Cheon Sa exhaled slowly, narrowing his eyes beneath delicately painted lids. Draped in opulent female robes of rose and ivory silk, his slender frame was nearly unrecognizable. A sheer veil hung from the bridge of his nose down to his chin, concealing his face just enough to disguise his features without drawing suspicion. To anyone unaware, he looked like a high-ranking courtesan awaiting her cue.
He sat like a portrait, unmoving, poised on a round cushion with hands folded delicately over his lap. Across from him, two gisaeng sat in uneasy silence, their performance silks pristine but their expressions far from composed.
Min Hee, the dancer, darted her eyes toward the doorway every few seconds, as if willing someone to arrive and break the unbearable stillness. Her fingers drummed lightly against her folded fan - anxious, restless, too used to movement to bear waiting.
The other surprisingly was Ara, the singer, whose usually confident posture was curiously tense. Cheon Sa hadn't expected to see her as one of the performer. She had said nothing about participating in the selection for the Orchid Song Hall, and yet, here she was silent, composed, rigid, lips pressed together, her usual brightness dulled. Her gaze stayed low, and something about her visibly uneasy like someone awaiting judgment.
Cheon Sa didn't fully understand the competition's arrangement. The Madam and Lady Sook had argued over who should be replaced among the current performers, but since they couldn't decide, they had left the final choice to him. Of the three gisaeng under consideration, one would be dismissed. Given the authority to eliminate one among them and take their place. It was cruel, theatrical, and beneath the polished surface of silk and powder, everyone in the room knew it.
And yet, the decision could not be delayed. Cheon Sa knew it rested on him alone. He already knew his own worth. With the precision he possessed, with the artistry in his hands, he could easily surpass any one of them. The only question left was who deserved to stay, and who would be replaced.
The only other figure present was Lady Sook herself, kneeling in a corner like a porcelain statue, She said nothing. She wasn't present to ensure fairness; Cheon Sa knew that much. she took the position of someone only there to observe in the absence of the supposed madam.
The air in the room was still, thick with unspoken tension. They had been waiting for some time now, expecting the arrival of Eun Ha, the instrumentalist specialised in zither playing - meant to accompany the performances. But she was late. Too late.
The silence dragged on.
Cheon Sa glanced toward the paper doors, wondering if Eun Ha's delay was deliberate Or simply the behavior of someone who believed the room was not worth her time?
Then, without warning, the door slid open with a whisper.
And Eun Ha entered like thunder in velvet.
Her hanbok was a masterpiece of defiance. Deep plum and jet-black silk wrapped around her figure like shadows at dusk, silver cranes embroidered along the hem taking flight with each of her steps. An indigo overcoat of sheer gauze floated behind her like morning mist caught on wind. Her waist was cinched with a crimson sash, tied so tightly it suggested tension beneath the elegance - controlled fury beneath art.
Her hair was piled high in elaborate coils, threaded with gold, crowned with a silver binyeo carved into a phoenix in mid-flight an unmistakable emblem of rank, legacy, and ego. Ruby earrings swayed as she walked, catching the light like blood on a blade.
But none of it compared to her gaze.
Cold. Sharp. Unblinking.
Eun Ha's eyes swept the room like a drawn blade assessing, slicing, daring anyone to challenge her. She did not bow. She did not smile. Her presence filled the space before her feet even crossed the threshold, like a storm announcing itself with the weight of charged air. She did not enter as a performer called to duty. She entered like a queen inspecting her inferiors.
Just behind her, a silent servant crept forward, clutching a lacquered redwood case to her chest like it was holy. Once Eun Ha took her seat, regal and slow, the servant dropped to her knees and gently placed the zither in front of her. The case clicked softly against the floor - an ominous final note in the heavy silence. Without so much as a glance from her mistress, the servant bowed deeply and fled the room, her hurried footsteps the only sound of retreat.
Eun Ha didn't bother watching her leave.
Her eyes locked onto Cheon Sa, and when she spoke, her voice cut through the room like the first slash of a blade.
"So this is the one," she said, each word sharp and deliberate. "The new gisaeng, dressed in silks and shadow, pretending to be an instructor. Sent here to judge us."
Her gaze narrowed with disdain. "You dare evaluate me? You - a painted phantom no one even knows? Is this the Madam's idea of entertainment? An outsider in disguise pretending to know our worth?"
She leaned forward, her jaw tightening, voice rising with righteous fury. "I am Eun Ha the crown jewel of Orchid Song Hall. I am the only one here who performs for clients beyond these walls. I have bled into these strings, played until my fingers tore open, trained when others slept. And you... you dare sit there, veiled like a ghost, and pass judgment on me?"
"Eun…" Lady Sook began softly, clearly trying to rein her in.
But Cheon Sa needed no shield.
"If you were truly beyond judgment," he murmured, his voice as soft as silk against skin, feminine and unyielding, "you wouldn't be seated here like the rest."
The silence was immediate and deafening.
Lady Sook froze, her eyes wide in horror. Ara gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. They hadn't expected Cheon Sa to speak - certainly not in that voice. His identity was supposed to remain hidden. The candidate for the High Season had to be a woman. That was why Lady Sook was willing to risk everything after witnessing Cheon Sa's performance. That was why the veil and robes were essential - because even the slightest misstep could unravel the entire illusion.
But Cheon Sa didn't so much as blink. When he spoke, his voice flowed like silk over skin - soft, laced with quiet allure, and unmistakably feminine. It carried the delicate sweetness of a caress, yet beneath it lay the calm control of someone who knew exactly what effect his words would have.
Eun Ha's nostrils flared. "What did you just say?"
