SSH Episode 10

Jang Seung-woo let out a quiet, humorless chuckle.

“So, this is what he’s been up to.”

His smile faded in an instant, replaced by a cold, unreadable expression. His gaze locked onto Hwang Chun-gil.

“I’m not in the mood to be generous today.”

A rat scurried across the shop floor, its high-pitched squeaks the only sound in the tense silence.

“You’ll have to prove your sincerity.”

Hwang Chun-gil followed Jang Seung-woo’s gaze, and as soon as he realized what he was looking at, his face turned deathly pale.

***

“Young master, it’s still chilly in the mornings and evenings since spring hasn’t arrived yet. Why don’t you wait inside?”

Madam Kim, the housekeeper, approached Hong-woo, who was standing outside his older brother’s room.

“No, I’ll wait here. I don’t know when my older brother will be back.”

“You haven’t even had dinner, have you?”

“I’m not hungry.”

Even to a stranger, it was obvious Hong-woo was weak from hunger. Yet, he insisted he was fine and sent Madam Kim away. She didn’t believe him, offering to prepare dinner, but he firmly refused.

He had already declared that he wouldn’t impose any further by staying in this house. ‘If his brother found out he had accepted a meal here…’ Just the thought of it made him feel suffocated.

The moonlight was beautiful. After returning from the Eunsoo Merchant Guild, Hong-woo sat on the wooden floor outside his older brother’s room, swinging his legs as he gazed at the sky, waiting. The sight of the moon stirred childhood memories.

On the day of his brother’s leave from Saeyokwon, Hong-woo had climbed a mountain to pick flowers as a gift. His brother always scolded him, saying, “What am I supposed to do with this? You only ever bring back useless things—just like yourself.”

 Yet, he would still order Madam Kim to bring a vase. And when it was time to return to Saeyokwon, he would take the now-wilted flowers with him.

(Note: The Sayeokwon was a Joseon-era government office that trained interpreters for diplomacy and trade, mainly with China and Japan.)

That mountain was familiar terrain, but that day, a different path caught his eye. A new route meant new flowers, and he wanted to bring his older brother something special. Without hesitation, he followed the unfamiliar trail. He did find a rare, beautiful flower—but then, he lost his way.

As the sun dipped below the horizon and darkness settled in, fear crept over him.

“Aaaah! Aaaahhh!”

Every little sound made him scream, terrified it might be a tiger.

After wandering for what felt like hours, hunger gnawed at him, and exhaustion from crying left him too weak to move. Leaning against a tree, he looked up at the moon and rested. That was when he heard rustling.

‘So, this is how I die—eaten by a tiger. Mother, Father… Hong-woo is leaving now. Thank you for raising me. I wanted to be a good son but I guess this is as far as I go.’

He muttered what he feared would be his final words. The rustling grew closer. Heart pounding, he shut his eyes tight. He didn’t have the courage to face a tiger. A branch snapped just a few steps away.

“Do you have a brain or not?”

A familiar voice rang out above his head.

At the sound of his older brother’s voice, the tension drained from his body. Relief overwhelmed him, and he burst into uncontrollable sobs.

With no strength left in his legs, Hong-woo clung to his older brother’s back as they made their way down the mountain, relying only on the moonlight to guide them. Even as he trembled, his brother spoke—scolding him for wandering alone into an unfamiliar path, yet reminding him to stay alert and not lose his senses.

Listening to his older brother’s words, Hong-woo suddenly remembered the flower still clutched in his hand. When he held it out, he heard a long, weary sigh. His brother, who seemed to have plenty to say, simply made him promise that from now on, he would never go picking flowers alone.

That night remained vivid in Hong-woo’s memory—the warmth of his brother’s voice, the steady comfort of his presence, and the quiet glow of the moonlight.

No matter what, his brother was the only person he had.

Lost in thought, he was pulled back to the present by the sound of steady, deliberate footsteps. He stood and turned toward the approaching figure.

Jang Seung-woo’s gaze locked onto him, unwavering. His pace slowed, deliberate and measured, as if each step carried weight. The moonlight cast its glow over both of them.

