Silk and Wool: 2/?
---CHAPTER TWO---
The coming weeks went on as usual and Chansung took to exploring the grounds. The neighboring trees provided a great amount of shade on days he walked or merely wanted to sit below them and read. Weather was warm and breezes cool as he sat most days. Once the house began to get use to him, and his mother continually confined to her rooms, he refused the coat and accompanying hat and gloves. Chansung donned his boots and trousers, but more with a loosened shirt than anything else. He felt freed by the simplicity of everything, the lush greenery of the countryside and the few people that he associated with.
He began to agree that his mother had a good idea about the country. This household was kept for years by staff that remained on the land, and he could tell that they cared for what they did. It was his own oasis, away from the city life and high society.
On rare occasions he saw Jia, though she remained indisposed as she attended to his mother. He smiled or tipped his head toward her, and she did the same back, politely and quietly. Chansung sometimes noticed how a blush rose in her cheek, but he credited it as thankfulness for his kindness rather than anything else. Jia didn't seem the type to be bashful, since that first stare into her brown eyes, but intriguing nonetheless. She remained the only person on staff around his age, yet it remained difficult to find time alone with her. He still wished to talk, ask her how she was getting along, maybe even share a book with her under a tree one day.
Thoughts of Jia were pulling at him, despite the conflicting duties his dying mother set upon him. Chansung took it day by day, hoping he'd find someone much later, that his mother would hold out sooner, but such ideas were easier said than done. He couldn't control fate, no matter how hard he tried to avoid it.
---
Chansung walked in full attire into the library a week after first talking to Jia. Soon, he heard a familiar noise from behind the large desk. He snickered to himself and looked around the unmanned door before he shut and locked it.
"It's alright. There isn't anyone else. Come out."
He waited a breath, but the small bonnet emerged. Jia bit her lip as she saw him, but bowed slightly. Her hand tightened on the same book she'd been reading before. He bowed back, dipping deeper and moving his hand in a flourish through the air. It made her let out a tiny laugh, calming her nerves and letting her grip slacken.
"Do you mind me asking what you're reading?" he asked.
"They are fairytales, sir."
"Call me Chansung?"
He was pleading with her, finding the proper demeanor she had with him uncomfortable. She took a deep breath and rolled her tongue before she said it.
"Chansung," she dared, "...they're fairytales."
His name felt smooth on her tongue. Chansung himself had never heard a name come out on sweeter lips, and felt relief flood his system. Maybe she was starting to trust him.
"Any in particular?" he asked, coming toward the desk.
"It wouldn't matter."
It was an offhanded comment, but he heard it nonetheless, furrowing his brow as he touched the other side of the desk.
"Why is this? I'm just curious."
She looked at him, almost wanting to sigh at his innocence. There had been others like him, young guests that were just as handsome, just as unassuming. She wanted to let her guard down, but she knew history repeated itself upon the unaware. Yet, that night when he came to her room, he was...kind. He respected her space, and that itself was something new.
"The stories don't matter. I only read them for the endings." She backed away from the table, gaining another foot or so of distance between the two of them.
"And not for the stories themselves?"
"The stories are cruel. ...they remind me of life. ...I prefer the endings." Her eyes looked away as she said this, and Chansung didn't fail to notice the hint of sadness in her eyes as she did so.
"You mean happy endings? ...are you alr-"
"I'm fine. ...sorry. I didn't mean to...sorry..." She trailed off again and set her book down on the desk. Jia started to move, and had gone as far as halfway across the room before he halted her, grabbing her wrist in the process. She froze at the familiar but threatening sensation. Only wanted to avoid further questioning, she went to flee, but he was holding her like the others had.
"Don't be afraid to talk to me. ...please? I've no one else here that I can share anything with...please..."
Chansung let go of her hand and she stood with her back toward him. Her other hand came up to her wrist and rubbed at her wrist. He'd grabbed her quickly but let go just as soon, leaving her the choice to further the conversation or leave. This didn't happen with others, those that promised a life of the happiness she continued to read about.
Chansung stood there silently and waited for her to speak.
"You let go of me," she stated.
It was the smallest of whispers, but Chansung heard her and spoke kindly in response.
