Munjeong - Chapter 15

Chapter 15

Sitting in front of the grand, imposing piano, her slender frame seemed even more delicate. Leaning slightly against the staircase railing, Taeha reached into his suit jacket for his cigarette case, only to stop and withdraw his hand.

…Not in front of the kid.

He despised those without common sense and always maintained basic decency, no matter who he dealt with. Even if it was this bothersome girl—so young and inexperienced yet showing her displeasure toward him with every emotion plainly written on her face.

The late afternoon sunlight streamed through the wide windows, stretching its fingers toward the piano and softly washing over Chaeon’s delicate profile. She sat silently for a long time, lost in thought. Her cheeks, still faintly carrying traces of baby fat, betrayed her youth.

What will she play?

As fleeting and irrelevant as the thought that floating dust might settle on her long lashes, her hands, resting gently on the keys, began to move slowly.

“……”

Watching her with mild boredom, Taeha ran a hand through his hair—then froze mid-motion.

…Ah.

“Liebestraum.”

The melody from the opening notes sparkled like a cascade of starlight, its flowing cadence evoking the feeling of walking on clouds. A hymn to love itself, crafted by the composer to capture the profound feelings he held for someone dear, even if those feelings went unfulfilled.

Her pale, slender fingers danced freely across the keys, like ripples on water.

Her face, shifting with a kaleidoscope of emotions, seemed entirely unfamiliar. When she had been slumped at the bus stop, looking as though the weight of the world had crushed her, she hadn’t seemed capable of such depth or expression.

Her lips, occasionally curving into soft smiles, and the faint, poignant crease of her eyes, struck him with an odd feeling. For a mere nineteen-year-old girl, she appeared to fully understand the intense and profound emotions contained within the piece.

“When you play an instrument enough, you realize even instruments have emotions and a sense of self.”

“With instruments? They don’t even have hearts or nerves.”

“That’s because you’re still young, Taeha. Sometimes, when you’re playing, it feels like you’re having a conversation with the instrument. Even among pianos, the keys all have their own unique voices.”

“……”

The memory of this past conversation, long buried in a corner of his mind, resurfaced. Perhaps it was because “Liebestraum” had been his mother’s favorite piece. She used to speak dreamily, saying the piano felt as if it were whispering words of love to her whenever she played it.

It was her way of expressing loneliness, trapped in the mansion as though her hands and feet had been cut off by his father, clinging only to Taeha as her sole anchor.

The level of performance exceeded his expectations. Nostalgia washed over him, evoking a yearning for something lost. Taeha closed his eyes and listened, sinking into the dreamlike music.

Then—

“Ahhh! Ahhh!”

A piercing scream, sharp enough to tear through his ears, shattered the atmosphere, accompanied by the loud crash of something breaking. Almost immediately, heavy, stomping footsteps thundered down the stairs.

The delicate, dreamlike performance came to an abrupt halt, and Taeha opened his eyes slowly.

“What was… just now…”

Chaeon’s startled voice trailed off as the sound of thin silk slippers shuffling and clattering against the floor grew louder. Moments later, a figure emerged on the staircase landing, gasping for breath.

“Huu, huh…”

Taeha’s gaze darkened as he took in the woman descending the spiral staircase in utter disarray, her appearance akin to that of a madwoman. Her hollow eyes, gaunt limbs, and sunken cheeks peeked out from the loose, shiny indoor dress she wore. Her hair was a tangled mess across her face.

It was a familiar sight to him, but Chaeon, who had risen awkwardly from the piano bench, stared at the woman as if she’d seen a ghost in broad daylight. Watching her frozen expression of shock, Taeha spoke in his low, smooth voice, his tone calm and unperturbed.

“Why are you up already?”

“Who…?”

“You should’ve rested longer.”

“Who’s the mad one… Who played the piano in this house…?”

“Whose house do you mean?”

“……”

“This is mine.”

