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So deep asleep Namjoo only jolted awake upon the splash of water. Groaning confused where she was, she struggled to get her bearings. Furiously blinking when her eyes landed on the gray walls. The unfamiliar color of the room. Abruptly remembering the torture yesterday. It all seemed like a haze. A very horrible dream.

Lifting her head up from the concrete floor Namjoo realized she was drenched. in pain when she tried to sit. Her wrists hurt. Her entire body was sore. Her cheeks weirdly ached. Her stomach unbearably empty. She was supremely uncomfortable.

As she pushed herself up her unkempt hair slipped over her face if it wasn’t already glued to her jaw and chin, dripping past her shoulders. Realizing the expensive floral shoes she wore at the bathhouse was replaced with boring black ones. The vibrant silk garment she’d gone to bed in, gone. Some kind of dull blue uniform similar to the bathhouse servants covered her.

As consciousness eroded her jumbled state, Namjoo peered up at the woman several years her senior. A woman in a similar but pink uniform. The unfriendly glare in her eyes judged every inch of her. Clutched at her side was a wooden barrel, what she had used to carry the water.

“Where am I?” Namjoo asked.

“How dare this girl ask where she is?” the woman snarled. Then impatiently scolding, “Get your lazy behind up! You’re the only one still in bed. How shameless!”

She murmured beneath under her breath when she turned to head out the door. Turning around she shrieked, eyes bulging, “GET UP!”

Wide eyed, Namjoo sprang to her feet. Bewildered as she watched the woman strut away. Wondering what the hell she was so worked up about.

Given a moment alone, Namjoo angled her head back to stare at the shed she had been tossed into yesterday. It was completely empty as if abandoned and forgotten. Just a tiny structure serving no purpose. The walls were bare. The ground even more . Shocking herself that she had managed to sleep here.

“Stop dillydallying!” the same woman banshee screamed.

Picking up her pace Namjoo hurried after her. Once her hair was tidied into a tight low bun, Namjoo’s first order was to bring tea to the lady. Which lady she had asked and received a burning eyeful in reply. She was not to ask questions. That was not her place. She was to obey all orders without mouthing any complaint, bow, and keep her eyes low. Keep her big mouth shut. Literal word for literal word. The lecture spanned for a long three minutes.

Standing outside the kitchen doorway, Namjoo watched the women skillfully work. Each occupied with their chore. Their field of vision solely focused on where their hands worked; whether it be holding a knife, grabbing ingredients, fanning the fire, checking the iron stove. Every woman varying from teens to aged women accustomed to this lifestyle. A burst of steam swirled into the air like a white snake curling up a vine upon the removal of a lid.

Namjoo’s watch switched when the woman shoved a tray into her hands. Shoving her a step back in the process. Namjoo luckily clutched the tray steadily before the fragile teapot slid off. Irritably she ordered, “Come.”

Pushing past her she turned down the hall on swift, urgent feet. Supposing she’d find out what was going on, Namjoo followed.

They passed several buildings. Again, Namjoo couldn’t spot a living soul. Every so often the woman would shoot a peek over her shoulder hissing at her numerous times. Curling her lips as her expression distorted. Openly showing dislike for her. Her eyes becoming narrower and narrower every time. Namjoo frowned. Started to open to ask what the problem was but the woman halted. Namjoo managed to stop in time behind her. The matching tea cups rattled on the tray.

Politely bowing, “My lady.”

Four concrete staircases led up to a mini octagon pavilion, where in the center two women sat at a polished wooden table. One of them Namjoo didn’t recognize; however, the woman sitting across from her and facing her Namjoo remembered. Real well.

Glancing over her shoulder with a hiss, the woman scorned, “What are you waiting for?! Serve the tea!”

