OGHOU C32

Chapter 32

“The young master of the Namgung clan leaving his household to become Somyeong’s disciple? Is that even allowed? Wouldn’t that make him and Jeha fellow disciples—practically brothers in the sect?”

Confused, Cheongyeon turned to Dokyeong.

“Wouldn’t your family oppose this?”

“If I left, most of them would be only too glad.”

“But… Jeha’s master has already retired from the martial world. He only took in Jeha out of pity, fearing the boy wouldn’t survive on his own…”

“Are you saying he would never accept me as a disciple?”

“There’s a strong chance, isn’t there?”

Cheongyeon spoke in careful tones, worried he might offend him. To his surprise, Dokyeong lowered his head and suddenly began chuckling.

“…Why are you laughing, young master?”

“Since earlier, I’ve realized: you wear your emotions so plainly across your face. It amuses me.”

He was teasing him, wasn’t he? What was he, some zoo monkey for display?

“I jest. I never meant to take that man as my master.”

“…Then…?”

“I only thought you seemed curious why I had spoken so openly, so I decided to tease you a little.”

“……”

Being toyed with by a boy so much younger than himself made Cheongyeon want to grasp his throbbing nape. Still—seeing him laugh was better. He had seemed melancholy just a moment before.

“Perhaps you simply needed someone to talk to.”

“Yes. After being beaten bloody enough to bruise, I was discouraged, and I wanted to confide in someone. But you are the only one who knows my secret.”

Cheongyeon rested his chin on his hand, studying Dokyeong. For a child so skilled at hiding every emotion, he must have wrestled terribly before speaking these words at last.

“Since I know your secret… will you hear one of mine, young master?”

“Please, tell me.”

“My dantian has been destroyed.”

“What…?”

At Cheongyeon’s sudden confession, Dokyeong’s eyes flew wide. For the first time, the smile he always wore faltered, leaving shock upon his face.

Cheongyeon continued evenly,

“My dantian was shattered—I lost the ability to cultivate martial arts. And I suffered a head injury that robbed me of memory. Now the road ahead is nothing but fog—I cannot see even a step before me.”

“That’s…”

“In truth, it is not so different from your own situation.”

Dokyeong had claimed he gave up martial arts easily—but no, surely he had not. He must have tried, over and over, only to collapse in despair each time he met no progress.

This was a world where one’s worth was measured by martial skill. To be born into a martial clan without talent—like Dokyeong—or to find oneself crippled within a ruined body, as Cheongyeon was—both were fates cut from the same cloth.

“I may lack martial strength and memory of my past, but still—I live each day by doing what lies within my grasp. I devote myself wholly to the tasks I can do.”

“……”

“I hope you will try the same, young master.”

“…I don’t know if I can.”

At length, Dokyeong spoke, his expression tinged with bitterness—an expression far too weary for a child.

“What is it that I could possibly do?”

The look on his face made Cheongyeon’s heart squeeze.

“I’ve never dreamed of becoming a painter, even though I like to draw. What I longed for… was only once—even just once—to be acknowledged by the elders of my clan.”

“Young master.”

Cheongyeon pointed to the blossoms painted across the fan Dokyeong had gifted him.

“Some flowers bloom late.”

“…What do you mean?”

“Some take root early and bloom at the first hint of spring—but others blossom only in the depths of winter. I believe that one day, when the time is right, you too will find your way and burst into bloom.”

“…Truly? Could I?”

“You will.”

“And how can you be so certain?”

I don’t know. But I’ll insist anyway.

Feigning shameless confidence, Cheongyeon smiled at him.

“I have a knack, you see. Remember when you asked me who would win at the martial arts tournament?”

“Yes…”

“If what I said then proves right—will you believe me, just once?”

“……”

After a hesitation, Dokyeong pulled a vial from his robes. It was surely filled with poison.

“Take this.”

“…What? Why are you giving this to me?”

Startled, Cheongyeon accepted the vial.

“If the boy I bet upon does not win, I will come to retrieve this.”

So—it was a promise. If Cheongyeon’s words proved true, then he would entrust him with his faith.

Cheongyeon’s heart swelled. Without thinking, he nearly stretched out to ruffle his hair—just as he would with Jeha. But, catching himself, he drew back. He could hardly treat this noble young master like the boy.

‘Still—how endearing.’

If he could, he would stamp him with a hundred marks of “Well done!” Cheongyeon beamed at him, eyes glowing with unspoken praise.

“If you stare at me like that, it’s uncomfortable.”

“…Ah—”

“I jest.”

And then he smiled. Not the sly, practiced smirk, but a smile bright and guileless—the first truly childlike smile Cheongyeon had seen from him.

The next morning, the Namgung household was in a stir, busy preparing for departure. Servants bustled, loading luggage into carriages. Cheongyeon searched for Dokyeong, but the small boy was nowhere to be seen.

Then he heard voices from the inn’s rear courtyard—again. Children’s shouts rang out, loud and unruly. Could they be fighting again? Alarmed, Cheongyeon hurried toward the noise.

