Chapter Text
In her dreams, the brush cuts into her flesh.
Sometimes, Saedal isn't fast enough to escape the slavers. The Painter slits her throat. She boils to her death. She's left naked on the cold stone floor, freezing until she stops feeling it. Her foot slips off the cliff, and water fills her lungs.
But at the end of the night, she wakes up in her bed, sweating by the open window. Though it is the beginning of an August summer, the predawn breeze is cool. Beside her, Harin burrows deeper into her thick blankets. Her six-year-old niece has miraculously pivoted in her sleep, digging her legs into the heap of fabric scraps lying by the dressing cabinet.
Saedal takes a moment to gather herself before she rises from her mattress. She closes the windows, tucks Harin back into her place, and tiptoes out to the backyard to wash up.
The lamps are glowing brightly by the outer building and the shed. The birds slowly break into song in the distance. Saedal's father is already awake, checking on the dyed threads they had hung out to dry. Saedal strides past him, across the large yard, to the zelkova tree by the perimeter.
The old zelkova in the Yeo backyard leans like a secret, its gnarled limbs braided with time. When she was younger and new to the Yeo family, Saedal would climb up its widespread branches, much against her father's protests because she was still recovering. She would tie prayer ribbons to its branches and sit there, wishing and hoping, until her sister snapped her name, demanding she come down in an instant or be confined to her room until the bandages around her waist and limbs could be taken off.
Now, at twenty years old, it is unladylike for Saedal to hoist her skirt and pull herself up the sacred tree. That, and she's developed a fear of heights from repeated nightmares. She pulls up a footstool and ties a blue ribbon to a low-hanging branch, whispering her usual prayer. The wind picks up, and the hundred-something ribbons decorating the tree flutter portentously amidst the lush green leaves. Saedal pauses for a moment before returning to where her father is.
They work in silence—she brings the water to boil and he measures out the dyes with practised ease. The workshop will soon be bustling, but for now, it is just the two of them. They have staff employed in their weaving business, but her father has always preferred starting early.
"Just because we have hands to help," he once told her, "doesn't mean we stop using our own. If we hand everything over and sit back to watch, we'll grow complacent, and so will they." To Yeo Gwan, dedication is a daily offering, not a title earned and forgotten. Skill must be nurtured, not outsourced. This quiet discipline, this reverence for the craft, is the foundation upon which their livelihood stands.
"The red dye needs more vinegar," Saedal's father notes, checking his list under lantern light. "If it doesn't sting the eye, the gods will be unhappy."
"You mean, Lady Min will be unhappy," Saedal quips, stirring the dye with a long stick. At his chiding look, she smiles guiltily. "I boiled it with persimmon bark all night. I believe it's adequate for their ritual."
He nods approvingly, "Good. The Min Guild may worship profit more than spirits, but their offerings are never careless."
The Yeo family is employed under the Min Guild as their personal weavers and craft artisans—Hwaseondang, the business is called. Hall of Flowering Threads. It is an arrangement that had spanned nearly two decades and grown into one of the most quietly influential partnerships within the guild. Officially, Hwaseondang is contracted under the Min Guild's vast network of guildworkers. Unofficially, it is the silent hands behind many of the Shim household's most prized possessions: ceremonial robes that glitter like river mist, embroidered screens that depict folklore with aching beauty, and prayer textiles so meticulously knotted that even shamans bowed to their craftsmanship.
Their household compound, nestled behind a crooked alleyway on the outskirts of the inner quarter, housed more than just their family. The wide stone-paved yard doubled as a work terrace, lined with drying racks strung with gauze and hemp, vats sunk into the corners for dyeing, and loom stations covered with folded bolts of unfinished fabric. Beyond it stood a sprawling, covered grounds. Once a garden, it had been converted into the heart of Hwaseondang with partitioned spaces where weaving, embroidery, finishing, and pressing happened in tandem. The air always smelled of steam and starch, pine resin, and the faint floral sharpness of dyewater.
By the time the sun peeks from behind the mountains, Saedal has taken her first break. The staff has slowly started filing in through the back gates. Men and women in padded cotton clothes shimmy on their aprons, bowing as they pass Saedal.