Compressing her lips, Namjoo stepped forward. Shooting the servant one look. Mentally debating if she’d been on the team that ganged up on her. Tightening her grip on the tray as she climbed the stairs. Meeting with the woman’s hard-set eyes. Recognizing a devious sneer in them. Becoming level with that indignant gaze another step up until she reached the platform and stared the woman down. Never minding the other woman through the corner of her eye. Discourteously throwing the tray down.

Contempt flashed through the lady’s eyes. “How dare you?!”

Expressing no remorse for her rude behavior, Namjoo asked, “Who are you?”

“Calm down, Chunghee,” the other woman coaxed. “Getting angry over such a simpleton will give you wrinkles.”

“Chunghee?” Namjoo cheeks twitched. Repeating more firmly, “Chunghee.”

Lady Chunghee…

Namjoo scoffed. Disbelieving.

What the hell was happening?

Had she been targeted out of some teen girl’s jealousy?

“How vulgar,” the other woman commented. “Pour the tea.”

Once more running her eyes over the unbelievably beautiful woman, Namjoo sardonically felt like heehawing. Something like this was really happening to her. Here in this whatever era. This was so messed up.

She’d been kidnapped for this?!

“Did you not hear?” Chunghee growled. “Pour the tea.”

Gritting her jaw Namjoo overe of the matching tea cups and poured the steaming tea. First and intentionally for the woman whose name she had yet to find out. Intentionally placing the cup loudly in front of Chunghee Namjoo resumed her task. Yelping the following second when the lady flicked her injured wrist. Losing her grip on the teapot, Namjoo acted on reflex. Quickly readjusting her fingers around the handle. Brushing the tips of her fingers against the burning pot. Dropping the fragile ceramic. The three of them gasped upon the ear-splitting crash.

Chunghee was next to scream. Flipping the tray onto the floor as she flung her hand when the steaming liquid washed upon her hand.

“Why you!” she screamed. Fury glazed her irises. That pretty face twisted like a sheet of towel being wrung dry.

“Sorry,” Namjoo apologized. “I didn’t do it on purpose.”

“Sorry?!” her voice went a notch louder Namjoo’s ears rang. From beside her the other woman breathed an amused laugh. Continued sipping her tea as the drama between them unfolded.

Trying to remain coolheaded, Namjoo reasoned, “You tried hurting me first. I just reacted.”

She breathed a vexed breath. Exasperated, “You vulgar woman! What kind of sick animal let you breathe.”

Unaffected, Namjoo merely stood silently.

“Pick it up!” she demanded.

“When you ask nicely,” Namjoo calmly told.

She literally shook as she inhaled. Ears turning beet red.

“I said pick it up!!!” Chunghee screeched.

With the exact type of rage she had displayed yesterday, Chunghee shot to her feet. Namjoo took her in. The fact that this kind of woman wanted Chanyeol was astounding beyond comprehension. Chanyeol, too soft at heart, would be stepped over.

She didn’t deserve her Chanyeol.

“Chunghee-ah, isn’t that your mother’s precious teapot from China?” the woman wondered.

Obviously, Namjoo would be set up for another punishment. Fine, so be it but she wasn’t about to go down without a fight. Hands were no longer bound. She wasn’t exhausted from a week’s long journey. In fact, even on an empty stomach, she could still garner the energy to defend herself. Also, she was very pissed off. The torture yesterday unforgiving.

“Did you hear that?!” Chunghee raised her voice. ed her hand toward the shattered teapot. “My mother’s!”

Namjoo didn’t understand why she had to be at the receiving end. She wasn’t at the bathhouse, yes, but with what kind of power did this Lady Chunghee have over her? Why should Namjoo get on her knees and accept punishment so easily?

“But,” Namjoo argued, “who are you to order me around?”

She wasn’t Madam Cho who wielded money as power. This girl was just a very young woman bred for marriage and the simple life. Of elegance and beauty. Her only duty was to give birth to healthy children. A son perhaps.

A wealthy girl who would never have to lift her hands and prove her own worth.

