CNC 254

Special Side Story: Come Back To Its Original Owner Episode 8

“Now then, shall we get to copying the book?”

“Yes, yes, My Lord.”

Hong-seo, who had been biting his lip to suppress a smile, quickly followed the young master.

He had come to visit this guest house twice a day.

It was a place where every piece of furniture, object, and curiosity kept its place in neat order, and where a unique fragrance, unlike anything he had ever smelled in the world outside this room, always lingered faintly.

As more than ten days passed since he began staying at this estate, Hong-seo had unexpectedly come to revere and admire this space.

Untying the string to remove his gat, the young master looked back at Hong-seo.

“Sit.”

“Yes, My Lord.”

Hong-seo knelt in the spot where he always sat.

A small dining table stood before him.

Whenever they worked around this time, between lunch and dinner, the young master always provided snacks.

Yakgwa, gangjeong, preserves simmered in honey and syrup, and occasionally, dashik so beautiful it felt like a waste to eat them. Along with those came sweet, chilled sikhye or sujeonggwa. These were precious foods that Hong-seo had never even seen before.

Occasionally, after a Namsadang troupe finished their six-act performance, there were generous nobles who would treat them to a lavish spread. Even then, it mostly consisted of heaps of rice and meat side dishes; he had never received a tea and dessert table like this. Sweets were luxuries more expensive than meat.

Kneeling before the table, Hong-seo stole a glance at the young master.

The neat movements—placing the gat in a lacquered octagonal box, removing the durumagi and smoothing it out carefully to prevent wrinkles before hanging it on the long pole on the wall.

Despite his tall stature, the reason he didn’t seem stolen content[visit our site]particularly intimidating was largely due [stolen content]to these calm and elegant movements.

The young master was still difficult to approach, but he was not the kind of person who habitually hurled verbal abuse at subordinates or resorted to violence to vent his moods.

“Is something the matter with your health?”

Having tidied his durumagi, the young master looked down at Hong-seo with his hat off and asked in a curious tone.

“Pardon? No. I am perfectly fine.”

“Then why haven’t you touched the sweets?”

“Because My Lord did not tell me to eat them…”

The young master let out a light laugh.

“It seems you learned a great lesson from that incident.”

That incident.

He must be referring to the time he stole and ate the chicken. Hong-seo’s face instantly flushed with shame.

“I will never do such a thing again.”

“Right. As long as you don’t do it again, that is enough.”

The young master moved to the cushioned mat and took his seat.

Whenever he let Hong-seo into this room, he did not let his feet touch the floor. This was because it would interfere with their work together. Leaning obliquely against the armrest with a smile at the corners of his lips, he continued to speak.

“However, from now on, you may eat the sweets in this room as you wish, even if I do not tell you separately.”

“B-but still, that…”

“I had them brought here to feed you, so it does not matter. Do so.”

A nobleman who gave such precious yakgwa to a caught petty thief.

He had never met a nobleman like this.

That was why, though he was difficult to deal with, he wasn’t scary or disliked. Far from it, rather…

“Yes, My Lord. Thank you.”

“Go on, try one.”

As if he absolutely had to see Hong-seo eat, he urged him while watching intently.

With someone staring so fixedly, it wasn’t easy to pick a sweet. After gauging the situation, Hong-seo picked up a savory bean gangjeong.

“It seems the taste is acceptable.”

“It is delicious. It is the most delicious thing I have ever eaten in my life.”

“Is it that so?”

“Yes, My Lord. Truly.”

“It seems you like sweets more than rice.”

“…Pardon?”

“I heard you left your dinner because you were eating the sweets that had been left over.”

“I-I will never do it again!”

Assuming he was about to be scolded, Hong-seo immediately prostrated himself.

Rice was the grace of one’s master. The more they gave, the more grateful the grace. In all of Joseon, there were countless slaves who worked to death and were fed only enough to keep them from starving.

Yet, a fellow who didn’t carry a single A-frame or sweep the yard once, but instead played with a brush in the young master’s guest house and ate his fill, only to leave his rice… thinking about it now, it felt like a rude and presumptuous act.

“One cannot force themselves to eat when full. Besides, I was the one who fed you the sweets.”

“Then, from now on, I shall eat only a little of the sweets…”

“Sweets are also something I give you, just like rice. Are you not sorry for leaving the sweets?”

“Uh… that is…”

He had no way of knowing what answer would please the young master. He just mumbled a response in his mouth when suddenly, he heard the young master’s laughter from above.

He wasn’t trying to scold him…

Slyly lifting only his eyes while still prostrated, he saw the young master looking over at him with a joyful expression, his elbow resting on the high armrest carved from paulownia and pine, with his chin resting on his hand.

Does he find me amusing, like a new puppy he’s started raising?

Removing the hand from his chin, he opened the book on the writing desk.

“Now, shall we get to work?”

“Yes… My Lord.”

Over the past ten days, they had finished the records for apple and pear farming, and since yesterday, they had been starting on the cabbage farming records. During that time, Hong-seo’s writing skills had improved significantly.

Books and texts were as expensive as gold. Thus, not only the low-born but even commoners generally did not dare to think of purchasing them. To help him learn to write better, the young master gave Hong-seo those precious books. Among them were exciting novels, collections of letters, and a book that explained the Confucian classic Sohak in Hangul.

Everything was so interesting that whenever he opened a book to take a short break, time would fly by in an instant.

The young master had also given a brief explanation of what the ‘work’ Hong-seo was doing was for.

‘I intend to translate agricultural books written in Classical Chinese into Hangul and publish them. The ones actually doing the farming are the common people; what use is it if the information is written in Chinese characters?’

Hong-seo did not fully understand exactly what the young master’s intention was or how meaningful the work was. All Hong-seo knew was that whether it was a book in Chinese characters or Hangul, they were so expensive that commoners found it difficult to purchase, and that the majority of commoners could not even read Hangul well.

But vaguely, he admired his intention.

That despite books being expensive and many commoners [stolen content]still unable to unauthorized copy[Read on Read BL Novels]read Hangul, it was better than giving up in advance and doing nothing. Even without fully understanding, he simply thought that what the young master did was vaguely wonderful.

“Cabbages are best grown in cool climates. Sowing is most suitable at the end of August, when the heat has subsided, to be harvested in November.”

The young master’s voice, reciting the content Hong-seo had to write down—neither too slow nor too fast—was pleasant to hear.

When he became deeply immersed in moving his brush, losing track of time, he felt as if he were falling into a trance along with that voice.

There are days when being on the tightrope feels as comfortable as walking on the ground. There are days when leaping into the sky on the rope feels free, as if he had become a single titmouse, rather than making his knees tremble. It was similar to the feeling of those days.

He was in the middle of writing.

“Young Master, Young Master Jeong-han has arrived.”

The steward’s voice came from below the window of the guest house, which had its screen raised and was wide open. Hae-sung stopped reading and smiled brightly.

“He has returned from Hanyang.”

Muttering as if to himself, he commanded, “Show him in.”

It seemed a friend of the young master had visited. Expecting to be told to withdraw, Hong-seo stopped his brush and waited for orders. However, the order that came was unexpected.

“Go to the open veranda and study your mathematics.”

“The… the open veranda?”

“Yes. Have you not yet finished today’s homework?”

“Yes… My Lord.”