My deep soul

Chapter 18

Jinyoen gently shook Jidiwi, her voice soft but worried.
“Two hours have passed already. Why isn’t he waking up?”

At first he only turned onto his side, his arm tightening unconsciously around her waist. Jinyoen froze, heat rushing to her cheeks. Her body stiffened, unsure if she should push him off or stay still. She shook him harder, her voice breaking.
“Wake up!”

His lashes fluttered, and he finally opened his eyes—glancing at her with a groggy glare.
“The person you’ve been searching for,” he muttered, his voice hoarse, “is locked in a room downstairs.”

Before she could reply, he released her. Jinyoen hurriedly took her medicine box and ran.

She found Sunwoo battered and tied. His face was swollen, and the sight made her chest ache. Tears pricked her eyes as she dropped the box and threw her arms around him.
“Why did you do that? Why?” she sobbed.

“They said… some bad things about Ahro,” Sunwoo admitted, his eyes burning with shame. “I couldn’t hold back.”

Jinyoen dabbed ointment on his wounds, her hands trembling. “I warned you about this. If you want to survive here, you must control your anger. I know you hate it, orabeoni, but we can’t change the world in a day.”

Her voice softened, breaking. “And Ahro… she doesn’t want you hurting yourself for her. I told you not to get hurt…”

When she finished binding his cuts, she clasped his hands and kissed his knuckles gently. “I won’t tell Ahro this time. But next time, I will. Please… be careful. I love you, orabeoni.”

She left, her heart heavy.

The next morning, Pi Jooki found her treating a man with a burned hand. “My lady, you never told him you are the physician here?”

Jinyoen wiped her brow. “No. But I will. Before he hears it from someone else.”

Later, she retreated into the quiet of the physician’s room to rest. But before she could breathe, she bumped into Sunwoo outside. Panicked, she shut the door in his face. She held the lock tightly as he pushed.

“Excuse me!” his voice boomed. “Have we met before?”

Jinyoen stepped back, but the back door swung open. Sunwoo stood there, staring at her in shock.
“Am I hallucinating?”

“Yes,” she said with false calm. “You’re hallucinating. I’m a ghost.”

He snorted. “A ghost cannot be this stupid. What are you doing here?”

“I’m the physician here.”

Sunwoo’s eyes widened. “What! Are you mad? This place is full of men. Go back home!”

“I can’t,” she shot back, hands on her hips. “I gave Master Wi-hwa my word. And why should I be afraid? You’re here too. You can protect me.”

He stepped closer, voice firm. “I won’t. Pack your things. Go home.”

Jinyoen refused to budge. She stepped forward too, their eyes locking.
“You must protect me. You will. Besides, the man who thought there were only two hundred letters in the world has found another teacher—me. Or have you already forgotten?”

Sunwoo’s lips twitched, but he said nothing.

Many nights after that, Sunwoo would sneak to her room, laughing quietly with her as she taught him his letters. Sometimes she sang softly, her voice carrying like a lullaby, soothing him after the day’s battles.

One night, Jidiwi noticed Sunwoo slipping out. Curious, he followed, only to find the two together—Sunwoo leaning close, Jinyoen laughing as she sang. A strange ache stirred inside Jidiwi’s chest.

The next morning, Jinyoen searched for a book to aid Sunwoo’s lessons when someone caught her wrist and tugged her back. She gasped, startled—only to find Jidiwi standing there, his expression unreadable.

“You do like pulling me here and there, don’t you?” she said, tugging her hand back. “What do you want? I’m not going to be your pillow again.”

His lips curved faintly. “My little Jinyoen, I want your help with something.”

Her brow furrowed at the way he said my little Jinyoen, but before she could protest, he brought her to where Sunwoo was waiting. To her surprise, Jidiwi sat down beside them.

“You?” she blinked.

“I can’t read either,” he admitted with a shrug. “So… teach me too.”

Thus their lessons changed. The two young men sat on either side of her like quarrelsome brothers. They knocked brushes from each other’s hands, smeared ink on one another’s sleeves, and begged her to sing.

Jinyoen tried to stay stern, but her laughter betrayed her. She found herself caught between their rivalry—Sunwoo’s eager devotion and Jidiwi’s quiet, burning gaze.

And when she leaned over to correct Jidiwi’s shaky letters, his hand brushed hers, lingering just a little too long. Their eyes met. The room fell silent for a heartbeat.

Jidiwi smiled faintly, almost shy. “I warned you. I’m addicted to my medicine.”

Jinyoen’s face burned red. She quickly pulled her hand away, scolding him to focus. But inside, her heart betrayed her—it was no longer only her laughter Jidiwi longed for, but something deeper, something neither dared speak aloud yet.