The arrogant tone of his biting remark made the woman’s chin quiver as if in spasm. Her breath, punctuated by gasps, was erratic, and her lips, marked with the signs of frequent biting, trembled uncontrollably. Ignoring his words entirely, she mumbled incoherently as her eyes darted toward Chaeon.

The whites of her eyes, bloodshot in places, contrasted starkly with her pale complexion and dark, hollow under-eyes, evoking an almost cadaverous appearance.

Her gaze was completely unhinged. Chaeon clutched her trembling hands together and instinctively took a step back. Her legs, quaking beneath her, retreated further until her back collided with something solid.

“Ah…”

Startled, she looked up to see Jang Taeha, staring down at her with an unreadable expression.

“I’m sorry. I was startled—”

Before she could finish whispering, Taeha grasped her shoulders, steadying her as she swayed. Two servants, seemingly there to assess the situation, approached cautiously. At a silent glance from Taeha, the servants exchanged a brief look before bowing and hurrying away.

He was the only one maintaining composure in the scene. His cold gaze rested on the woman, her sickly appearance making her look as though she was on the verge of collapse. After a moment of silence, Taeha spoke quietly.

“Mother.”

The woman flinched violently at his address, her shoulders jolting upward. Her bloodshot eyes turned to him.

“I told you… I told you not to call me that…”

“This is the daughter of Mrs. Ahn, who recently joined us.”

Regardless of whether Taeha introduced Chaeon to her or not, the woman did not look away from him, her glare venomous as she stepped toward them. Unlike Chaeon, whose chest tightened with fear, the voice from behind her remained calm and unaffected.

“I had her play to test the tuning after the tuner’s visit. She mentioned she used to play…”

Smack.

The sharp sound of friction cutting through the quiet air abruptly silenced Taeha’s words. His jaw muscle briefly tensed, standing out starkly, before smoothing over again as he continued to stare straight ahead without a blink.

“…….”

At the end of Taeha’s gaze, Chaeon’s head had been jerked entirely to the left, struck harshly by the woman.

The atmosphere froze over in an instant.

Whether it was due to the lingering effects of medication or the piano sound that provoked her deeply rooted anxiety, Son Ju-ah appeared utterly unhinged, entirely losing her composure.

“…….”

Having been suddenly slapped by a stranger, Chaeon stood frozen for a moment, then slowly lifted a trembling hand to her stinging cheek, her expression one of complete disbelief, as if she couldn’t comprehend what had just happened to her.

The second time, as Son Ju-ah’s hand once again sliced through the air, aiming to strike Chaeon, thud—

A skeletal wrist was caught firmly in Taeha’s grasp. As he looked at her with an unreadable expression, his calm voice broke the tension once more.

“Mother.”

Son Ju-ah let out a strange, hiccuping sob as she struggled to free herself, but the claw-like fingers gripping her wrist did not budge. Her venomous glare turned to Taeha, and he met it without flinching, his voice steady as he spoke again.

“The performance was in my house, on my orders.”

“…….”

“Would you like my cheek to be offered next?”

His cold gaze, daring her to so much as touch him, made Son Ju-ah flinch. The tension in her trembling hands, clenched so tightly moments ago, melted away completely.

With an indifferent flick, as if discarding something useless, Taeha released her arm. He turned to Chaeon, who remained rooted to the spot, her frail shoulders trembling.

“Yoon Chaeon.”

At the sound of her name, softly but firmly called, Chaeon bit her lip hard. The slap had stung so fiercely that tears welled in her eyes, unable to be contained.

“Look at me.”

Though his voice lacked any gentleness, it only made her feel all the more like crying. A quiet sigh escaped him as he stepped closer, tilting her chin slightly with one hand to lift her face. His eyes narrowed faintly as they took in her cheek, already reddening.

“You’ve gone and reopened a spot that hadn’t healed yet.”

1. Liebestraum No. 3, Franz Liszt (1850)