Chapter 24

The workshop quickly filled with stuffy heat. The sharp, earthy scent rising from the thoroughly kneaded clay mingled with the warmth radiating from Ja-yeong’s small body, making the cramped space feel even more stifling.

“Huaa… Hah…”

By the time Ja-yeong finished treading the clay, she was drenched from head to toe. Beads of sweat gathered on her round forehead, trickled down the bridge of her nose, and collected at the tip of her chin. Her T-shirt had already absorbed so much sweat and moisture that it clung to her back and chest like a thin film.

She barely had time to catch her breath. Clay was like a living organism, hardening rapidly from the moment it came into contact with air. With practiced movements, she broke off portions of the thoroughly kneaded clay and packed them into plastic bags.

Ever since her grandfather’s left-hand nerves had become paralyzed, preparing the clay and shaping the pottery had fallen entirely to Ja-yeong.

Pottery was an art of patience. Three years of treading clay, three years at the potter’s wheel, and another three years tending the fire in front of the kiln. It was said that only after enduring nine long years of training could someone truly call themselves a potter.

Ja-yeong had been working with clay for only six years. She would need to put in another three before she could become the true successor to Cheongso-yo.

This is exhausting…

Once she finished, Ja-yeong went over to the basin she had filled with water beforehand and plopped down beside it. She rubbed her calves with her hands, washing away the bits of clay stuck to her skin. Then, all of a sudden, she felt an insistent gaze on her back.

“…?”

Ja-yeong turned around. In the corner of the workshop, she spotted Eden crouching in the shadows. Oh, right. She’d been so absorbed in her work that she’d briefly forgotten he was even there.

“What are you doing over there?”

Ja-yeong raised the back of her hand and casually wiped away the sweat running beneath her chin. A droplet clinging to her fingertips fell to the floor with a soft plop.

Eden watched the droplet hit the ground and break apart before slowly lifting his gaze. His eyes traveled up from her wet ankles, lingered on her sweat-soaked upper body, where the contours showed through the clinging fabric, and finally settled on her flushed cheeks.

“…”

He didn’t answer. What was with him just staring when someone was talking to him? Ja-yeong pursed her lips, picked up a towel, and dried her feet. His silent, unwavering stare was making her skin prickle. Just as she was about to tell him to stop looking at her, the man’s low, husky voice came from the shadows.

“This is much more grueling than I expected.”

So that was what he’d been thinking about. It seemed he’d been surprised by seeing the clay-treading process for the first time. Ja-yeong swept her damp hair back with a triumphant look and replied.

“Regretting it now? Asking me to casually make you a bowl after all this hard work?”

Her teasing carried a not-so-subtle hint that he could still give up and go home. But the man didn’t smile. He remained crouched in the deep shadows, his large frame tucked away like a piece of fired pottery.

“No.”

Only his eyes shone in the darkness, glossy as glazed porcelain fresh from the kiln.

“Now I want it even more.”

His gaze clung to her face, sticky as wet clay. Feeling awkward, Ja-yeong needlessly fanned the front of her T-shirt as though trying to cool herself down.

“Well… think whatever you want.”

Ja-yeong got to her feet. She was about to pull the handcart out of the workshop when she noticed that the man was still crouched in the corner without moving an inch.

“Aren’t you coming?”

At her question, he turned his gaze away, looking flustered.

“Uh, well… You go ahead.”

As he spoke, he rested an elbow on one raised knee and leaned forward, curling into an oddly hunched posture.

“You’re going to stay here alone? You don’t have anything to do. I need to turn off the lights.”
“I have something to think about concerning the bowl. Please don’t concern yourself with me. You may go.”

What was he going to think about in someone else’s workshop? Had his legs fallen asleep from crouching for so long? Or had he suddenly come up with an idea for a new dish?

Ja-yeong shrugged, utterly baffled by Eden’s eccentric behavior.

“Suit yourself. Just close the door when you leave.”

Rumble, rumble. The handcart’s wheels rolled as Ja-yeong left the workshop. After walking for a while, she glanced back.

Inside the darkened workshop, Han Eden was still crouched in exactly the same position, without moving at all.