While Yeo Gwan is the head of this business, Saedal is his unspoken second-in-command. The position had once belonged to Miran-unnie, her older sister, but with her passing from an illness, the duties quietly fell upon Saedal's shoulders. The respect she receives, however, is not without reason.
Yeo Saedal was known throughout town for her unparalleled skill in making maedeup —decorative knots traditionally used in both everyday and ceremonial objects. While many saw maedeup as ornamental, something to decorate the end of a tassel or adorn a norigae, in Saedal's hands, the craft became something...more. Her knots are precise, impossibly intricate, and always seem to carry a hidden intent, like they were woven not just with thread, but with memory and meaning.
Her father and sister had taught her the knots as a cure to her boredom while she was stuck indoors, feverish with broken limbs and a shaved head. Saedal took to the craft too well. By the end of the week, she was attempting the difficult patterns, and, by thirteen, she was contributing to Hwaseondang, single-handedly managing top-tier orders that would otherwise take days within hours. What began as an idle practice turned into a private obsession. Orders started arriving with special requests: "the knotwork by the younger Miss Yeo, if possible."
By her late teens, she was receiving private commissions—knotted bracelets for safe passage, wedding accessories, shamanic ritual cords said to attract blessings or ward off misfortune. Whispers spread that Yeo Saedal's knots worked because she wove prayers into them, though no one could say what those prayers were for. She never spoke of them. But the knots she delivered were always warm to the touch. Maybe they all carried a little bit of good magic, the commoners whispered.
"Master," one of the women rushes up to her while she's sitting on the veranda of her workshop. "An attendant from the Shim family is here for enquiry. Should I let them in?"
Saedal huffs, knowing exactly who it might be. "Tell him my father is busy," she instructs. "And direct him here. Tell Bak-ahjusshi to check our inventory meanwhile."
As expected, it's Steward Yukson, Lady Min Yeonui's right-hand man—one of the two jipsas of the Shim family. His beady eyes regard Saedal with discontent as he walks into her corner of the grounds.
"Sabeom-nim," he bows his head. Master artisan. "Lady Min has requested an update on the arrangements for the ritual."
Saedal smiles politely and clasps her hands over the front of her skirt. "The fabric has been put out to dry. The maedeups are to be examined one last time," she lists. "The shawls need final touch-ups. The altar drapes and sashes, however, are ready. You may take them with you if you wish."
"That will not be necessary," the man replies. He reaches inside the sleeve of his hemp garment and pulls out a roll of parchment. He holds it out for Saedal and says, "Madam made some changes."
"Of course she did," Saedal replies through gritted teeth.
"Pardon?"
She accepts the parchment without checking the contents. "It will be done," she smiles even wider. The Yeo family is respected, yes, but they are still artisan class. Invisible. Saedal knows better than to let her mouth run. She makes one of the staff see the steward to the door and gathers the rest of the workers with a sigh.
"Father expected Lady Min to pull the same stunt again," she informs them. "I've already prepared the extra bolts she'll want. Still, we'll need to redo the shawls and dye a fresh batch for the outer sashes. Yooncheol, check if we have any undyed hemp left in the northern storehouse. And see if the persimmon bark has dried fully. We'll need it for the base tone."
There is a beat of silence before someone clicks their tongue.
"Already?" Yooncheol, the youngest employee and part-time runner, groans. He has a perpetually malnourished look to him. "What happened this time? Did the gods write back saying they needed more crimson in the hemline?"
"Maybe the last set of robes weren't fragrant enough," someone else mutters as she tugs a folded cloth over her lap.
Bak-ahjusshi, who has joined the group after checking inventory, brushes his fingers against his thin moustache. "I think the gods are just as tired as we are," he mutters, squinting down at his ledger. "They'll throw the young master back at her front door if she keeps this up. One more prayer cloth, and I bet he'll walk in just to make it stop."
A few of the younger apprentices gasp, and one makes a sign against misfortune. "You'll get us all struck down," she whispers. "Or worse, summoned for embroidery correction."
"Don't be dramatic," Saedal says, though her expression is rueful. "This isn't the first last-minute change. Won't be the last either. Besides, you all know the madam will end up calling me instead of any of you."
