"Tell me about what happened after we parted," she said.
"I stayed another two or three days after you left, Seonsaeng-nim, then I went to my maternal grandparents' house," she began her story.
By then, both grandparents had already died. Her maternal uncle had died even before them. Only her aunt, two older cousins, and their children remained. With her own mother gone, and the grandparents who had doted on her also dead, who would treat her warmly at her mother's family home? Especially since family ties depended on wealth. When her family had money and influence, even distant relatives would visit with pretended affection, and if a mere child from their house came, they'd receive her like an honored guest. But once her family grew poor and lost its standing, even relatives who used to visit gradually stopped coming. And when she went to them, they'd knit their brows as if to say, "What has she come to beg for now?"
"My aunt was kind to me—she'd comb my hair, give me food—but Eldest Brother's Wife was vicious. She'd curse and beat me at the slightest excuse. That alone I might have endured, but even the children, following their mother's example, looked down on me. When there was a treat, they'd eat it among themselves without even offering me a taste. Worst of all was the thirteen-year-old Young Master—my cousin's son—who constantly called me 'this bitch' and 'that bitch' for no reason. Even as a child, I thought, 'But I'm his aunt!'" She laughed. "It infuriated me. I'd brought three or four changes of clothes from home, but between drawing water and stoking the fire day and night, they all got filthy. And with no one to wash them, I did it myself—starched and ironed them with my own hands. My biggest worry was wearing the same clothes too long; lice bred in them and the itching was unbearable. But I couldn't scratch freely in front of others. When it became too much, I'd go to the backyard, somewhere no one could see, and scratch to my heart's content, sometimes even picking off the lice. Until one day Eldest Brother's Wife caught me and scolded me soundly. I heard her say, 'The children will get lice. Go sleep in that corner of the shed.' Even when there was meat or rice cakes for ancestral rites or holidays, they'd give me just a tiny piece—something nobody else would eat—and then accuse me of doing nothing but eating without working. Once, a pair of silver rings stored in a chest went missing. I thought, 'I'm doomed again,' and sat in the kitchen. Sure enough, Eldest Brother's Wife stormed in, furious, and began jabbing and beating me with a fire poker, demanding I produce the rings. By then I was so incensed I talked back a little. 'You thieving bitch, if you didn't steal them, who did?' she shouted, hitting me. Whenever she called me a thief's woman—because my father had been arrested as a thief—that cut deeper than anything."
"What terrible thing is this? Is there such a vicious woman in the world?" The old woman clicked her tongue in disgust as she listened. Hyung-sik sat silently, listening without a word.
Yeongchae sighed deeply and continued.
"While I was being beaten and battered like that, a woman from a neighboring house came in. 'That whore at the tavern is wearing a huge pair of silver rings,' she said. 'I asked where she got them, and she said the Young Master from the tiled-roof house gave them to her. Seems he's been visiting her a lot lately.' So I was cleared of the false accusation. But then a huge fight broke out between Eldest Brother's Wife and that woman. 'You bitch, a married woman seducing a young boy, sleeping with him, and you made him bring you those rings!' 'You should teach your own son instead of blaming others!' The two of them went at each other like that."
"They don't know how to raise children, just marry them off early and let them pick up bad habits," Hyung-sik said with a sigh.
"So that's why Mr. Lee never married?"
Yeongchae was startled by the old woman's remark about Hyung-sik not marrying young, and she looked at him. She wanted to know the reason he hadn't married. Could it have something to do with her? She recalled how her father had once joked, "Would you like to be Hyung-sik's wife?" Even as a child, she'd thought Hyung-sik was a truly good person, and among all the men who visited her father's house, she'd felt especially drawn to him. In the seven or eight years since, like a willow leaf adrift on the Han River, she'd experienced every joy and sorrow, drifted to the ends of the earth—yet she'd never once forgotten Hyung-sik. As she grew older, his face appeared more warmly in her heart each time. She'd spent nights crying, thinking of him, wondering where he was, whether he was alive or dead. Having been sold into the gisaeng life six or seven years ago, she'd received many proposals from men, but she'd never once surrendered her body. Partly that was due to the examples of virtuous women she'd studied in the Lessons for Women when young, but the main reason was that Hyung-sik still lived in her heart. As she grew, she came to believe her father's words—"You must become Hyung-sik's wife"—were not just a passing joke but a sincere wish for the future. She resolved never to defy her father's will, even if her body turned to dust. But was Hyung-sik alive or dead? Even if alive, he must have married and had children by now. She'd despaired alone, yet she'd firmly decided: even so, she would devote her life to Hyung-sik and look at no other man. Now, meeting Hyung-sik by chance brought her joy, but she had resolved to remain alone forever. When she heard he still hadn't married, she was both surprised and delighted. But then she reconsidered: Hyung-sik worked in education now, where conduct and reputation were everything. If he took a gisaeng as his wife, what would society think? A new despair crept in.
