Chapter 170

“……”

Startled, Hoeun lifted only his upper body and looked toward Taemuk. He was sitting on the wooden veranda before the room. Judging by the ashtray beside him, piled high with cigarette butts, he must have been sitting there for quite some time. In other words, he had heard Hoeun crying from beginning to end.

Even so, manners still mattered to Hoeun. He unsteadily pushed himself up, then knelt down, gazing at Taemuk with eyes reddened as though scratched raw by fingernails.

“General…”

“How long are you planning to cry? You left your meal unfinished. If not that, then eat first and cry after.”

Taemuk snapped irritably. He had just heard that whether it was guchang or some mouth ailment, it would heal only if Hoeun ate and slept well—yet here he was, crying as though determined to die. What if the mouth sores worsened? What if he ended up with a nosebleed, a fever, or a cold?

Yet even at Taemuk’s command, Hoeun could not stop crying. Instead, his lips twitched uncontrollably.

“Hhk… hhuu… hhuuugh…”

He spilled tears even more forcefully than before. The tears were so round and heavy that each one struck the floor with a dull plop. Unable to endure it any longer, Taemuk sprang to his feet and strode into the room. His massive shadow, cast by the lattice door behind him, swallowed Hoeun whole.

“I told you to stop crying. If you don’t, I’ll tear that up.”

Taemuk jerked his chin toward the letter lying open. He even ground his teeth as if he meant it, his jawbone jutting sharply beneath the skin.

Hoeun looked up at him quietly. Tearing his father’s letter—such harsh, heartless words—yet for some reason, he wasn’t afraid. Shuddering intermittently, shoulders trembling, he pleaded with a desperate face.

“C-couldn’t I… cry just a little longer?”

“What?”

“Just a little… I’ll cry just a little more. Really, just a little…”

His lips, swollen from crying, slurred the words. The way he mumbled “j-just a little…” sounded exactly like a spoiled child.

“Ha…”

At such an absurd request, Taemuk let out a hollow laugh. Hoeun wasn’t asking him not to tear the letter, nor to leave him alone—he was asking for permission to cry more. There was nothing to say. It was a request so uniquely Hoeun that Taemuk was left speechless.

“……”

Taemuk scraped his tongue along the inside of his lower lip. He didn’t want to grant it, but ignoring it felt wrong too. As he stood there in silence, Hoeun crawled over and knelt in front of him.

Then—

Tap, tap.

He patted the floor. It meant: sit here.

Dumbfounded, Taemuk laughed again, yet without complaint he sat down on the floor. As though it were the most natural thing in the world, Hoeun crawled up onto Taemuk’s thigh. Settling into his arms, he took a few ragged, wet breaths, then buried his face deep into Taemuk’s broad chest as though grinding it there—and began to cry again.

“Hhuu… ngh… hhuuugh… hic… hhuuugh…”

In time with his sobs, his small, lean body trembled violently. Taemuk felt his chest growing damp, felt Hoeun’s body heating up like a stone baked in fire from all the crying.

“Ha…”

Taemuk stared up at the ceiling and sighed. He twisted one corner of his mouth irritably, raked his fingers through his bangs, scratched the back of his head—then scolded Hoeun with a face still laced with irritation.

“At least… cry in moderation.”

Hoeun, earnest about everything, cried earnestly too. This was something he could afford to be lazy about, yet he wasn’t.

“Yes…”

He answered obediently, then hiccupped. Taemuk gently wiped the tears clinging to Hoeun’s temple with the back of his finger. His already delicate skin had grown even thinner from tears and heat; one wrong touch and it felt as though it might split like the skin of an overripe persimmon.

Frowning, Taemuk withdrew his hand and instead carefully dabbed at the tears with his sleeve. But Hoeun shed more tears than he could wipe away—it was utterly futile.

Taemuk sighed, but he didn’t scold him again.

Hoeun had said he would cry just a little longer, yet he cried until the sun dipped low and the sky turned from red to deep violet. Throughout that long stretch of time, Taemuk wiped away his tears and patted his back.

Around a hundred bonfires blazed here and there. Soldiers gathered around them in groups—some ten or so, others several dozen—sharing the abundant food. The firelight was bright, and with the high walls and guards posted, there seemed little need to worry about shikgoe.

The soldiers were in high spirits from the rare feast. Laughter burst forth without pause from every direction.

