BW C171

Chapter 171

By the time the bowl of sungnyung was scraped clean, Gilsang—who had been sitting beside him—called out to Hoeun with a smile.

“Young Master.”

“Yes, Sergeant.”

Hoeun quickly wiped his mouth with his sleeve and replied neatly.

“They say Seongim’s leather gloves are very good.”

At that, Hoeun looked toward Seongim beside Gilsang. Seongim deliberately stretched out the hand clad in leather gloves, showing them off. They were the very gloves Hoeun’s father had purchased for every soldier of the Jeokudae.

“Ah… is that so? I’m glad to hear it.”

“Seongim gets cold easily, you see. With leather gloves and fur socks, it looks like she’ll be warm all winter.”

“Yes.”

Hoeun smiled awkwardly. He hadn’t done anything himself, yet being thanked like this made him embarrassed and self-conscious. Perhaps that opened the floodgates, because Mansu bowed deeply as well.

“Me too. Thanks for letting us eat our fill, Young Master.”

“Me too, me too. I could die right now without regrets. I’d ascend straight to enlightenment.”

Dongja laughed, her cheeks plump and glistening with grease.

“W-well… please don’t die.”

Worried that words might invite misfortune, Hoeun looked at her anxiously. Meanwhile, soldiers seated around other bonfires began offering their thanks in turn.

“Thank you, Young Master.”

“We’ll eat well, Young Master.”

Startled, Hoeun shook his head rapidly and waved his hands.

“N-no, it’s nothing. Thank you all for enjoying the food. My parents will be happy to hear it.”

Embarrassed by all the attention, Hoeun edged closer to Taemuk and looked up at him with pleading eyes, as if asking to be rescued.

But Taemuk curled one corner of his mouth upward into a dangerous smile. And sure enough, he suddenly scolded the soldiers.

“You lot—are those voices really all you’ve got after eating meat?”

The soldiers instantly snapped to attention, straightening their backs and craning their necks before shouting in various voices.

“Thank you, Young Master!”

“We’re truly grateful!”

“The food’s unbelievably delicious!”

The chorus of gratitude swelled outward, reaching the farthest edges lit by the bonfires. Some soldiers jumped to their feet to bow, others raised their cups or meat, and some waved their arms enthusiastically.

“Ahhh… what do I do? What should I do? Please hide me….”

Unable to endure the embarrassment, Hoeun buried his face into Taemuk’s arm. His ears and the back of his neck were flushed bright red. Taemuk chuckled lowly, clearly amused, yet still pulled his military coat tighter around Hoeun’s shoulders.

Mansu watched the two of them silently.

“……”

He rubbed his flaring nostrils with the back of his hand, then suddenly slapped his thigh to draw attention.

“Damn, I’m in one hell of a good mood! Ain’t I?”

He leapt to his feet with a bottle of liquor, but his drunken body wobbled violently. Just as Hoeun gasped, Dongja—who had been gnawing meat off a bone—caught him. Regaining his balance, Mansu grinned widely.

“When I’m this happy, how can I not sing?”

Dongja clapped her hands in agreement, still holding the bone in her mouth. With her large, thick hands, the applause sounded like thunder. Gilsang and Seongim clapped as well, faces full of anticipation. Byeonguk leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, clearly inviting him to begin.

Mansu smoothed down his wind-tossed hair with his palm, mimed straightening a nonexistent necktie, then stood with his hands neatly at his sides like a gentleman and bowed to the crowd. The gesture suited him surprisingly well. Hoeun watched him with curious eyes.

Mansu cleared his throat, then began to sing in a voice utterly different from his speaking voice. The melody wasn’t wide-ranging, which made it fit his voice all the better.

“By the riverside of Nodeul, spring willows sway,

Shall I bind the waist of this heartless time tight around them?”

At the first line, soldiers began turning their heads toward him.

“Eheya, even spring willows can’t be trusted,

Only those green waters flow on, endlessly flowing.”

By the next verse, even more soldiers were watching.

“On Nodeul’s sandy banks, footprints upon the shore,

How many were erased by endless winds and storms?”

By the third, every soldier was looking his way.

Mansu’s shoulders bounced in time with the rhythm. His free hand lifted and fell repeatedly. Hoeun’s eyes sparkled; it felt as though he could hear janggu drums and the clash of gongs.

“Eheya, even white sands can’t be trusted,

Only those green waters flow on, endlessly flowing.”

After singing without pause, Mansu briefly stopped, perhaps short of breath, perhaps caught by emotion. He inhaled deeply, then closed his eyes and swayed slowly as he finished the song.

“O green waters of Nodeul, what restless spirit are you,

To take away so many precious lives?”

Though his voice wasn’t loud, it reached even the soldiers at the far edge. At that moment, even the cold wind seemed to pause, and the bonfires fell silent.

