BW C32

Chapter 32

“Hey now, that won’t do. Even if you’re younger than us, you’re still a noble.”

Shaking his head, the man nonetheless wore a quietly hopeful look. Without much hesitation, Hoeun nodded.

“Yes. Please speak comfortably.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

At his assent, the woman and man glanced at each other and tittered with delight. Watching them, Hoeun spoke carefully.

“Um, there’s something I’d like to ask as well…”

“Mm? What is it, what is it?”

“What are your names?”

“Names?”

Names, he says—names. What’s with ‘honored names’? Ugh, it’s just ‘names.’ Ah—names. Repeating his phrasing, the two snickered among themselves. Then the woman pressed her hair flat on both sides with her palm to make it neat, and grinned, showing her teeth.

“I’m Dongja.”

The man scrubbed his face so hard his nose nearly stretched.

“I’m Mansu.”

Dongja and Mansu. Hoeun smiled faintly. Today, with Chilbok, Dongja, and Mansu—he had learned fully three names.

As he repeated their names to himself, Dongja pointed to herself, then to Mansu.

“I’m a Military God, and he’s my guide.”

“Ah…”

Hoeun nodded slightly. No wonder—they hadn’t felt like just ordinary comrades-in-arms. They were a bit different from the Military God and guide he had imagined, but it didn’t feel strange—more like close friends, even family.

What was strange was the relationship between himself and Taemuk.

He glanced at Taemuk again. Having finished eating, Taemuk was already smoking another cigarette. The cloud he exhaled was thick and heavy.

“My name is Choi Hoeun.”

Turning back to Dongja and Mansu, he stated his name clearly. Dongja fluttered her hand.

“We know. You think we wouldn’t know the Captain’s guide’s name—or honored name?”

Hoeun smiled faintly at that. But Dongja tucked in her chin and clicked her tongue.

“Goodness, look at that face. It’ll crumble to dust. Young lord, you’ve thinned out over just a few days. You know that?”

“And knowing that, you steal his food?”

“Ha—didn’t you eat any? Was it only me? Huh?”

Dongja lifted her spoon as if to smack Mansu on the forehead; Mansu hunched his neck, grunting “urk, urk.” The ridiculous sight drew a small curl at Hoeun’s lips, and Gilsang said,

“I’ll ask Chilbok to decoct some medicine for the young master.”

Dongja lowered her spoon and bobbed her head vigorously.

“Right—decoction would be good. Chilbok’s young but deft—he’s good at that.”

At the mention of Chilbok, Hoeun drew his backside in and sat up.

“How old is Chilbok?”

“The baby of the unit. Fifteen.”

“Fifteen…”

Hoeun’s mouth fell slightly open. Fifteen—it was younger than he’d expected; around the age of his second brother’s son, his nephew. Thinking of it made him seem even younger. How had such a child ended up on the battlefield, and in the most dangerous Jeokudae at that?

Before long, Dongja and Mansu had finished even Hoeun’s bibimbap. Still unsatisfied, they smacked their lips.

Watching Mansu scrape the grains off the rim of the bowl, Hoeun suddenly remembered something. He sprang up and dashed off. At the abrupt movement, Dongja craned her neck and called,

“Young lord! Where are you going?”

Not only Mansu and Gilsang, who had been sitting with them, but Taemuk too looked up with a frown at Hoeun’s sudden action.

“Just a moment—just a moment! I’ll be right back! Just a moment!”

Calling out so, Hoeun dodged past clustered soldiers and ran to the horses. Each time his foot struck the ground, piled maple leaves puffed up and drifted slowly down.

“Hah, hah…”

Though he hadn’t run far, he was soon out of breath. He rifled through the bag tied to the saddle. It had to be here somewhere… Mother had put it in…

Soon he pulled out a silk pouch, about the size of his palm. Not large, but it had some weight. Clutching it close to his chest, Hoeun hurried back to the group.

“Haaa…”

He sat beside Taemuk again and drew a long breath. A flush spread over his cheeks. Flicking his fallen ribboned hair back, he opened the pouch. Inside were things piled up that gleamed like silver coins.

Scooping out a handful, Hoeun handed three or four to Dongja, Mansu, and Gilsang.

“What’s this?”

“Silver coins?”

“Silver? Is it silver?”

