One of Those Days at Songrim

“Master, we’ll take things from here. You can rest now.”

Yi Na smiled through her sweat-soaked bangs and nodded to her lead apprentice. Rising from the birthing stool, she accepted the gentle fuss of her assistants as they cleaned up and removed her apron.

She whispered a quiet thanks after washing her hands and stepped outside, still wiping her face with a linen cloth. Two full days of work weighed on her shoulders, but the late-spring breeze was a balm.

As she crossed the courtyard, the scents of damp earth and young leaves reminded her how much had changed since Dal Mi’s ritual.

In the months that followed the ritual, Songrim changed in ways both subtle and grand.

Snow melted into clear, rushing streams. Buds pushed through bark and unfurled into a thousand shades of green. By late spring the cicadas had returned, their music carrying on the humid air, and summer blazed across the rooftops like a blessing.

Yi Na’s own life shifted with the seasons. She began teaching the healer-mages at Jeongjingak, focusing on female health and emergency treatments. Many families, seeing an opportunity, pleaded with her to take apprentices, and Go Won allowed her to handle women’s health at the Royal Clinic. Her days filled quickly—lectures at the school, apprentices at the clinic, and the steady rhythm of bringing new lives into the world.

Her evenings were occupied too: sharing quiet meals with the Four Seasons and their families, and walks with Seo Yul beneath the lanterns.

And Dal Mi—five years old now—moved through every season with a confidence that startled everyone who watched her.

When the snow first receded, she had still been tentative, one small hand always caught in her mother’s or Seo Yul’s sleeve. Her eyes, milk-pale and sightless, were now covered by thin slips of white silk embroidered by Jin Ho Gyeong: a single lotus in silver thread. The covering was tradition, worn by her mother and, most famously, by Jin Seol-ran, the legendary blind seer who had once defended Daeho Fortress alongside Master Seo Gyeong.

At first the silk had been purely symbolic. But as the months passed, Dal Mi began to walk without her parents’ guiding touch. She stepped lightly across the flagstones of Jeongjingak, the stony paths of Danhyanggok, and the cobblestones of both the Jang household and Jinyowon, her bare feet finding the warmest patches of sun as if she could sense the heat through the air itself. She no longer turned toward the sound of her name alone; she turned toward a person’s presence—the ripple of qi, the weight of intention—long before their footsteps reached her.

Songrim’s traders would stop mid-errand just to watch the child pass. Some whispered that it was like seeing Jin Bu Yeon herself in the days before she disappeared. Others, older still, murmured of Jin Seol-ran, the blind matriarch whose gift had become legend.

“She carries Seol-ran’s echo,” one elder said in awe. “Perhaps even her sight of the unseen.”

Dal Mi did not hear the whispers as ordinary ears would. She felt them—small tremors of admiration and unease in the air. When she laughed, the tension always broke, like sunlight splitting a storm.

By late summer she was climbing the wide stone stairs of Jeongjingak alone. Seo Yul often watched from a shaded corridor, arms folded, as she mapped the world with her senses: the faint pressure of walls, the wind curling between pillars, the sound of a distant sparrow that told her which roofline lay ahead.

“She listens with her whole body,” he remarked one evening to Yi Na.

Yi Na smiled faintly. “Her body is her sight now. Like Jin Seol-ran.”

Seo Yul tilted his head at that. The name carried a private resonance for him, one he rarely voiced.

Long ago, his own ancestor Master Seo Gyeong had loved Jin Seol-ran—a love recorded only in faded letters and a handful of folktales. The story had no neat ending: duty had bound them to different fates, but their devotion was remembered in every generation of the Seo clan.

Perhaps, Yul sometimes thought, the wheel truly did turn.

But peace in Songrim rarely lasted unchallenged.

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As the harvest moon rose over the mountains, the long-anticipated debate finally began. After its re-establishment under Go Won as King, the council only met when there was a pressing matter. Representatives from Jinyowon arrived in their formal silks, lotus sigils gleaming. Elders of other sects and powerful households gathered opposite them in Jeongjingak’s council hall, the brazier lit though the evening was mild. The focus of the night was Dal Mi—much like her father and mother all those years ago.

Dal Mi entered at her parents’ side, the white embroidered slip covering her eyes. She walked unaided, head high, each step sure. The murmurs that followed were a blend of awe and old memories.

After the usual pleasantries, Jin Ho Gyeong was the first to speak. “The child carries our Jin blood and the ancient gift. She belongs with her kin. Jinyowon will shape her into the seer she was born to be.”

Master Lee countered with calm authority. “Her spirit walks a broader path. Jeongjingak can teach her balance, the discipline to wield power without losing self.”

Park Jin folded his arms, agreeing with Master Lee. “Songrim has safeguarded the realm longer than any. We will keep her safe.”

Ho Gyeong’s eyes narrowed. “Safe is not the same as fulfilled.”

The discussion grew sharper, though never cruel. Dal Mi listened, unmoving, feeling each word ripple through the room like waves through a pond. She sensed her father’s restrained tension, her mother’s quiet pride, the warm protective presence of Seo Yul standing a step behind.

When the voices finally paused, her mother spoke.

“I have heard you all,” Cho Yeong said, her voice clear though soft. “Mother, your home is part of Dal Mi. But the place where she learned to walk again is here. Yul showed her how to hear the air and feel the world. I wish for her to train under him. Dal Mi also wishes the same.”

A hush followed, deeper than silence. The other leaders murmured about Seo Yul’s luck in finding good apprentices while Ho Gyeong’s gaze softened, the faintest flicker of memory crossing her face.

“Seol-ran’s spirit was once loved by a Seo,” she said at last. “Perhaps the heavens have chosen to return that kindness.” She inclined her head. “If that is your will, I will not bind you. The blood of Jinyowon travels where it must be.”

A subtle sigh of relief moved through the hall. Master Lee nodded once, approval in the small gesture.

Seo Yul dropped to one knee before the girl. “Then I will teach you, Dal Mi. As long as you wish to learn.”

A faint smile touched her lips. “Uncle Yul happy.”

Seo Yul smiled and hugged the little one. “Yes, Dal Mi. Uncle Yul is happy.”

A/N: One chapter left and we drop our writing pens. Live and Love 💕💕💕