Chapter 169

As Hoeun stood there, white breath puffing out in bursts while he stared at the mountain of baggage, Byeonguk stepped closer and began explaining, pointing right and left, then up and down, even diagonally.

“Rice, meat and rice cakes, fruit, and various side dishes and fermented foods. Over here are medicinal ingredients, and over there are clothes.”

“……”

Hoeun’s gaze failed to keep pace with Byeonguk’s gestures, darting about in disarray. At Byeonguk’s command, the soldiers began carefully unloading, gathering, and sorting the goods. Byeonguk indicated several of the bundles as he continued.

“They handed over all the rice and food stored in the granary without holding anything back. They prepared plenty of pickled vegetables and sauces as well, and there’s a large amount of fish. I’m told they even slaughtered several cows and pigs.”

“……”

“And they bought up all the rice cakes from every rice-cake shop in Hanyang. They even made pancakes with their own hands, and were very pleased that it’s winter, so the food wouldn’t spoil.”

At that, Hoeun swallowed a dry breath deeply, then let it out slowly.

“…My mother did this.”

“Yes, the madam did.”

Byeonguk nodded succinctly. At his affirmation, Hoeun’s eyelashes trembled noticeably. Byeonguk pointed to yet another pile and went on.

“They also purchased medicinal herbs from the apothecary, along with restorative tonics. They said to share them with any soldiers who might be unwell, so they gave a generous amount.”

“……”

“And they bought fine fur-lined socks and leather gloves as well—enough for every soldier to receive one. From what I heard, they’ve been gathering them little by little for quite some time.”

“…My father did that.”

“Yes, the master did.”

Byeonguk nodded again.

“……”

Hoeun stood there with his mouth slightly open, pale breath drifting faintly from between his lips.

So all of this came from his parents. Seeing how they had bought, gathered, and prepared everything—should he take it as reassurance that they were doing well? Or should he grieve that they were still worrying only about him?

As Hoeun stared at the baggage with an uncertain expression, Byeonguk smiled gently.

“They kindly asked me to stay at your home while I was in Hanyang, so I was able to rest comfortably.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes. They served a full ten-dish table at every meal—I thought my stomach would burst. Still, since they prepared it with such care, I didn’t leave a single bite.”

At the uncharacteristically playful remark, Hoeun smiled faintly. He was grateful to Byeonguk for staying in his stead. His parents must have cared for him and the Jeokudae soldiers while thinking of him all the while.

“And this…”

Byeonguk stepped closer and took out an envelope wrapped in neatly folded, subdued-colored silk from his chest. It was a letter packet. Hoeun’s eyes surged wide.

“The master entrusted this to me.”

Hoeun reached to take it, but his hands shook too much. Only after clenching his fist in midair and releasing it did he manage to accept the letter. Turning it over in his hands, he first bowed to Byeonguk.

“With all this baggage… huff… it must have been difficult to carry. Thank you for bringing everything.”

It wasn’t a long sentence, yet emotion welled up so strongly that he had to pause to catch his breath midway through. He hadn’t even opened the letter, and already the bridge of his nose stung and his throat tightened.

Byeonguk shook his head briefly.

“Not at all. It was all prepared for us to eat and use. I accepted it gratefully.”

Hoeun gave Byeonguk a faint smile, then swept his gaze once more over the baggage before turning to look at Taemuk, silently seeking his permission. Taemuk ran his tongue once along the inside of his cheek, then nodded indifferently.

“Go inside first.”

“Yes.”

With that brief reply, Hoeun hugged the letter tightly to his chest and hurried back to the ‘house.’

“Fuuuh…”

Sitting formally on the floor, Hoeun took a deep breath. With trembling hands, he opened the silk packet and drew out the letter. Ink had soaked into the pristine white paper. Taking another deep breath, he carefully unfolded it. The scent of ink rushed forth, and neat yet powerful characters appeared.

Hoeun steeled himself until the very moment his eyes met the words—

[Hoeun.]

The instant he read the first line, tears spilled helplessly. He folded the letter again for a moment, pressing his lips tight as he tried to hold the tears back. When he calmed a little, he followed the lines once more.