Turning them over front and back, the three spoke. Something round and hard was wrapped in shiny paper like silver. It was about two finger-joints long, and thinner than a little finger—an odd shape indeed.

“It’s chocolate—Western candy. Or not a ‘cookie’—better to call it a sweet…”

“Western candy? Young lord, you eat things like this?”

Dongja meant—do you eat such precious things—but Hoeun took it to mean—do you eat this like a child. He lowered his gaze, abashed.

“M-my parents still think I’m a child.”

“If treating you like a child means buying this, then we’ll throw our arms wide and welcome it, eh?”

Mansu snickered and tossed the chocolate into his mouth. Without even unwrapping it—whole. Seeing Dongja and Gilsang move to do the same, Hoeun almost fainted and stopped them.

“Unwrap it! You unwrap it to eat it. Like this—unwrap it like this.”

He unwrapped Gilsang’s chocolate. At last, the black core was revealed. Mansu spat his out with a “bleh.”

“No wonder—thought it was spoiled, so sour—what a taste…”

Dongja mocked him as a dolt. Sniffling for no reason, Mansu put the newly unwrapped piece in his mouth. Dongja and Gilsang ate theirs too. Soon their brows flattened, eye corners slackened, lashes fluttered.

“Whoa—it’s sweet… Sweet… Sweeter than the candy you bought me in Hanyang, eh?”

“Hey—this—uh—it’s not snow, but it melts in the mouth—melts.”

“Awfully… a curious taste, it is…”

Like children, all three sucked the chocolate with innocent faces. Hoeun smiled at the sight, warmth blooming in his chest. Fidgeting with the pouch, he belatedly remembered Taemuk. He scooped a handful of chocolates and held them out to him.

“Please have some, General.”

“Put it away.”

Taemuk frowned and refused. But Hoeun, unbothered, shoved them deep into his uniform pocket.

“Please have some.”

“…”

At his obstinacy, Taemuk gave a short, incredulous laugh. Smoke billowed from between his teeth. Regardless, Hoeun tugged the chocolate caught on the edge of his pocket and stuffed it in deeper.

Across from them, the three stretched their philtrums long and traded glances. When Taemuk glared, they darted their eyes away as if nothing had happened.

“Shall I offer some to the others, too?”

Seeing there was still plenty left, Hoeun asked Gilsang. Gilsang passed the pouch to nearby squads and told them to take only one each—also telling them not to forget to peel the wrapper.

Before long, the pouch returned to Hoeun. Truly, how upright they all were—each had taken exactly one; nearly half remained.

With a chocolate in each mouth, the soldiers’ backs hunched like ripened rice. Men and women, the old and the young, all smacked softly, cheekbones lifting—it was comical, yet not unpleasant.

For that moment, all forgot monsters and battle and melted into the sweetness of chocolate.

After a languid rest—who knew how long—Taemuk rose.

“If you’ve finished, let’s move.”

Gilsang quickly stood to follow.

“Yes—let’s go.”

“Hey, the Captain says let’s go!”

At Dongja’s shout, the lounging soldiers stood as one. All gathered weapons and packed gear. Taemuk checked the map again.

Hovering behind him, Hoeun watched, then edged back on tiptoe. He made his way down against the flow of soldiers. Far off, among the piles of gear, Chilbok was setting a pot.

“Chilbok! Chilbok!”

“Young master?”

Chilbok looked over, puzzled, and Hoeun drew him between the trees. Then he pulled the chocolate pouch from his bosom and held it out.

“Eat this.”

“Uh—I received some already.”

Chilbok showed, ingenuous, that he had taken a chocolate from the pouch—round, now a crescent, where he had taken a single bite and wrapped it back up.

“Eat that—and eat this too.”

Hoeun insisted, pressing the pouch into his hand. Chilbok’s eyes went wide as if they’d pop.

A—all of this?”

“Mm.”

“Just for me?”

“Mm.”

“…Why?”

“Because—thank you. Thank you.”

Hoeun grinned broadly. The “cling-close operation” had been all Chilbok’s doing. Thanks to him, even by a speck, he had grown closer to Taemuk. True, all they had done was share a meal—and even that hardly counted as eating together—but still, it was a great step forward. Even that Taemuk hadn’t shoved bibimbap down his throat was a victory.

From that step, Hoeun saw a future—and could hold hope.