TBML 22

The whole village had been in an uproar when Dusoe came pounding on the village physician’s door, carrying Yiyeon, who looked like he’d just clawed his way out of a grave. But that was already some time ago. Enough time had passed that the bruises on his body had faded into light marks.

The leg that had looked like it must’ve snapped in two, miraculously, had no broken bone. But even so, Yiyeon struggled to walk for a long while. His condition was worse than his ailing mother’s. His body was hollowed out by malnutrition and the weight of anxiety.

While he placed rich, creamy gruel into his mother’s mouth like she was royalty, he barely forced down thin, watery rice porridge himself, sometimes not even that.

The constant fear – When will she die? When will those bastards barge in again? – kept him from sleeping properly, and worry ate him away from the inside.

As if making up for every illness he hadn’t had the chance to suffer before, Yiyeon collapsed, unable to move. He lay on the floor beside his mother under Dusoe’s care.

His already small and fragile frame had become painfully gaunt. He looked so pitiful, even the villagers who usually had plenty to say held their tongues, even though Dusoe came and went from the house so frequently.

Even the stingiest among them, those who normally wouldn’t give him the time of day, slipped him a few boiled potatoes. Yiyeon, the thorn in their side, now looked like he had one foot in the grave.

He rarely spoke. He sat silently beneath the eaves, staring at nothing. It was enough to make Dusoe pace with worry.

No one would kick a half-dead stray dog. Even Byeon kept quiet.

Today again, Yiyeon sat on the wooden porch, staring up at the jagged mountain ridge like a knife’s edge. And again, the thugs under Byeon came to call.

He’d been sick too long. To them, he was now just a hen that no longer laid eggs.

What was the point in feeding grain to a hen that wouldn’t lay? Waste of good seed.

They tore through the house, looking for any hidden money, throwing things aside, until they came face to face with Dusoe, who just returned from the fields.

There was a scuffle. He barely managed to drive them out. But worried it might happen again while he was away, Dusoe stopped going to work and moved into Yiyeon’s house entirely. As he watched Dusoe’s broad back, Yiyeon thought to himself:

Were you that afraid I’d get stripped the moment you stepped away?

Dusoe was caring not just for him but also for his sick mother, and for that, Yiyeon ought to bow in gratitude.

But instead, he resented the care.

It choked him.

Dusoe sitting in his house like a son-in-law was suffocating.

If he hated it so much, he should’ve pulled himself together and gotten back to work like before. But it wasn’t that simple.

In the end, he gave Dusoe a full jeon in silver, like it was payment for labor.

Dusoe’s face twisted.

Curse me all you want. Say I’m a bastard. I’d rather you do.

The temperature grew colder with each passing day.

His ankle, once black with bruises, had healed completely.

But the weight he’d lost wouldn’t return so easily.

Yiyeon looked like he’d blow away in the wind.

Dusoe stuck around, locked in a quiet battle of will, as if to say let’s see how long you sit and rot.

But in the end, it wasn’t Dusoe who got Yiyeon moving again.

It was money.

Even the secret stash he’d hidden from Byeon’s men was gone.

He’d been surviving off Dusoe’s work and tossing him a coin like a dog being fed. He hadn’t earned a thing himself.

It was inevitable.

He’d sworn never to return to the mountain. But when his mother’s cough worsened, Yiyeon began cleaning his matchlock. He’d found a new bow and carrier somewhere too.

Dusoe looked on with a mixture of relief and sadness.

He can hear his mother gasping like she’ll die at any moment, Dusoe thought. But he can’t, or won’t, hear what I feel for him.

And yet, Yiyeon moved again, just like the Yiyeon Dusoe had always known, hard working and unrelenting, like he’d never lain around like a dead man.

The wind turned cold, and the sick woman in the warmest spot of the room began coughing

It wasn’t something he could wave off anymore.

Every time she coughed ten times, ten times she spat blood.

She hadn’t spoken in ages. But when she did, the sound woke Yiyeon from sleep.

It was a moan of pain.

Her white-haired head lay on a pillow stained with red, like a camellia blooming in midwinter.

Yiyeon, pale as frost, ran out to fetch the physician.

“She’s never coughed this much blood before, she just keeps coughing! My mother, she keeps spitting blood, she…!”

The physician n, who had been about to ask if Yiyeon was finally up and around again, clicked his tongue when he saw that face.

He followed reluctantly, worn down by Yiyeon’s desperate pleas, and gave her some herbs and acupuncture, though he said even the royal physician could do nothing now.

