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Chapter 11
At dawn, Soha’s eyes flew open. She had never been one to sleep long. It was a habit born from a life where she had never once been able to rest with peace of mind.
Even though she knew this wasn’t the Xuanwu Clan, her bad habits still emerged.
Wiping away the cold sweat, Soha noticed Do-cheol lying right beside her.
‘Why is this yokai here…?’
Do-cheol was sprawled on his back, snoring, with his belly exposed. He had been buried so deeply in the blankets that his fur was all pressed flat. The tufts sticking out made him look even rougher.
‘If I brushed it…’
She wondered if the messy fur might feel softer. Her hand brushed against Do-cheol’s tail fur.
“…What do you think you’re doing, human.”
Startled, Soha quickly drew back her hand. She had thought he was asleep. Do-cheol lazily flicked his tail, clearly annoyed.
“Sleep more, kid. The darkness of dawn hasn’t even lifted yet.”
“You don’t like the dark? Aren’t yokai supposed to?”
“Why would you think that?”
“Because it’s the place you were born.”
Awkwardly, her hand hovered and touched his tail again. As she thought—it was coarse to the touch.
“Not everyone loves the place they were born.”
It was strange, yet not unpleasant, to have such a calm conversation with a yokai.
“I’m far past the age when ‘place’ matters to me.”
Maybe it was because he had lived for centuries. For some reason, his words stirred something inside her.
“If you want to adapt, then do it quickly. Stop rolling your eyes around like some beggar dragged into someone else’s banquet. There’s no greater waste of time than that.”
Do-cheol hadn’t even opened his eyes, but it felt like he saw right through her. Still, his words didn’t really sink in.
Everything here felt foreign to Soha: the soft blankets, the warm air, the peaceful silence.
The memories of waking only to be overwhelmed with grief were still vivid. Having lived so long in the Xuanwu household, her current situation felt more like a dream—
—a happiness so sharp it hurt, a fragile illusion that might vanish like smoke once she opened her eyes.
“Humans… such weary creatures, weighed down by their endless thoughts.”
As though he had read her mind, Do-cheol muttered again.
“You’re barely ten years old. What pain could you possibly carry that runs so deep?”
A sharp tsk clicked from his tongue.
“Sleep. There’s no medicine better than rest.”
He sounded utterly different from the way he had flailed and squirmed like a toy in Ihwan’s grip earlier that day.
Soha focused on the sound of her own heartbeat. It was something she often did when fear kept her from sleeping.
Outside the window, insects chirped. Do-cheol’s quiet breathing rose and fell beside her.
It was oddly comforting, the simple fact that she wasn’t alone.
“Since I sleep until the sun’s high overhead, don’t fuss around beside me.”
At his gruff words, Soha’s eyes closed. For some reason, she felt she could fall asleep again.
Until morning came—just a little longer.
Soha awoke to the sound of laughter filtering through the window. She had slept unusually long, thanks to the medicine still working in her body. Yet she felt more refreshed than ever before.
As soon as she finished washing up, Rang and Unseon came bustling into her room, food and medicine in hand.
“Would you believe it, Madam Hyoyang burned the meat to a crisp this morning. Everyone was in an uproar!”
“She’s not usually that careless.”
“Well, her son came home today, so she was a bit too excited.”
The two chattered warmly as they carried in Soha’s meal.
“You’re already awake, miss?”
“Unlike young master, who won’t open his eyes unless someone drags him out of bed.”
Their laughter filled the room. Bowing politely, Soha greeted them.
“You look well, miss. Starting you on normal meals was the right choice.”
Rang beamed at her clear complexion.
“Perhaps it’s time you joined us for breakfast at the table?”
Unseon placed the dishes down on a round table rather than Soha’s bedside. Soha quickly took the hint and sat in a chair.
“Try it before it cools. We even prepared fish today.”
Unseon gently moved the side dishes within her short reach.
“Thank you.”
Soha always expressed gratitude with every bite of warm rice she was given.
“Go on, taste this—I seasoned it myself.”
Unseon offered her some seasoned vegetables. Soha picked it up with her chopsticks and tasted it.
“It’s delicious.”
“Chew slowly, little one.”
Unseon patted her head.
Meanwhile, Rang fussed over the bedding. “Really, you shouldn’t bother tidying so neatly, miss. You’re making me useless.”
Her half-scolding words were interrupted by a sudden shriek.
“Oh my goodness! What’s this dog doing here?”
Soha and Unseon turned to where Rang stood frozen.
“That’s Do-cheol.”
“Where did you pick up such an ugly puppy?”
“Ah… well… Ihwan and I…”
“I knew it! Only young master would bring home something like this!”
Rang poked Do-cheol’s side, earning a fierce glare. Soha’s heart lurched, fearing he might actually curse at her.
“Would it be all right to keep him here?”
Soha looked anxiously between Rang and Unseon. She already felt like a burden in this household—how could she dare ask to keep a pet?
“Do you like this puppy?”
Unseon smiled softly, stroking Soha’s hair. Soha lifted her gaze and nodded.
Truthfully, it wasn’t about liking him—her survival depended on him.
“There’s nothing difficult about that.”
“Oh, but if he’s going to stay in the room, he needs a thorough bath first!” Rang eyed his scruffy fur in dismay.
“Shall I scrub him down myself?” she asked, rolling up her sleeves.
“What do you think, Soha?”
Unseon asked gently. Soha shook her head.
“I’ll do it.”
“That’s fine, then.”
It seemed safer for her to handle Do-cheol herself rather than let Rang try. With that settled, Soha turned back to her meal.
There was rice, vegetables, and white fish. She ate one dish at a time, leaving nothing behind—except the meat.
Soha didn’t like red meat much. It always made her stomach heavy. But she didn’t dare complain.
Just as she lifted her chopsticks toward the meat, Unseon’s hand gently pressed hers down.
“There’s no need to force yourself to eat something you dislike.”
“But…”
Even now, countless people were starving. To leave food uneaten felt like a sin.
“If you force down what your body rejects, you’ll only fall ill again. You’ve been weak for a long time—your stomach can’t handle it.”
Soha nodded and set down her chopsticks.
“…Thank you.”
Not only for the food. For noticing even her smallest hesitation. For caring in ways no one ever had before.
Her cheeks flushed red. Unseon, flustered, drew back. Rang, too, watched them in surprise.
“I don’t know… how to repay kindness like this.”
Soha was clumsy in such matters. Even after twenty years of life, there were many things she had never learned.
Warm exchanges between people had never been part of her world.
Unseon chuckled softly.
“Not everything in this world must be repaid. Sometimes, it’s enough simply to give—or to receive.”
“…”
“You’ll understand once you’ve lived a little longer.”
To Soha, such one-sided relationships sounded dangerous. In her life, being useless or worthless had always meant death.
But Unseon’s words felt… different.
“…Yes.”
If it was Unseon saying it, then maybe someday, Soha wanted to understand.
