Moon's Whisper, Heart's Echo

37. The Circle

Nandi stared at the dark crescents as Ji-soo poured warm water over her shoulders, watching red-tinged rivulets disappear into the wooden basin. The third washing, and still she couldn't get clean.

She watched pink swirls of diluted blood disperse through the bathwater, mesmerized by how they caught the lamplight.

The copper basin's steam carried the scent of crushed mugwort and pine needles.

She watched her dark fingers trail through the clouded water, leaving ripples that caught the light from the paper lanterns. Ji-soo's hands were gentle as she worked rice-water through Nandi's coiled hair, carefully avoiding the places where blood had dried and matted the strands.

"My lady, the water's getting cold," Ji-soo murmured, reaching for another pitcher. "Let me heat—"

"Let me." Tae-young's voice carried that particular softness he seemed to reserve just for these moments. His long hair was tied back loosely, stray strands framing his face in the lantern light.

Ji-soo's hands stilled. "Young master..."

"Min-joon won't sleep," he said, rolling up his silk sleeves. "He keeps asking for his mother's soup. The one with ginger and jujubes." His eyes met Nandi's in the calming steam. "He says no one else makes it right."

Ji-soo's fingers brushed Nandi's shoulder - a silent question.

At Nandi's slight nod, Ji-soo nodded.

"I'll tell him you'll come once you're warm." She stated as she squeezed her shoulder once before gathering her skirts and slipping away. her soft footsteps fading into the evening quiet.

Tae-young knelt beside the basin, his movements carrying that natural grace that had first caught her attention in the spring months ago.

He picked up the abandoned washcloth, dipping it in the herb-scented water.

"The water's cold," he said, but made no move to call for more.

Nandi watched his fingers work into the cloth.

Such graceful hands.

Neither spoke as he began washing away the day's horrors - blood under her fingernails, across her wrists, in the creases of her palms. His touch was careful but sure, like everything else about him.

Nandi traced circles in the water, watching her reflection fragment and reform. "The truth you wanted to tell me..." Her voice sounded distant to her own ears. "When did you know?"

His hands stilled against her skin. In the lantern light, his profile was all sharp angles softened by the steam rising between them.

"You were the only one not surprised," she continued, studying the rust-colored crescents beneath her nails. "When I called his name. You weren't."

The cloth resumed its gentle path along her arm. "No," he admitted quietly. "I wasn't."

"How long?"

His thumb found her pulse - so different from how Seong-hwan used to do it, yet somehow more intimate. "I was looking into the Cho family. To protect my cousin." The words came soft, measured. "And somehow I came to find that my dear friend treated me like a stranger." His fingers stilled against her skin. "I was closer to Jae-hoon, you know. We spent three summers traveling together, studying."

Tae-young's voice caught on memories. "When I saw those same gestures in his brother's body... but wrong somehow. Like watching someone try to copy a dance they've only seen once."

A wet laugh escaped her, more sob than sound. "And you said nothing."

"Would you have believed me?" The words held no accusation, just understanding. "If I'd told you your dead husband was wearing his brother's face?"