She unrolls the parchment as everyone crowds around her for a peek. There's a chorus of groans. Someone spits a curse into their sleeve.
"Not the cloud pattern again," one of the women cries, stomping her feet at the shawl alteration instructions. "It took me three days to get the weft consistent last time."
"She probably wrote this while smoking all that opium," Yooncheol snarkily comments, only to be violently shushed. "You all know it's true!" he defends himself. "It's a miracle she hasn't demanded a hanbok made of gold like the last time."
"Maybe if we add it to the hem—"
Saedal cuts the weaver short by speaking over him loudly, "Nobody touches the gold thread! We need it for the bridal robes next week. Trade negotiations fell through, and we can only get more stock from the Capital the month after the next." She claps her hands to draw attention. "Focus, everyone. This isn't new for us. Tighten your aprons, fold your sleeves, and get to work!"
The staff disperses, muttering and mumbling still, but without feeling disheartened. Bak-ahjusshi, however, doesn't hold himself back from snipping.
"I bet the Young Master is going to show up soaked in lake water and ghost piss, just to yell 'stop summoning me.'"
Yooncheol snorts. An overly religious woman rubs her hands together to pray away the blasphemous words. Yeo Saedal rolls her eyes and returns to the main house to wake her niece, the nightmare long forgotten as usual.
❁
On cue, Saedal is summoned to the Min Guild's family house by the end of the week. She knows it's for good reason because her father is asked to come as well. They are received by Steward Bang, the patriarch Shim Yeolguk's right-hand man, and led to the main hall.
Shim Yeolguk sits behind his desk, wearing his ceremonial hat, eyebrows knit together in a stern expression as he flips through a book. Upon seeing Yeo Gwan and Saedal enter, he sets the book aside. The look on his face shifts to one of mild satisfaction. Saedal and her father bow low, waiting for the lord to speak.
"The prayer was completed without any issues," Lord Shim says with a nod. "As always, Yeo Jangin and Hwaseondang have my gratitude."
Saedal's father straightens his spine, but keeps his head low to show reverence. "You're too kind, my lord," he diplomatically answers. "We merely performed as per the madam's directions."
"Of course you did." From the Guildmaster's tone, Saedal knows he considers this conversation as nothing but an inconsequential part of his long list of agendas. "Still, effort deserves acknowledgement. The prayer cords were meticulous. The altar cloths, fitting. Even the little maedeups were tied with sincerity, I was told."His gaze lands briefly on Saedal. "It seems my wife was particularly fond of them."
Saedal bows her head once again, eyes stuck to the floor, unsure if it's truly a compliment or merely a courtesy offered in exchange for service. Beside her, her father remains quiet, the lines in his face unreadable.
"Saedal-ssi, you're to go and see the madam. She asked for you." There is other business to discuss, and it does not concern her.
Saedal clutches her hands over her stomach and nods, "Yes, my Lord."
She backs out of the hall quietly. Two housemaids whom she recognises well from her estate visits usher her out of the building. Saedal vaguely remembers the younger one saving up her wages to buy an embroidered sachet from her. Both their expressions are courteous, if laced with concern.
"Be warned," the older one whispers as they cross the grounds and head to the madam's residence. "She's been...lost to the clouds. Don't take offence if she says something strange."
So, Lady Min was back to smoking her drugs again. Saedal nods, showing that she isn't really interested in the gossip. However, she cannot help wonder...wasn't the whole point of the prayer to ease her mind, if only for a few weeks?
Inside, the quarters are dark despite the hour. The madam's quarters are quiet. Unnervingly so. The smell of incense burns thick and bitter in the air, cloying with something that dulls the senses. Saedal steps into the antechamber and waits for permission, shoulders squared, gaze lowered. It is unbearably hot.
"Let her in," a languid voice calls from within.
The housemaids slide the door open before scuttling away. It's the steward, Yukson, who herds her in and goes to stand next to the mistress of the house.
Min Yeonui sits propped against a mountain of cushions, her silk robes layered like petals around her. The light from the windows catches on the gold threading at her sleeves and the gleam of her long, polished nails. Her beauty is untouched by illness or grief. Only the faint dryness at the corner of her mouth, the slight unsteadiness in her gaze, and the stray strands escaping her chignon betray her condition. Saedal can feel the sweat on the back of her legs and wonders how there's hardly any sign of the boiling heat bothering the madam.
