drink quickly enough and she’d lost her composure as soon as Mira dragged her away. When she grew so frustrated with the way some of the gisaeng gossiped gleefully, maliciously about the tragic woman they didn’t know was her mother and she found somewhere private to sob in secret.

All incidents that had happened years ago, when she was younger, more inexperienced, more naive. She’d certainly never, ever expected to be in this position, Seoyun forcing her to abandon her lover who used to be just another patron to her.

A man, she was crying over a man. She’d thought herself above such things, or that such romantic fancies only happened in the books Soyi giggled over and Mira rolled her eyes at.

Eventually Rumi’s tears dried up and her sobs faded into quiet shudders and stuttered hiccups. And still Jinu held her, his arms tight around her, his fingers stroking her hair, his lips pressed to her forehead.

And still neither of them said anything - not that she could say much of anything yet - and Rumi remembered that time passed even while nothing happened.

Seoyun had given her options, but hadn’t given her the time to choose between them. She thought…maybe she could pretend to Jinu nothing had happened now, and she would negotiate with her for extra time, that she would end things next time he visited.

She wasn’t sure it would work, that Seoyun wouldn’t simply understand that as Rumi making her choice and stand between them when he did.

Yet.

Rumi pulled away from him first. She kept her gaze trained on his chest, her nose wrinkling at the sight of the stains her tears left on the silk of his robe, even when he cupped her face and his thumbs slid against her cheeks.

“Rumi,” he murmured, “what happened?”

Despite herself, she blurted, “The haengsu disapproves of us.”

Jinu froze but didn’t let her go. “She knows?”

“I suppose we didn’t do a good job of hiding it,” Rumi admitted. “Most of us have regular patrons, even ones we see a couple times every week, but we - that is, you and I…”

“Do we need to throw her off the scent somehow?”

Rumi shook her head. “I think it’s too late,” she said. “She raised me after my mother passed away, so she knows me too well. I can’t easily lie to her.”

“Then what…do we do?” Jinu wondered. 

“I’m trying to think,” she said. “I can’t think, I can’t–” A humorless laugh burst from her. “I’ve turned into the heroines from the romances Soyi reads.” Or my own mother.

“She let you see me tonight,” he said. “Perhaps she’s more understanding than you think.”

“That’s because she wants me to draw the line now and insist you’re nothing more than a patron to me,” Rumi explained, “and if I refuse, she won’t let you see me again.”

“But I…pay,” Jinu grumbled.

“She’s had patrons banned for less,” she told him.

“What do you want to do then?” he asked.

“First I need to know something,” Rumi said.

“What?”

Her hand found his, and she slid her fingers against his palm until she felt him twitch. “We’ve been seeing each other without any plans,” she said. “We’ve gone through it one visit at a time, but that has to change.”

“What do you mean, Rumi?” Jinu pressed.

For all she’d been sobbing against his chest mere moments ago, she felt almost…steady now when she raised her eyes to meet his gaze. “Do you see a future for us beyond our evenings in the gibang?”

“If you’re asking if I’d marry you,” he said as his fingers wrapped around hers, “I would. Of course. I pay to see you now, do you think I wouldn’t want to see you for free?”

Rumi scowled. “This isn’t a joke,” she said.

“I know,” he said, “and I wasn’t joking. Seeing you every day, without your haengsu between us? That sounds like paradise.”

Still, Rumi hesitated. Still, Rumi doubted despite his assurances, held back by all the cautionary tales, all the warnings, all the tragedies that littered the past, hers and the gibang’s. “You’d marry a gisaeng?” Rumi whispered.

“I’d marry you , Rumi,” Jinu said before he pulled her in and kissed her.

There was something different in this kiss, different to all the ones that preceded it - and she suspected from all those that would come after too. They’d kissed passionately before, desperate and teetering on the edge of something she hadn’t been ready for, but not like this.

This kiss seared right through her, lips heavy, hot, piercing, consuming. It sucked the air through her lungs and breathed life back into her at the same time, it filled her chest with a tender ache even as it soothed it.

Jinu’s fingers tangled in her hair, and he pulled her closer until she sat in his lap, her legs falling on either side of his waist. Rumi pushed closer in response, her fingers digging into his shoulders so tightly he gasped against her lips.

But he didn’t pull away. He only kissed her harder, pulling her in until they went tumbling. He fell backwards against the cushions and she fell with him, landing on top of him, mouths parting long enough to fill their lungs with the warm air buzzing between them, to stare at each other with the unspoken question.

Jinu’s lips were damp and red from their kissing, his face flushed, his pupils wide and dark with undisguised desire - desire for her , dizzying in her realization that someone could want her as much as she wanted him.

She leaned down, closer, till her lips brushed his. “Jinu,” she whispered.

She only remembered it was the first time she’d spoken his name aloud to him when he shuddered beneath her, when he grabbed her arms and effortlessly rolled them over until she lay on her back and stared up at him hovering over her.

Rumi’s heart thudded expectantly against her ribs, her breath short and stuttering. “I–”

“If you say my name like that again,” Jinu said, “I might do something…really stupid.”

And because she wanted to know what that was, she said, “ Jinu .”

He leaned down and captured her lips again until she could only curve into him, chasing his warmth. When his mouth left hers and began leaving a hot, damp trail along her jaw and against her neck, Rumi gasped out breathlessly, “Be my first.”

Jinu tensed above her.

“B-be my last. Be my only, please.”

He pressed his forehead against hers, and she felt more than saw the smile curving his lips while his fingertips brushed her shoulder and he slowly reached for the tie securing her jacket. “You too, Rumi,” he murmured before she realized she could wait no longer and could only kiss him again.

Chapter Text

Whether a gisaeng chose to be intimate with a patron or not, they still received some abstract training. A gisaeng should be receptive once she allowed contact. She must allow her patron to set the pace, and she must act as if he pleased her even if he failed to, because that would usually please him.

And though she must yield to him in all things, she must still be in control of herself.

But Rumi had long since decided Jinu wasn’t a patron. He was just…hers, her friend, her man, her lover, hers in the same way she let him claim her tonight. He was hers, she was his, and that was that.

She doubted their first - and hopefully not last - coupling could be considered perfect by any objective measure of such things, but she didn’t particularly care while she lay ensconced in his arms, huddled under the haphazard blanket that was his robe and her skirts. She knew her hair was a mess because he hadn’t been able to keep his hands out of it - he still couldn’t and lazily threaded his fingers through it - and she couldn’t begin to think about parting from him.

Least of all confessing to Seoyun that she’d finally given her body to a man, and that she had no intention of letting him go either.

“Now I really hate the thought of you seeing anyone else,” Jinu confessed.

Rumi muffled a giggle into his shoulder. “Me too,” she said. “But the haengsu will just have to deal with that.”

“You think she would accept it so easily?” he asked.

“She’ll have to,” she said. “I won’t give her a choice, and you’re not a young master that will leave me devastated like–like my mother.”

“Was your father from a noble family?” Jinu wondered.

Rumi nodded. “But I think he really did love my mother,” she said. “At least, he tried to do right by her when she found out she was pregnant with me. Everything just went wrong when his family interfered and they forced him to abandon her.”

