In the end, the Bosal devotees, unable to watch any longer, brought his breakfast to him themselves. Having done nothing worth praising — tripping over himself and slicing open his own shin — and now sitting in his room receiving a meal tray like some nobleman, Nunbi was so mortified he didn’t know what to do with himself. It hadn’t even been half a day since he’d snapped at the annex guest to come down and eat at a proper time so no one would have to deliver food, and now, after all that bluster, the situation was entirely reversed. He couldn’t have been more embarrassed.
“Um, excuse me —”
Nunbi caught the Bosal devotee as she was about to leave after setting down the tray, hesitated for a moment, and finally managed to speak.
“I was just wondering — did the annex guest come out for the meal?”
He’d been the one to tell the guest to come and eat, and now here he was receiving his meal in his room — it was awkward enough that he felt he had to check. But the moment the word “guest” left Nunbi’s lips, the Bosal devotee’s expression shifted into something odd. Nunbi tilted his head to himself.
“Yes, he came, he did come.”
That didn’t sound good. The vague answer told him something had gone wrong. Was he worried the guest had made another scene at the table? His chest tightened with unease — but the Bosal devotee just gave an ambiguous little cough and an unclear smile before leaving the room.
Nunbi sat with chopsticks in hand, brooding absently as he poked at his barley rice without any real grace. An edgeless anxiety crept in. Surely he hadn’t gone and said something about temple food being unlucky right to the head monk’s face. But if not that, what kind of trouble could he even cause…. The head monk had little patience for people who didn’t appreciate food, so even if the guest found the meal lacking, staying quiet would be the wiser choice.
“Huh?”
That thought brought Nunbi up short. He sat still for a moment, chopsticks raised uselessly in the air, then set them down with a small clatter.
“Why do you even care. Whether he keeps quiet or not.”
Right. Nunbi had apparently developed some sort of sense of responsibility toward the guest. Was it because he’d found out the guest was Assemblyman Go’s son — was that what made him so calculating about it? Having spent so long at the temple, Nunbi knew well enough how to conduct himself in all sorts of situations. No matter how shameless the guest might be, he was going to be staying here for a while, and getting on the wrong side of the monks wouldn’t do him any good — so Nunbi had been thinking, without even realizing it, that he ought to look out for the guest in various ways. And all of that had been going on below the surface.
“No, but why would I —”
It wasn’t that Nunbi disliked the guest. But there was no particular reason for him to go out of his way for him either. So long as no trouble was caused, that was enough. And honestly, even with a face that handsome, there was something about him that felt off in a way Nunbi couldn’t quite shake. No matter how he thought about it, getting kicked by someone’s shoe and smiling through it was not something a person in their right mind would do. And on top of that, the cigarette smell was really something…. Nunbi scooped a big spoonful of barley rice into his mouth. Then he picked up a piece of fried aralia from the arranged dishes on the tray, dipped it in soy sauce, and took a large bite.
“What’s wrong with temple food….”
It’s completely delicious. He figured the young master from a wealthy Seoul family must just be particular, he thought. Still, he couldn’t help but wonder — what did it even mean to say the food was “unlucky” rather than just “not good”? His appetite wasn’t really there, but Nunbi deliberately scraped his bowl clean. He’d have to eat well if he wanted to heal quickly.
—
The wound was larger and deeper than he’d thought. Nunbi had assumed it would be fine, but when he woke the next morning, the state of his shin was about the same as the day before. The bleeding had stopped, but the torn and weeping area was still raw and open, red and exposed. No scab had formed. When Seongyeon stopped by that morning, he peeled back the cotton dressing and looked it over, then said that if there was still no scab by the third day, they’d have to go into town and get it stitched up at a hospital. Nunbi, who had been about to confidently declare that something like this would heal with a lick of saliva, couldn’t make a peep.
“Rest again today.”
“But —”
Going outside the room was off-limits today as well. The Bosal devotees teasing him at length about leaving a chamber pot in the room for him was just an added bonus. By all rights, being given free rein to laze around in his room all day should have been something to look forward to, but Nunbi didn’t feel good about it at all. He had a perfectly valid excuse to play the idle layabout, and yet the idea held absolutely no appeal — if anything, a nagging little ache poked at him from somewhere inside, the feeling that he was doing nothing but eating and taking up space. But Seongyeon seemed to see right through all of that, and added one more thing.
“If you want to properly help the Bosal devotees, you can’t be getting hurt like this.”
That, too, was right, so the boy closed his mouth. He’d spent his whole life from the age of five or six helping with kitchen chores, and he’d gotten so good at it that even in that cramped little kitchen, he never got in the Bosal devotees’ way — present without being a presence. But hobbling on two bad legs like now was a different story. Still, being stuck inside for as many as two full days left him feeling thoroughly drained.