As for Hyung-sik, studying in Tokyo had left him no time to marry, though he'd had opportunities. But his excuse—focusing on his studies—masked a deeper reason: Yeongchae occupied his heart. Park Jinsa had never spoken directly to him about it, but Hyung-sik had noticed how the old scholar favored him, and from what others said, he gathered Park Jinsa intended to make him a son-in-law. When Hyung-sik left Park Jinsa's house, he'd held Yeongchae's hand and said, "I'll never see you again"—words born of profound sorrow. But afterward, he had no way to hear news of her. By now she was of marriageable age, surely someone's wife, perhaps even a mother. Yet he couldn't bring himself to marry for his own sake, betraying his teacher's wishes. He kept waiting, hoping somehow to hear word of Yeongchae. Then today, by chance, he met her. Seeing her as a gisaeng, he assumed she must have given herself to many men. That she could never be his wife pained him less than the bitter injustice that his benefactor's flesh and blood—who had struggled for the world—had fallen so low. That was why he'd wept so sorrowfully earlier. And why he wanted to hear her story—hoping that perhaps she'd never become a gisaeng, or if she had, that like the virtuous women of old, she'd preserved her chastity like the pine and bamboo. Now, both Hyung-sik and Yeongchae longed to know each other's true feelings.
"So, what happened next?"
"I didn't eat all day, just cried. After much thought, I realized I couldn't stay in that house any longer. A sudden urge to run away seized me. But where could a thirteen-year-old girl go? I'd heard of my aunt's house in Yeongbyeon, but I didn't know where it was, and since my aunt had already passed away, it would be no different from my maternal home. I'd heard my father and two older brothers were in Pyongyang. I decided to go find them there instead. Even if they were in prison, wouldn't a child naturally stay with them? So I resolved to flee that very night. I ate a big dinner, waited for the household to fall asleep, and prepared to set out for Pyongyang."
"I slept with my aunt. She was old, and I could only hear her tossing and turning, waiting forever for her to fall asleep. Eventually, unable to wait any longer, I pretended to go to the outhouse, got up, and dressed. My aunt grew suspicious. 'Why are you putting on clothes?' she asked. I said I was going to relieve myself and hurried out the door. I knew I couldn't escape alone in girl's clothes, so I decided to steal my cousin's clothes. I really did become a thief." She laughed. "I remembered he'd ironed his clothes and left them on the veranda that evening. So I crept out there, took off my own clothes, and put on his. It was the thirteenth of the eighth month—the moon was bright as day, and a cool night breeze blew. I slipped out the gate, terrified. I had no idea whether Pyongyang was east or west. I didn't have a single coin. How would I get there? Thinking of my parents and my own situation, tears flowed. But I was certain I couldn't stay in that house another moment, so I trudged forward on the road ahead. The dog that had been sleeping by the gate stood up and looked at me, then wagged its tail and followed. After I'd gone a ways, I sat down heavily under a big jujube tree by the roadside. I cried for a long time, then hugged the dog standing beside me. 'I'm going far away,' I told it. 'I might never see you again. You've been my companion for a year. But I'm leaving you and going far away. If anyone at home asks where I've gone, tell them I went to Pyongyang to find my father.' I got up again and walked on. The dog seemed to understand. It grabbed my clothes with its teeth, whining, trying to pull me back home. 'No, I can't go back. You go,' I said, tapping its head. But it wouldn't let go and kept following. I thought, 'Maybe on this lonely night road I could use a companion,' so I didn't chase it away."
"Look at that—a dog better than a person," the old woman said, wiping her tears. Yeongchae smiled instead.
"But first I needed to know the way, didn't I? The previous spring, I'd gone out to pick wild herbs and seen a wide road. I'd heard that going west on that road led to Uiju and the Great Kingdom, and going east led to Pyongyang and even Seoul. So I headed that way as fast as I could. Every time I passed a village, dogs barked. Their barking was both welcoming and frightening. But the dog following me didn't bark—it just quietly lowered its head and followed.
After walking a while, I heard roosters crowing in a village, and ahead I saw a pale road. 'That's it!' I sprinted toward the main road. Once on it, I looked around for a while, figuring that the side where the moon set must be west. I turned my back to the moon and walked endlessly.