A sigh escaped Jinu, stirring the hair that fell across her forehead. His grip on her tightened, but before she could ask him what he was thinking so deeply about - or perhaps reassure him that their plan would work - he blurted, “Do you want to know something…crazy, Rumi?”

She tilted her head backwards to meet his eyes. “What?” Rumi said.

“I thought this would end when I abandoned you.”

She tensed. “Were you going to–”

“No, never,” he told her. “ Never again, but I wondered if a part of me wouldn’t be able to help it after the first time.”

“The first time?” Rumi echoed.

“My family,” Jinu said. “My mother and sister. I told you, sort of, didn’t I?”

“Yes, though not in so many words.”

“I abandoned them,” he said. “I thought I was helping, because I couldn’t make a living in our village. I took my bipa and came to Hanyang hoping to make some kind of name for myself, and make enough money to send back to them.”

“That’s hardly abandon–”

“But then the barbarians invaded, and our village is in the north.”

Dread filled her; she…knew how this story ended, suddenly, and she didn’t think she wanted to hear it after all. She knew, she understood, without him saying then.

But she forced herself to keep her gaze on him even as his lowered.

“At first I didn’t believe it,” he said. “I thought they would be safe because our village was poor and didn’t seem worth pillaging. Eventually the barbarians retreated, and I had to find out.” He spoke with a voice hollowed out, emotionless. “But I was wrong; our fields had been pillaged and the village burned to the ground. I found some of our surviving neighbors in a town nearby that had fended off the barbarians thanks to their high walls, and–”

His voice broke; Rumi could only hold him closer. 

“They told me they’d killed my mother and–and kidnapped my sister. She was still a little girl. I still don’t know what became of her, or if she’s even alive.”

“That wasn’t your fault,” Rumi said, quickly, with a ferocity that startled her. She gripped either side of his face and forced him to look at her. “Jinu, it wasn’t . Did you bring the barbarians down on your village?”

“No,” he said, “but if I hadn’t left, I might’ve been able to protect them.”

“Do you know how to fight? Do you know how to wield a sword?”

“I-I can handle a bow well enough,” he said.

“You alone against a horde of barbarians?” Rumi said. “And you must’ve still been so young too. Then you would’ve died with them, and–and you wouldn’t be here with me.”

“Rumi.” He kissed her, and she pretended not to notice it was harder, more bruising, than usual. “I tried not to want you in the beginning,” he said. “That’s why I stayed away so long, because I thought I shouldn’t see you, I didn’t deserve to just want you whether you felt the same or not.”

She could berate him, but she was sure he’d tortured himself enough. “What made you change your mind?”

“It started to snow,” Jinu said. “I miss my family the most when it snows. Maybe I was just…lonely and pathetic.”

“I don’t think you’re pathetic,” Rumi assured him. “It’s normal to want company.”

“I knew I wanted to see you again,” he said, “but I never thought I could–or we could be like this.”

“Me neither,” she admitted. “I never wanted or expected to fall for anyone, especially not you.”

To her delight, his nose wrinkled with irritation. “What’s so wrong with me?”

“You’ve been telling me about how unworthy you are,” Rumi said.

“It’s one thing for me to say it,” Jinu grumbled. “Another for you to agree.”

She leaned up and pressed her lips to his forehead until his brow smoothed. “It’s not about your worthiness,” she said. “I just didn’t much like you at first. You were rude to me, and rude to my friends. You didn’t even try to be polite like some of the other patrons.”

“So you didn’t find my honesty refreshing?”

Rumi blinked. “Rudeness isn’t always honest,” she retorted, “just like politeness isn’t always dishonest. You’re just choosing different shields to hide behind.”

“You have a newfound obsession for weapons tonight, don’t you?” Jinu said. “Are you hiding a knife on your person?”

A laugh burst from her. “I think you would’ve noticed a long time ago if I was seeing as I’ve taken off most of my clothes.”

His cheeks flushed pink. “I helped, as I recall.”

“Yes, you were very helpful when you almost tore my expensive silk skirts because you couldn’t find the tie,” Rumi teased.

“It’s not like I knew where to find the different, um, parts on women’s clothes,” Jinu said. He cupped the side of her neck, his palm warm on her skin, and brushed his lips over hers. “But I do now. I’ll be more careful next time.”

A flush both pleased and embarrassed rushed through her. She smiled against his lips and refused to say what they were both thinking:

If there was a next time, if their first night together like this wouldn’t become their last.

Jinu had to tear himself away eventually, with a reluctance and uncertainty they both felt, with a promise that he’d return tomorrow to plead their case with Seoyun. “I’ll help buy your freedom, Rumi,” he swore while she watched him dress. “I should’ve done it from the beginning.”

“D-don’t underestimate the amount,” she warned him. 

When he extended a hand for his hat, which she held, she reached up to settle it on his head instead. He sucked in a breath but tilted his head back just enough for her to secure the strap under his chin.

“I inherited my mother’s value,” Rumi said slowly, “and my father’s family made sure she’d never be able to pay it even if she stayed young and beautiful for the rest of a natural lifetime.”

She expected him to balk then, to take everything back - the promise to help her, to marry her, to finally bury the families they’d lost or never had and build a new one together. But he didn’t, only took her hand and gripped it against his chest, his gaze steady on hers.

“What use is any wealth I’ve gained if I can’t use it for something that won’t shame me?”

Rumi pressed her lips together, not quite reassured, but not quite defeated either. The corners of her eyes warmed, and she wondered if maybe she hadn’t quite spent her tears that night.

“And if the haengsu keeps you from seeing me in the meantime because she doesn’t trust you to keep your promise?”

“It’s enough that you trust me,” Jinu said. “And I’m not a man so easily defeated anymore. Even if we have to be like Jiknyeo and Gyeonu for a time.”

If he could hope for their uncertain future, then so could Rumi. She managed a smile for him even as a few tears escaped past her eyelids.

His kiss goodbye lingered, their lips trembling together. He held her face carefully between his hands and pressed one last kiss to her forehead before he slipped away from her and through the door and murmured, “Good night, Rumi.”

She watched him leave, clutching her empty hands to her chest, while the familiar ache of missing him filled her anew.

She stood frozen for a long time, so long the bustle of the staff cleaning the gibang reached her a heartbeat before the door slid open and Mira and Soyi found her.

They didn’t need to ask to know something was wrong, and they didn’t need to know what was wrong before they both wordlessly wrapped their arms around her.

Somehow, Rumi only shed a few tears this time, in the comfort of her friends’ embrace, or maybe gripping tightly to Jinu’s promises. “He won’t disappoint me,” she whispered senselessly into Mira’s shoulder. “He’ll come back and we’ll–we’ll convince her, and everything will be fine.”

“Of course it will, Rumi,” Soyi said while rubbing her shoulder. “Of course .”

Mira, to her surprise, seemed to put her usual cynicism aside, for she didn’t contradict her. “You’ll feel better after you take a bath, Rumi,” she said.

“W-why do I need to take a bath?” she said, pulling away from them and rubbing her eyes. “I can just wash my face and–”

Mira lifted a few strands of her hair toward her face, and Rumi suddenly realized how messy she must’ve looked despite dressing before Jinu left. “Your hair and makeup are a mess,” she said, “and you’re wearing your jacket backwards, which means a lot of things - but especially that you need to take a bath before going to bed.”

