Fiddling nervously with the fan, Sohwa was the first to break the silence.
“Is this your fan?”
“It is.”
The reply came, his voice rich and melodious—strangely incongruous with the eerie mask.
“And are you the mistress of these sacred mountains?”
“I’m not the mistress—I’m the owner myself.”
Sohwa’s confident retort drew a hearty laugh from the masked man.
‘So, he’s alive after all!’
The man wasn’t a ghost.
Rumors of vengeful spirits lingering where the White Tiger had passed had quietly unsettled Sohwa, but she finally breathed a sigh of relief.
“It’s long been said that a husband and wife are one. Whatever belongs to the groom also belongs to me. But tell me, how did you know?”
“Who else but the wife of the mountain lord would wander alone in such a place? If you’re not a celestial fairy, then surely you’re the mountain’s mistress.”
With that, the man leaped gracefully from the rock, landing right in front of Sohwa’s feet.
