Byeong-uk and Yeongchae grew deeply attached. When they sat facing each other, time slipped away unnoticed as they lost themselves in conversation. Yeongchae tasted new knowledge and Western emotions through Byeong-uk, while Byeong-uk tasted old knowledge and Eastern emotions through Yeongchae. Byeong-uk had once despised everything old. But encountering Yeongchae's well-understood ideas, she realized that old thoughts too had many delightful aspects. So she even felt a newfound desire to study the Elementary Learning, Biographies of Exemplary Women, Chinese poetry, and Classical Chinese. She took out dust-covered books like Gomunjinbo from home and learned this and that from Yeongchae, memorizing what she learned. "This is really fun," she would exclaim like a child, reciting aloud with joy. When her father heard Byeong-uk reciting poetry, he would go "Hmph, hmph" in a way that made it unclear whether he was praising or mocking.
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Byeong-uk studied music. Once, while playing the four-stringed zither, she said to Yeongchae,
"At home, they make a huge fuss about me learning music. 'Are you going to become a performer?' they say, and refuse to give me tuition money. I cried and threw a tantrum to get to learn it. They say I've gone wild. My brother is a bit better, though." She laughed. She would play the zither happily, but if she heard her father's cough outside, she'd stop immediately and shudder with a playful grin. Yeongchae also said the zither sounded beautiful. Having not heard much Western music, she hadn't found the performances at Tapgol Park particularly interesting, but now she felt she was gradually coming to appreciate the charm of Western compositions.
Byeong-uk found her pleasures in the zither, Chinese poetry, and talking with Yeongchae. Sometimes she even forgot the zither in the delight of newly discovered Chinese poetry. Yet she busily went about helping her sister-in-law with housework. One day, wearing her grandmother's old skirt with large pleats, she rolled up her sleeves, took a hoe, and sweat pouring from her, she cleared all the weeds from the yard corners, under the fence, and inside the garden, then went to a neighbor's to get flowers and transplanted them. With dirt-covered hands, she wiped her sweat, leaving yellow mud smeared across her face. As she dug the hard ground with the hoe, her father came in, stood staring at her for a moment, and then smiled faintly.
"We should marry Byeong-ok off to a farming family," he said. Her mother looked at her and laughed, "Hey, stop that. It's hot—are we making you weed?" Byeong-uk laughed too. "Just wait. The whole house will become a flower garden." But seeing that her parents didn't seem to take her flower planting seriously, she turned to Yeongchae, who stood nearby.
"They don't value flowers, so why would they approve of me learning music?" She laughed. "Now, no matter what, I'm going to catch a pair of orioles and hang them outside Father's door. Surely he can't hate the sound of orioles. What do you think? Clever, isn't it?" She laughed again. Yeongchae also laughed.
"People who live without knowing the beauty of flowers or the loveliness of oriole songs—aren't they pitiful?" Byeong-uk looked at Yeongchae as if seeking agreement. Yeongchae understood her meaning well. She had recently learned the word "art," and now she grasped its true significance. A gisaeng was also a kind of artist—only her art was treated as lowly. The famous gisaeng of old were all artists: they made music, danced, composed poems and songs, and painted pictures. So they were artists who had come down through the ages. That meant she herself was an artist. Was becoming an artist her calling? She wondered if she too should learn music like Byeong-uk. The dancing and singing she had until now regarded as her enemies—now she saw they had meaning. And so Yeongchae abandoned thoughts of death and resolved to live joyfully alongside Byeong-uk. Joy began to bloom in Yeongchae's heart.
Byeong-uk also knew that Yeongchae was changing. And she was happy about it. She encouraged Yeongchae to learn dance and vocal music, and told her that in Tokyo there were music schools specializing in those subjects, and that if she mastered vocal music and dance, she could achieve worldwide fame. Byeong-uk was almost entranced by Yeongchae's voice. If she sounded so beautiful singing clumsy songs, how lovely would she be when she sang familiar ones?
Byeong-uk's house was outside the West Gate of Hwangju Fortress. It was a quiet, clean lot. With few neighboring houses, the two girls often held hands and strolled at sunset. During their walks, they talked of dreamlike futures. They would dip their feet in the stream flowing beneath the ripe grass and sing in harmony. They said things like this:
"At home, they keep telling me to get married."
"To whom?"
"Who knows? They say it'd be good if you're suitable. This time, they've strictly ordered that I must marry."
"So what will you do?"
"I'll only go when I want to." She paused thoughtfully, as if reluctant to speak, then smiled faintly and blushed. "I have someone I love too."
Yeongchae smiled. "Where? In Tokyo?"
"Yes. But my family strongly opposes it. He's a son by a concubine. And poor... Hoo... But he's truly a good person. Handsome, good build, talented, with a big and gentle heart... Ah, I've boasted too much. But it's not boasting. I think you'd love him if you saw him too. I'll show you someday. But you mustn't steal him." She laughed at Yeongchae. Yeongchae laughed too, her head bowed.