Soyi seemed to notice Rumi’s state for the first time, for her eyes widened as a hand muffled the gasp that escaped her. “Rumi, did you–”

“Fine,” she said as her cheeks flushed hotter than it had any right to. “I guess you’re right. If nothing else, it’ll help clear my head.”

“Soyi, go ask someone to prepare one for her,” Mira said, her experience and composure making it easy to take charge. “And take her zither back to our room. We need to see the haengsu.”

“No,” Rumi protested after Soyi left, before Mira could tug her away.

“Rumi, you know her rules,” Mira insisted. “I can’t pretend to understand the…depth of your relationship with that musician, but you still need to take care of yourself and make sure the haengsu won’t misunderstand.”

“She understands better than you think,” she said. When Mira’s jaw dropped, Rumi jerked her arm from her grip. “I don’t want to see her again tonight after what she said to me, and what she wanted me to do.”

“She tried to force you to end it, I’m guessing.”

Rumi hesitated before nodding. “Please don’t say you told me so, Mira,” she said. “I know I’m being foolish, but I am thinking. I’m trying to find a solution that we can all accept.”

“You can’t make everyone happy with risky decisions, Rumi,” she said. “That’s not–”

“I know !” she snapped. When Mira flinched as if she’d slapped her, guilt pricked at her chest. “I’m sorry,” she mumbled. “I just…”

“It was your first time with a man,” Mira said sympathetically. “I’m sure you’re still feeling emotional and overwhelmed.”

“Jinu isn’t just any man to me,” Rumi said before adding in a small voice, “but yes, I think I might be.”

“He didn’t hurt you, did he?” Mira asked carefully. When she glared at her, she quickly added, “He might not have done it on purpose, especially if it was his first time too.”

“He didn’t,” she assured her. “He was very…it was a lot, and maybe it wasn’t perfect, but he didn’t hurt me.”

“Good,” Mira said. “I’m glad I have one less reason to dislike him. Now, let’s get this conversation with the haengsu over with.”

Seoyun didn’t act like she was surprised to see them. Her gaze slid from Mira to Rumi, where it lingered. “You either sent your patron off tonight with quite a gift,” she said, “or you didn’t choose.”

“I did choose,” Rumi said. “I just didn’t choose any of the options you gave me.”

“You’re so convinced he loves you and will free you?” Seoyun asked. “That’s exactly what your mother thought before your father abandoned her. The only reason you’re not dead is because she loved you more than she loved him .”

“My father didn’t want to–”

“Yes, he did,” Seoyun snapped. “Your father abandoned her, and he abandoned her as soon as she told him she was pregnant.”

Mira sucked in a breath beside her. “Wait, that story–”

“But…I thought…” Rumi trailed off.

“Do you know why I allow those rumors among the gisaeng here?” Seoyun wondered. “Do you know why I let my stupid subordinates gossip about my dearest friend and the closest person to a sister I ever had? Your mother was the only reason I didn’t take my own life when my family sold me to the gibang, so why would I let them slander her?”

“Because she–”

“Because I didn’t want her to be remembered as someone pathetic enough to place her trust in a young master who cared more for his family honor than he did for her,” Seoyun said with unmistakable emotion in her voice. “And I didn’t want her daughter growing up thinking her own father preferred her dead to the shame of having a child with a gisaeng.”

In a horrible sort of way, it made sense. Seoyun’s disdain for him, her protectiveness of Rumi that always pierced her hard shell, the way she never quite managed to discuss either of her parents, everything .

It made sense, yet Rumi couldn’t bear its weight. She crumbled to the floor, shaking her head. “Why would you lie then?” she said hollowly. “Hide it from everyone else if you must, but why would you lie to me ?”

“Because I wanted to protect you,” Seoyun said.

“I don’t feel protected,” Rumi muttered. “I feel…betrayed, because you–you speak of my mother trusting my father. You doubt that I should trust Jinu, but how can I trust you when you can’t even tell me the truth about my parents?”

“Rumi–”

“I don’t want to hear your excuses,” she said as a strange, cold calm overtook her. She managed to push herself back to her feet and face Seoyun, the closest one to a mother she’d ever had. “Do you think I never would’ve accepted the past if I knew the truth? I think you never accepted it.”

Seoyun’s gaze hardened. “You don’t know what I have or haven’t accepted.”

“Maybe not,” Rumi said, “but you will accept that I’m not my mother, and Jinu isn’t my father. Maybe it won’t impress you, but he isn’t even tied down by the same things. He’s going to help buy my freedom and marry me and then we’ll leave the gibang together and I’ll never return except to see Mira and Soyi, because I feel about them the way you felt about my mother and I can’t stand the thought of them enduring this place alone.”

“That future is impossible, Rumi.”

“It’s not,” she insisted, “because I’m going to make it happen and you can’t stop me.” She turned her back to Seoyun and marched her way out of her study.

Mira followed her silently - she’d been so quiet during that confrontation she’d almost forgotten her presence. “Rumi, I’m so–”

“If it’s about my parents,” Rumi said, her voice wavering as her strength faded, “I really don’t want to talk about it, Mira.”

“I never knew that story was about them,” Mira muttered. “No wonder you always pretended like you weren’t listening whenever it came up.”

“It wasn’t really about them in the end, was it?” she said. “It was just some…fake version of them, as imaginary as the romances in Soyi’s novels.”

They walked in blessed silence down the hall, each of them alone to her thoughts. Dawn light spilled in through a high window while gisaeng slept through it and into the morning after an exhausting evening entertaining and serving their patrons.

By the time they reached the bath house - because Mira still insisted she take one and she’d regret it later if she didn’t - Rumi was just as exhausted. The righteous anger with which she’d confronted Seoyun had faded, leaving her trembling and empty.

Empty but for an unfamiliar pain in her limbs and between her legs, feeling little more than the sting of betrayal and the ache of longing.

Because suddenly, despite her firmness earlier in facing both Seoyun and Jinu, uncertainty now took over.

Mira stayed with her while she bathed over Rumi’s insistence she go to bed. “I think you should beg out of work tonight,” she said. “I think, for once, the haengsu would let you.”

“Did you beg out of work the night after your first time with a patron?” Rumi asked.

“Of course not,” Mira said, “but that’s not why.”

“I know,” she admitted as she let her hair soak in lukewarm, barely scented water.

“Besides,” Mira mumbled with a trace of sarcasm, “I thought he wasn’t just a patron to you.”

“He’s not,” she said. They lapsed into silence while Rumi rinsed the soap from her hair, only broken by the trickle of water and distant rooster crowing at the rising sun.

“Have you ever had feelings for a patron, Mira?” Rumi wondered eventually.

“No,” she said easily.

“Never?”

“I’ve been attracted to a few,” she admitted, “and enough that it wasn’t so bad if I laid with them, but I’ve never fallen for one.”

Rumi hummed, unsure if she should be sympathetic or pleased for her friend’s aloofness. “You’ve been careful.”