“Eheya, if you would only turn your heart,

Carry away all the sorrows piled in this world.”

When the song ended, the world fell into silence. No one laughed or cried; they simply stared into the air, as if thinking, as if longing for something.

The one who broke that vast stillness was Hoeun. He clapped brightly, and only then did others begin to applaud as well.

Mansu bowed again like a gentleman. Hoeun praised him without restraint.

“Brother Mansu, you have a fine eye for clothes, and you sing beautifully as well. You are truly multitalented.”

Mansu bared his teeth in a grin, the gentlemanly air vanishing in an instant.

“Right? Huh? If it weren’t for those damn man-eating freaks, I’d have been a fa-mous singer, you know.”

“Yes. I’m sure you would have.”

Hoeun nodded eagerly. Singing in front of others was impressive enough—doing it well was a true talent. In a world without the monsters, Mansu might truly have become a renowned singer. Perhaps instead of meeting as soldiers of the Jeokudae, they might have met as singer and audience.

Hoeun gazed up at him with admiration, prompting Gilsang and Byeonguk to add their praise.

“Brother Mansu, you’ve got a great voice.”

“When you sing, you really look like a nobleman.”

For once, a shy flush crept onto Mansu’s cheeks. It didn’t suit his boar-like appearance at all—but it was oddly endearing. After a moment of thought, he gulped down his liquor, then suddenly grabbed an empty brass bowl that had held meat pancakes. In his other hand, he held a spoon.

“Hell, I’m in the mood. I’ll give you one more song!”

Even more excited than before, Mansu struck the bowl with the spoon—clang, clang, clang. The sharp sound made Taemuk frown and pull his chin in, but Hoeun leaned forward, fascinated.

After rapping the bowl a few more times to gather attention, Mansu took a deep breath, grinned, and sang slowly but powerfully.

“Kwaejina—ching ching—nane.”

Hoeun’s eyebrows arched. Kwaeji… kwaejina? It sounded strange—foreign, almost. He’d never worked the fields, never joined in communal singing before.

But then—

“Kwaejina ching ching nane.”

Dongja, who had been lost in her food, suddenly joined in. The melody rose and fell. Mansu nodded approvingly and began striking the bowl in a rich rhythm—clang, clang—while Dongja grabbed a wooden bowl and beat its base with her palm, producing a steady thump-thump-thud.

“Let’s go, let’s go, come on and go,” Mansu called.

“Kwaejina ching ching nane,” Dongja answered.

“Cross the river and head to Baekro,”

“Kwaejina ching ching nane.”

The refrain repeated.

“In the sky, the stars shine bright,”

“Kwaejina ching ching nane.”

And repeated again. Soon, other soldiers’ voices layered over Dongja’s, turning the song into a call-and-response—Mansu leading, the soldiers answering.

“By the stream, there are many pebbles,”

“Kwaejina ching ching nane.”

“In our hearts, there are many stories,”

“Kwaejina ching ching nane.”

The soldiers sang with easy familiarity. Even Seongim quietly mouthed along. Everyone seemed to know the song well. Hoeun watched them in a daze.

“As the sun sets in the western hills,”

“Kwaejina ching ching nane.”

“Who could ever hold it back?”

“Kwaejina ching ching nane.”

The tempo quickened as Mansu and Dongja beat their bowls faster. The soldiers’ voices grew louder, heads bobbing, hands slapping thighs. Some even stood to dance. Hoeun’s fingers twitched in time.

“When our beloved departs,”

“Kwaejina ching ching nane.”

“When will they return again?”

“Kwaejina ching ching nane.”

It was a strangely exhilarating song. The soldiers sang at the top of their lungs, as if competing to see who could be louder.

“Set up a loom in the sky,”

“Kwaejina ching ching nane.”

“Catch carp and weave the cloth—eolssu!”

“Kwaejina ching ching nane.”

Hoeun was completely swept away by Mansu’s song and the soldiers’ chorus. He clapped along, softly singing under his breath.

“Kwaejina—ching ching—nane.”

“Kwaejina ching ching nane.”

Firelight flickered across the faces of those singing in unison. They smiled as if nothing frightened them, as if nothing could harm them—enough to make one forget this was a battlefield.

“Kwaejina—ching ching—nane.”

“Kwaejina ching ching nane.”

The song went on and on.

Yet not a single person grew tired.

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“Kwaejina—ching ching—nane” (쾌지나 칭칭 나네)

 

Meaning (natural English sense):

 

“How joyful it is, how cheerfully it goes on!”

or

“Oh, how lively and bright it sounds!”

 

It does not translate word-for-word. It’s a rhythmic refrain, like:

 

“Tra-la-la”

 

“Hey-ho”

 

“La-la-la, it goes on”