"Jangin-nim," Lady Min drawls in her sickly sweet voice. It's a title reserved for Saedal's father, a more authoritative way of saying Master Artisan. It is rare for anyone to refer to Saedal and give her that recognition. "I heard you're the one who personally made the prayer knots for my son's return."
"Yes, madam," Saedal replies, bowing low with her hands linked tight over her skirt. "Yeo Saedal, at your service." She would be flattering herself if she believes that this woman has bothered to remember her name after the countless meetings they've had.
Min Yeonui hums, as if the name is only vaguely familiar. "Ah, yes. Yeo Saedal," she repeats the name. "Hwaseondang's maedeup master. The one who weaves dreams and prayers with the dahoe threads." Her gaze flicks down to Saedal's hands, noting the faint pink dye stains near her knuckles. "How diligent."
The woman speaks like she's commenting on the weather. She lifts a painted fan and waves it at herself, eyes narrowing as if considering whether Saedal's presence offends or amuses her. The norigae she wears at her waist took Saedal three and a half months to finish. Min Yeonui wasn't one for simple, common designs. The more ostentatiously classy the knots and ornaments, the more she favoured them.
"You tied the red charm last. That is a bold colour for a mother's prayer," Min Yeonui remarks.
"I believed it would give the prayer strength," Saedal answers tactfully.
"You believed," the woman echoes, lips curling faintly as she glances at her steward. He indulges her sharp amusement and returns the smile. "Mm. A brave sentiment from a servant's daughter."
Saedal bites her tongue. Her father isn't a servant. They are commoners, sure, but not servants and slaves. It stings her skin, or maybe it's the heat, and all she can do is act like the insult is a praise.
Lady Min tilts her head, inspecting Saedal with more interest than irritation. "But perhaps that is what was needed. I've been having dreams. Vivid ones. Of him, my son, standing at the end of the veranda, like he always did. He says nothing, but he's there. Returned, with red around his neck. The same knot."
The room stills. Steward Yukson looks perturbed by his mistress's words. These are the ramblings of an intoxicated woman with a temperament. Naturally, Saedal refrains from agreeing or disagreeing or even offering her thoughts.
The older woman lets the silence stretch, then smiles a calculated smile. "Of course, dreams are dreams. I'm not foolish enough to believe in omens spun by girls with nifty hands. Still...clean seams and clever knots." She waves her fingers, and Steward Yukson picks up a silk-wrapped bundle from the side. He hands it to Saedal wordlessly.
She can smell the Jeju tangerines and the honey through the silk. There's a possibility of Halla pears being thrown in the mix. Rare fruits that someone like her can only enjoy in fantasies. Saedal think of Harin vibrating with excitement and sneaking into the kitchens past midnight to dip her fingers in the honey jar.
"Take it," Min Yeonui orders, drawing Saedal out of her thoughts. "A token of gratitude from the house for your... diligence."
Saedal cradles the gift with both hands, lowering her head deeply and thanking the woman for her never-ending kindness. But Lady Min's attention has already drifted. There's something akin to restless frustration growing on her face as her gaze drifts towards the drawn curtains.
Steward Yukson waves Saedal away in her stead. Saedal bows one last time and retreats, careful not to let her expression slip. It is only when the doors close behind her and the hallway air hits her lungs—cooler, sharper, fresher—that she lets out a quiet breath. What a crazy woman, that Min Yeonui.
Her father is waiting outside the main house, already holding a stack of ledgers under one arm. When he sees the silk bundle in her arms, he makes a low sound of surprise.
"Let me carry that," he says, reaching for it. "There's a new set of orders, so I requested Assistant Bak to bring the cart to carry the fabric boxes back. Why don't you pay a visit to Jaeyi-agasshi?"
"I was planning to," Saedal replies, pulling a small embroidered pouch from her sleeve. Inside is the norigae she has made just for Jaeyi.