“I think my upbringing makes it easy,” Mira said. “I grew up with an expectation I would be married into another noble family and that I wouldn’t have much of a choice in the matter. I never thought to expect a different life, or that I’d have the freedom to choose for myself. In a way, it was almost more restrictive than the gibang. I would’ve become the wife at home, doomed to spend her life with a single man regardless of how he and his family treated me, while he visited a gibang and sought the company of other women - younger than me, and who would never be able to give him as much of themselves as I did.”

“You don’t know that it would’ve been so bad,” Rumi said.

“I don’t,” she conceded, to her surprise, “but I did see my mother. She loved us, me and my brothers and sister, but my father always left home early and returned home late, long after dark, and often drunk and stumbling, and nowhere close to the image of a devoted husband or father. I lived in his house for half of my life, yet I barely knew him.”

“Mira…”

“To be clear, I don’t like dancing and playing for men that aren’t much different from him for money,” Mira said, “and I’d rather not be a slave. But maybe Soyi has rubbed off on me and I’m beginning to find small things that make it more tolerable.”

Rumi stood then, done with her bath and ready for bed. While she dried herself with the towel Mira handed her, she kept talking as if once she’d started she couldn’t stop until she freed everything on her mind.

“We could have it far worse, you know.”

Rumi tied her damp hair up into a loose knot to keep it out of her face while she tugged on her undergarments. “How do you figure?”

“I’ve spoken to gisaeng from other gibang,” Mira explained. “Our haengsu is a better protector and enforcer for us. We can’t usually choose our patrons, but she allows us to refuse to be intimate with them and won’t punish us when they take offense. So despite everything, I think we’re lucky to have her.”

Rumi would agree once she slept, or when she was in a better mood. Maybe when the slap of betrayal faded (though she knew it would always leave a mark) or when she could see Jinu again and he would soften something inside her.

When, she insisted to herself, not if . He’d return, and they would force Seoyun to accept them even if she had to use her guilt against her.

Rumi fell asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow, the exhaustion in her body and heart overwhelming any activity in her mind. Yet the exhaustion couldn’t stave away the unsettling dreams that preyed on her.

She watched from a distance, from above like a bird in flight, an encounter between a young man and a woman beneath a tree with its branches spread wide. The woman looked like her, but the wide-brimmed hat of a noble concealed the man’s face. She heard nothing of the words they exchanged, only looked on, as the woman embraced the man only for him to shove her away before spinning around and leaving her sobbing on the ground.

Time passed, the sky darkening into a star-studded blackness then brightening, over and over, cycling between night and day and sunlight and storms, seasons changing and the tree’s leaves falling and sprouting a fresh green, until the woman reappeared in the same scene, a small, round bundle strapped to her back.

A swaddled baby.

The same man approached again, his face no less hidden, his gait jerky and…direct, determined. If anyone walked towards Rumi like that, she would’ve tensed and prepared for a confrontation, but the woman smiled at him expectantly, so hopefully her heart in her floating dream bird body snapped in two.

The man’s tense posture and the woman’s crestfallen face spoke volumes between her showing him the baby and him raising a hand to shove her before hesitating. Yet still he turned and walked away. 

Unlike last time, she didn’t sob when he left her and the baby - their baby - to their fates.

Had she really thought he would change his mind when he saw the baby?

Rumi couldn’t be disappointed in this woman’s decisions, no matter how tragic and misguided, not when she could no longer definitively say she would never do the same. She felt her airborne body drift towards the earth, towards the woman furiously drying her tears before the baby let out its own heart-wrenching cry.

The woman seemed to forget her treacherous lover in favor of soothing her child. “It’s all right, my baby,” she whispered to her in a voice thick with grief. “It’s all right. I don’t–we don’t need him. I’ll love you enough for two parents. I’ll love you more than his family ever could. We’ll be our own family, you and I, me and you, and my dearest unni Seoyun will help me take care of you. Rumi, my sweet, perfect–”

Rumi jerked upright at the knocking on a door. She blinked blearily and rubbed her eyes, surprised when her fingertips brushed wet cheeks, and for one wild moment she worried she’d fallen asleep while with a patron, only to realize Mira and Soyi were in the room with her, dressed in their plain day clothes and rolling up their bedding for storing.

“How late is it?” Rumi demanded so loudly and suddenly they both jumped. “Why didn’t you wake me up?”

“You needed your sleep,” Mira said. “You were up till after dawn.”

“So were you ,” Rumi retorted, “and yet why am I the only one still–”

She remembered what woke her when another knock came from the door, sharper and more impatient. She stumbled out of the bedding tangled around her legs and started to fold it into a messy roll while Soyi answered the door.

“Haengsu?” she said, the single word thick with surprise. “What’s–”

“Please tell Rumi to come outside and speak with me,” Seoyun’s voice trailed inside. “If she prefers to avoid me, tell her she might find what I have to say…pleasing.”

It didn’t surprise Rumi that Seoyun assumed she would avoid her after last night (or that morning), just as she knew she would have…if not for her final words.

Soyi glanced over her shoulder towards her. “Well, you heard her, right, Rumi?”

“Yes,” Rumi said. “Can she wait till I get dressed? I just woke up.”

Soyi turned to relay her message. “Can you–”

“I’ll be here,” Seoyun said. “You can close the door.”

Soyi did, and all three of them let out a collective breath before she asked, “Something happened last night between you and the haengsu, didn’t it?”

“Yes,” Rumi admitted, “and it wasn’t very…nice.”

Mira’s gaze flicked from her to Soyi, a question - a request for permission - in her eyes before Rumi managed a slight nod. “I think the haengsu has a lot to make up for with Rumi,” she told Soyi.

“What did she do?” Soyi asked. “The haengsu loves you more than anyone else, so what could she–”

“I guess any kind of love can make people do stupid things,” Mira said.

“She meant well,” Rumi mumbled.

“No, she didn’t,” Mira said. “You were right last night; she was being selfish.”

“She was–I don’t know,” Rumi said. “Maybe.” But after her dream - a dream about her own parents, she knew - a very large part of her wanted to forgive Seoyun, even if she wasn’t yet sure she deserved it.

Whether the dream was something like a vision or a mere figment of her imagination.

She quickly tugged on a plain skirt and jacket but left her hair in its (slightly mussed from sleep) braid before steeling herself and cracking open the door to find Seoyun waiting for her, as promised.

Seoyun neither smiled nor frowned to see her, but her eyes seemed to widen ever so slightly in surprise. “Good morning, Rumi,” she said. “You must’ve slept late after last night.”

Despite her tentative goodwill, Rumi wasn’t in any particular mood to entertain such evasive conversation when Seoyun was usually far more direct. She crossed her arms and stared down at her feet. “You wanted to talk to me?”

“You know,” Seoyun said, “I’ve always thought you looked just like your mother when you braid your hair. It’s–”

“Haengsu,” Rumi cut her off, “just tell me what you have to say. I slept too late and I still need to get ready for tonight.”

Seoyun’s lips pressed together before she shook her head. “No, you don’t,” she said. “You’re not working tonight.”

Her lips parted in surprise, her chest tightening with the first traces of renewed dread. “But my–Jinu will be–”

“I told you that you’d have to stop seeing him, didn’t I?” Seoyun said. When Rumi only glared at her, her hands curled into fists at her sides, a sigh escaped her. “But I’m beginning to reconsider. Maybe my…prejudice and caution has clouded my judgment.”