“He said he’d handle all the hard, tedious work himself, but he won’t even pull the handcart. He just sits there watching.”

Only after he was certain the sound of her footsteps had faded completely did Eden let out a deep sigh.

“Hah… This is driving me insane.”

He roughly dragged a hand down his face. There was a dull ache in his lower abdomen. Perhaps his abstinence had gone on for too long. He cursed the part of his body that had chosen to react at the most unexpected moment.

The wet clay, her ragged breathing, the falling beads of sweat, and the flushed face of the woman. Every one of those sensory details had stirred his body before his reason could intervene. And yet, not a single one fit Han Eden’s usual preferences for things clean, fragrant, and refined…

As though confessing his carnal desires, Eden stared at the cotton cloth hanging from the main beam. Seeing the creases left by the woman’s small hands, he could almost smell that damp, strangely sweet scent of sweat again.

After a refreshing wash, Ja-yeong emerged to find the sun sinking toward the horizon. With a towel wrapped around her head, she poked it through the kitchen’s sliding door. The man standing in front of the old cupboard was wiping the dishes with a linen cloth.

“Finished thinking?”
“Yes. It was a very deep and productive train of thought.”
“What were you thinking about?”
“Planning the menu.”

Liar. Hadn’t he said earlier that he needed to think about the bowl? Rather than press him for an explanation, Ja-yeong deliberately made a request she thought might stump him.

“If you’re still planning the menu, can I put in a request?”
“By all means.”
“I want Chinese food. Jajangmyeon, jjamppong, fried rice, that sort of thing.”

Wouldn’t that catch him off guard? But contrary to her expectations, he nodded readily.

“Sounds good. Beef brisket jjamppong.”

Without the slightest hesitation, he headed for the vegetable garden.

Had he boiled and eaten some magical club that made whatever you said appear out of thin air?

Ja-yeong pouted and pressed the button on the electric fan.

Rattle, rattle, rattle.

The old fan blew out lukewarm air. Its head, wrapped in blue tape where the joint had broken, turned laboriously, like an old man struggling up a mountain path.

She’d have to make do. Her arms were trembling from treading the clay, and she didn’t even have the strength to hold a hair dryer. Ja-yeong lowered her head and shook out her wet hair.

Just then, the man standing in front of the wooden veranda spoke to her.

“Not using the hair dryer? It’s right within reach.”
“You wouldn’t understand the hardships of a potter. So mind your own business.”

Ja-yeong answered curtly, massaging her limp arms. The man looked down at her for a moment before lightly stepping up onto the veranda.

“Ah. I’ve been thoughtless.”

He strode over, sat down behind her, and picked up the hair dryer.

“W-What are you doing?”
“Stay still. You said your arms hurt, little one.”

Whirrrrr.

A soft motor hummed, and warm air brushed the back of her neck. Eden’s large hand slipped between her wet strands of hair.

Perhaps it was because he was a cook, but his touch was astonishingly gentle. He softly massaged her scalp to shake off the moisture, then ran his fingers down the length of her hair as though combing it.

The man’s scent wafted over her, and his fingers brushed the nape of her neck. Each time they touched her scalp, a tingling sensation ran down her spine.

Why did her lower belly keep tingling, too…?

Ja-yeong had been sitting cross-legged, but now she drew up her knees and hugged them tightly with her arms. Her toes wiggled of their own accord.

“All dry.”

When Eden switched off the hair dryer, silence descended in an instant. But his hand was still playing with the ends of her hair. He was so close that his breath brushed the back of her neck.

Ja-yeong swallowed hard and was just about to turn around when—

“Well, would you look at that! I heard you’d started setting up house together, but it must be true!”

A booming voice rang out from the entrance to the yard. Ja-yeong sprang to her feet so abruptly that she nearly fell backward onto her rear.

“Grandma…!”

Grandma Geum-ryong came walking toward them with a huge smile, carrying a basket brimming with food. Two or three other village elders followed behind her.

“Well, I’ll be! It’s true! Oh, how sweet! The smell of sesame seeds roasting is filling the whole kiln yard!”¹

Ja-yeong’s face turned as red as a ripe tomato.