"I shouldn't have grabbed at you in the first place. It wasn't my place. But," he paused, "...why wouldn't I let go?"
She turned to face him, eyes aglow with hope as they looked upon his face.
"Yes...why indeed."
Jia still whispered, but went back to her book on the table. Chansung watched her again, not wanting to scare the girl. He didn't think in that moment and couldn't have imagined what had bothered her so. He remained steady as her fingers touched the bind of the book, slid over the cover and flipped back to a page. Once she found a page she was complacent with, she looked back up at Chansung.
"Shall I...read one to you?" she asked.
Chansung didn't come closer, but sat on the floor softly like a child, making her giggle again.
He didn't even remember the tale he was being told, merely that it sounded like one of the most pleasant things he'd ever heard on human lips. Her words became stronger and she affected accents into the story, and they laughed off the afternoon.
Chansung remembered that day and kept it as a sincere memory. Both of them, for a few moments, let down the walls of class, of rules, of distrust, and just let the moment...be.
---
One of the man servants of the household rushed to Chansung as he sat under one of his favorite trees one day. He was looking at the bright blue book Jia had been reading those several weeks ago.
"Master Hwang! Sir! Please come quickly! Your mother calls!"
Chansung shot up, waiting for dreadful news. His eyes were wide as he clutched at his book.
"What's the matter? Has something happened-"
"Do not worry sir! It's..." he was out of breath after his run, "excuse me...it's just we have a guest sir. ...your tutor arrived today. She wanted you to greet them."
"Oh! You gave me a fright...let's go then."
Chansung took steps toward the house, but the servant hurried after his long, brisk steps, yelling at him to gain his attention.
"Sir wait! You aren't dressed!"
"Come now man!" Chansung called back, "If he's to tutor me, he'll need to become accustomed to how I present myself!"
"But sir!"
Chansung ran faster, leaving the servant and his last words far behind. The news hadn't been distressing, and the light feeling he'd had continued as he ran to the front gate. His hair fell onto his face, roughly tousled by the wind that sped past it. His boots became dusty as he hit gravel and dirt, and by the time he turned the corner for the entrance, sweat covered his brow, back and chest, making hair and his loose shirt stick to it. What he didn't expect was his mother and Jia, the former hunched with a cloth over her mouth and nose, standing in front of a coach that was being unloaded. Chansung's mother turned, head shaking in shame as Jia blushed and giggled slightly.
"Do you find my son's appearance amusing?" she hacked.
"No madam, I apologize-"
"Then do as you're told and attend. This means without noise or interruption. Know your place or find yourself a wretch in the city."
Chansung wondered what the two were squabbling about, lighting up at Jia's smile and then frowning as he head cast back down. His attentions turned back to the coach as feet stepped out. A dainty hand covered in a black glove was raised and a footman reached out to aid Chansung's new tutor out. Chansung's mother was aghast, eyes peering at the new guest as she coughed into her cloth.
"A...woman!?"
"Hello madam," she answered politely.
"What is this nonsense? I specifically asked for a male tutor-"
"Excuse me," she said as she approached the madam and Jia, "but I am who was sent by the magistrate."
The woman pulled a small note from her dress, handing it to the madam and taking a step back.
As Chansung's mother read, Jia stared at the woman's dress and shoes. Everything was ensconced in black, delicate muslin. She must have been of high society, for she'd never seen a teacher with such nice clothes, however dark they were. She must be in mourning, Jia thought. Another pair of eyes watched, trailing up her bodice until they approached the delicate turn of his tutor's neck. This woman was taller than Jia and nearly as pale, but her hair was a lighter brown. She had full flips and large eyes, and though he knew the manner she'd be in as she wore such clothing, he found himself rather taken with her appearance. He patted at his hair as he noticed her staring back, her eyes looming up and down over Chansung. She had a kind face, but appeared judgmental as she appraised him.
Chansung was suddenly nervous, trying to clean his appearance as he caught on to what the servant was warning him of. His mother caught sight of his shuffling as she gazed up from the letter. The old woman looked at her son and then back to the new teacher, who turned to face her new employer again. She smiled sadistically, though her grin was hidden under her the cloth still clasped to her mouth.
The new woman smiled and bowed politely before she stated her name.