About to explode, Chunghee screamed fury. Raising her hand into the air. Namjoo’s cheeks still stung from yesterday’s beating. Recalling the pain, she lifted her arms up to block herself. Budging half a step back.

“Why, Chunghee,” a familiar voice greeted, “so you were here.”

Minseok gave her a discreet smirk. Dropping her arms, she felt her eyes grow imminently wide.

Yanking her arm out from his grasp, Chunghee gasped softly, “Commander.”

Looking around mischievously, Minseok commented, “Is this where everyone is?” then to the two girls, “I was quite sad no one came out to greet me.”

Rubbing her longer fingers, Chunghee innocent questioned, “You’ve returned.” Glancing past him in hopes of seeing another face, she asked, “The general?”

Minseok shrugged, “I don’t know.”

“Not even the general’s best man knows,” the other woman interrupted. Then her eyes slid over to Namjoo’s. A mysterious smile appearing across her curled lips.

“If we’re all done,” Minseok glanced at her, “I’d like her to come with me.”

“No,” Chunghee hurriedly cut in. Shrinking when she caught Minseok’s eyes. Explaining in a gentler tone that shocked Namjoo, “She has to clean this up.” Adding, “And the table. Look, it’s a mess.”

Minseok’s eyes wove over the unruly state before him. Next at her. Namjoo darted her eyes away inherently guilty and also, she didn’t feel good with him pinning her on it.

Gesturing his head to the servant at the bottom of the stairs, he reminded, “Have her do it.” Chunghee readily opened to continue reasoning, but Minseok concluded, “A skilled worker will do a cleaner job. I need the amateur with me.”

“Commander!” Chunghee called out when Minseok gestured for her to follow him.

Without sparing a glance at the two women, Namjoo swiftly went with Minseok. A building away, Namjoo finally asked, “Amateur?”

“Have I seen you scrub the floors, lift your hands, in the kitchen?” Minseok asked with a now smug grin on his lips. “So, what is our bathhouse girl doing here?”

Awkwardly trying to smile, Namjoo fiddled with her fingers, “That’s…a long story.”

She didn’t want him feeling sorry for her, pitying her, or putting in his leg where he’d just get in trouble. As she was kind of aware, Minseok was a guest here with Chanyeol. If there was conflict between him and the girls, his stay would be uncomfortable. She had no idea about his salary, where he could go if he got booted out because of her.

Skittering after him when she started falling behind, Namjoo asked when she caught up, “By the way, where are we going?”

“My quarters.”

“Your…quarters?” Namjoo repeated. “You mean, your house?”

“You’ll finally get a look at where Chanyeol and I stay.” He continued grinning. “Aren’t you excited?”

Pausing Namjoo let the fact hang over her head. She was getting to see the building that belonged to Chanyeol. Where he slept, ate, and stayed.

“Come on,” Minseok called out. “I’m leaving you behind.”

Minseok and Chanyeol’s building was beautifully laid out. In white with pretty paneling. Sunshine streaked the wooden floorboards. The inside eloquently decorated with what she deemed, the Jin family’s touch. And the men hadn’t added a hint of their own. Well, supposing this was just a bed and roof for them during overtures away from the field they wouldn’t have time to add their own decorations. Or maybe they weren’t interested.

Walking over to the dragon statues, Namjoo traced her finger over the detailed scales along its back. “This is a nice place. Compared to the bathhouse, this is a real house. But hey, is this real gold? It doesn’t seem authentic.”

She turned when he touched her arm. Half stunted by his casual demeanor.

“Sit down,” he invited. He led her to the table in the center. A dark red shade that shone under the hints of sunlight.

“What?” Namjoo wondered when she sank into the chair he pulled out. Noticing him grasping something else with the opposite hand. Rolls of bandaids which were merely strips of clean cloth and the familiar unlabeled jar.

Putting the items on the table he sat next to her. Namjoo pulled her hand back when he gently lifted her hand. His touch sweet and subtle.

