Cheon Sa and Min Ho walked for a long time and met people from different direction joining them as they all walked in one direction till they reached a towering sign post that spanned across the paved road.
"What does it say, what does it say?" Min Ho asked, his face full of excitement.
Cheon Sa could read and write since he was taught as a child but Min Ho couldn't read complicated words since only few people could read in their tribe while the others didn't bother to learn. He raised his head to read what was written on the signpost. "Welcome to Jo town."
Min Ho frowned and Cheon Sa was a bit confused because nothing on the signpost says capital nor was the capital called Jo, the capital could also be referred as Jeong which was the name of their nation.
They stood there, lost in their own thoughts, until a sharp clearing of the throat snapped the moment. A passerby brushed between them with casual boldness, but Cheon Sa's eyes narrowed. He moved a bit, not from surprise, but instinct. He tracked the man's every movement, watching the slight shift of his hands, the way his steps quickened just after passing. For a breath, he thought the man meant to lift something from Min Ho's pouch.
But the stranger simply kept walking, disappearing into the crowd.
"We have gotten to the capital, this is nothing but the capital." Min Ho said suddenly and nodded.
Cheon Sa smiled, yes no where could have these type of road or the amazing buildings he could see ahead except the capital.
They quickly walked in like how everyone did, glad that some guards stationed a bit ahead didn't stop them to ask questions.
The capital stretched ahead, alive, vivid, and breathing like a well-tuned instrument and soon they found themselves in what seemed like a busy market.
It buzzed with color and sound, the sun gilding rooftops and casting long shadows as merchants shouted over woven baskets of fresh produce, and children darted between market stalls with sticky rice cakes in hand.
But it wasn't the noise or the scent of roasted chestnuts that caught Cheon Sa's attention, it was the women.
They moved through the streets with a quiet kind of authority, dressed in elegant hanbok that fluttered like silken flags in the breeze. The colors were soft and earthy, sage, blush, cream yet somehow radiant against the stone and wood of the town. Their jeogori jackets were tied neatly at the front, and their chima skirts billowed gently as they walked, each step measured, deliberate.
Some carried bundles wrapped in cloth, balanced with ease on their hips, while others led children by the hand or paused to chat near wells and courtyards, laughter blooming like the petals pinned in their hair. Hair that gleamed black-blue under sunlight, tied in braids or buns, adorned with modest pins or faded ribbons.
Min Ho gave a low whistle under his breath. "They look like they're walking out of a painting," he said, trying not to stare. "You know painting right?"
Cheon Sa said nothing at first, his gaze drifting across the streets of the capital, taking in its rhythm, its color, its grace. Warmth pulsed from every corner like a heartbeat. It was not the place he had pictured during the long nights on the road. He had expected something cold, impersonal, towering and gray.
But it was alive.
"I know painting," he murmured at last, half to himself. The image of the tribe chief's chamber came to mind, an old, faded painting of the chief's grandmother hanging solemnly on the far wall. But that wasn't his first encounter with art. When he was a child, their shelves had been filled with books, full of drawings, paintings, and pressed ink, each page a quiet world of etiquette and martial art of its own.
They drifted from stall to stall, unable to afford any of the goods on display, glittering sweets wrapped in paper like jewels, delicate hairpins carved from bone and silver, and elegant household trinkets that shimmered in the morning light. Min Ho's face was alight with wonder, his grin growing with every new sight. It was clear this was his first time seeing such treasures. Cheon Sa stayed a step behind, silent, his eyes caught by a small mirror framed in smooth, pale jade. It reflected more than just his face it showed a world he had never quite belonged to.
Min Ho tugged at his sleeve, grounding him back in reality.
"Now that we're in the capital and these coins of ours can't even buy a cracked roof, we need to find work. The kind with lodging included," he said, casting a cautious glance around. "You know we can't sleep outside. The authorities here don't just bark, they bite."
Cheon Sa gave a quiet nod. "Okay."
They started moving with the crowd, careful not to bump shoulders as they weaved through the winding paths. The scent of spices and roasted barley filled the air, and somewhere nearby, a zither strummed lightly.
But as they walked, Cheon Sa felt it.
Eyes.
A faint prickling on the back of his neck.
He turned his head slowly and he was right. People were looking at him. Not just glancing, but double-taking. Some even stopped altogether, their conversations halting mid-sentence as their eyes followed him, even the owners of some stalls stood and stare.
He caught the gaze of a merchant who blinked, then nudged the man beside him. A pair of young girls covered their mouths and whispered behind their sleeves. An older woman stared without blinking, as if trying to recall a name she hadn't spoken in years.
Whatever it was they saw in him, familiarity, beauty, danger, Cheon Sa couldn't tell.
But he knew this: he was not invisible here.
And that, somehow, was more unsettling than being ignored.
"Ah.. this look." A woman stepped into Cheon Sa's path like silk falling from a lacquered box, quiet, sudden, impossible to ignore.
The gisaeng stood poised in the bustle of the marketplace, her presence like a painted stroke against the crowd's duller tones. Her hanbok was striking, a flowing chima skirt of deep plum that moved like ink in water, paired with a fitted jeogori of ivory silk embroidered with silver cranes that shimmered faintly under the sunlight. The long ribbon of her otgoreum trailed down her front in soft lilac, swaying gently with each breath.