"Fei madam, pleasure to meet you and your family."
The coming weeks went on as usual and Chansung took to exploring the grounds. The neighboring trees provided a great amount of shade on days he walked or merely wanted to sit below them and read. Weather was warm and breezes cool as he sat most days. Once the house began to get use to him, and his mother continually confined to her rooms, he refused the coat and accompanying hat and gloves. Chansung donned his boots and trousers, but more with a loosened shirt than anything else. He felt freed by the simplicity of everything, the lush greenery of the countryside and the few people that he associated with.
He began to agree that his mother had a good idea about the country. This household was kept for years by staff that remained on the land, and he could tell that they cared for what they did. It was his own oasis, away from the city life and high society.
On rare occasions he saw Jia, though she remained indisposed as she attended to his mother. He smiled or tipped his head toward her, and she did the same back, politely and quietly. Chansung sometimes noticed how a blush rose in her cheek, but he credited it as thankfulness for his kindness rather than anything else. Jia didn't seem the type to be bashful, since that first stare into her brown eyes, but intriguing nonetheless. She remained the only person on staff around his age, yet it remained difficult to find time alone with her. He still wished to talk, ask her how she was getting along, maybe even share a book with her under a tree one day.
Thoughts of Jia were pulling at him, despite the conflicting duties his dying mother set upon him. Chansung took it day by day, hoping he'd find someone much later, that his mother would hold out sooner, but such ideas were easier said than done. He couldn't control fate, no matter how hard he tried to avoid it.
---
Chansung walked in full attire into the library a week after first talking to Jia. Soon, he heard a familiar noise from behind the large desk. He snickered to himself and looked around the unmanned door before he shut and locked it.
"It's alright. There isn't anyone else. Come out."
He waited a breath, but the small bonnet emerged. Jia bit her lip as she saw him, but bowed slightly. Her hand tightened on the same book she'd been reading before. He bowed back, dipping deeper and moving his hand in a flourish through the air. It made her let out a tiny laugh, calming her nerves and letting her grip slacken.
"Do you mind me asking what you're reading?" he asked.
"They are fairytales, sir."
"Call me Chansung?"
He was pleading with her, finding the proper demeanor she had with him uncomfortable. She took a deep breath and rolled her tongue before she said it.
"Chansung," she dared, "...they're fairytales."
His name felt smooth on her tongue. Chansung himself had never heard a name come out on sweeter lips, and felt relief flood his system. Maybe she was starting to trust him.
"Any in particular?" he asked, coming toward the desk.
"It wouldn't matter."
It was an offhanded comment, but he heard it nonetheless, furrowing his brow as he touched the other side of the desk.
"Why is this? I'm just curious."
She looked at him, almost wanting to sigh at his innocence. There had been others like him, young guests that were just as handsome, just as unassuming. She wanted to let her guard down, but she knew history repeated itself upon the unaware. Yet, that night when he came to her room, he was...kind. He respected her space, and that itself was something new.
"The stories don't matter. I only read them for the endings." She backed away from the table, gaining another foot or so of distance between the two of them.
"And not for the stories themselves?"
"The stories are cruel. ...they remind me of life. ...I prefer the endings." Her eyes looked away as she said this, and Chansung didn't fail to notice the hint of sadness in her eyes as she did so.
"You mean happy endings? ...are you alr-"
"I'm fine. ...sorry. I didn't mean to...sorry..." She trailed off again and set her book down on the desk. Jia started to move, and had gone as far as halfway across the room before he halted her, grabbing her wrist in the process. She froze at the familiar but threatening sensation. Only wanted to avoid further questioning, she went to flee, but he was holding her like the others had.
"Don't be afraid to talk to me. ...please? I've no one else here that I can share anything with...please..."
Chansung let go of her hand and she stood with her back toward him. Her other hand came up to her wrist and rubbed at her wrist. He'd grabbed her quickly but let go just as soon, leaving her the choice to further the conversation or leave. This didn't happen with others, those that promised a life of the happiness she continued to read about.
Chansung stood there silently and waited for her to speak.
"You let go of me," she stated.
It was the smallest of whispers, but Chansung heard her and spoke kindly in response.
"I shouldn't have grabbed at you in the first place. It wasn't my place. But," he paused, "...why wouldn't I let go?"