The next day, I went without breakfast, walked until noon, hungry and with aching legs. I entered a village by the roadside. Every house echoed with the sound of pounding rice cakes, and children, wearing new clothes, ran around in groups. I went into the sarangbang of the biggest house. Several adults were gathered there, drinking, laughing, and talking. When I said I was a traveler's child, hungry, and had come in, they brought me a bowl of rice cakes. I was so hungry I gulped down three or four in one go. Then one of the adults—a man with a thick beard and a rough face—came over, stroked my head, and said, 'Whose child is this? So well-behaved.' He asked my name, where I lived, my father's name, and my age. I made up a story about being Kim So-and-so from Sukcheon, on my way back from my maternal home in Anju. Whether it was my complexion or my answers that seemed suspicious, all the adults stopped talking and stared at me. My heart pounded, my face burned hot. I couldn't even finish the rice cakes. I stood up, bowed, and ran out the door.
Outside, a group of mischievous children had gathered. 'Hey, where are you from? Where are you going?' they pestered me. 'I'm from Sukcheon. Coming back from my maternal home in Anju,' I said, lowering my head and running off. The kids chased after me, demanding, 'When someone asks you a question, why do you run?' I knew I was young and my legs ached from walking all night, so I couldn't outrun them. I stopped dead. They surrounded me. The biggest one came up, put his arm around my neck, breathed his stinking breath on me, and fired question after question. When I answered, he'd ask more. The other kids laughed, pinched me, poked me. No matter how much I begged, they wouldn't let me go. After being tormented for a long time, I burst into loud wails. Just then, a loud cough came from the road, and a man who looked like a village schoolteacher—wearing a tilted jeongjagat and swinging a long pipe—approached. 'You rascals, what are you doing?' he barked. The children scattered in all directions. I ran too, forgetting my aching legs. Behind me, I could hear the kids cursing and shouting, but I didn't look back. Once on the main road, my dog appeared from somewhere and followed me again. Some kid must have hit it with a stone; there was a little blood on its ear. I cried, blew on its wound, and then trudged on, heading east.
My body was utterly exhausted and the sun had set. Just remembering the earlier ordeal made me shudder. I didn't dare enter another village. But I couldn't sleep out in the open on an empty stomach. Hesitating, I finally stopped at a roadside inn. Just thinking about the suffering that night still makes me tremble." She twisted her hands and sighed.
"Without a single coin?" the old woman asked worriedly.
"If I'd had money, I wouldn't have suffered so much," Yeongchae continued. "When I entered the inn, there were already six or seven guests. The innkeeper, sitting at the warmest spot, saw me and said, 'What child are you?' I said I was a traveler, and since it was getting dark, I wanted to stay the night and move on. He said, 'Then you'll need dinner. But I have no money to buy food, so please just let me sleep and go.' The innkeeper replied, 'If that's the case, go into the sarangbang of some house in that Andong village over there. We have many guests here and no room for you.' Then one of the guests—a very dignified-looking man with short hair—said to the innkeeper, 'Where will a little girl go now? I'll pay for her meal. Give her dinner, breakfast tomorrow morning, and let her sleep here.' I felt so grateful I wanted to bow down and call him 'Uncle.' After dinner, I listened to the guests talk, and at some point, I fell asleep on the upper floor.
I had a terrifying dream about being captured by a thief. When I woke up, I heard the guests in the room arguing about something. One said, 'No, it's a boy.' Another said, 'How can that be? That face, that voice—definitely a girl.' Then a third said, 'Is there any reason a little girl would be traveling alone in men's clothes?' They were clearly talking about me. 'Oh no, what do I do?' I trembled, lying still. They argued for a while, then one of them said, 'Why argue? Let's just see and find out,' and came toward me. I was petrified, pressed against the wall. But what could I do against a strong adult? Eventually, my true identity was exposed. I was unbearably ashamed, unbearably lonely, unbearably angry—and I burst into helpless sobs."
"What terrible thing! Those rotten men must have stayed up all night arguing instead of sleeping," the old woman said indignantly.
"I cried for a long time. Then the man who had examined me said, 'All right, everyone, by our bet, I take this girl,' and patted my back. I begged him earnestly, explaining that I was on my way to Pyongyang to find my father. He answered, 'You can find your father next month. First, let's go to my house,' and put his arm under mine, lifting me to sit up and urging me to leave right away. I looked at the other people's faces—hoping someone might help me."
"Where was the man who offered to pay for your meal?" Hyung-sik asked, clenching his fist.
"Well, listen to this. The very man who was taking me was the same one who had paid for my meal. The others seemed afraid of him; they just smiled awkwardly and said nothing. I cried and begged, and when I couldn't beg anymore, I shouted at the top of my lungs, 'Help! Someone help!' My cries set the dogs barking outside, and among them I heard the bark of the dog that had followed me. Then the man tied a cloth tightly around my mouth, hoisted me onto his back by force, and carried me out. The people in the room didn't even look outside; they just closed the door." She paused briefly.