A fierce hope filled her, almost tricked her into thinking she could take wing and fly just like she did in her dream. “Really?”

“Not yet,” Seoyun said, “but I’ll send for you when he returns tonight, because I’m sure he will. I’ll hear you both out, but if you fail to convince me that he’s worth it - that he won’t hurt you - he’s forbidden from entering my gibang ever again.”

“It seems as if the haengsu agreed with you, Mira,” Rumi said when she reentered the room in something of a disbelieving daze.

Mira didn’t bother glancing up from the small vanity mirror, seated at a low table laden with cosmetics while powdering rouge over her cheeks. “About what? That she was selfish?”

“No,” Rumi said, “that I shouldn’t work tonight.”

“But how will you be able to see your court musician if you’re not working?” Soyi wondered worriedly while inserting glittering pins into her coiled hair.

“Because she wants to talk to both of us,” she admitted in a rush.

That finally got both of their full attention. They stared at her incredulously while a shy, almost tentative smile pushed at Rumi’s lips.

Soyi squealed, but when Mira didn’t react much, she grabbed her arm and swung it around. “Isn’t this a good thing, Mira?”

“It is,” she said, “but it’s hard to believe it can be that easy.”

“It won’t,” Rumi conceded. “She has conditions, but I think we can convince her. I have to hope we can.”

“You will,” Soyi said, “and then we’ll have to celebrate. Chilseok is soon, isn’t it? We only get to leave the gibang around festivals, so it’ll be the perfect reason to go into Hanyang and do something different.”

“Assuming Rumi would want to spend Chilseok, of all things, with us and not her musician,” Mira said with a rare note of teasing in her voice.

Rumi let them tease her about Jinu. The teasing wasn’t so strange when their lives and work revolved so much around the men that came to the gibang, but there was something warmer, fonder, even less guarded about it today.

No warnings to guard their hearts carefully, to keep their wits close - just gentle words and laughter and the reminder that no matter what happened tonight, no matter what Seoyun said, she would have Mira and Soyi to comfort or congratulate her.

Eventually Soyi left to meet her shy, loose-haired scholar with her flute in hand - Rumi sensed something ill-advised might’ve been brewing between them too, not that she could talk - and Mira squeezed her hand before following to dance for a gathering. Rumi drifted after her, lurking on the edge of the courtyard, careful to stay out of sight.

She wore only her day clothes rather than the fine, sumptuous patterns and fabrics they usually wore to entertain, her hair only in its loose braid down her back, no cosmetics dusted over her face. She was…plain, or as plain as she could be, and certainly far plainer than the other gisaeng drifting through the courtyard like spring’s plum blossom petals carried on a breeze.

She wondered if Jinu would still think her beautiful so unadorned, so unlike the illusory glamorous gisaeng with a false blush high in her pale cheeks and lips painted crimson.

Rumi waited, watching the gates from her corner shaded under a plum tree bursting with flowers, while the courtyard buzzed with activity. Mira floated among the gathering bearing trays and pouring wine for patrons, and if Rumi wasn’t so distracted she might’ve noticed the way she brightened when a tall, broad-shouldered young man wearing the domed hat of a constable walked through the gates.

She was too focused on the man behind him.

Jinu halted just inside the entrance, his eyes scanning the gathering and flitting from gisaeng to gisaeng before his shoulders sagged.

Rumi wanted to go to him then, but she couldn’t cross the courtyard in her current clothes. So she forced herself to wait for him to find her, or at least pass through somewhere she could approach him more privately.

Except he did find her first. His gaze swept over the depths of the courtyard, all the shadowed, hidden corners, until it landed on her.

Her heart quickened with nervous anticipation as he crossed the courtyard towards her. Delicate petals floated down, a few catching in the wide brim of his hat and clinging to his sleeves, before he reached her.

“This feels familiar,” he said in lieu of a greeting.

“How so?” Rumi wondered.

“That day I came for the first time in months,” Jinu said.

“Last winter?” she said. “When it was snowing?”

“Yes,” he said, nodding. He looked her up and down, intently, almost assessingly, and she couldn’t help tensing while she waited for him to comment on her clothes. “I remember you had snowflakes in your hair.”

“You had some on your hat,” Rumi recalled.

He reached up and brushed a few petals off her shoulder, then her hair, his fingers lingering longer than necessary before skimming down and tucking a few loose strands behind her ear. He seemed to forget they stood in the courtyard, even if in a hidden corner, when his fingertip skimmed her ear and sent a shiver down her spine. “I wanted to do this then too,” he murmured.

Her cheeks flushed as they curved with her smile. “You’re quite daring, sir ,” she said. “You know that?”

“And you look quite different today, miss ,” he finally said. “Does that–does that mean anything?” Any confidence he carried melted away, dissolved in the air and drifted amongst the petals.

“It just means that I’m not working tonight,” she said. “You won’t have to pay for the pleasure of my company, although…”

His eyebrows drew together worriedly. “Although?”

“Although the haengsu is expecting us.”

His lips parted before closing again, before she watched him swallow. “I-I see,” he said. “I can convince her, Rumi.”

Rumi took his hand, the same one that had brushed plum blossom petals from her hair and caressed her ear. “ We can convince her,” she said.

His fingers returning the firmness of her grip gave her enough courage to turn towards the doorway and tug him inside.

Seoyun waited for them in her study, seated on a cushion behind her low table. She spared them no greeting and simply beckoned for them to take the two cushions across from her when they entered.

“Jinu,” she said carefully, facing him first and without giving them time to gather their wits, “the court musician. No family name?”

“I’m a commoner,” he admitted, “from a little village in the north.”

“I can appreciate that you’re not a young master playing with Rumi’s feelings just because he can,” Seoyun noted with surprising bluntness, and surprising grace.

“No,” Jinu said. “I’d never–”

“But you’re quite wealthy for a commoner if you can afford to visit a gibang so often,” Seoyun cut him off.

“I live in the palace as a court musician,” Jinu explained, “so I have no living expenses. And I don’t have a family, so I’ve been saving money without spending it for a long time.”

“I doubt you’ll be able to live in the palace if you get married,” Seoyun said then. “Am I wrong, or are the only women permitted to live in the palace the king’s women and daughters?”

“That’s true,” he admitted.

“Will you be able to afford a house in Hanyang, assuming you’ll remain a court musician?” Seoyun demanded. “Will you be able to afford to hire a servant to help maintain it? Rumi isn’t accustomed to doing physically demanding chores.”

Heat rushed to her cheeks as she tried to protest, “Haengsu–”

“These are perfectly valid questions for me to ask a man who seeks to marry you, Rumi.”

“But are they the most urgent questions?” Rumi said. “Besides, I don’t need to live a life of luxury like a noble, nor do I want to. I just want–I just want to live with Jinu.”

The tips of her ears warmed, and she wished she wore her usual working hair, if only because it would hide the flush. It was strange how embarrassing it was to admit this to Seoyun in front of Jinu when they could speak of it so easily in private.

Jinu surprised her when his hand found hers. “Of course I can buy a house and hire a servant,” he said. “I always planned to look after and take care of my family, even if it took me so long to find one.”

