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chapter 38
She had no way of knowing. Daom was the type who couldn’t even style her own hair properly and just tied it up in a lump.
“I’ll try.”
The mountain lord let out a deeper sigh this time.
“And when we’re late to the banquet, are you going to take responsibility?”
“I’ll do my best not to be late.”
“Your mouth sure is smooth.”
He clicked his tongue and looked at Daom through the mirror. Feeling oddly embarrassed, Daom avoided his gaze.
“Open the wardrobe.”
Daom carefully opened the double-door wardrobe.
There were far more hairpieces inside than she imagined. Simple styles he could wear normally, and ornate ones perfect for something like today’s trip to the main palace.
“Which one should I take out?”
“They all look the same, pick anything.”
To Daom, they definitely did not all look the same. She examined each one carefully—though not so carefully as to irritate him—and finally chose one.
It was a plain, patternless hairpiece of a proper size that wouldn’t overstep his topknot. But on the upper part, a ring of tiny ruby-red gems formed a neat circle.
“How about this one?”
The lord glanced at the hairpiece through the mirror and snorted.
“Looks just like you.”
She wasn’t entirely sure what he meant, but judging from his displeased expression, it was certainly not a compliment.
“Should I pick a different one?”
As Daom reached for another, he flicked his fingers. A sudden gust of wind slammed the wardrobe doors shut.
“Do I need to repeat myself? We don’t have time.”
He snatched the hairpiece right out of her hands.
“I’ll handle my hair. You go change your clothes.”
Daom had no intention of wearing the gift dress he’d received on her behalf. But she did need to change into something clean and tidy.
Her clothes were covered in dirt and dust from hauling the building materials, and the hem of her skirt was torn.
“Then, I’ll be right back.”
Daom went to the adjoining room and took out a fresh uniform. It was still a plain gray-white, but at least it was clean.
“I suppose I’ll have to wear a skirt, right?”
She couldn’t wear pants to a royal banquet. She took out a skirt that matched the top in color and began removing her dirty clothes.
“……”
Realizing the lord was seated in the next room made her feel strangely self-conscious. Only a sliding paper door separated them—if he were to suddenly open it, she’d be beyond embarrassed.
“Not that he would ever do that.”
No matter how harshly he teased or scolded his retainer, he would never do that.
“Still… he’s oddly calm today.”
His voice was calm. His actions were calm. It felt like standing in the eye of a storm, and Daom couldn’t relax.
She hurried and dressed, then braided her hair neatly as she always did.
“Are you done?”
His voice came through the door. Knowing he was already outside, Daom put on her shoes and stepped out.
“What is that?”
It was the first time since morning he openly scowled.
His face looked a little unfamiliar—his white hair slicked up neatly and finished with the hairpiece. Gone was the lazy, languid man she knew. In his place stood a sharply defined, imposing White Tiger deity.
“What do you mean?”
Daom, who had been unconsciously staring at him, snapped out of it.
“Your clothes.”
He jerked his chin toward the room she’d just come from.
“What about the clothes the eunuch brought earlier?”
“Oh, I’m not wearing those.”
Daom said it casually as she stepped down, wearing a lovely pair of shoes painted with blue violets on the toes.
“You won’t wear the clothes, but you’ll wear the shoes?”
“They’re the only shoes I have.”
Embarrassed, she looked away.
“I truly don’t understand you.”
The blue shoes were far too large for her. She couldn’t wear them—her feet just sat inside them like storage.
Panting from the short walk down the steps, she looked up at him.
“What is it you don’t understand?”
He looked her over from head to toe as if licking her with his eyes.
“Everything.”
Dissatisfied with everything he saw, he dragged a hand down his face.
“Even when I give you a chance…”
Daom didn’t understand him either.
“What chance?”
“Quiet. Sit.”
“Wh—!”
He didn’t even give her time to sit.
He stepped toward her, Daom instinctively stepped back, and her heel caught on the edge of the step. Because of the loose shoes, her body lurched wildly.
“I tell you to sit, and you nearly fall.”
With a gentle sweep of his hand, his divine power wrapped around her and set her neatly on the wooden floor.
“I give you chances, and you throw them away.”
…He said she was a retainer, yet she was still a woman.
He swallowed the last words deep into his gut and knelt on one knee.
“Mountain Lord!”
“Stop making such a fuss.”
He shoved both her ankles into one of his hands, and with the other, he raised his palm. A soft green divine energy drifted from his fingertips to the shoes.
“This kind of thing… works?”
“Be quiet. I’m concentrating.”
The shoes were shrinking. Only Daom, who shared his divine power, understood how delicate and precise his control had to be.
“How is it?”
He released her ankle, telling her to move her foot.
“It’s good.”
In truth, it was tight from front to back, but better tight than loose.
“And you.”
He stood quickly at her response and scowled again.
“I told you not to tie your hair like that.”
He clicked his tongue.
“If anyone sees your face, they’ll think a steamed-bun seller wandered into the banquet.”
Daom held both cheeks.
“Is it that bad? Should I undo it?”
“As a retainer, are you going to stand beside me looking like a wild-haired ragamuffin?”
He snorted and turned away.
“We’re leaving.”
She had no other options—this was the only hairstyle she knew how to do.
“What’s wrong…?”
But partway forward, he suddenly stopped.
“Did you forget something? If you tell me, I’ll go get it.”
He said nothing, only turned and stared at her.
Late autumn’s cold wind slid between the folds of his robe. The scarlet garment flared into four sections and fluttered elegantly.
His tidy clothing erased all trace of his usual laziness.
Was he always this striking? Daom found herself staring helplessly all over again.
“What will you do when the Crown Prince scolds you for not wearing the clothes he gave?”
The word “Crown Prince” snapped her out of her daze.
“It doesn’t matter.”
Daom answered firmly.
“I’m working as a retainer right now. I’m dressed as a retainer. That’s all I need to say.”
He was silent for a moment, then spoke again.
“The Crown Prince seems to have retrieved those shoes.”
“I think so too. I’m grateful they found their way back, especially since you helped pick them yourself.”
He snorted loudly, still dissatisfied.
“We’re going!”
He acted as if she were the one delaying them, even though he had stopped to ask questions.
Still, Daom felt relieved to see him irritated in his usual small ways.
“Um… should we release Bihyung before we leave?”
She asked carefully.
“Since we’re leaving the annex palace empty, wouldn’t it be better if he guarded it in human form?”
“BIHYUNGRANG!”
Before she even finished speaking, the lord shouted.
From somewhere, a scarecrow came hopping on one leg, thumping the floor.
“Ughhh, I thought I was going to lose my mind!”
It suddenly shifted into human form, twisting his back dramatically.
“Only those who experience this know the suffering! Just torture me instead, please!”
“Oh, next time I’ll do exactly that.”
The mountain lord ground his teeth.
“You seem to be in a better mood?”
Bihyung stepped closer, peering at his face.
“Yes? You feel better now, don’t you?”
Even though the lord glared with murderous eyes, Bihyung just sighed in relief and laughed.
“Oh, good. Whatever fixed your mood, please don’t sulk alone. It’s torture for everyone around you.”
“Bihyung…”
“A man hundreds of years old, fussing over tiny little things—it’s not a good look, you know.”
“Bihyung…”
“If your mood’s going to swing around like a girl on a seesaw— AACK!”
Daom tried to warn him, but he kept rambling. A second later, the furious lord stole his human form again.
With a short scream, Bihyung turned into an ordinary straw broom and dropped to the floor.
“You insolent brat.”
The lord shivered with anger and stomped on the broom as he walked past.