Saedal isn't a stranger to the estate. When the weavers are asked to work for a big event, most of them are made to stay at the small auxiliary workroom near the textile storage quarters. It's not grand by any means: a long, narrow building with a stone hearth at the back and latticed windows that creak in the wind. But it's well-stocked and close enough to the main house for swift turnarounds. For work that requires constant oversight or rapid adjustments, it's simply more efficient than walking back and forth from the Yeo household every day.
The Shim family doesn't allow just anyone to linger near the estate's inner buildings, but the Yeos have earned that privilege over the years. Their presence is tolerated, expected, even, when important work is underway. For Saedal, it means less sleep, more scrutiny, and longer hours bent over her needle or spools, but it also gives her access to materials and tools she wouldn't have at home.
Shim Jaeyi's lodgings sit in an unmaintained corner of the estate. It's small and unimpressive in comparison to the main house. Even Saedal lives in a house more comfortable than...this. It's all thanks to Min Yeonui and her hatred for Jaeyi, no doubt. The daughter of her husband's unimportant mistress and the alleged reason for her son's disappearance.
Saedal hobbles over the broken pieces of pottery carefully scattered across the yard. She's never really asked what it is for. Shim Jaeyi is sitting on her veranda, stitching an old chima. She looks up at the sound of Saedal nearly toppling over the tiles.
"Oh, Saedal!" She puts the cloth and needle aside and stands. Shim Jaeyi is a woman of strength and resilience despite her emaciated physique. She is a few inches shorter than Saedal, with a small heart-shaped face. Very rarely does her face brighten up the way it has now. "You haven't visited me in such a long time." Jaeyi shifts to make space for her.
"Agasshi." Saedal lifts her skirt a little and climbs up the stairs. She sits down beside her and holds her hands in both of hers. "Things were busy with the preparations for the prayer ritual. As you know, the madam loves to nitpick and ask for alterations every few hours." The two women giggle over it without hesitation.
Jaeyi lets go of her, pulling her hands into her lap, and sighs. "I wasn't allowed to attend, but the servants told me it went very well." Saedal isn't surprised to hear this. Min Yeonui has always regarded Jaeyi as a curse on the family, someone who only brought bad luck.
Saedal sees the unhappy downturn of her friend's mouth and reaches for her sleeve. She places the decorated knot in her lap. Jaeyi raises her brows in surprise, picking up the item carefully, "What is this?"
The maedeup is a soft sky-blue twined with gold threading so subtle, one could only see it if they were really looking for it. The cord is braided into a double-plait that wraps nicely into a ring. In the centre, Saedal has woven loop after loop, forming a lotus with twelve petals, each tucked within the next. A charm for safety. From certain angles, the gold threads catch light and shimmer. At its base is a double-tiered tassel in pale ivory silk, with a carved jade bead that resembles a water droplet. There are tiny butterfly knots under the lotus.
Saedal rolls her eyes and answers as if obvious, "A present for you. Please do not pawn this one off as well. I stole the gold thread from our next order's materials. This is for you and you only."
She blushes and panics, "I...I didn't pawn—"
"I know you did," Saedal gently cuts her off. "And I know why you did it. I am not angry. But please. I'm serious this time. This thread can get you into trouble."
Jaeyi frowns and playfully complains, "Why did you make me something that'll get me into trouble?"
"This maedeup is for your safety and well-being."
"Well, which is it? Trouble or safety?" Jaeyi laughs, still not used to the action after all these years. She gazes at the maedeup with awe and affection before clutching it to her chest in gratitude. When she looks back at Saedal, there are tears in her eyes.
"I know I should stop," she whispers, glancing up at the summer sky that matches the maedeup. "Twelve years is far too long to let the hope remain. But what can I do? He is my only brother, my Hongrang. The hope that he will return to me is all I have. It's the only thing that is keeping me alive." Jaeyi smiles ruefully at Saedal, "I know you disapprove. That you want me to find other purposes in life. But he means everything to me."
Saedal shakes her head and thinks of a different lifetime where she had sisters. She leans her shoulder against Jaeyi's. "I don't disapprove. Not completely," she hums. "I worry for you because of your methods of investigating. But...who can say, agasshi? I made all the prayer knots myself, this time. Perhaps my fabled magic will work this time."
Jaeyi tucks the knot into the waist of her skirt, "Mm. Who can say..."
❁