Around her waist was a sheer over-skirt, delicate and translucent, dyed with the softest blush pink, more for beauty than modesty. Her sleeves, long and wide, concealed the tips of her fingers until she moved, revealing painted nails and a graceful wrist adorned with thin jade bangles.
Her hair was swept up into an intricate eoyeo meori bun, adorned with a golden binyeo and a hairpin tipped with a dangling butterfly charm that danced every time she turned her head. Her face bore the refinement of the capital powdered smooth, lips tinted a petal red, and eyes lined softly to give her a gaze both knowing and unreadable.
She looked up at Cheon Sa, a faint smile playing at the corner of her lips, half invitation, half challenge. "You are an extremely beautiful person, our madam will like you. will you like to get easy and double the payment house of stories can offer you?"
Cheon Sa was shocked, he had no words to say as her sweet perfume drifted to him, it was the first time he was confronted like that which made him speechless. He saw more women dressed like her standing behind her but Min Ho quickly stepped in front of him.
"Do you need guards, cleaners?" Min Ho asked eagerly.
The woman swiped on distainly look at him and looked away. "We don't need those nor do we want you." She said coldly.
"We apologise but me and my brother have somewhere to go." Min Ho proceed to bow deeply and when he raised his head he took Cheon Sa's hand and quickly walked away. "You shouldn't stand like that Cheon Sa, those are women that entertain men and she wants you to do the same, you can't work that line of work, you know old man Choi told us how it can be, they can even beat you if you offend those nobles."
Of course Cheon Sa knew the occupation the woman was into but he didn't expect to be corned out of no where that was why he was speechless.
"Wait… wait… let's talk!"
Cheon Sa glanced over his shoulder and saw her pushing through the crowd, struggling to catch up. From the opposite direction, another woman eyes were on the gisaeng chasing them and she turned to see Cheon Sa, her eyes widening and she immediately joined the chase. Min Ho snorted and picked up his pace. Without a word, they slipped deeper into the crowd, weaving between bodies until her voice faded behind them like smoke in the wind.
Just as they turned a corner near the town square, a sudden burst of rhythm and movement caught their attention. A crowd had gathered beneath the shade of a wide gingko tree, their murmurs of awe rising above the usual din of the market.
"Our star dancer from the house of stories!" A man yelled as he gestured to a small stage. "He is performing for the first time in a crowd, that is how great our star dancer is!"
At the center of it all was a man, dressed not like a common traveler or merchant, but like a painting brought to life.
His hanbok shimmered in shades of rich crimson and midnight blue, embroidered with delicate gold patterns that flashed in the sun with each graceful turn. His sleeves billowed like wings, and his hair, half-pinned and flowing, moved with the same fluidity as his limbs. Every step of his dance told a story, his fingers bending like reeds in the wind, his feet gliding as if the earth itself had softened beneath them.
Gasps and delighted claps rose from the watchers, some standing on tiptoe, others shielding their eyes from the light to get a better view. Cheon Sa and Min Ho lingered at the edge of the crowd, drawn in like moths to flame.
"He's not just dancing," Min Ho said under his breath. "He's performing. Like a court artist."
Cheon Sa nodded, eyes never leaving the dancer. There was a depth to the movement, a language that didn't need words. It was both celebration and sorrow, mastery and abandon.
"Do you think he dances at the House of Stories?"
Cheon Sa turned toward the voice. The man who had spoken looked disinterested, his tone flat with boredom. Cheon Sa wondered who the question had been directed at, until another man replied.
"Who knows? I just think the dancers at the House of Stories will be better, especially during the light of the house."
House of stories?
Cheon Sa could recall that the gisaeng also mentioned about the house of stories and he could tell that it was an entertainment house, probably a popular one.
Weaving through the crowd was a man, less striking but no less practiced. He wore a simple vest and carried a wide straw tray lined with small coins. With a courteous bow and a quiet word, he approached each spectator. Those moved by the performance dropped in spare coins, sometimes a few pebbles for luck, or slips of paper with blessings written in ink.
"It's a give-out," Min Ho observed, slipping his hand into his satchel. "Like a thank-you offering to the gods... or to the artist."
Cheon Sa's gaze lingered on the dancer a moment longer and he looked away to see the collector was in front of the woman next to him and she reached into her sleeve and withdrew a single polished coin an old one, worn smooth from handling. Without a word, she stepped forward and dropped it into the tray.
The collector met her eyes briefly, nodded with subtle respect to the woman, and moved on.
"So people make money like that." Min Ho was amazed. "We should walk around and see the ways to make some living and ask if the restaurants and shops want guards since we don't possess any trade skills or handcraft so the only option is to work as guards or cleaners."
Cheon Sa said nothing. He was a man of many skills, some mastered, others merely understood but Min Ho had no idea, and he had no intention of telling him. Since joining their tribe, there had been no reason to reveal what he could do; the need had simply never arisen. But now, walking the streets of the capital, he couldn't help but wonder if this city would demand more of him, if the quiet talents he had kept hidden for so long would finally be called to the surface.