"You heard me," Cheon Sa said smoothly. "If you intend to compete, you will sit. You will play. And you will be judged by me. Or you may walk out now, and I will have no need to assess anyone further."
Tension surged through the room like heat off coals. No one moved. Even the air seemed afraid to breathe.
Then Eun Ha rose, her smile slow, dangerous, and full of venom.
"Fine," she hissed. "Let's settle it. Right here. Right now."
She pointed at Cheon Sa with a flick of her sleeve.
"You and me. We both play. And when I'm finished, everyone in this room will know whether you ever deserved that seat."
Cheon Sa said nothing.
He didn't need to. The challenge was absurd, and he had no intention of entertaining it.
But before he could refuse, Lady Sook stepped forward. Her expression gave nothing away as she gracefully placed a zither before him, her movements as deliberate as they were elegant.
The performance had already begun, instigated not by him, but by the so-called queen of Orchid Song Hall. Eun Ha was not someone people defied easily. Her name alone commanded a kind of silent obedience. The way she moved, the quiet authority in her presence, suggested she was no ordinary hostess. She was a pillar of this place, and she knew it. Yet Lady Sook, ever perceptive, seemed to recognize an opportunity in the confrontation.
Cheon Sa arched a brow, prepared to make it clear he wouldn't be playing - not for show, not to compete. He was here to observe, to evaluate, not to perform.
But then he caught Lady Sook's gaze.
There was something in it - an apology, perhaps, or a quiet plea. Then she gave a subtle nod. And in that small gesture, Cheon Sa understood.
She was asking him to put Eun Ha in her place.
So, with a sigh barely audible, he sat before the zither.
The air inside the chamber had shifted. The silence was no longer mere anticipation, it was tension on the edge of unraveling.
Two zithers, lacquered and humming with potential, sat before the two performers like twin altars awaiting devotion. Eun Ha sat rigid and proud, her spine straight as a spear, fingers poised like talons above the strings. Cheon Sa remained still, the veil over his face fluttering ever so slightly as he exhaled once, then lowered his hands with the grace of a swan landing on still water.
The competition was unspoken, but absolute.
It began not with words, but with sound.
Eun Ha struck first.
Her fingers plucked the zither strings with precision and controlled flair, each note sharp, high, crystalline. The melody was fast, impressive, bold, a display of control and discipline. She was not here to move hearts; she was here to command. Each note soared like a whipcrack through the air, proud and dazzling. Her rhythm pulsed like a heartbeat under fire unyielding.
It was, undeniably, a master's performance.
When she finished her short passage, she lifted her chin and glanced at Cheon Sa with a look that said, Your turn, phantom.
Cheon Sa did not reply with words.
He simply lowered his fingers.
And played.
His opening note was soft so soft it seemed it might vanish before reaching the ear. But it didn't. It lingered. It lived.
Then came the next note, and the next, unfurling like a blossom in morning light.
Cheon Sa's hands moved not with effort, but with fluid elegance. His fingers brushed the strings like a lover's caress, coaxing from them a melody so warm, so impossibly delicate, that the air itself seemed to hush in reverence. He did not play with force. He played with feeling - each note a breath, each phrase a sigh, each pause as intentional as the sound itself.
Where Eun Ha's music had commanded, Cheon Sa's invited.
Where she impressed, he moved.
The room was utterly still. Even Lady Sook leaned forward without realizing it. Ara blinked rapidly, lips parted, as though she had forgotten how to breathe.
Then Eun Ha played again faster, harsher, her fingers attacking the strings with ferocity. Her music was a rebuttal. A scream.
But when Cheon Sa responded, it wasn't louder, it was deeper. He pulled notes from the lowest parts of the instrument, layering them with a rising tremble of high-pitched harmonies. It was water flowing around stone. It was the wind slipping through the cracks in a closed door. It was grief and joy and longing woven into a few, simple notes.
He ended on a gentle glissando, the final note so haunting, it rang in the bones long after his fingers left the strings.
Silence returned.
But not for long.
Clapping erupted from somewhere below.
Cheon Sa blinked, startled.
The sound was growing louder. Applause, cheers, gasps.
Lady Sook rushed to the window, sliding it open and saw the courtyard filled with people. The faint notes of the zither had trickled through the wooden floors and open screens, floating down like music from the heavens, and drawn an impromptu audience.
Servants. Passersby. Even clients who had wandered into the main hall below now frozen, eyes wide, necks craned toward the upper floor, listening.
One of the younger gisaeng from downstairs, flushed and breathless, appeared at the door and whispered urgently to another gisaeng that was lingering at the door, "The hall… the hall is full again."
Eun Ha said nothing.
Her eyes were fixed on Cheon Sa, wide and gleaming not with awe, but disbelief.
Because there had been no tricks. No theatrics. Just the raw, radiant truth:
He was better.
And not just a little.
He was brilliant, undeniably the reason the hall was now so crowded. Her own playing had never drawn such attention. Most patrons assumed she performed only in private, her music reserved for select clients behind closed screens. No one had ever clapped for her the way they did for him.
Eun Ha rose with practiced grace, though the tension in her jaw betrayed her fury.
"That should be enough for your judgment, shouldn't it?" she said, her voice laced with bitterness, each word dripping with venom.
Cheon Sa met her gaze calmly. "More than enough."
She narrowed her eyes, her lips curving into something between a smile and a sneer.
"I'll acknowledge your skill," she said, her tone sharp. "But if my fingers weren't worn from playing all day, you wouldn't be the one sitting there now."
Cheon Sa opened his mouth to respond, but she had already turned away, her robes swirling behind her as she swept out of the room without another word.