Four or five days passed like this. Yeongchae did not let the old woman in Seoul or Hyeong-sik know she was alive. She hoped they would meet again someday. How would Yeongchae live from now on?
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Gradually, Yeongchae came to understand the inner workings of this family. To her, who had long been deprived of the taste of family, this household with parents, brothers, and sisters seemed like a paradise—joyful and happy. But as she learned more, she found that sorrow and hardship existed here too. First, father and son disagreed. The son had studied economics in Tokyo and wanted to organize some company with himself at the center and his own capital, but the father opposed it vehemently, calling it risky. Regarding sending the daughter to study in Tokyo, the son approved, but the father opposed, saying, "What use is so much study for a girl? It's better she marries quickly." Every time the daughter came home for vacation, the father would oppose once or twice, but in the end, the son always won. Last summer, the opposition grew so intense that the father refused to give the travel expenses to Tokyo. The daughter cried for two days, and the son and mother secretly raised the money without the father's knowledge. So the daughter left for Tokyo without even saying goodbye to her father. For several days afterward, the father was angry and barely spoke to the family, but soon he asked, "Hey, did you send this month's tuition? Give her some clothes money."
This time too, the father insisted on marrying off his daughter, while the son insisted on waiting until she graduated. They had argued two or three times. The father had taken a liking to his friend's son, a graduate of Gyeongseong Vocational School who now worked as a clerk in some court. Seeing that the man had lost his wife last year, the father saw a good opportunity and was determined to make him his son-in-law, but the son opposed. The man was originally from a wealthy family, had lived a somewhat dissolute life from sixteen or seventeen, and entered the vocational school motivated by a desire for an official position. Like many young men these days, he had no high ideals or great purpose; he considered wearing a gold-striped uniform and carrying a sword his sole pride, and he even took money from home every month—a few tens of won beyond his salary—to fool around with gisaeng several times a month. He was a somewhat arrogant, frivolous, vain young man. But the father, for reasons unknown, seemed to think this man was the only good person. The son, however, not only disliked him but held him in contempt. Thus, between father and son, there was hardly any agreement on anything. The father called the son stubborn, immature, and disobedient; the son called the father stubborn, ignorant, and unaware of how the world was changing. Yet the father knew his son was sincere and respected among friends, and the son knew his father was sincere and possessed gentle affection. So despite opposing each other on everything, there was a certain hidden harmony. The mother had no particular opinions but often sided with the son. Whenever that happened, the father would glance at the mother, and the mother would glance back at the father. But it was like children glaring at each other—it quickly resolved.
The next worry was the lack of affection between the son and his wife. In the ten-plus days since Yeongchae had arrived, she had never seen the couple speak to each other. They would glance at each other like passing strangers, then turn away or leave. Still, the wife washed and ironed her husband's clothes day and night. Since Yeongchae's arrival, every night the daughter-in-law, the daughter, and Yeongchae slept in the same room. The son seemed to sleep alone in the men's quarters. Yeongchae felt somewhat awkward and asked Byeong-uk if she should move to another room, but Byeong-uk laughed.
"Don't worry. My brother never comes in here."
"Why not?"
"I don't know. He wasn't like that before, but since he came back from Japan, he's been drifting away." She put her mouth to Yeongchae's ear. "That's why my sister-in-law cries to me." She sighed sympathetically. Yeongchae also felt sorry for the daughter-in-law. Why would anyone dislike such a gentle-faced, kind-hearted woman?
"What's he dissatisfied with?"
"I don't know. There doesn't seem to be anything to be dissatisfied about, but love just doesn't happen. When I asked my brother, he said he didn't know either—he just finds her unpleasant to look at. Maybe it's because my sister-in-law is older than my brother? It's really worrying." She shook her head. Yeongchae was surprised.
"Your sister-in-law is older?"
"By five years." Byeong-uk laughed. "When my sister-in-law first came as a bride, my brother was only twelve... My sister-in-law was seventeen. How could there be any affection? In a way, my sister-in-law raised my brother. And when he grew up, it turned out..." She chuckled. "My brother is actually very affectionate and kind-hearted, but love doesn't seem to follow one's will." The two girls felt boundless sympathy for the couple. Yeongchae said,
"What can be done then? How can they live like this forever?"
"They say most young couples these days are like that. It's a big problem. We need to solve it soon..." The two girls looked at each other.
