Hyung-sik seemed to have cut all ties with the world. He'd resigned from the school. His students no longer came to visit. The few friends he'd once had stopped coming around too. Even Useon had disappeared, caught up in some busy affair of his own. From the moment he woke until he slept, Hyung-sik thought only of Seon-hyeong and America. Yet he felt no loneliness at all. On the contrary, he was happier than he'd ever been. All his hopes lay with Seon-hyeong and America. People gossiped about him visiting a gisaeng house. They slandered him, saying he was marrying for money. But to Hyung-sik, it was all laughable. Even if the whole world despised and mocked him, as long as Seon-hyeong alone loved and praised him, that was enough. And the day he returned from America, everyone would look up to him with respect.
A man without hope for the future clings to the present as if it were precious. But for Hyung-sik, who held grand hopes for the future, the present was worthless. His time teaching at Gyeongseong School, his fondness for the students, the sense of meaning he'd once found in his life and work — it all seemed ridiculous now. The person he'd been before struck him as utterly worthless, a paltry creature. His past life had been only a temporary arrangement. This, now — this was his real life. In Hyung-sik's mind, nothing but happiness lay ahead. No misfortune seemed possible. His body felt as though it had risen above this troubled, chaotic world of dust, standing thousands of feet high. The people he passed on the streets now looked like pitiful creatures of a different species from himself. His elderly landlady, whom he'd once considered a friend, now seemed pathetically wretched — as if she'd suddenly aged and shriveled before his eyes.
But for the luckless Hyung-sik, another worry soon arose.
Someone had told Elder Kim that Hyung-sik's conduct was improper. One day, Elder Kim, his expression dark with displeasure, said to his wife:
"Is there anyone in this world you can trust?"
"Why do you say that?"
"They say Hyung-sik has been frequenting a gisaeng house."
The wife felt a pang of pain hearing this — after all, she had once been a gisaeng herself. But now she was a respectable lady, and it would not do to show such discomfort. She feigned shock.
"What are you talking about?"
"From what I hear, Hyung-sik was infatuated with some gisaeng named Gyewolhyang from Dabanggol. He went there every night, buried himself in that place. Then there was some quarrel over the woman at a Buddhist hermitage in Tapgol — he kicked and beat someone, caused a real scandal. That's not all. When Gyewolhyang tired of him and fled to Pyongyang, Hyung-sik followed her." He sighed. "I asked if it could possibly be true, but they knew the exact dates. They even had solid proof." He shook his head. "My child, I was too hasty."
The wife listened, startled again and again.
"Oh, who told you this?" she asked. The thought that she might have given her beloved daughter to such a man pained her deeply. But looking at Hyung-sik's appearance and the way he spoke, it seemed unlikely.
"Someone must be slandering Hyung-sik," she said.
"Hmph, at first I thought so too. But the more I looked into it, the more certain it seemed. The dates when Hyung-sik supposedly went to Pyongyang match exactly the two days he didn't come to our house. And they say even Gyeongseong School threw him out."
"Oh, dear!"
Just then, Seon-hyeong entered, and they cut the conversation short. But she had heard the gist of it. After that, Elder Kim and his wife never spoke of it again, but an unspoken worry gnawed at their hearts. Seon-hyeong, too, felt strangely displeased by what she'd overheard. When she saw Hyung-sik, she didn't feel like smiling. Instead, a kind of resentment stirred in her. Affection still lingered, but now it mingled with dislike and suspicion. Pain welled up in Seon-hyeong's chest. Hyung-sik, unaware of all this, continued on cheerfully as before. But Elder Kim's family gradually grew quieter, laughed less, and when they dealt with Hyung-sik, there was an undercurrent of displeasure, contempt, and irritation. Eventually, Hyung-sik began to notice the change. Sunae's sorrowful eyes quietly watched everyone's expressions.
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In Seon-hyeong's eyes, Hyung-sik had never been fit to be her match. Her ideal husband was this: a round face with fair, rosy skin; lively, sparkling eyes; a smooth, cheerful voice; a tall, slender figure from every angle; soft, delicate hands; talent and ability; a university graduate... Someone like that. And such a man, in principle, was hard to find outside a wealthy, noble family. At first, she'd hoped for the son of a pastor or an elder. But gradually, she'd come to realize that pastors and elders weren't such prestigious positions. So she'd decided her ideal husband must be studying abroad in America.
