BW C60

Chapter 60

 

Taemuk continued speaking as if nothing had happened.

“We knew people were living there, but that doesn’t mean Jeokudae could stand guard over them. We weren’t going to stay here forever.”

“That makes sense.”

“Even so, we looked in from time to time, and each time a dozen-odd people would be different.”

“…”

“In that way—dying and being replaced—the number over three years topped a hundred.”

Hoeun held his breath for a moment. Different meant that someone had died and another “base-born” had been brought to take that place. A hundred changed meant a hundred dead.

The dead were pitiable, but he could scarcely imagine what it felt like for the others who, seeing that, still had to work the fields every day. How deep their fear and despair must have been… And for it to end, after living so, in outright slaughter—too cruel.

“Were those people… sent there by force by that noble man?”

At Hoeun’s cautious question, Taemuk snorted.

“Then what? You think they volunteered to go?”

“…”

“What madman wants to die planting potatoes and sweet potatoes?”

“…”

It was true. There were some who, outside the town, stole the porters’ loads—but at least that would have been their choice. The villagers were not. They would have been driven out. They would have clung to the noble’s ankles, begging not to be sent, saying they didn’t want to go, begging to be spared.

It was a moment that made Hoeun ashamed for having asked in faint hope.

Biting his lower lip, Hoeun lowered his head. Taemuk, in a voice that sounded strangely empty, murmured,

“Even so… when we were around, the dead could be held to a dozen-odd.”

“…”

“Just when we were away, a troublesome one showed up…”

He faintly knit his brow, recalling the monster whose feeler had been unusually large. Hoeun’s head sank lower. The reason they had “happened to be away” was wholly because of him, and the delay in their return also because of him—it felt all his fault.

If only he hadn’t asked for the departure from Hanyang to be delayed a day; if only his illness hadn’t slowed the march… As he thought that—

“At least that bastard died with them.”

Taemuk twisted one corner of his mouth awry. As if recalling the moment he killed the nobleman, he clenched his fist hard. At that, Hoeun asked in a flash,

“Why was that noble there?”

“To check.”

“Check?”

“Yes. No crops being sent, no contact reached—perhaps those base-born dared steal what was his and run, he thought.”

“…And for that he risked going there?”

“Yangban never believe other people’s words. Because they live in lies every day, they think others do too. So they only believe what they see with their own eyes.”

“…”

“That distrust cut his own ankles off—cause and effect. Isn’t that so?”

Taemuk sought Hoeun’s agreement—his tone as if to confirm it. Do you too think the noble’s death was just—do you feel satisfaction in it?

“…”

But Hoeun did not notice. He was not before Taemuk now, but in that village.

Why the thatched houses were so shabby despite the rich soil. Why the wall was so crude. Why that noble alone had been alive. Reasons he had never imagined existed.

Recalling the many garments snarled in the blood and the little straw sandal that had rolled any which way across the floor, Hoeun’s brows drooped. Then he murmured words—whether to Taemuk or to himself was unclear.

“…What you killed was not a man, General.”

A monster worse than a monster.

Hoeun sighed again. Thinking of precious lives that had vanished without meaning, his chest felt tight—like a stone filled his gut. Rubbing absently at his aching heart, he stroked his chest.

“Do you truly think so?” Taemuk asked. Startled from his daze, Hoeun looked at him a beat late.

“…Sir?”

“Do you think what I killed wasn’t human.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because a person must not do such things to a person. Having done such things, that man ceased to be a person.”

Hoeun answered crisply without a moment’s hesitation. There was not a speck of falsehood in his neat face. Taemuk regarded him steadily, and Hoeun asked, cautiously,

“In any case, since that noble is dead, there won’t be any more people dragged there to die in vain, will there? That is truly a blessing.”

“Who knows. Someone else might think the same.”

“…”

“Might already be doing it.”

At Taemuk’s words—overly cynical yet realistic—Hoeun’s brows slid downward. That too was true. There was no rule that such a village could not exist elsewhere. As Taemuk said, it might already be happening, and the deaths might far exceed those in that village.

