TBML 32

The closer they got to the village, the darker the sky became. Part of it was because they were moving further away from the sky and into the shade cast by the trees, but it was also simply because time was passing and the sun was setting.

As darkness fell, the houses that had appeared small in the distance gradually grew bigger as Yiyeon and Hyunhak approached. As the sun set, smoke began to rise from every house, and lights began to come on in some of them.

Though they were still too far away to see exactly which houses they were, Yiyeon could tell what kind of houses were lit up. First came the government office, the county magistrate’s residence, and the courtesans’ houses. The lights in the poorest homes would be the last to come on. Or perhaps they wouldn’t come on at all.

As the houses grew bigger in his view with each step Hyunhak took, the anxiety weighing on Yiyeon’s shoulders grew as well. Even though he had insisted on returning, now that the village was drawing near, his reluctance to go back grew stronger. He was afraid of the words and stares that awaited him. Isn’t there a saying that it’s better to take the beating first?

Once you’ve taken the blow, it’s really no big deal and you can handle it, but it’s always the anticipation before the blow that causes the most worry and fear.

In the end, Yiyeon opened his mouth again, unable to contain the growing fear. With his life in such a sorry state, he thought it might not be a bad idea to switch careers and become a flatterer or a pimp. It was just empty talk, if someone actually laid out a red carpet for him to do it, he’d run away.

“Look, the place over there with the lights on must be the government office. The brightest spot is the brothel.”

“……”

“I heard there’s a courtesan who came down from Hanyang, and whenever the men in the village get together, they talk about her.”

That was the kind of talk young men always engaged in when they gathered. Regardless of social status, as long as they sat together, they talked about women.

Yiyeon had no intention of joining in, nor was he invited to, but he knew the ins and outs of it all. The story of the courtesan who had come down from Hanyang and the question of when the stubborn Yiyeon would finally give himself to that Seo bastard were regular topics of conversation. Sometimes, they even held little judging sessions.

Since the courtesans who had drifted all the way down to this backwater were all much of a muchness, some men even claimed that none of them could hold a candle to Yiyeon in beauty, casting sidelong glances at him as he passed by carrying [Read on]his load on his back. Whenever he caught those stares, no matter how calm he tried to appear, he was so sick of it that he couldn’t hide the contempt on his face.

Thus, for Yiyeon, that brightly lit brothel was a kind of sore spot. It was a topic he couldn’t bear to even mention, a place where men eager to torment him came and went, constantly making other men weigh him up.

But for any man not living in dire straits, a brothel was a place one would naturally peek into, and Hyunhak was a scholar, after all. Had he lived in the village, he would have visited at least once, no matter how little interest he claimed to have. So Yiyeon brought up the topic of the brothel again.

“I’ve never even seen the hem of her skirt.”

Whenever a group of men gathered, they would hold a critique session comparing his looks to those of the courtesan who had come down from Hanyang, yet Yiyeon, the very subject of that comparison, had never even seen the hem of her skirt.

He climbed the mountains as soon as he opened his eyes, and when the sun went down, he would lock himself away at home, fearing he might be harmed or that something might happen to his mother. Because of this, he hadn’t even had a fleeting glimpse of what the courtesan’s face looked like.

So Yiyeon spoke in a tone laced with self-deprecation.

It was an excuse. Everyone else knew, and it wasn’t just a one- or two-day thing that he was the only one left out of these activities, so sometimes he felt wronged. Hiding a bitter smile, Yiyeon pointed to the place that was the second brightest after the brothel.

“That’s the magistrate’s residence over there…”

It takes a great deal of strength for a person to hate another person. Hating someone drained mental energy, and the more that emotion grew, the more it only consumed him from within.

Yet, Yiyeon hated Young Master Seo with a terrible intensity. Words like, “A plague should befall a scoundrel like him,” would rise to the back of his throat, and honestly, there had been more than a few times he wanted to shoot him with his own matchlock, pretending he’d mistaken him for a deer.

“My gun!”

As he thought of his matchlock, Yiyeon finally remembered that he had left Hyunhak’s visit our site house empty-handed. It was an object he had never let out of his sight, yet he had completely forgotten about it. He must have been in a terrible state of mind.

Hyunhak knew that Yiyeon’s cry referred to the fire-spitting thing. It was a word he had heard countless times while secretly following Yiyeon. “Gun,” “matchlock,” “gunpowder,” and so on. Even when he pulled Yiyeon out of the pit, that rod had been nestled in his arms.

Knowing how dearly he cherished that rod, Hyunhak had retrieved the matchlock along with Yiyeon, but he’d hidden it away carefully, fearing that if Yiyeon woke up, he might suddenly shove the muzzle in his face. Hyunhak could feel Yiyeon’s body, full of regret, turning to look back at the path they’d just passed. It was a voice tinged with a profound sense of loss, so after some hesitation, Hyunhak spoke up.

“I….”

“Yes?”

“I’ll keep it.”

Hyunhak replied. It was a brief, seemingly insignificant remark, but despite his voice, which was as smooth as honey, his pronunciation and tone were so awkward that Yiyeon felt he understood why Hyunhak was so sparing with his words.

