Cheon Sa stood before the polished bronze mirror, spellbound by the reflection that shimmered back at him. His lips parted slightly in awe, as though breath had forgotten its way. It had been years, perhaps longer since he'd seen himself so clearly, without the blur of rippled water or the dull sheen of cheap glass. The image before him looked like something out of a painter's dream: a vision at once foreign and achingly familiar.
Silken robes, delicate and layered, clung to his slender frame like whispers. The outer layer was a translucent peach hue, embroidered with faint gold plum blossoms. Beneath that, a deeper robe of seafoam green, tied at the waist with a wide sash of silver-grey, accentuated the gentle curve of his hips. The sleeves were long, trailing like flowing water when he moved, framing his hands elegant and pale, fingers as fine as brushstrokes.
His face was breathtaking, impossibly so. High cheekbones, a soft jaw, and full lips tinted faintly like cherry blossom. His skin held a glow like porcelain left to warm in the sun. Shiny dark curls framed his face, falling just past his shoulders in loose, well-kept waves. And then, his eyes. Green like fresh bamboo leaves after rain, startling in their clarity, rimmed with thick lashes that gave him a gaze both innocent and unnerving.
But no matter how he looked, it seemed he was dressed in female clothing.
Though dressed in the silks and adornments of a courtesan, there was something about Cheon Sa that eluded any fixed role. He was too lovely to be mistaken for a girl, yet too strange, too distant, to be any boy of the house. He sat down, still, watching himself as though he were staring at a mask but the mirror did not lie.
He looked so striking that he allowed himself a faint smile only to pause, startled by the gleam of his own teeth, so white and even. It unsettled him, this quiet moment of self-observation. He had never once given thought to his own appearance, never cared for such vanity and yet, here he was, caught in the strange stillness of seeing himself clearly for the first time.
The night before. They'd been cornered, and with nowhere to run in a capital city that swallowed strangers whole, they followed Ara and the other woman in silence. The place they entered wasn't quite a brothel, at least not by the heavy, perfumed silence that hung in the air but something more elusive, more cultivated. An entertainment house, perhaps, though even that term felt like a poor attempt at understanding it.
He and Min Ho had been given a room, luxurious compared to the alley they might've ended up in and they had slept because they had no other choice and Cheon Sa deemed it safe to sleep.
The next morning, Cheon Sa was shaken gently awake. His limbs had still been heavy with sleep, but warm water was drawn for a bath, fragrant with petals and steam, and hands he did not recognize washed his hair, combed it gently, and dressed him in silks that whispered like reeds in the wind. That was how he came to be in the room all dressed up and since he woke up he hadn't seen Min Ho.
He heard a sound.
There had been footsteps all morning, light, quick, whispering across lacquered floors but this one was different. Steady. Purposeful. He didn't need to count the steps to know they were meant for him. A breath later, the door slid open with a soft clack.
It was Ara.
She stopped in the doorway as their eyes met in the mirror. A sharp gasp escaped her, and she snapped open her hand fan to cover her mouth. Her wide eyes glittered with astonishment as she approached.
"Oh… oh, oh… You're going to be so popular," she whispered, breathless.
She came to stand beside him, lowering herself so their reflections aligned. Her fingers, soft and careful, rested on his shoulders.
Cheon Sa could not understand why she acted with such ease around him, as though they were old acquaintances rather than strangers who had only crossed paths the day before. The familiarity in her tone, in her presence, unsettled him. He lowered his gaze slowly, deliberately to where her hands rested on his shoulder, a silent reminder of the distance she seemed so eager to erase.
He turned slightly, and she had to rise to avoid his lips brushing her cheek.
"What will I be doing?" he asked, his voice calm but firm. He wouldn't be surprised if they expected him to serve men, and if that was the case, he'd simply refuse. He had no intention of becoming anyone's ornament.
Ara laughed lightly but did not answer. "Madam will decide that. Not me." Her fan folded with a snap, and she went to a drawer, pulling out a delicate iron case. From it, she took a bit of red rouge on her fingertip and moved toward him.
Cheon Sa flinched subtly. "Do I need that?"
"No, no, no," she murmured, her eyes locked on his mouth. "You're already perfect just as you are. Your lips…" Her words drifted off as she stared. "Unusual… naturally pink. If I add red, it might ruin the balance."
Cheon Sa was a bit surprised that Ara wasn't using that flirting voice she seemed so proud of and now she was talking plainly to him not even bothering to put on her display delicate flirty look, even though her attire was no different from the previous one she wore and her face was layered with makeup yet she looked responsible and not like a woman that would allow anyone talk her into drinking alcohol and getting drunk.
She paused, wiping the rouge from her finger with a silk kerchief. "How could you look like that?"
"How?" he echoed, sincerely confused. He wasn't looking at her inappropriately so he had no idea what she was talking about but for some reasons it seemed she was a type of person that would tell someone the truth right to their face.
Ara tilted her head, still fanning herself lightly. "Beautiful. Pretty. Handsome. You're everything... almost too much. You'll attract wealthy suitors before the seven days is out. You won't even need to lift a finger." She let out a laugh that was half awe, half despair. "It makes me jealous."
"Hmm?" he said, frowning faintly. "But you brought me here." He pointed out.
"Yes. Because our establishment is fading. No new clients, and fewer girls who can keep the old ones. The streets are full of former entertainers looking for scraps. I didn't want to join them." She sighed deeply. "When I saw you… I knew. You're different. You could turn this whole house around." Her eyes glistened.