It was a miracle she’d lasted this long. Any ordinary soul would’ve died a dozen times over.

It felt as if her life had hung on by the sheer strength of her son’s devotion, enough to make the reaper delay his turn.

Yiyeon grabbed the physcian’s trousers and refused to let go. So he gave them one last effort. They were temporary measures only.

To their relief, the blood finally stopped.

But the doctor warned him:

“It’s only temporary. If it starts again, there’s nothing I can do.”

“What about the ginseng?” Yiyeon cried. “You said old wild ginseng might help last time. You said it was a miracle cure that could even grant long life!”

The words spilled from Yiyeon’s mouth, words the physician himself had once said, about a ginseng digger he knew who had found true, wild heaven-grade ginseng.

He’d regretted saying it even then.

But Yiyeon hadn’t forgotten a word.

Though it wasn’t impossible that a ginseng hunter had spoken such words, the idea of a commoner digging for wild ginseng was absurd. Even offering a few roots of deodeok was considered a generous gesture. The physician, who now couldn’t bring himself to tell Yiyeon the truth, frowned and spoke with deep concern.

“…The roots of ginseng are barely useful. Wild ginseng? Do you have the money for that? Enough talk.”

“Then I’ll earn it. I’ll earn as much as needed.”

“Enough! You’ll end up dead trying. Do you really want to catch your death?”

“Until I try, how would I know?”

“You don’t even need to try; it’s a lost cause.”

The villagers had always called Yiyeon stubborn and tough, but today, the physician himself was feeling it. He slapped Yiyeon’s hand away, shouted at him, but it had no effect. Instead, Yiyeon glared back, his face filled with determination, and spoke firmly:

“No! I’m not some fool! I need to try to know. Please, ask the ginseng diggers for me. I’ll gather whatever is needed, whatever price they ask.”

“Listen to me–!”

“…Yeon-ah.”

Yiyeon stormed out of the house, shouldering his matchlock and bow, leaving the physician to sigh. Dusoe silently watched Yiyeon’s determined departure. No matter what anyone said, nothing would sway him. If it had been anything else, Dusoe would have sided with Yiyeon, but this time, the physician was right, and Dusoe had nothing to add.

In frustration, Dusoe looked down at the hardened earth beneath him, feeling as if the very air had thickened. Yiyeon’s stubbornness was unbreakable. It was as if the only thing that could break that it was death itself.

Why was Yiyeon so stubborn, Dusoe wondered. When it came to the thugs from Byeon or Seo Doryeong, he was always meek. Why did he act like this now?

Dusoe sighed. Yiyeon was well aware of how hopeless it was. But he just couldn’t accept it. As the sun began to set, Dusoe trief to stop Yiyeon, who was inspecting his gear for a possible mountain climb.

“Yeon-ah!”

What he was about to do was absurd, ridiculous even. He was acting out of pure defiance, an act of sheer bravado. His mother’s room already reeked of death, but Yiyeon was the only one who couldn’t smell it.

“There’s a leopard I missed last time. I’ve seen a black tiger a few times too. The leopard will go to the authorities, but the tiger, it’s a rare one. I’ll get a higher price for it.”

“Are you saying you’re going to die for it?”

Dusoe reached out and grabbed Yiyeon’s shoulders. His thin, round shoulders fit in Dusoe’s hands as if they were still growing. Even a dried-up winter branch seemed sturdier than his frail body. How could he possibly hunt a tiger in this condition? It hadn’t been long since he barely made it back alive from his last ordeal.

“I can catch it. I can catch it,” Yiyeon insisted.

“Yeon-ah, you barely escaped with your life last time!”

Dusoe’s voice cracked in desperation, but Yiyeon was unmoved. Dusoe couldn’t understand why Yiyeon was being so reckless. He’d tried to convince him hundreds of times to run, but his words never reached him.

Before Dusoe could say more, Yiyeon’s black eyes met his, and in that moment, Dusoe knew he wouldn’t change his mind.

“…Please take care of my mother.”

With those few words, Dusoe’s strength left him. His arms dropped at his sides, and Yiyeon walked out, looking every bit like a soldier marching to battle.

The physician, still clinging to his last thread of conscience, looked at Dusoe. With a sigh, he placed a hefty packet of medicine on the porch and clicked his tongue. Dusoe stared after Yiyeon’s figure, now heading toward the mountain and walking straight into the jaws of a tiger.

As soon as Yiyeon left the village, the sky started snowing. It was the first snow of the year.