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It was hard enough to bear the discord between father and son, but the lack of affection between husband and wife must be even more unbearable. Though it was none of her concern, having lived together for even just ten days, Yeongchae felt worried. She thought that if possible, she wanted to bring the couple closer. To Yeongchae, both the wife and the husband seemed lovable. The more she associated with the wife, the more she liked her, and now she genuinely wanted to call her "sister-in-law." A feeling similar to the affection she had once felt for Wolhwa welled up. Of course, it lacked the respect and reliance she had for Wolhwa, but it was filled with deep affection and pity. So she stayed by the wife's side as much as possible, keeping her company and comforting her whenever she could. The wife, now close to Yeongchae, talked about many things on her mind. Byeong-uk was affectionate but somewhat stiff, while Yeongchae was both affectionate and soft. So the wife considered talking with Yeongchae her only pleasure. In some ways, she found Yeongchae even more endearing and lovable than her sister-in-law. She would grasp Yeongchae's hand tightly and say, "Oh, what can I do?"
But what tormented Yeongchae more was her own thoughts. For some reason, she felt a kind of fondness for the wife's husband. At first, she thought it was because he was her friend's brother, but gradually, his image came to mind more intensely. Whenever she caught a glimpse of him, her heart would suddenly pound and her face would flush. In Yeongchae's eyes, he seemed to look at her with affectionate eyes too. No matter how hard she tried to suppress it, she couldn't control her own heart. Even lying down to sleep, his slightly broad face appeared before her eyes, and she couldn't sleep at all. Whenever that happened, she would hug the wife lying beside her, and the wife would hug her back. Yeongchae felt sorry and guilty toward the wife. She thought she should leave this house soon, yet she also couldn't bear to leave. So a new suffering arose within Yeongchae. Lately, she often sat in a daze, lost in thought, and would startle when someone asked, "Why are you sitting there so blankly?"
From then on, Yeongchae gradually began to yearn for a man. She had lived in loneliness and solitude before, but now a different kind of solitude—stronger and more pressing—weighed on her chest. Previously, it was the solitude of being alone in the vast world; now, it felt like her body was only half-complete. Only when she had the other half would she become whole. Her heart would throb and her face would grow hot for no reason. She felt tired, as if drunk. She wanted to lean on something, to be held by someone.
Sitting quietly, Yeongchae thought of the many men she had encountered until now. The man who had grabbed her wrist, the man who had put his arm around her waist, the man who had forced his cheek against hers, the man who had seduced her with lecherous eyes and threatened her with arrogant words. Even those men, whom she had once hated and resented, now gave her an indescribably warm sensation. The memory of a man's skin touching hers tingled anew. How wonderful it would be if there were a man by her side now. Whoever it was—if he asked for her hand, she would give it; if he wanted to hold her, she would let herself be held.
Yeongchae thought of Shin Woo-seon and Lee Hyeong-sik. Among the men she had known over the years, Shin Woo-seon had been the one who most captured her heart. He had a good build, a cheerful spirit, and an inexplicable charm. One evening, when the two sat facing each other and Shin Woo-seon tried to soothe her, Yeongchae's heart was not unmoved. She had wanted to press her forehead to his chest and say, "Take me in." But at that time, she believed she had completely given her body and soul to Hyeong-sik, so she gritted her teeth and suppressed it. Indeed, during that period, even the mere thought of another man felt like a great sin, and she would pinch her own flesh to suppress it. Thus, until now, Yeongchae had not been an independent person but merely a mold of some moral law. Like a silkworm weaving a cocoon and lying inside it, Yeongchae had built a house called chastity—something she herself did not understand—and considered it her world. Then this incident shattered that house, and Yeongchae finally emerged into the wide world. Moreover, meeting Byeong-uk on the train, she realized that the world she had believed to be her only world was actually a worthless illusion, and that there was a free, joyful, vast world in life. At last, Yeongchae became a free person, a young person, a young and beautiful woman. Now, for the first time, human blood began to boil in Yeongchae's heart, and human passion began to burn. She thought of how her heart had completely changed. It was as if she had lived in a dark, narrow prison since birth and had just come out into a world of sunlight, wind, flowers, and birds singing. Yeongchae played the geomungo and played the violin. But all the sounds carried a new light. And tears—mingling joy and sorrow—welled up in Yeongchae's eyes.
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Hyeong-sik spent his days blissfully, as if in a dream. Every day he taught Seon-hyeong English, and after the lesson, they talked about various things. Seon-hyeong, now more familiar, occasionally made shy jokes. But Sunae still neither smiled nor spoke much. When Hyeong-sik was enjoying a lively conversation with Seon-hyeong, he would suddenly stop, glance at Sunae sitting silently, and then look away apologetically. Sunae did not try to avoid his gaze; whether he looked at her or not, she sat staring at the same spot as before. When that happened, Hyeong-sik's enthusiasm would fade, and he would sit quietly, while Seon-hyeong just flipped through book pages noisily. Sometimes Sunae would get up first and go outside, and Hyeong-sik and Seon-hyeong would silently watch her retreating figure. Her back seemed slightly hunched, and there was a sorrowful air about her. Then the two would look at each other and smile. Even as they smiled, neither understood what the other meant.