“…”

Hoeun’s face was swallowed by gloom.

He read the papers every day in the capital, yet had never seen such a story. Outside the capital, things were happening he could not even begin to reckon.

The days to come would not be easy.

Sensing this, Hoeun let out a long sigh. He pushed his hair back. And at that moment—

“Chilbok—come in,” Taemuk said.

At the sudden words, Hoeun’s brows rose. Had Chilbok just announced himself? He didn’t think he’d heard it. Had Taemuk misheard something? He cocked his head—and indeed, Chilbok swept aside the tent flap and appeared.

He was carrying a broad tray. His hands, gripping the heavy-looking board, were remarkably steady.

Hoeun’s face brightened at once. He didn’t know why he liked Chilbok so much. Was it because he was young? Because he was kind to him? Or because he was about the same age as his brothers’ children—his nephews—so he kept feeling fondness?

“Hello, Chilbok,” Hoeun greeted him with a slight wave. At that, Chilbok’s face grew dewy.

“Young master…”

He looked at Hoeun with every kind of worry—are you all right, are you in pain, are you better now. Hoeun answered with a smile. Chilbok, too, smiled a little—then, as if splashed with cold water, his face went rigid.

Kneeling, he set down the tray—and stared fixedly at Taemuk. Lifting the cover from the tray, he stared; straightening the bowls, he stared; arranging the spoons, he stared; even as he rose again, he stared. The gaze was quite burdensome.

Whether he failed to feel it, or pretended not to, Taemuk only ground out his cigarette in the ashtray without a word.

“Thank you, Chilbok. I’ll eat well,” Hoeun said, offering thanks before even looking at the food. At that, Chilbok’s eyes curved in a grin as if he’d never hardened his face.

“Yes. If anything’s lacking, say so.”

Then he looked to Taemuk—and his face went cold again.

“As for the Captain—well… say something… or don’t…”

At that, Taemuk snorted. He seemed incredulous. Hoeun looked at Chilbok, puzzled. The boy had seemed to like Taemuk very much—why was he acting so now, the same boy who had hidden an egg pancake in his rice?

Chilbok bowed once to Taemuk and once to Hoeun, then left the tent.

Only then did Hoeun look at the tray. In a big earthenware bowl lay a whole chicken—poached with rice into a white-stew. From the look of it, long cooking had brought meat from bone; it looked tender at a glance. There were also jujubes, ginkgo nuts, and chestnuts.

It was a dish made with care. Even leaving aside the battlefield, it was surely a precious dish.

“Eat,” Taemuk said, jerking his chin at the tray. Hoeun, staring at the spoon set before Taemuk, answered,

“Please, you first.”

“I’m fine.”

“Mm…” Hoeun hummed in his throat. Seeing there were two sets of spoons, it seemed it had been brought for them to eat together. What to do? After a moment’s thought, he decided to begin. Leaving a good dish to cool would hardly be proper to Chilbok.

“Then… I’ll begin first.”

“…”

Taemuk did not answer. Taking the silence for permission, Hoeun lifted his spoon. He was beginning to adapt to Taemuk’s silences; interpreting them as he wished was, in a way, easier.

Putting aside the plump meat, he first scooped up a spoonful of the rice, swollen into porridge. Blowing on the steaming mouthful, he put it in his mouth.

His brows loosened by themselves at the rich, warm porridge. The seasoning was just right, nutty, with the meaty richness unique to chicken. For Hoeun, who had lain ill for five days straight, it was a perfect meal.

Scooping a second spoonful at once, Hoeun asked,

“Did you and Chilbok have a fight?”

At that, Taemuk drew back his chin with a look that said he had never in his life heard anything so absurd.

“Who? Me? With him? How?”

He even pointed his thumb toward the tent flap Chilbok had exited. He looked truly nonplussed.

“…Right. That wouldn’t make sense,” Hoeun nodded. Then why had Chilbok’s gaze been that way? At ease, he raised another spoonful to his lips. And he mouthed the porridge that needed no chewing.