had me very late in life. My father is a quiet man and he did not inherit any of his own father’s interest in weaponry. I heard Jun, the youngest son of the Big House, talking about my notorious grandfather to some school friends once. They were examining the enormous wooden staff displayed in his father’s meditation room.
“Seo-sshi made that—he was my grandfather’s ‘slave of the body,’?” Jun was saying. “They say he killed several men with it.”
“Can he make us one? Is he still around?” asked one of his friends, and I leaned closer from where I had been cleaning the windows of the living room to try to catch a glimpse of them.
“Well, we have Changee, who’s the son of Seo-sshi, but he’s just a driver and I don’t think he knows how to make weapons. But maybe I’ll tell him to go learn and make me one,” he said. I had been about to muster up the nerve to tell them what I knew about that staff—how it had been used in a fight against a local gang in the market, and how a foreign man had offered a great deal of money for it. But when I heard what Jun said, I threw the wet rag I had been cleaning with on the floor, which was as rebellious a gesture as I could make. Vowing never to set foot in that house again, I stormed off to the annex, only to be told by my mother to run some rice cakes over to Big House kitchen because Jun had brought company over.
* * *
—
WHEN MY MOTHER and father were married, my mother moved into a small annex that had been hastily built at the far end of the estate as a wedding gift, away from the other servants’ quarters. Because it was the only structure on the estate that was not traditional hanok architecture, it was also easily the smallest and ugliest building in the complex—a concrete, oblong box with a blue roof that had two small rooms and a kitchen. My grandfather’s stern portrait had presided over my room all my life. It was in that room now that both Sujin and Miho would be staying with me.
A few days ago, I had texted my mother to ask if we could borrow more sleeping mats from the Big House. “That cannot possibly be asked,” she had responded. “How can you even think of such a thing?”
I had closed my eyes in exasperation when she texted back. There were entire wings that were lying empty and unused, and certainly dozens of luxurious, thick, embroidered sleeping mats. Lady Chang had petted me when I was younger—she would say yes if asked. But my friends and I would be sleeping on thin blankets instead.
* * *
—
AS WE SLIP past the back entrance, Miho comes to a dramatic stop in the middle of the path, surveying the grounds. “This is so beautiful,” she says in the dreamy voice that is starting to irritate me now. “How old is it? It must be centuries old, right?”
I shrug. It is at least a hundred years old, that I know. The Big Family is obsessed with their lineage.
“You never asked?” marvels Miho. Her eyes are hungry as they travel across the lotus pond, the pagoda, pruned pine gardens, and in the distance, the Big House itself, with its elaborately crafted woodwork and the sloping, gabled roof. Enormous stone frogs stand guard in front of each building’s entrance. The grass has been cut to perfection by my father—that is another one of his duties around the house.
“It’s not her family—why should she care?” snaps Sujin, and I grin at her.
“If I lived here, I would never leave,” says Miho, still staring.
Perhaps unsurprisingly, she keeps it up even when we finally reach the annex. Setting her bags down in the dim living room, she says it’s so cool to see where I grew up and how lucky I was to have my own room as a child.
My parents are not here, of course, even though I did text them what bus we were taking. It doesn’t matter that it’s a holiday—holidays