It was a Saturday morning in early summer, and the sun was high and bright. Today there was no rain, and the weather was fine. Deep in the mountains, the weather could turn without warning and a downpour might still come crashing down without notice — but after a long stretch of grey days, spending a clear, cool, pleasantly shaded morning as an invalid felt like a waste. And the young monk, who would ordinarily have snuck over long before now, hadn’t made a single appearance — which almost certainly meant Seongyeon had given him a word of warning and had him tied to the main hall. He’d be stuck sitting through sutra lessons without being able to budge, and the moment his feet were free again, he’d make Nunbi’s life difficult for days in revenge. Nunbi’s arms would probably fall off from all the pampering he’d have to give him….
“Goodness.”
Still, things were less dull when the young monk was around. He was supposed to sweep all day and change the water in the stone basins, and then, before it got too hot, head down to the valley for a swim. And the weather was even this nice. Picking wild berries and taking a nap afterward — that would be just right.
Once the Saturday dharma service began, Nunbi had nothing to do. Mealtime and cleanup were long past, so the Bosal devotees would have gone off to rest as well. The temple was still and quiet. Nunbi listened to the mountain birds for a while, then casually pushed open the window. The fish-shaped bell at the edge of the eave swayed lazily in the breeze. The trees had gone dense and green since the season turned, and it was a pleasure to look at. Wherever he glanced, it was a crisp summer day.
He’d been resting his chin on the windowsill for a while when he sat up and shot a sidelong glance in the direction of the main hall. He had a sudden thought — even if he couldn’t go to the kitchen and help with the work, wouldn’t it be nice to at least go and gather some ingredients? His leg still hurt a little, but he could move around much better than yesterday, and Nunbi had always been the type to heal fast from small injuries since he was young — bouncing back like nothing had happened.
In the end, Nunbi’s restlessness won out, and he resolved to do something he’d get scolded for later if caught. Sitting in his room idling the hours away was worse for his mental health than taking a short walk through the woods for some fresh air…. Seongyeon was at the dharma service…. So if he went quickly and came back, there’d be nothing to get caught for.
And so, a little while later, Nunbi slipped quietly out of his room and took the narrow mountain path into the forest. Sure enough — today, with the sun out in full force, the muddy trail had dried soft and powdery, and walking wasn’t difficult at all. His pace was a little slower than usual, but the boy moved through the shade of the dense trees, stepping through the scattered patches of sunlight that glittered like broken pieces between the leaves. The cicadas had started up in full force, signaling that the days would soon grow properly hot.
Listening to the uproar of the cicadas and mulling over where to go, Nunbi quickly made up his mind to head back the way he’d gone the day before. No matter how he thought about it, the water parsley by the waterfall felt like too much of a waste. Leave it for a day or two and it would wilt beyond use and have to be thrown away, so he had to go get it quickly. And this time — this time he’d show the young master from the annex the true taste of temple food. Nobody could possibly dislike fragrant, in-season water parsley tossed in nutty sesame oil.
“Oh, right — the basket!”
Of all things, Nunbi thought, and let out a groan. He’d gone and forgotten the basket again like an idiot. He stood there pressing his hand to his forehead for a moment, then came to the inevitable conclusion: nothing to be done about it. Today’s shirt was going to get stained with plant dye too, but that was fine. Nunbi walked on with determined steps and turned toward the waterfall path — and was just about to take one more step forward.
“Hey.”
Right at that moment, someone called out to him from behind.
“—!”
In that instant, Nunbi knew exactly who it was. He knew before he even turned around. Before the boy had any chance to compose his expression, his eyes went wide and he spun around.
“Where are you going, alone?”
A bright face asked the question unhurriedly. There stood the annex guest, grinning softly in the sunlight.
“Oh, um….”
Nunbi was so caught off guard that he stumbled over his own words without thinking. Strange. Was it because the guest was standing in an unusually bright patch of light outside the shade? Or was it just the nice weather? He looked well. The bruising that had mottled his face before had faded completely in the time since, leaving his skin smooth and clear, and his hair — freshly washed by the look of it — was still damp, pushed back casually up off his forehead. The guest stood there with a white short-sleeved shirt on, watching him quietly, and Nunbi felt a peculiar unsettledness stir in his chest.
“….”
“….”
For a moment their gazes held. The fresh morning air carried something like the scent of soap. It was probably drifting from the guest. The distance between them was not so small, and yet the scent reached him clearly, right at the tip of his nose. Nunbi had an inexplicable urge to run. But there was no reason to, so he held himself still.
“It’s just —”
His fingers, gone cold and stiff for no reason he could name, tightened around the fabric of his trousers. The last time they’d seen each other had ended in embarrassment, but as he’d resolved afterward, Nunbi didn’t want to cause another problem with the guest. And if this really was Assemblyman Go’s son, then he had all the more reason not to.
“Going to pick greens.”
Strange. He wasn’t frightened, he wasn’t repulsed, and yet it felt like something was stuck in his throat. Nunbi cleared it with a small sound and answered properly a second time — going to pick greens, clearly and directly. The guest just looked at him quietly. Then his gaze dropped down to Nunbi’s knee and shin, layered with cotton dressing held in place by paper tape.