When she first saw Hyung-sik, she'd felt a flicker of the joy a maiden feels upon first meeting a man. But she'd never once considered him as her match. Hyung-sik belonged to a class several notches below her, she thought. First, his face didn't match her ideal. It was long and narrow, with prominent cheekbones, slightly hollow cheeks, and drooping eye corners. On his forehead, three or four deep wrinkles bore the traces of long hardship. His hands were too large, his fingers misshapen... He wasn't unattractive, exactly, but he was worlds apart from the man she'd pictured. His bearing betrayed an inescapable air of poverty, a somber quality as if he couldn't fully open his heart. His background and position as a teacher at Gyeongseong School struck Seon-hyeong as terribly shabby. She'd never felt particularly fond of him, much less loved him. If she'd felt any goodwill toward him at all, it was likely pity. And indeed, Hyung-sik looked pitiful in Seon-hyeong's eyes. During the hours she spent learning English and listening to him speak, she'd glimpsed some hidden dignity and strength in him. But to a girl of seventeen or eighteen, that didn't matter much. So she'd once thought, "I wish Hyung-sik and Sunae would become a couple."
Then she'd heard she was to be engaged to him herself. She was both startled and disappointed. She felt resentful toward her father for choosing a man like Hyung-sik as her partner. It displeased her. Her ideals shattered. Her status seemed to plummet overnight. But Seon-hyeong knew she couldn't defy her parents. With one word from her father, her life was decided.
So she tried to focus only on Hyung-sik's good points. She mentally corrected his face in various ways. She lifted the corners of his eyes a little, trimmed down his cheekbones, made his hands smaller, pushed out his receding chin to make his face rounder, added flesh to his cheeks and forehead, and painted it a rosy hue... As she made these corrections, Hyung-sik's face gradually came closer to what she wanted. But sometimes the cheekbones she was trying to push in would jut out even more, or the cheeks she was trying to fill would hollow further. His eyes would narrow to slits or bulge like a cow's. When that happened, she'd get angry, stomp Hyung-sik's face flat with her mental foot, sit quietly with her eyes closed, then start remaking his face all over again, still not satisfied. Sometimes it would work perfectly, and she'd gaze at her creation, pleased. Then the real Hyung-sik would walk in with a cheerful expression and ruin the face she'd worked so hard to build. While studying, she'd occasionally look up at Hyung-sik and try to superimpose her handmade mask onto his face. But the mask wouldn't stick. While Hyung-sik poured all his devotion into teaching English to his beloved future wife, Seon-hyeong diligently corrected his face. Sunae sat beside them, watching first Hyung-sik, then Seon-hyeong, trying to read their thoughts.
Eventually, Seon-hyeong stopped correcting Hyung-sik's face. She realized the task was hopeless. Instead, she tried to make herself grow fond of his face as it was. Until now, she'd tried to change his face to suit her heart. Now she tried to change her heart to suit his face. She forced herself to think, "His face is handsome." She tried telling herself, "His protruding cheekbones and drooping eye corners are actually endearing." She told herself, "His large hands and long fingers are actually manly." Sometimes it worked. Sometimes he looked even uglier.
But as time passed — as they spent more time together, as she heard more of his stories and their thoughts began to connect — Seon-hyeong gradually grew fond of Hyung-sik. She came to think his lips were beautiful. She came to think he was a very warm, kind-hearted person. When she lay in bed, she would sketch his image, make her corrections. His lips, which pleased her most, she would draw and gaze at quietly, smiling to herself. "This alone is good enough," she'd say. Seon-hyeong loved Hyung-sik's lips. At times, his entire face seemed to become nothing but lips.
🙝 🙟
Hyung-sik didn't think his appearance could capture Seon-hyeong's heart. After the engagement, he would stand before the mirror alone, examining his face, guessing which features she might like, which she might dislike. He would correct his face the way he'd seen her do. But he didn't know that was the face she'd trampled underfoot. Instead, he trusted in his character and his knowledge. He believed the power of his character could win Seon-hyeong's heart. Seon-hyeong was still a child. She couldn't be his intellectual companion. She hadn't yet reached the level where she could appreciate his character. This was painful. Why don't I have the appearance and bearing to attract a woman? Why don't I have the wealth, status, and reputation that the world envies? he wondered. The things he'd once laughed at and dismissed — appearance, wealth, status — now seemed desperately desirable. So he would imagine himself as the son of a wealthy, noble family, imagine himself as a glamorous, handsome youth, and then place Seon-hyeong before this imaginary self. After such fantasies, his current reality seemed so shabby and insignificant that cold sweat trickled down his spine. Would Seon-hyeong love him? Or would she come to hate him, or pity him? These thoughts made him dread facing her again. Had he married above himself? She had money, status, and beauty. What did he have? The thought shamed him. And the idea of "studying in America on his in-laws' money" was even more humiliating. It felt like the whole world was laughing at his inadequacy.
