The pavilion stood behind the government office, nestled among a bamboo grove.
Seoyeon arrived first. Sitting inside the pavilion, she watched the bamboo leaves sway in the wind. Whenever the wind blew, the leaves brushed against one another with a faint, dry sound. It was a sound she had heard countless times over ten thousand years. Bamboo was everywhere, and so was the wind. Nothing ever changed.
And yet today, the sound was a little different. She didn't know what had changed. Only that her ears were more open than usual. Just a little.
Footsteps sounded.
Seoyeon didn't turn her head. She could tell from the footsteps alone. Light and quick, with a hint of hesitation. Footsteps that stopped midway, then started again.
"There you are."
Only then did Seoyeon turn around.
The person was dressed in men's clothes. Though an official cap was pulled low over their head, the hem of their robe was slightly disheveled this time. They had come in a hurry. Their face was flushed. Even more so than at the marketplace.
"Sit."
Seoyeon gestured toward the spot across from her with her chin.
The person climbed into the pavilion and sat across from Seoyeon. They kept their distance, leaving about two handspans between their knees. It was the distance of someone who couldn't sit any closer.
Seoyeon waited. She didn't hurry them. After living for ten thousand years, one became accustomed to waiting. No silence, no matter how long, was anything compared to ten thousand years.
The person finally spoke.
"I wanted to ask about the procedure for breaking off an engagement."
Their voice was low. Deliberately so. Since they were disguised as a man, they were trying to make their voice match as well. But it wasn't working. The more they lowered it, the more it cracked.
"If both families who made the betrothal agree, the government office can annul the marriage contract."
Seoyeon spoke in a businesslike tone—the voice of an official handling a petition.
"What if both families don't agree?"
"If one side refuses, the process becomes lengthy. You must state your grounds, and witnesses are required."
"What grounds?"
The person lowered their head. Their lips moved beneath the official cap. They were trying to say something, then swallowing it back.
"The other person, I mean..."
Their words tangled again. Seoyeon watched them struggle to speak, unable to get the words out because they had to say something shameful.
"The other person and another woman..."
They stopped there and lowered their head even further. The official cap hid their face.
Seoyeon waited.
"The other woman is my relative."
Their voice trembled. Seoyeon couldn't tell whether it was anger or humiliation. Probably both.
Seoyeon didn't answer. There was nothing to say. Their fiancé had cheated on them. With a relative. And so they had jumped into the river. Seoyeon already knew. She had inferred it from the words the person had blurted out on the riverbank.
"In that case, you can request to break off the engagement on the grounds of the other party's misconduct. If you have a witness, the process will go faster."
Seoyeon remained businesslike. The voice of an official.
"A witness."
The person raised their head. Their eyes showed beneath the official cap. Clear eyes. Eyes that didn't look away.
"I saw it myself. Is that enough?"
"Your testimony alone won't be enough. You need a third party's testimony."
"Then..."
The person bit their lip.
Seoyeon's breath caught.
That habit of biting their lip whenever they were angry, wronged, or trying to hold back something they wanted to say. Ten thousand years ago, it had been the same. Whenever the scholar turned away coldly, the child would bite their lip. So they wouldn't cry. So they wouldn't give up.
Seoyeon turned her gaze away and looked at the bamboo. The leaves were swaying. The wind was blowing.
No. There were countless people in the world with similar habits.
"I'll see what I can do."
Seoyeon didn't know why she said it. All she had to do was tell them to file a formal petition during office hours. There was no reason for her to find a solution herself. This person was a petitioner, and Seoyeon was an official. That should have been the end of it.
But once again, her mouth moved before she could stop it.
The person's face brightened. Their eyes smiled beneath the official cap. The spot where they had been biting their lip relaxed.
"Really?"
"Within the scope of what the government office can do."
"Thank you. Truly."
The person bowed. Deeply. Their official cap nearly fell off, and they hurriedly pressed it down with one hand. The sight was clumsy.
Seoyeon watched them—their clumsiness, their haste, the way they expressed their gratitude with their entire body.
Ten thousand years ago, whenever the scholar taught the child a single character, the child would rejoice with their whole body. They would jump for joy, tug at the scholar's sleeve, and beg to be taught one more. A person who couldn't hide their happiness. A person who expressed their gratitude with their entire body.
Seoyeon's hand trembled inside her sleeve. Once again, no one saw it.
"What's your name?"
Seoyeon had no reason to ask. A name was indeed necessary for the engagement-breaking procedure, but that was something the government office would ask for through the proper channels. It wasn't something to ask in a pavilion.
The person hesitated for a moment.
"Danyoung."
Danyoung. Seoyeon repeated the name silently. It was different from the name they'd had ten thousand years ago. Of course it was. Names changed with reincarnation. There was no reason for them to be the same.
And yet, the moment she heard it, something stirred inside her chest. Ever so faintly. It felt as though the edge of something that had hardened over ten thousand years had begun to tremble.
"I'm Seoyeon."
There was no need for Seoyeon to give her name. Seoyeon of the government office was sufficient. She had no reason to say her given name.
But she did.
Danyoung nodded. "Seoyeon." They seemed to roll it once around their mouth, then tilted their head.
"I feel like I've heard that somewhere before."
Seoyeon's heart gave one hard beat.
"It's a common name."
Her voice was the same as always—calm, dry, devoid of feeling. A voice she had practiced for ten thousand years.
Danyoung smiled. "I suppose it is." They laughed lightly and didn't ask anything more.
Seoyeon stood.
"I'll look into the matter of breaking off the engagement. Come to the government office in three days."
"Three days?"
"I need time to confirm the procedure."
Three days weren't necessary. One would have been enough. Seoyeon didn't know why she had said three.
No. She did know. She wanted to see Danyoung again in three days. She simply didn't want to admit it.
Danyoung climbed down from the pavilion and walked through the bamboo grove. Their steps were lighter than when they had come. They glanced back once, and their eyes met Seoyeon's. Danyoung gave a small wave, then turned and walked away.
Seoyeon stood in the pavilion and watched their back.
The back disappearing between the bamboo leaves. Small shoulders. The disheveled hem of their robe. It overlapped with the child's back whenever they looked over their shoulder while leaving the scholar's hut ten thousand years ago.
Seoyeon closed her eyes.
No. No. This person was not her.
She began to cough. Three times. More deeply than yesterday. The palm of her hand came away stained with blood. Seoyeon wiped it on her sleeve.
The illness was growing. Just as Seoyeon had wanted.
And yet, she found herself waiting for three days to pass.
She tried to erase that feeling. It wouldn't disappear. The things she had spent ten thousand years erasing kept coming back to life this spring.
The bamboo leaves swayed. The wind blew. There was no way any warmth remained where Danyoung had been sitting. The spring wind would have chilled it in an instant.
Seoyeon placed her hand on that spot.
It was cold. Of course it was cold.
But she didn't take her hand away.