“What?” she asked. When he said nothing her eyes fluttered, because she was flustered. Aware he had seen her raw wrists. Being a soldier, he most likely knew what the injuries meant.

In her entire life Namjoo had never been put on the spot like this before. Never had she felt the need to hide from anybody for his or her sake.

“I’m fine, it’s ok.” Namjoo twisted her wide sleeve around her wrist. Assuring, “It’s really nothing.”

She sounded pathetic but whatever. She didn’t want to bare her injuries. It hurt her pride and she worried if he was angry for her; if he might do anything about it.

“Let me see.” His tone reverberated through her. It was soothing and coaxing.

Namjoo hesitated. Observing the calm in his expression. Giving up, she pulled back her sleeve revealing a raw wrist. The injury appearing indented like a burrow. The area around the redness bruised, now a darker shade of blue and purple.

She noticed the tremor in his lower lip and felt guilty.

“Who was it?” Minseok asked.

“I’m not sure.” Namjoo said though she had a clue who.

Opening the jar, Minseok explained, “It won’t hurt.”

Holding her hand with the softest grip, he carefully spread the cream over her injury. Neither of them talked while he focused on his task. Something about the gesture moved her heart. The ambience in the air somewhat dreamy, somewhat wrenching.

“So I see you met the Lady Chunghee.” He commented wrapping the cloth around her wrist.

“Well…it just happened,” Namjoo said. She needn’t go into details of her arrival yesterday with him.

He glanced at her after tying the bandaid then grinned. “That suits you.”

She glanced down at her servant’s outfit. Embarrassed, she muttered, “Does it matter what I wear?”

“A lady’s face only makes up half of it,” Minseok teased, “as for the other half, her body needs to match.”

Namjoo felt her jaw tighten. Befuddled. She playfully hissed, but witnessing the chuckle from him lightened her mood more than she expected.

There was a slight freeze when he moved onto her other wrist. Seeing the red bracelet still intact. Pleasure shook in his eyes. For a moment he didn’t lift his head up, as if afraid to let her see.

Slightly touching the string with his thumb, he quietly said, “You kept it.”

She knew. The hearts in his eyes. The hope he reserved in a special place for her.

“Well,” Namjoo started, “it’s pretty.”

“You’re right,” he agreed, “it’s pretty.”

Namjoo drew down her sleeve when he completed bandaging her wrist. “Thanks.”

“Don’t thank me,” Minseok said. “Think of it as a public service.”

Namjoo narrowed her eyes. It was clear as day that he was enjoying himself. She would let him have it.

“Sir.” They both turned to see a woman carrying a tray of food into the home.

“Have you eaten?” Minseok turned to her. Before she even answered, he wheeled around to the servant who’d just placed the tray down. “I would like another serving.”

“But sir…” she hesitated, but when Minseok continued shooting her a stare she obliged. Shooting Namjoo a long stare and a onceover of her matching servant’s outfit before shuffling out.

“It’s ok,” Namjoo tried but not wholly. Her stomach grumbled at the sight of food, the scent of freshly cooked breakfast. Realizing that for days she hadn’t eaten a full meal.

Minseok pushed the tray toward her. “Go ahead.”

Hesitating, she glanced at him. With a slight movement of his head he gestured for her to eat. Namjoo could feel watering.

“Then,” her hand already moved for the spoon, “I’m going to eat.”

“Of course,” he happily smiled.

Like a child starved for days, Namjoo shoveled the food into . Feeling her stomach contract in disagreement. Finally settling after a minute. Namjoo patiently waited it out then wolfed down the rest of her food. Not sparing a second to savor the food through her taste buds. Hiccupping when she swallowed the last bite.

Finally remembering she wasn’t alone when a hand wiped the moisture off the corner of . Hiccupping even louder Namjoo turned to glance at him.

Smiling ever so softly. A match with the mesmerized gaze. His finger lingered. “How pretty.”

***AND Minseok is back!