The pride Hyung-sik once had — that no one in Joseon was as passionate as he, that there was no one with his character, learning, and talent, that he would lay the cornerstone of Joseon's civilization — had all vanished. Not completely vanished, but it no longer seemed so important to him. He had to win Seon-hyeong's love. That was his sole purpose. He might fail to win Seon-hyeong's love. That was his only sorrow. Even his plan to study in America had shifted from serving Joseon's civilization to serving one person's love: Seon-hyeong's. Before love, all pride and arrogance crumbled.
But Hyung-sik couldn't live without Seon-hyeong. If she cast him aside, he'd have nothing left to hope for in this world. If she abandoned him, he'd kill her and himself with a knife, he thought. Fortunately, Seon-hyeong wasn't the type to defy her father's orders. Nor was she the type to abandon him out of lovelessness. But to only barely make her submit to his love through the force of morality or law — that would be shameful. So he forced himself to believe: "No, Seon-hyeong loves me."
But he still couldn't be at ease. He thought of testing her love. First, he'd ask to hold her hand. Then he'd ask for a kiss. If she agreed, it meant she loved him. If she refused, it meant she didn't. He remembered what Useon had once told him — "Be manly, be bold." He resolved to do it today. But he never did.
Lately, Elder Kim and his wife seemed to have changed toward him. Seon-hyeong's attitude was the same, but there was a worry in her eyes. Hyung-sik had a general sense of what was going on, but he couldn't bring it up himself. He could only worry alone. Still, he'd done nothing wrong. Surely the misunderstanding would clear up eventually. So these days, he taught English and went straight home to read.
One day, a letter arrived for Hyung-sik. It was from Kim Byeong-guk of Hwangju. The letter read:
"As you know, there's no love between my wife and me. Lately, it's grown worse. It's not that my wife has any particular fault. Nor is it because my heart is dissolute. Lately, I've been stricken with a terrible, crushing loneliness — a sorrow my wife can never console. I am searching for something. Or rather, I am searching for someone. And that someone seems to be a woman of the opposite sex. If I cannot find that person, this loneliness will kill me. I try to force myself to love my wife. But the harder I try, the further we drift apart.
My sister has returned. Being with her is very pleasant. She understands my heart and comforts me in various ways. I tried to find in my sister the spiritual solace I couldn't obtain from my wife. And I did find it. But I discovered a new truth: a sister's love has limits. I can no longer be satisfied with my sister's love alone. I thought all I sought was spiritual comfort. But now I realize that was wrong. What I need is not a partial love — not merely spiritual, not merely physical — but the love of the whole person, spirit and flesh united.
Then a woman appeared before me. I am drawn to her irresistibly. I am now caught between duty and love, suffering as I've never suffered before."
It was a long letter.
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Hyung-sik was shocked by Byeong-guk's letter. Among the students studying abroad, Byeong-guk had been an extremely moral man. He didn't drink. He never went near women. He held especially firm views on the marriage relationship. Whenever someone complained of having no love for their spouse or raised the issue of divorce, Byeong-guk vehemently opposed it. Once a couple married, he believed, they had a duty to love each other until death. His view of marriage was deeply Christian. In those days, when theories of free love and divorce were rampant among students abroad, Byeong-guk was a powerful advocate for the sanctity of marriage. And now, that same Byeong-guk had written such words. Hyung-sik read the passage again: "I try with all my might to love my wife, but the harder I try, the further we drift apart." He thought of the line: "I am searching for something. It seems to be a woman. If I cannot obtain this, I feel I may die." And the line: "What I need is not a partial love — not merely spiritual, not merely physical — but the love of the whole person, spirit and flesh united." As he read, Byeong-guk's suffering appeared vividly before his eyes, and he felt boundless sympathy.
But then Hyung-sik thought of his own situation. Did Seon-hyeong truly love him? Was he receiving from her "the love of the whole person, not partial"? No matter how hard he tried to see it positively, her attitude toward him seemed cold. Was this engagement truly founded on love?
That evening, Seon-hyeong had answered, "Yes." But what did that "yes" mean? Did it mean "I love Hyung-sik"? Or did it mean "My parents have commanded it, so I obey"? Was her position toward him the same as Byeong-guk's wife's position toward her husband? The thought suddenly filled Hyung-sik with displeasure. If Seon-hyeong had answered that way only because she couldn't defy her parents, without truly loving him, then he was sacrificing the pitiful Seon-hyeong. She would spend her life in misery under a loveless husband. And he himself would never be happy either. Was it not against human decency to satisfy his own desires at the cost of another person's life? With this, Hyung-sik resolved to ask Seon-hyeong her true feelings.
The next day, Sunae happened to be lying down with a headache, giving Hyung-sik a rare chance to sit alone with Seon-hyeong. After he finished teaching English, Hyung-sik mustered all his courage.