Hyunhak seemed extremely awkward and uncomfortable when conversing with others. That was why he rarely answered at all, and even when he did manage to open his mouth, it was usually just a one-word reply or a simple phrase like this.

There was a hunter among those who had gone tiger hunting with him before who was like this. He had been holed up in the mountains, living alone for so long that speaking with others felt awkward. It was understandable that he might not want to talk. Yiyeon found that reasonable. There were times when he also felt annoyed by the hunter’s gaze and the way he looked at him, so he would deliberately keep his mouth shut.

He also didn’t want to answer when the villagers smiled and pretended to be friendly, asking after him and his mother. But if he was to live in the village, receiving help and rubbing shoulders with others, there were times when he had to smile and say things he didn’t really mean.

So Yiyeon decided not to worry anymore about whether Hyunhak answered him or what he was doing living alone in those remote mountains. Everyone had their own reasons for not wanting to talk or reveal certain things.

“That’s a relief. Thank you, My Lord.”

Yiyeon had many questions he wanted to ask Hyunhak, but he swallowed them all and offered only his thanks.

How had he managed to rescue him from that pit? Why was he living alone in those mountains? Why had he been standing there in that outfit amidst the dark, dense thicket that day? How had he vanished in the blink of an eye from that road where the rain was pouring down? And why was he going through all this trouble to help him now? How could he, who had nothing to offer in return, ever repay this kindness?

Since Hyunhak didn’t want to answer any of these questions, Yiyeon decided not to ask anything either. When the time came, and if it was necessary, he would surely tell him. Yiyeon thought he shouldn’t rack his brains over it unnecessarily. Perhaps because he was slow-witted, the more he thought about it, the more it seemed to cause him only pain, and nothing seemed to work out. It would all lead somewhere.

Just look at now: the thoughtless act of helping Hyunhak that day come back to him. And leaving the matchlock at his house ultimately put him in a situation where he had no choice but to return to repay his benefactor’s kindness.

He would let go of his fear of what kind of stares and consequences might await him upon returning to the village, telling himself that things would work out somehow when the time came. Once he cleared his mind, Yiyeon began to chatter again.

When they passed by the magistrate’s residence (a sight he preferred not to think about) he pointed to the darkest part of the village. The boundary line of social status, with the butchers’ village just a stone’s throw away, and the very outskirts of that boundary. His own home, situated at the very edge like a shield surrounding the village, with neither fire nor smoke rising from it.

“My house is probably right at the very end. I live on the very edge of the village. So when it rains or snows heavily, mud and water pool behind the house. Sometimes I get scared that the house might collapse.”

It was such a trivial story, yet it felt like the first time he’d ever spoken of it. The villagers had known the situation of his home inside out ever since Yiyeon opened his eyes and began babbling, so there was no need to explain it. Perhaps it was just a case of unnecessary inferiority, but he didn’t want to go around complaining about his shabby appearance and hard life.

Whenever there was heavy snow or rain, mud and water flowing down from the mountainside would pool behind his house. As the weight gradually increased, Yiyeon would often lie awake, worried that his house might collapse. If he told Dusoe, the latter would scoop out the accumulated water and mud whenever he had a chance, but Yiyeon didn’t want to tell him.

It was early winter now, so heavy snowfalls would soon be coming one after another. This village and these mountains got far too much snow.

“So, on days when it rains or snows heavily, I’m a bit worried about leaving the house empty for long. But if I take the day off…”

Though he walked as if he were indifferent to everything, Hyunhak was focused on Yiyeon’s voice. From what he’d said a moment ago, Hyunhak now understood why Yiyeon would occasionally come down from the mountain early or hurry his steps when the weather turned bad, and why he’d sometimes shut himself away in that thatched house.

It was nothing major, but knowing the reason behind Yiyeon’s visit our site behavior all this time brought him a sense of relief and made him feel pleased.

He was hoping Yiyeon would keep talking, but suddenly, his chattering little lips closed again like a clamshell.

Hyunhak stopped walking and glanced back over his shoulder. Naturally, since Yiyeon was riding on his back, there was no way he could see his face. Hyunhak wondered what expression Yiyeon might be wearing.

“I was talking too much without thinking. I was just… feeling a little anxious.”

Yiyeon’s tiny voice came through again, but what he said wasn’t what Hyunhak had hoped for. He wanted to know more about Yiyeon, but he had effectively cut him off.

Hyunhak swallowed the words “No! Keep going!”

He felt that if he said anything foolish, Yiyeon would discover that he wasn’t human, but a tiger capable of magic.

The reason Yiyeon was showing him this side of himself now was because he was in human form. While the small human was unconscious, Zao had repeatedly warned him never to reveal his true tiger form in front of Yiyeon.

He had repeated it until his ears bled, saying that if he appeared before Yiyeon in his tiger form, the human would either run away or confront him in an attempt to capture him. Hyunhak took Zao’s advice to heart and pursed his lips.

“I’ll walk on my own from here. Please set me down now, My Lord.”

As they pushed through the thicket and familiar signs of human activity came into view, Yiyeon spoke. Hyunhak, still carrying Yiyeon on his back, puffed out his cheeks in frustration. Even though he had deliberately walked slowly, the mountain path was too narrow, and the village was just a short distance away.