“Yesterday’s duel wasn’t settled!”

“I thought I won? You’re the one who said let’s stop.”

“That’s only because Master told us it was time to sleep…!”

“Then it means I won. I stayed up later than you.”

“What kind of nonsense is that!”

As expected, Jeha was flaring in anger, while Dokyeong only teased him. Shaking his head, Cheongyeon approached. At once, Jeha’s face crumpled into complaint.

“Innkeeper!”

“Why are you fighting with the young master again? You two already spent the whole day brawling yesterday.”

“But young master refuses to settle the outcome properly!”

Whose fierce competitiveness did he inherit? Smiling faintly, Cheongyeon stroked Jeha’s hair.

“It’s time for him to leave.”

“…What?”

Jeha blinked, turning to Dokyeong.

“He’s leaving?”

“Yes. So rather than staying angry, say your farewell.”

“…But we haven’t yet decided the match.”

His voice was thick with longing. The droop in his brows, the slump of his shoulders—it was hard to tell if his sorrow was from losing a chance at victory, or from having grown attached despite himself.

“See you next time, little runt.”

“Little—what?!”

“Train hard until then. Only then will you beat me.”

“Young master!”

Dokyeong tormented him with mocking words until the moment he left the inn. Watching the two boys, Cheongyeon couldn’t keep from smiling.

“Anyone would think they were friends already…”

“Are you feeling better now?”

When Cheongyeon entered the room, Haewoo, his body bandaged, lifted his head from the bed. Beside him, Haeryeong also turned his gaze toward Cheongyeon.

“The physician said you could try moving a little. But are you still in much pain?”

“I’m fine.”

Cheongyeon pulled a chair to the bedside and sat.

Though some time had passed since Haewoo regained consciousness, the boy had spent most of it half-asleep under the influence of medicine, leaving little chance for proper conversation. Yet his complexion looked much better now, relieving Cheongyeon’s worry.

“I’m sorry. I should be working, not lying here.”

“What nonsense. How could this possibly be your fault?”

Overcome, Cheongyeon grasped his hand.

“Don’t think of anything else. Just rest completely. Until you’re healed, forget about work.”

“Yes… I’ll do that.”

“But… do you remember what happened that day?”

Haewoo’s eyes shifted toward the ceiling, thinking, and at last he spoke.

“Not perfectly, but…”

That day, while Cheongyeon and Haeryeong had gone to the marketplace and the inn was closed to customers at noon, Haewoo had taken the moment to tidy the cluttered kitchen. Then—he heard the sudden clamor of the doors thrown open, and people pouring in. Mistaking them for guests, he stepped out to inform them it wasn’t business hours.

But they drew their swords and ransacked the inn. In no time, they clashed with Muho—the battle reducing the inn to chaos as the walls themselves collapsed.

“It was my first time seeing something like that. And your cousin—no, that boy—he was terrifying. With those blood-red eyes, it was like he’d become someone else.”

“And you? Were you hurt trying to help?”

“No… I was only trying to get away. But they swung their blades everywhere, mindless, and I must’ve been caught then.”

The more he heard, the heavier Cheongyeon’s heart grew. The boy must have been terribly afraid. And it had to happen while the inn was left unguarded.

“…Innkeeper.”

At last Haeryeong, silent until now, spoke.

“I don’t know if I should say this, but… that boy, Shibchil. He isn’t really your cousin, is he?”

“……”

“I always suspected as much, but I never imagined he was from the Demonic Sect. You saw it yourself, didn’t you? Just how dangerous those people are. Why would you let someone like him stay here?”

His voice held not only puzzlement, but a trace of reproach. He had nearly lost his brother in this affair, after all. Cheongyeon lowered his head, unable to meet their eyes.

“You knew all along?”

“…I’m sorry.”

There was nothing else he could say—only apology. To Muho, to these children.

“We know, innkeeper. We know you’re a good man. You gave us a home when we had none, took us in as staff, gave us rooms. But this time—it was too dangerous. If something had happened to my brother, I…”

“Haeryeong. Enough.”

At Haewoo’s quiet command, Haeryeong fell silent, then muttered,

“…I’m sorry. I just couldn’t help it.”

“…It’s me who should apologize.”

Lowered eyes to the floor, Cheongyeon’s voice was thick with guilt.

“This was not your fault, innkeeper.”

Haewoo’s gentle words of comfort only deepened his shame.

“The real wrong was that a Demonic Sect disciple ever found his way lurking here. You showed him kindness, nothing more—just as you did for us. So please, don’t blame yourself.”

But Haewoo… how do I tell you?

That boy was so pitiful. To think of him enduring that endless time alone—my heart split with pity, to the point I could not bear it. And so, I have no face left to show you and your sister.

Whenever he thought of Muho, Cheongyeon felt only like a criminal. As years passed, their time together faded from memory—but the weight upon his heart had only grown heavier.

And thus—five years went by.