Hoeun, too, took a seat by a bonfire. He slowly lifted a spoonful of steaming sungnyung to his mouth, then chewed at nothing, working his mouth gently. The distinctive red glow of the fire flickered across his face.

“Does your mouth still hurt?”

Taemuk asked, seated so close that their thighs touched. As he spoke, he tucked Hoeun’s wispy strands of hair, swaying in the cold breeze, behind his ear.

“Yes. Since I don’t have to chew much, it’s all right.”

Hoeun answered in his characteristically neat tone. It was a positive response, yet Taemuk’s twisted expression did not ease.

“What do you mean, it’s all right? With all this food, you’re eating nothing but sungnyung…”

His gaze swept over the table laden with dishes—braised ribs, beef fritters dipped in egg batter, grilled fish, and all manner of precious foods and side dishes—yet Hoeun was holding only a bowl of sungnyung.

“I can eat the rest tomorrow.”

Hoeun smiled softly, eyes still swollen, and carefully brought another spoonful of sungnyung to his mouth. To keep the spoon from brushing his lower lip, he had to open his mouth wider than usual.

Watching that, Taemuk sighed through his nose. At least he was swallowing that much—perhaps that was something to be thankful for.

After crying without pause, when Hoeun finally managed to stop, he looked up at Taemuk and said, “I’m hungry.”

So Taemuk immediately went to find Chilbok, only to discover the supply store in utter chaos. Food that hadn’t found a place yet was left outside, exposed to falling snow. There was simply too much of what Hoeun’s family had sent to store it all.

Chilbok had been fretting, asking what they should do, lamenting how wasteful it would be. When Taemuk replied that they could just eat it all, this was the result—a full-blown feast. Anyone might have thought there was some grand celebration. Well… perhaps it was a celebration, in its own way.

Though the very owner of the food, Hoeun, could hardly eat any of it.

With a troubled expression, Taemuk clicked his tongue.

“Fuck… I can’t eat anymore…”

Across from him, Dongja flopped backward onto the snow. Her belly was swollen as though it might burst at any moment. Beside her, Mansu sucked noisily on a liquor bottle, then opened his mouth wide and let out a hearty belch.

“Buuuurp… me neither…”

His face was flushed as though he’d been beaten by fire. His eyelids drooped heavily, his shoulders sagged as though the bones had vanished. Seeing that, Hoeun smiled faintly. Taemuk suddenly scooped up a handful of snow and flung it at them.

“Eat in moderation, you animals. Are you people or pigs?”

He had never once begrudged the soldiers their food—but now he did. What if there was less left for Hoeun? It was petty, truly petty, yet the amount Dongja and Mansu had eaten tonight was enough to feed Hoeun for ten—no, twenty days. How could he not be irritated?

“Dongja, sometimes you eat more than the shikgoe.”

Taemuk said disapprovingly.

“Oh come on, Captain. How much could I’ve eaten… just a mouse’s droppings worth…”

Dongja complained sulkily, brushing snow from her face. As Taemuk glared at her incredulously, Byeonguk—who had been deboning fish nearby—lowered his head slightly and spoke.

“Captain.”

“What.”

“Chilbok said he set aside a separate portion just for the young master, and told Dongja noona to eat her fill.”

“…Did he.”

“Yes. He picked out only the prettiest, tender pieces of meat and fritters, so you needn’t worry.”

At that, the edge in Taemuk’s brow softened at once. Tugging down on his earlobe a few times, he jerked his chin toward Dongja.

“Dongja, eat more.”

“Really?”

Chuckling, Dongja got up and shoved three stacked beef fritters into her mouth. Mansu laughed along as he tore into more meat, then tipped the bottle back again. The glug-glug of liquor echoed loudly.

Hoeun, picking at his sungnyung, watched them with a contented expression. He felt glad that they were eating well the food his parents had prepared. As he slowly swept his gaze around, he soon noticed that Taemuk himself wasn’t eating.

“General, please eat as well. You haven’t had dinner.”

“Yeah.”

Taemuk answered, yet still didn’t pick up his chopsticks. Instead, he said things like, “Isn’t the bowl heavy? Want me to hold it?” which made Hoeun laugh. Though Hoeun said he was fine, Taemuk eventually took the bowl and held it beneath his chin, allowing Hoeun to drink his sungnyung comfortably.