Rumi peered at him from the corner of her eyes. He kept his gaze on Seoyun, steady and more confident than he’d been earlier before they entered her study.

He was sure about her, he was sure about them and making a future together; she knew it, that he must want one as badly as she did after all.

“Then let’s discuss Rumi’s bondage,” Seoyun said. “I’m sure she explained to you that she inherited more of a value when her mother died.”

“Yes,” Jinu said. “She also said it was higher than I would expect.”

Seoyun slid a slim account book across the table towards them. “You can read and tabulate sums, I hope?”

“Yes…” Jinu said warily as he took the book and opened it. His eyes widened before he snapped it shut and buried his face in his hands. His shoulders shook until her chest tightened with worry and fear and she rested her hand on his shoulder.

“Jinu?” she asked. “What–”

“See for yourself,” Seoyun said before passing Rumi the book.

She realized Jinu wasn’t crying a heartbeat before cracking the pages open.

He was laughing.

He was relieved .

The same relief swept through her and burst through as a laugh of her own.

“I–I can be free in only two years?” Rumi said, full of disbelief. 

Seoyun nodded. 

“B-but you said…a whole lifetime…”

“That’s what your mother had left when she passed away, yes,” she said, “but I admit I have…favorites among my gisaeng. Any extra money that passes through the gibang I pay off a little more of your value, and I’ve been doing that since your mother died, long before you were forced to start paying it off yourself.”

Rumi’s grip on her account book tightened so much her knuckles turned white. She traced over the hanja spelling her name in ink on the spine until she realized another name lay beneath it, long since faded but no less visible.

Her mother’s name.

“I don’t want you to live and die in a gibang like your mother,” Seoyun said. “I know she wouldn’t want that either. And I’m beginning to think your…man here agrees with me.”

Rumi didn’t dare breathe for fear it would fracture her fragile, fledgling hope before it took flight.

Seoyun returned her attention to Jinu. “When you told Rumi that you loved her, did you mean it?”

Jinu squirmed. “I…haven’t…told her…that,” he said, “in those words, exactly.”

Seoyun’s eyes narrowed. “Do you?”

“Yes,” he said without hesitation. “I do.”

Rumi’s breath caught. She hadn’t quite realized or thought about if he’d told her he’d loved her before. Perhaps she’d always had too much on her mind trying to puzzle through how they spent their time while it lasted, and how to bridge the gap between the present and the future. Their interactions felt both too light and too weighty for a simple I love you , and she’d never really felt any reason to doubt the strength of his feelings or her own.

Had he doubted hers? She should tell him later, just in case, when Seoyun wasn’t watching them so intently.

“Did you mean any promises you made to her?” she demanded, glancing at Rumi. “Has he been keeping his promises?”

Rumi nodded to assure her.

“You’re sincere in your hope to marry Rumi…sir?” Seoyun asked, her tone formal for the first time.

“Yes,” Jinu said. “I’d marry her now if I could.”

Seoyun laughed without much humor, but it was a good sign (probably). “I can appreciate your eagerness,” she said, “but she does still have her freedom to purchase.”

“R-right,” he said. “Yes, and I’m sure she wants to stay with her friends while she can. I’m willing to wait for her too.”

“I’m so glad you understand,” Seoyun said so sarcastically and bitingly Rumi’s ears felt they would freeze off. Seoyun’s eyes pinched shut as she clasped her hands on her table.

Rumi held her breath. Her hand once again found Jinu’s between their cushions, and he gripped her fingers even tighter than she held his.

She squeezed his hand, reassuring him that regardless of Seoyun’s decision, she would continue to see him. She’d find a way if they couldn’t convince her, even if it meant she’d have to sneak out of the gibang, or wait until they were free for the days ahead of festivals.

Like Chilseok. Like Jiknyeo and Gyeonu.

Seoyun didn’t keep them in suspense for long. “I’ve made my decision,” she said. “You will marry only once Rumi has fully bought her freedom and she’s able to leave the gibang, though you may continue to visit her in the meantime under the condition you pay for the privilege.”

“The faster to buy her freedom,” Jinu said.

“Just be careful you don’t spend all that money you’ve carefully saved up for that,” Seoyun said, her lips twisting as if she’d tasted something sour. “You’ll still have a wife to support at the end of this.”

“I know how to take care of my own finances, ma’am,” Jinu addressed her with more respect than usual, perhaps anticipating that he would soon get his way after all.

“Good,” Seoyun said, “because I’m too busy running a business to teach you.”

Rumi bowed her head and nudged Jinu until he did the same. “Thank you, haengsu.”

“I’m not done with him yet,” Seoyun said. Her eyes glittered like steel, almost…meanly. “Listen to me, sir . Your trials don’t end when you bow to each other and share ceremonial wine no matter how much you live in anticipation of that date.”

“I know,” he said.

“When you live together,” Seoyun continued as if she hadn’t heard him, “you must support her as any good husband does for his wife under Joseon’s laws. She will be your wife, not a mere concubine. You will make sure she’s comfortable and wanting for nothing to the best of your ability and as far as your finances will allow.”

A sigh escaped Rumi as she rubbed her face. “Please, haengsu, enough.”

“No, it is not,” she said. She pointed at Jinu, her fingertip almost brushing his nose, though to his credit he didn’t balk. “You will never wrong her nor abandon her. You will never mistreat her out of vanity, or disappointment, or anger, or because, after some years when she’s borne you children and her beauty has faded, you fancy another, younger woman.”

Jinu nudged Seoyun’s accusatory finger away from his face. “Rumi is a beautiful woman,” he said, “but that’s not why I first pursued her. If I wanted a woman just for her beauty, I would’ve been pleased with any gisaeng you sent to me. Or have you forgotten my first night here?”

“We have many patrons,” Seoyun said, “and many come for their first time every evening. You cannot fault me if I’ve forgotten yours.”

“I remember, haengsu,” Rumi said, “and I understand him. Let that be enough.”

“I still don’t like him,” Seoyun admitted, “but he has two years to win me over. Though in the end, it’s your opinion that matters most, Rumi.”

“Now that that’s settled then,” Jinu said, “I have some conditions of my own.”

Seoyun raised an eyebrow while Rumi stared at him. “You think you’re in a position to set conditions?”

“Of course not,” he said, “so I’ll let Rumi decide if she’ll honor them.”

“And if I don’t?” Rumi said, suddenly full of trepidation. What exactly was he about to demand of her?

“Then I’ll have to accept it,” he said. He turned towards her, his dark eyes intent on her face, and took a deep breath. “Please try not to be alone with any patrons while we wait.”

Her lips twisted into a scowl. “What exactly are you suggesting?” she demanded as an angry heat rushed to her cheeks. “That I’d want to–with anyone–someone who isn’t you?”

“N-no!” Jinu said. “I mean, I know you wouldn’t. I just meant that I don’t want anyone else to…”

“To what?”

“To…”

“He’s being a jealous, possessive idiot,” Seoyun said. When they both spun towards her, both their faces flushed with embarrassment, she rolled her eyes. “It often happens when a patron falls for a gisaeng, though they’re not usually so determined to marry her.”

“So–”

“Rumi will only entertain groups,” Seoyun said, “or only serve individual men alongside another gisaeng. Does that satisfy you?” When Rumi opened her mouth, unsure if she wanted to protest, Seoyun said, “I didn’t think you actually liked being alone with your patrons, Rumi.”