“Hyungnim. I have something to say.”

Jang Seung-woo said nothing, simply staring.

Hong-woo’s dark pupils, deep enough to reflect the daylight, now shimmered under the night sky, catching the glow of the moon and stars.

Jang Seung-woo watched him in silence, then placed a hand over his chest, pressing down slightly.

Still, he said nothing.

Hong-woo hesitated before finally forcing the words out.

“Lend me some money.”

Silence.

For Hong-woo, the wait felt agonizingly long. For Jang Seung-woo, it was merely a fleeting moment before he finally spoke.

“You must have finally realized how hard life is once you leave home.”

Hong-woo let out a small breath, as if trying to warm the cold air around them.

Despite the teasing words, Jang Seung-woo was smiling.

The icy expression he had worn before softened—melting away like winter’s last chill, making way for the warmth of early spring.

***

The steady sound of Jang Seung-woo’s footsteps was soon joined by Hongwoo’s light, eager steps.

Wow.

Everything about the Eunsoo Merchant Guild felt fresh and fascinating. Though Hong-woo had visited before with his father, seeing it now with the intent to work made it feel entirely different. Lost in curiosity, he lagged behind, taking in the sights, while Jang Seung-woo disappeared into his office. Realizing too late, Hong-woo scrambled after him.

The office was lined with bookshelves filled with ledgers, except for one wall dominated by a large window. The spacious room held Jang Seung-woo’s desk and chair, along with a broad table and seating for guests. But nowhere did there seem to be a place for Hong-woo.

As he glanced around, trying to figure out where he was supposed to work, Jang Seung-woo handed him his first task.

***

Water dripped from the damp cloth in Hong-woo’s hands, but he paid no mind, focused entirely on wiping the floor. Though this was far from the work he had imagined, he tackled it with determination. However, he had failed to wring out the cloth properly, leaving the floor completely drenched.

Every person who entered the office had something to say about the mess.

Jang Seung-woo, however, dismissed their complaints with cutting remarks.

“You have time to grumble, but not to do your own work properly?”

“Judging by how distracted you are, you must be confident in your reports, hmm?”

His sharp words sent them hurrying to finish their business and leave.

Hong-woo, unfazed by both Jang Seung-woo and the other employees, remained focused on his task. Jang Seung-woo cast him a brief glance—watching as he crouched down, scrubbing back and forth with an overly soaked cloth—before returning to his own work.

“With sunlight and a breeze, it’ll dry just fine.”

Looking at the thoroughly soaked floor, Hong-woo muttered to himself as he threw the windows open.

“Don’t even think about getting paid. I wasn’t expecting much from you anyway.”

Jang Seung-woo responded without even glancing up from his ledgers.

Pouting, Hong-woo trudged out of the office, making his way to the well to wash the dirty cloth. He drew water and poured it into a basin before crouching down to scrub himself. Just as he was washing, he noticed someone sprinting toward the well and instinctively paused, his hands frozen in place.

“Unbelievable. You used the same cloth for wiping your face and hands to clean something dirty? What were you thinking?”

The man snatched the cloth from Hong-woo’s hands, his face twisted in dismay as he let out a thick regional accent. Hong-woo, caught off guard, hesitated awkwardly.

“You scrubbed it like this and expected it to be clean?”

Muttering under his breath, the man seized the cloth and rubbed at the stains with all his might. When the dirt wouldn’t budge, he kept repeating, “What am I supposed to do now?” like a broken record.

“Give it back. I’ll do it.”

“Listen to you, talking big. Judging by your looks, I bet you don’t know the first thing about hard work.”

Feeling embarrassed, Hong-woo reached out to take the cloth, but the man scoffed, eyeing him up and down.

“Wait… You’re the younger brother of the head merchant?”

Upon realizing Hong-woo’s identity, the man’s demeanor shifted instantly to polite speech. His name was Wi Daehan, though he found it a bit too grand for his liking, so he told Hong-woo to just call him Wi Haengsu.