BW C116

Chapter 116

He was not about to commit any wrongdoing, yet unease coiled in his chest. He felt as though he would surely be scolded — rebuked for foolish charity, told that there would be far more refugees ahead and he could not possibly look after each one; chastised for behaving like a pampered noble, doing noble-like things simply because he had been raised like one.

But suddenly, Taemuk stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray beside him and rose to his feet at once.

“Let’s go then.”

Hoeun’s eyelashes fluttered wildly in surprise.

“Y-You’re… coming with me?”

“Yes.”

“I could go with Sergeant Oh instead… You must be busy.”

As he spoke, he glanced around, seeking Gilsang with his eyes. Taemuk answered without much interest.

“I’m not busy. And he’ll handle things.”

He jerked his chin toward the end of the corridor. Hoeun followed his gaze. One of the sliding doors was open, and beyond it, Byeonguk could be seen speaking with, presumably, the innkeeper while filling out paperwork.

“……”

Awkwardness tinged Hoeun’s expression. Why was Byeonguk doing such tasks? Taemuk was the commander — though perhaps precisely because he was the commander, he did not do such things. Hoeun furrowed his brow, then relaxed it, tilting his head in faint confusion. Taemuk tilted his own head in turn as though mirroring him.

“What. You don’t want to go with me?”

“That’s not it at all!”

Hoeun denied it in great haste — yet strong denial often hides truth. One of Taemuk’s eyebrows lifted. He leaned in, as though peering into Hoeun’s very thoughts.

“Seems like a lie.”

“It really isn’t. I-I like going with you. V-very much.”

It was a lie. Hoeun found Gilsang far more comfortable. Not that Gilsang was as comfortable as Deok-woo; rather, Gilsang was someone with whom one needed to maintain courtesy, while Taemuk was someone before whom one must constantly gauge mood. Meaning — he was difficult to be around. But such a truth could not be uttered to Taemuk himself.

“V-Very… very much…”

Hoeun murmured, voice trembling, lowering his lashes and biting his lower lip softly. In that moment—

“……”

Taemuk’s thick Adam’s apple bobbed sharply. He stared at Hoeun’s soft, faintly pink-tinted face — like a peach ripe to the point of melting — unable to look away.

Very much.

Very much.

Very much.

The words seemed to echo down the long corridor — whether real or imagined, impossible to tell.

And then — Uuuh-ng…, the moan Hoeun had loosed days prior flitted through his mind. That was surely hallucination.

Taemuk stared for a long while, then abruptly strode past Hoeun. His steps were strangely urgent — almost like a man fleeing.

Startled, Hoeun stood frozen before rushing after him.

Even late at night, Myeonghwa-eup was awake. Crowds flowed, and lights burned ever brighter as darkness deepened.

Hoeun began to brighten again as they walked. Leaving the inn, he had been both flustered by Taemuk’s unexpected company and heavy-hearted at the thought of parting from the children — but now a smile tugged at his lips as if none of that had existed.

Light intoxicates. Like wine, like opium.

Enchanted, Hoeun soon found himself walking ahead of Taemuk — no small feat with legs two spans shorter. Colors washed across his face as he passed beneath lantern after lantern.

After some time—

“Do you know where you’re going?”

Taemuk asked, watching Hoeun’s fluttering jade ribbon. Hoeun spun around, startled, and only then realized he’d outpaced him. He hurried back to Taemuk’s side and answered brightly.

“Yes. I saw a fabric shop on the way in.”

“Where?”

“There — pass the [Stream Bookshop] and [Joyang Store], then turn left at [Hwayeong Hall], and you will find [Jinang Fabric Shop].”

Taemuk’s steps halted for a moment. Hoeun did not notice and continued forward.

“It seemed brightly lit earlier, but I’m not sure if it is still open. I do hope so…”

“……”

Taemuk stared at the small back of Hoeun’s head. Hoeun walked several steps more before realizing he’d lost Taemuk again. He returned to his side, waiting for him to move.

But Taemuk did not budge. Hoeun did not ask why — instead, he tugged insistently at Taemuk’s sleeve. It was the gesture of someone who had been raised in a warm household, one accustomed to love.

Taemuk gazed silently down at him. Hoeun, oblivious to the weight of what he’d said earlier — and how it would sound to most ears — only blinked.

“……”

Taemuk opened his mouth as if to speak, then shut it again. Finally he allowed himself to be led. When he took a few steps, Hoeun released his grip and spoke again.

“It’s the children. No — the refugees from Ramjae Town. They won’t be shunned or mistreated by the townspeople… will they?”

“……”

“I once read a newspaper about townsfolk driving outsiders away. I suppose strangers provoke suspicion… fear of what one does not know. Still… I hope the Ramjae refugees will not suffer the same…”

“How many people here do you think are not outsiders?”

“Sir?”

Hoeun blinked. Taemuk gestured subtly to the crowd. Hoeun looked around.

People passing on either side — coming, going, weaving between them — a patchwork of faces, ages, demeanors. At first glance nothing marked them as outsiders; citizens of the same empire would hardly look identical.

He studied them longer — and then noticed.

Many were injured. Roughly three or four in ten bore wounds — scars, missing ears, missing fingers or limbs. Shikgoe had done this. Meaning they had been outside those towering walls once. They hadn’t left this comfort behind; they had arrived here from danger.

“There are… so many outsiders.”

Hoeun murmured. Good — the children likely would not be ostracized. Yet sorrow pricked him. These people, too, must have been driven from homes — just as Ramjae’s people had been.

As he silently sighed, the [Hwayeong Hall] sign passed above them, and their destination loomed.

“Oh — there it is.”

Delighted, Hoeun turned without looking — and a young man came charging toward him.

Hoeun did not see. Taemuk, of course, did.

He did not pull Hoeun aside. Instead, he took one long stride and stepped in front of him, broad back forming a human wall.

The youth collided head-on with Taemuk — and specifically with his broadest, hardest point: his back.

Thud!

Taemuk did not budge. The youth flew backward and landed violently on his tailbone.

“Ugh—”

He lay staring dazed at the dark sky before jolting upright and glaring.

“Hey, watch where you’re go—!”

“……”

Taemuk simply looked at him. Eyes open, unwavering.

The youth froze.

How could he not? Taemuk’s eyes were black. The entire town blazed with light, yet his pupils swallowed it whole — uncanny, fathomless. And his size — from below, he seemed to grow, to swell, to become mountain and then sky.

“……”

The youth gulped, then scrambled up and bowed stiffly.

“S-Sorry. I’ll, uh… keep my eyes open.”

He fled. No blows, no shouts — a conflict so brief and anticlimactic it barely existed.

“What happened?”

Hoeun had noticed nothing. He rose on tiptoe, but even then could not see over Taemuk’s mountainous shoulder. Taemuk turned, face expressionless.

“Nothing.”

He extended an arm and pushed open the shop door.

“Go in.”

“……”

Hoeun looked up at him, then tilted his head — peering past the large arm. Far ahead, a youth was running away in frantic haste.