[The snow is dazzlingly white, and thus this winter is all the harsher. Knowing how easily you fall ill when the weather turns cold, my heart was heavy—but receiving your news like this puts me at ease. I cannot count how many times your mother and I have read your letter. We cherished it, reading it sparingly, yet the edges have already grown damp, which pains me.]

“Father…”

It felt as though he could hear his father’s low, slightly rough yet gentle voice. Hoeun did not even blink, tears simply dropping one after another.

[I feel boundless gratitude toward General Taemuk, who made it possible for us to exchange letters like this, and toward the Jeokudae soldiers who braved such a harsh road. To be able to receive a letter from a son gone to the battlefield—this is something for which we are deeply, deeply thankful.]

Reaching that part, Hoeun lifted the corner of his mouth slightly. So that was why—why they had served Byeonguk and the Jeokudae soldiers a full ten-dish table at every meal.

[News of the Jeokudae reaches Hanyang from time to time. Not long ago, there was an article about how you rescued people from a town destroyed by a shikgoe invasion. Such news fills us with pride beyond measure. Knowing what a remarkable child you are, we feel almost embarrassed that we kept you so closely sheltered.]

It seemed the news from Ramjae-eup had finally reached Hanyang. The distance felt heavy and sad—but also relieving, knowing that it had arrived at last.

[Hoeun. You were never a particularly talkative child, yet in your absence the house feels utterly empty. The courtyard feels too wide, the house too large, so your mother and I sometimes joke that perhaps we should move.]

Hoeun smiled again—but the smile did not last. With four sons—one gone, two living their own lives, and one sent to the battlefield—how profound must the emptiness be? He could not fathom how large a hole his absence had carved into his parents’ hearts.

[Your mother sleeps in your room every few days. Deokwoo often sits on the veranda where he used to bask in the sun with you, and Nureongi circles near the stone step where your shoes once lay. Still, their tears have lessened, so you need not worry too much.]

“Ah…”

At that point, Hoeun could read no further. His throat tightened, his thin shoulders trembling. Tears poured down like a torrential rain, and he hastily covered the letter with his hands lest they stain it. From between his fingers escaped sounds like those of a sick child.

He wanted to finish reading, but the tears blurred his vision, leaving him able to do nothing but weep for a long while. Only when his sleeves were soaked through did he manage to read the next paragraph. There was not much left now.

[Hoeun. We are doing well. With the Jeokudae, with General Taemuk, with you protecting us, how could we not be well? So please, do not worry about us—only worry about yourself.]

“No, no…”

As the letter drew to its end, Hoeun tried to cling to the words, as though they might slip away. But no matter how he tried, the words would not grow longer, and he inevitably reached the final line.

[May the heavens continue to watch over you and keep you safe, my son.]

“Ah…”

Unable to endure it any longer, Hoeun collapsed forward and wept as though the world were ending. He missed his parents. He always had, but he had managed to endure it—until now, when confronted with their traces, it became unbearable.

The smell that greeted him upon entering the gate, the familiar warmth of his room, his mother’s scent, his father’s voice, Deokwoo smiling at him, Nureongi wagging its tail as it followed him, even the lattice shadows cast across the house—he missed them all.

“Hhngh, ngh… hhuuugh… hic… hhuuugh…”

Curling in on himself, Hoeun rubbed his forehead against the floor and cried without cease. He had always been a man quick to tears, but never in his life had he cried like this.

He didn’t know why he felt so devastated. No one had died, no one was injured. They had learned of each other’s safety—he ought to have been happy. Yet his chest felt torn apart. He felt nauseous with the pressure in his gut, yet at the same time hollow, desperate to fill the emptiness.

After crying for a long while, Hoeun felt heat rise through his body. His temples burned, his eyes felt as though they might melt. His cheeks throbbed like a second heart. His mouth was wet, yet his throat parched. He couldn’t tell whether his blurred vision came from tears or dizziness.

How much time passed like that—

“Hhngh…”

Hoeun, who had cried as though the world were ending, had spent even the strength to sob. He lay sprawled on the floor, releasing sounds that were neither quite sobs nor quite gasps.

Bang!

The lattice door was flung open with a rough sound. Sharp cold air slashed through the room, heated by Hoeun’s tears. And then, a low voice fell like a command.

“Stop crying.”

It was Taemuk.