“I…don’t,” she admitted.

“Then this will be easy enough to arrange,” Seoyun said, “though I may have to disappoint a couple of your other regulars.”

“Why did you never do this for me before?” Rumi wondered.

“Because I can’t show favoritism in such things,” she said. “And would you two have even met if you didn’t accept patrons alone?”

“So you’re saying we should be grateful to you,” Jinu scoffed.

“I’ll take gratitude, yes,” Seoyun said. Her gaze on Rumi softened, something brittle and…hopeful in it. “Though I would sooner hope for forgiveness for the way I…I failed you, Rumi. If you’re not ready to forgive me, I understand, but I hope that I’ve at least begun to make amends.”

“You’re right,” Rumi admitted, “I’m not ready, but yes. I think if you hadn’t agreed, we would’ve tried to find some other way, which would’ve meant cutting ties with you, and Mira and Soyi. I’m…happy it won’t come to that.”

“I am too,” Seoyun said, the corners of her eyes crinkling when she smiled. “Just…be a little more patient, and try not to get pregnant before you’re married. It’ll give him an excuse to be a coward and run away.”

“H-haengsu!” Rumi sputtered while Jinu looked like he was prepared to find a sword and defend his honor and word right there.

“Spend a little time here for free,” Seoyun said, “and go to bed early.” With that she stood and left them alone in her study, off to oversee the rest of the gibang.

She left the door wide open too, probably on purpose to remind them not to linger too long, not to get too lost in each other.

They still crouched there together in front of her table for a long moment, Jinu clutching her hand as if he was afraid to let go.

Rumi could understand, because she worried that if she let go, she would open her eyes in her room again and find out this was just as much a dream as the one where she saw her parents.

“What…do you need to forgive her for?” Jinu wondered tentatively. “It sounded like it’s more than just about how she reacted to our relationship.”

“After you left last night,” Rumi explained, “I found out she allowed me to believe falsehoods to protect me from the truth. I felt…betrayed, and maybe a little hurt on your behalf too since she was assuming things about you because of it.”

Jinu took her arm and turned her to face him. “Does it have anything to do with her thinking I’d leave you if you became pregnant?”

Rumi didn’t, couldn’t answer. The truth was still new to her, still difficult to accept no matter that it burrowed deep in her gut. Instead she stared down at her hands clasped in his, the way his long fingers all but engulfed her hands.

She’d never thought of her hands as small and delicate until he’d held them in his.

“I don’t actually think you would do that, Jinu,” she reassured him. “She’s just seen too much of the worst of men, I think, and she’s watched it destroy people she cares about. It’s part of being a gisaeng.”

“What about for you?” he wondered.

“I think…I like playing my zither,” Rumi said, “but I wish I had an audience who appreciated music more than as just a pretty sound from a pretty instrument played by a pretty girl. I like talking to new people, but I wish they didn’t just want me to flatter them. I don’t like it when they touch me, but I’m glad I can choose not to let them. Not all gisaeng have that option.”

“You won’t have to do any of that soon,” Jinu promised her. “You can only play for me, and talk to me.”

“And only let you touch me too?” Rumi couldn’t help noting his omission.

Pink spots colored his cheeks as he let go of her hand to scratch the back of his neck. “I’d like to think that goes without saying…”

“I want to finally listen to you play your bipa too,” she admitted.

The corner of his lips lifted into a lazy smile. “We don’t have to wait till we’re married for that,” he said. “I can bring it with me tomorrow. What did you tell me once? I would be the gisaeng playing music and you would be the patron?”

Rumi laughed. “You actually remember that?”

“I remember everything you’ve said to me.”

She smiled so widely her cheeks almost stung. “Because you love me?” she blurted.

Jinu cupped her face between his hands and pressed his forehead against hers. His breath warmed her nose before it bloomed against her mouth, before his lips followed with a graze - hardly a kiss, but enough her heart raced and heat flooded her cheeks.

“Yes,” he whispered into her lips. “I do. I love you, Rumi. My heart is yours; my soul too, if you want it.”

A giggle burst from her. “Keep that,” she said. “You need it more than I do if we’re going to be together for a long time.”

“As long as you want,” Jinu said, “even eternity.”

Rumi finally grew impatient, so she closed the gap between them and kissed him.

Two years later

Chilseok never used to be Rumi’s favorite festival, though she liked the change in weather from hot to…less hot. It had become her favorite more recently, and she found herself looking around at the booths selling festival food and trinkets with new wonder.

Children ran around chasing each other with wooden toys and paper streamers and adults scolded them for being underfoot, and young couples - probably newlyweds - strolled the streets, shyly glancing at each other and smiling while pretending they weren’t thinking about holding hands out in the open where everyone could see them.

That would be her soon enough, Rumi remembered with a flicker of excitement.

“I’m going to miss you so much when you finally leave, Rumi,” Soyi, who walked with her arm tucked through her elbow, said. “I can’t believe this is our last Chilseok together.”

“I can’t believe you’re spending it with us and not with him ,” Mira said from Soyi’s other side.

“Maybe because I want to spend time with you while I can,” Rumi said. “I’m about to go from seeing you every day for years and years to…well, not never seeing you again, but not seeing you nearly as often.”

Soyi stopped walking in the middle of the busy street and flung her arms around Rumi’s neck. “Don’t remind me,” she mumbled into her shoulder. “I’m so happy for you, but I’m also so sad .”

Rumi smiled as she and Mira managed to tug Soyi to the side of the street where they weren’t so much in the way. She patted her back and assured her, “You and Mira will be free soon enough too, and it’ll be easier to see each other again. We can eat at taverns and go shopping together like this, and–”

“And you’ll probably be too busy with a small army of children by the time I’m free,” Mira said.

Her face warmed. “Surely it won’t be that long for you,” Rumi said.

Mira crunched loudly on the fried dough she’d bought from a street vendor before saying, “I never said it would be.”

Rumi opened her mouth, then closed it. “Huh?”

Soyi let go of her and straightened. “Mira is saying you and Jinu won’t be wasting time once you’re married.”

“S-Soyi!” Rumi stuttered through her flush. “What do you - dear, sweet, innocent Soyi - know of such things?”

“Why so embarrassed?” Mira wondered. “And stop treating Soyi like a baby. It’s not like she still bursts into tears when patrons are mean to her.”

“Why do we still talk about that?” Soyi grumbled.

“Because we’re your friends and have to keep you humble,” Mira said.

“I am humble!” Soyi said. “I’m so humble.”

“You keep bragging that you’ve managed to keep the same patron for two whole years.”

“Because that’s…unusual for me,” Soyi mumbled, swinging her arms around and swishing her skirts. “I can’t help being a little proud of that.”

“Leave her alone, Mira,” Rumi said. “She’s earned a little respect from us, don’t you think?”

She expected Mira to say any number of biting things and shrug them off as mere reminders when they inevitably upset Soyi. He’ll stop seeing you when he gets married, figured into the conversation over a year ago, and for that Soyi had refused to talk to Mira for so long that Rumi, enduring their sullen silences while sharing a room with them, begged Seoyun to force them to reconcile.