She turned to face him, eyes aglow with hope as they looked upon his face.
"Yes...why indeed."
Jia still whispered, but went back to her book on the table. Chansung watched her again, not wanting to scare the girl. He didn't think in that moment and couldn't have imagined what had bothered her so. He remained steady as her fingers touched the bind of the book, slid over the cover and flipped back to a page. Once she found a page she was complacent with, she looked back up at Chansung.
"Shall I...read one to you?" she asked.
Chansung didn't come closer, but sat on the floor softly like a child, making her giggle again.
He didn't even remember the tale he was being told, merely that it sounded like one of the most pleasant things he'd ever heard on human lips. Her words became stronger and she affected accents into the story, and they laughed off the afternoon.
Chansung remembered that day and kept it as a sincere memory. Both of them, for a few moments, let down the walls of class, of rules, of distrust, and just let the moment...be.
---
One of the man servants of the household rushed to Chansung as he sat under one of his favorite trees one day. He was looking at the bright blue book Jia had been reading those several weeks ago.
"Master Hwang! Sir! Please come quickly! Your mother calls!"
Chansung shot up, waiting for dreadful news. His eyes were wide as he clutched at his book.
"What's the matter? Has something happened-"
"Do not worry sir! It's..." he was out of breath after his run, "excuse me...it's just we have a guest sir. ...your tutor arrived today. She wanted you to greet them."
"Oh! You gave me a fright...let's go then."
Chansung took steps toward the house, but the servant hurried after his long, brisk steps, yelling at him to gain his attention.
"Sir wait! You aren't dressed!"
"Come now man!" Chansung called back, "If he's to tutor me, he'll need to become accustomed to how I present myself!"
"But sir!"
Chansung ran faster, leaving the servant and his last words far behind. The news hadn't been distressing, and the light feeling he'd had continued as he ran to the front gate. His hair fell onto his face, roughly tousled by the wind that sped past it. His boots became dusty as he hit gravel and dirt, and by the time he turned the corner for the entrance, sweat covered his brow, back and chest, making hair and his loose shirt stick to it. What he didn't expect was his mother and Jia, the former hunched with a cloth over her mouth and nose, standing in front of a coach that was being unloaded. Chansung's mother turned, head shaking in shame as Jia blushed and giggled slightly.
"Do you find my son's appearance amusing?" she hacked.
"No madam, I apologize-"
"Then do as you're told and attend. This means without noise or interruption. Know your place or find yourself a wretch in the city."
Chansung wondered what the two were squabbling about, lighting up at Jia's smile and then frowning as he head cast back down. His attentions turned back to the coach as feet stepped out. A dainty hand covered in a black glove was raised and a footman reached out to aid Chansung's new tutor out. Chansung's mother was aghast, eyes peering at the new guest as she coughed into her cloth.
"A...woman!?"
"Hello madam," she answered politely.
"What is this nonsense? I specifically asked for a male tutor-"
"Excuse me," she said as she approached the madam and Jia, "but I am who was sent by the magistrate."
The woman pulled a small note from her dress, handing it to the madam and taking a step back.
As Chansung's mother read, Jia stared at the woman's dress and shoes. Everything was ensconced in black, delicate muslin. She must have been of high society, for she'd never seen a teacher with such nice clothes, however dark they were. She must be in mourning, Jia thought. Another pair of eyes watched, trailing up her bodice until they approached the delicate turn of his tutor's neck. This woman was taller than Jia and nearly as pale, but her hair was a lighter brown. She had full flips and large eyes, and though he knew the manner she'd be in as she wore such clothing, he found himself rather taken with her appearance. He patted at his hair as he noticed her staring back, her eyes looming up and down over Chansung. She had a kind face, but appeared judgmental as she appraised him.
Chansung was suddenly nervous, trying to clean his appearance as he caught on to what the servant was warning him of. His mother caught sight of his shuffling as she gazed up from the letter. The old woman looked at her son and then back to the new teacher, who turned to face her new employer again. She smiled sadistically, though her grin was hidden under her the cloth still clasped to her mouth.
The new woman smiled and bowed politely before she stated her name.
"Fei madam, pleasure to meet you and your family."