Cheon Sa sat still as a painting. His voice, when it came, was low, calm as the evening wind but firm as stone.
"Whatever concerns this establishment may have," he said evenly, "they are not mine to shoulder. I hold no contract with your mistress, no vow to your cause. If you speak of the matter yesterday, when you paid our inn charges and food, then let me say this clearly, we did not ask for your aid. If you now offer labor as a means to repay that kindness I can agree to that but remember you extended your hand of your own accord."
Ara flinched ever so slightly, a delicate tremble in her shoulders. She clasped her hands tighter in front of her, her gaze falling for the briefest moment before lifting again. There sat Cheon Sa, his posture composed, his bearing quiet yet commanding. There was no arrogance in him, and yet his presence made her feel as though she ought to bow.
"I understand," she said softly, the words catching just a little in her throat. "You are not bound to us."
She took a breath and steadied herself.
"But… hear me, if you will. Jo's Town may seem small but it is a place known by the court and mapmakers alike, it thrives on one thing - entertainment. That is our lifeblood. The houses here, ours included, compete fiercely for recognition and patronage. Those who perform well are richly rewarded."
She stepped closer, her eyes searching his. "If you possess any skill, archery, storytelling, the playing of instruments, anything that might stir a crowd then you could rise far. Far enough, even, to perform in the capital during the high season. Imagine us, surpassing even the famed House of Stories. There is wealth to be gained here. And more than that… there is fame."
She smiled faintly, though it was tinged with wistfulness. "And I say this not in jest: were I born with your face, I would already be standing in the Minister's court."
Cheon Sa said nothing. His face did not shift, nor did his eyes flicker with amusement or pride. Her words were not empty, but they were not filled with admiration either. They rang with yearning desperation shaped as ambition. He could hear it clearly.
But what held his attention most was something else. The capital. She spoke of it as if it were distant.
Cheon Sa turned to her. "This is not the capital?"
Ara's cheeks colored faintly. She quickly composed herself and smiled again. "No. This is only Jo's Town. The capital lies farther north. But it is beautiful, truly. Grand palaces, sweeping gardens, nobles dressed in silks from distant lands. I have only heard tales, but I have dreamt of it since I was a child."
Cheon Sa turned his gaze toward the open door. His jaw tightened slightly, though no emotion showed on his face. He would have to find Min Ho. They had wandered off the proper path. Jo's Town was not their destination.
"How far is the capital from here?" he asked.
Ara tapped a finger against her chin. "five days, perhaps more, if the roads are muddy I think."
He nodded slowly. "Then I can go there."
But Ara shook her head gently and lowered herself onto a wooden stool near the corner of the room.
"It is not so simple," she said, voice quieter now, more solemn. "The gates of the capital are guarded, not only by soldiers but by rules, unseen, unyielding. Unless you are a nobleman, a registered merchant under the Ministry of Finance, or someone entering under the employ of a noble household, the gates will not open."
She looked up at him. "You may also enter if you enlist as a soldier, a guard, or servant but even then, one must have proof, seals, letters of purpose. Without such, even the most honest traveler is turned away."
Cheon Sa's eyes narrowed just slightly.
"If I remain here, if I work for your house, will I then be able to go to the capital?"
Ara hesitated, then shook her head again.
"Not directly. But each year, there is a festival in the High Season. Before that, the entertainment houses of Jo compete. Nobles and appointed judges come to watch. They choose the best: one dancer, one singer, one instrumentalist. These three are taken to the capital to perform. And sometimes, only sometimes, if one is seen by you know those in higher places, they may offer them a permanent place."
She lowered her gaze for a moment, gathering her thoughts.
"But it is not easy. The House of Stories wins each year. Their performers are unmatched, their patrons powerful. They train their talents for years. We… we do what we can, but it is a long road, and most of us never make it beyond this town."
She looked up again, her voice gentle. "Still, there is a chance. A small one, perhaps. But sometimes, even the smallest light finds a way through the clouds and our madam wants to fight this time."
Then, after a brief pause, she added, "Does this make sense to you?"
Cheon Sa inclined his head once, slowly.
"It does." He doesn't need a lot of thinking to do, all he knows was that he and Min Ho would find a way to enter the capital.
"Come."
They left the room and stepped into a long, polished corridor. The floors were lacquered wood, smooth as glass beneath their feet. Painted screens lined the walls, scenes of courtly lovers, cranes flying over misty lakes, and pale plum blossoms blooming in snow. The air smelled of sandalwood and sweet tea, and the only sounds were their footsteps and the faint strains of a guqin being played somewhere in the distance.
They passed other doors, some closed, others slightly ajar where painted women laughed in soft voices or applied makeup in gold-framed mirrors.
At the end of the corridor, two tall paper doors were opened for them, revealing a grand room bathed in morning light.
The Madam sat at the center like a jewel set in a velvet box. She was older, perhaps in her late fifties, but her posture was regal, and her gown, rich wine-colored silk with phoenix embroidery suggested both wealth and control. Her hair was coiled in an elaborate bun adorned with golden pins and jade combs. She held a long-stemmed pipe in one hand and regarded Cheon Sa with quiet calculation, as if weighing not his beauty, but his worth and next to her was the woman he saw with Ara standing tall and nodding like she approved his attire.
The room itself was breathtaking: high ceilings with exposed wooden beams, walls hung with scrolls of poetry and moonlit landscapes. Cushions were arranged in a half-circle around the Madam, and the light that spilled through the open windows caught the gold threads in the rugs beneath their feet.