Mira had apologized, and she’d become a little nicer to Soyi. She scolded and offered her unhappy reminders less than she used to, anyway.

Although maybe that was down to Rumi’s own unusual situation. After all, it was rare that a gisaeng would buy her freedom and marry her patron. It used to be the best one could hope for in such a case, especially if she was still reasonably young and beautiful, was to become someone’s concubine.

But Rumi had proved they could hope for more - or at least a little bit of kindness in this world so cruel and indifferent to women like them.

“What will you do when you’re free?” Rumi asked them as they continued walking the festival.

“I’m going back home,” Soyi said easily. She tilted her head back and looked over the wide expanse of blue sky above them, perhaps imagining herself somewhere else. “I miss my family.”

“Even though they sold you to the gibang?” Mira said skeptically.

“I know my father never wanted to do that,” she explained, “but we were poor, I was another mouth to feed, and I was pretty and smart enough. He wanted me to be safe and warm and fed before anything else, because he couldn’t provide that for me.”

“I’m never going home,” Mira said. “My older brother made it clear I’d never be welcome back anyway. Maybe I’ll become a damo for the Ministry of Justice, or train as a nurse, or open a tavern. Maybe I’ll pretend to be a man and take the state official exam under one of my brother’s names and fail on purpose. Maybe I’ll travel to Qing and find and kill the men who my brothers were so convinced raped me.”

Rumi sucked in a breath at the same time as Soyi whispered, “Mira…”

“There’s a lot I could do,” Mira said, “a lot more than most people think. But I only know I won’t want to cut ties with my new family.” Then she surprised them by wrapping an arm around each of them and pulling them close.

They were a mess of hugging, embracing limbs and sniffling and tears and laughter.

Eventually they returned to the gibang as they must, as they needed to prepare for the evening for when the patrons would arrive, and there would be more than most for Chilseok.

But not Rumi. Only a few days remained until she left the gibang for good, so Seoyun allowed her the evening out to enjoy the festival properly.

With her own erstwhile lover.

She hadn’t seen Jinu in a few weeks thanks to a looming visit from a foreign envoy, but he sent her frequent notes to make sure she didn’t think he’d abandoned her, run off out of cowardice and a fear of any responsibility he had towards her the way Seoyun always worried he would.

But Rumi never worried.

She waited for him now standing beneath a glowing street lamp on a bridge that crossed the river, watching a nobleman in his wide-brimmed hat buy lanterns for three small children. She guessed he was only around thirty from the darkness of his beard and his still unlined face, and the ages of the children she assumed must’ve been his. She couldn’t help noting the tenderness with which he touched their small heads, all of them from the littlest girl with the ribbon swinging in her braid and the young master who clutched his younger brother’s hand.

While she watched, a woman dressed in fine silks about the same age as the man joined them. Her glossy dark hair was secured by a glittering gold binyeo at the back of her head, and she shared a sweet smile with him before greeting each of their children and asking them what wishes they wanted to write on their lanterns.

Rumi watched them with a sort of ache in her chest and wondered if she now bore witness to the past she never had, or a future that could become hers.

She fiddled with the norigae dangling from her jacket, a gift Jinu gave her on the last New Year, while she waited, while the family finally set their lanterns adrift from the riverbank and they joined the small, flickering fleet being carried downstream.

The sounds of the festival were distant, drums and dancing, laughter and conversation. Here, Rumi stood alone under the velvet sky, waiting for her lover to join them just like the stars.

Footsteps thundered behind her, making the bridge’s planks tremble beneath her feet. She spun around to find Jinu running towards her, sweat beading his brow and his breath coming in sharp gasps when he finally halted in front of her.

“Are you–”

“I know I’m late,” he cut her off, even as he still gasped for breath, “and I know I always give you a hard time when you’re late, but I have…a very good reason.”

Rumi had been prepared to forgive him, because he wasn’t that late - certainly, Jiknyeo and Gyeonu had yet to part to their opposite heavens. But she crossed her arms and frowned at him expectantly.

He straightened, his shoulders tensing for a heartbeat before relaxing again. “Turn around,” he said.

“I thought you were about to explain to me your very good reason ,” Rumi said.

“This is the explanation,” Jinu said, “but you need to turn around for it.”

She rolled her eyes but did as he requested, facing the river again while he stood behind her. “I promise I won’t be so angry I’ll hit you, Jinu, so you don’t need to tell it to the back of my head.”

“I never said I would have to tell you anything,” Jinu murmured. His hand rested on her shoulder, his thumb only just brushing against the curve of her neck before he withdrew again, but he still stood so close his chest brushed her back.

Rumi resisted the urge to lean back against him and bit back a startled twitch when he touched her hair. A slight tug at her bun, and–

“There,” Jinu said, his voice sounding a little further than it had a moment ago. “You can face me again.”

She turned back around, her eyes narrowed suspiciously as she reached for her hair. “What did you–”

She felt something smooth and cool to the touch against her fingertips. “You…you were late because you were getting me a binyeo ?” Despite her incredulity, her chest filled with warmth - somehow, he still had this effect on her.

“You need one once we’re married, don’t you?” Jinu said.

“I already had one that I wear when I leave the gibang,” Rumi said.

“But did you have one from your husband?”

“I don’t have a husband,” she said.

Jinu frowned, actually looking dejected.

An exasperated sigh escaped her. “I have a future husband,” she amended, “and I’ve really missed him while he’s been away even if he’s annoying me a little right now.”

“I’ll tell him,” Jinu said. “Shall I push him into the Han River while we’re here?”

Rumi laughed. “Tempting,” she said, “but I’m worried he’ll get sick if he takes a swim, and I need him healthy for the wedding.”

“Oh, good,” Jinu said, “because he can’t actually swim.”

She shook her head disparagingly, disapprovingly, but tucked her arm through his till he stood beside her, looking upstream towards twinkling lights. She leaned her head against his shoulder, and he rested his head atop hers.

“I’m ready,” he murmured into her hair.

She didn’t need to ask him for what. “I know.”

“We have a house now,” he told her. “I can’t wait to show you. It’s a little small, maybe, but I think that’s all right.”

“That depends on how many children we’ll have,” Rumi said.

“Five,” Jinu said.

She scoffed. “You’ve thought about this?”

“No,” he said, “it just seems like a good number.”

“All right,” she said. She rested both hands on the bridge’s railing while he wrapped an arm around her shoulders to pull her closer. “We’ll have five children. I think we should have three boys and two girls.”

“What if I want three girls and two boys?”

“That can be negotiated,” Rumi said. “Our sons will be scholars and musicians - scholar-musicians. Our daughters will be musicians too. They each play a different instrument so they can perform for us.”

“Only us?”

“Only for us and for themselves,” Rumi said. “Our sons will never set foot in a gibang, ever. Our daughters definitely won’t.”

Jinu kissed her temple, his lips warm where they lingered. “And I’ll keep you all safe with me,” he said.

Her eyes slid shut, savoring his touch for however long it lasted before they parted again.

Before they’d never have to part again.

“ We’ll keep them safe,” she whispered. “We’ll teach them kindness instead of cruelty. We’ll give them everything we didn’t have, for as long as we can.”

For as long as they could - or even for eternity.