BW C4

Chapter 4

“If I, a guide, hide away, then my fated Military God will die like Eldest Brother did! Coughing up blood!”

“Hold your tongue!”

“If a Military God who defended the nation dies, more people will be eaten by monsters! To save one useless life like mine, how many will you let die?”

Hoeun shouted until the veins stood out in his neck. At this never-before-seen sight, his mother’s mouth fell open, and his father reeled as if struck by each of Hoeun’s words.

Even after that, Hoeun’s cries—half scream, perhaps half sob—continued to shake the courtyard.

“Our precious boy, our darling boy…”

His mother carefully cupped Hoeun’s hand, thick with ointment, and blew gently, ho, ho. Hoeun could not bring himself to meet her eyes and hung his head.

“I’m sorry. For scarring the body you gave me.”

“It’s all right. You must have been driven to it…”

His mother exhaled a sigh through her nose. Silence settled in after that.

Staring at his already slick palm, she kept lifting and setting down the ointment, checking if there was anywhere else to cover. She felt his forehead for fever, fretted endlessly about the dinner he had barely touched.

It was fussy, but in this household, such worry was routine. Hoeun was a late-born child who had been frail since birth.

The biggest reason, of course, was that his parents had already endured the death of a child and knew too well how heavy and terrifying that was.

“Hoeun.”

“Yes, Mother.”

“Do you truly… want to become a guide?”

“I already am a guide, Mother.”

“…”

His mother slowly set the ointment down. Then she pulled her cushion closer and met his gaze.

“But, Eun-ah, a guide is…”

“It’s not the same as a courtesan.”

“…”

At the coarse word ill-suited to a noble house, his mother’s brows twitched upward. Hoeun averted his eyes again.

Truthfully, becoming a guide was not only joy for Hoeun. Or rather, it was joy tinged with regret. If only he had become a Military God. If he could have gone to the front like Eldest Brother, earned merit, saved hundreds or thousands—how good that would have been.

Still, being a guide was a significant opportunity. For someone fated to languish and die confined at home, what couldn’t be done now?

“It’s a matter of protecting the nation and saving lives. Whatever the act looks like, I believe it’s a noble thing.”

“Even so, a mother cannot help but worry. The Manhwan are one thing, but the Military God you’ll meet… we know nothing of what sort of person he might be.”

Her anxieties did not abate. Suddenly, Hoeun’s face lit up as if with fire—because she had said “Military God.”

“I’m sure he’ll be a good person. One who fights for the country must be so.”

“…”

“Perhaps a strong, splendid lady. Like you, Mother. Then p-perhaps I could even m-marry her?”

“What? Marry?”

“Yes. I might present you with a sweet little grandchild, like my brothers did.”

“A grandchild?”

At Hoeun’s innocent, childish words, a smile finally bloomed on his mother’s face. Her soft laughter lifted the corners of his mouth as well; hope filled his rosy lips. When she caressed his cheek, he leaned into her warm palm and said,

“Whatever the case, for the first time, I’ll have my own ‘person.’ Whether as a friend or a spouse, surely someone precious.”

“…Yes, perhaps so.”

She gave a small nod and turned her eyes to the pale, empty wall, staring as if deep in thought.

Then—cough, cough. Hoeun cleared his throat. Yelling at his father had left his throat raw. Instantly, worry rose to his mother’s face.

“Lie down now. Fever or awakening pain, sickness is sickness—you must rest.”

She led him to the bed deep in the room; he slipped under the covers without protest.

Moving briskly, she straightened the bedding and checked the floor’s warmth with her hand. Watching her like a corpse laid out, Hoeun spoke softly.

“Mother.”

“What is it? Are you in pain? Shall I call for medicine?”

“Please persuade Father.”

“…Eun-ah.”

“I want to be of use. Something far greater than lying here and being sick. I want to do something you and Father could be proud of.”

“Not everyone must do such things. Everyone has their circumstances,” she said gently, brushing his brow as if to soothe him. But her words did not sink into Hoeun’s ears.

“I’m afraid, Mother.”

“Of what? The Manhwan?”

“No. Of my future—of wasting away in this room until I die unnoticed.”

“Eun-ah.”

“I’m afraid I’ll leave no trace on the world and simply disappear.”

“…”

“My brothers enter the palace, go into business, and raise our family’s name. But I am always here, in this place.”

He looked slowly around his room. It was spacious, clean, comfortable; one wall was lined with books, and rare ceramics and paintings, the kind commoners might never see in a lifetime, dotted the space.

It was the room in which Hoeun had spent every day of his twenty years—save for the occasional nights in the hospital.

He knew exactly how many steps wide and long it was. Yet sometimes, he couldn’t breathe. No one had imprisoned him, but he felt confined.

He often dreamed of dying in this room, sick and fading. A nightmare, or perhaps a premonition—he couldn’t tell.

At the sight of Hoeun’s face, pale to the point of translucence, his mother’s eyes grew wet.

“I’m sorry. I must have sinned in a past life, for you to be like this…”

She was an indulgent mother—though not to every child. She didn’t fret over whether the others ate or got hurt; boys could skip a meal, boys could get injured. But with Hoeun, she could not think that way.

No wonder—he was a late-born child, ten years younger than the third. Born prematurely, not carried the full ten months.

Perhaps for that reason, unlike his siblings who took after their towering father and were built like generals, Hoeun had been weak from birth.

His bones were fine, his breath small, his appetite short; when he did eat a bit more, he would often vomit. Even his crying was like a dying animal—mouth opening and closing without a sound.

His mother saw all of it as her fault. Losing her eldest son, too—that was her sin.

As tears welled in her eyes, Hoeun sprang up and embraced her. He thought, I’ve been unfilial again.

“Please don’t say such things. I’m so happy to have been born your son.”

“Eun-ah…”

Hoeun patted her back. He had made his mother cry more times than he could count. As he sighed silently, the distant bark of Nureong drifted in. Listening a moment, he said quietly,

“I only want to live a life better than Nureong’s.”

“Nureong?”

“Yes. Sometimes I envied him.”

“…Why?”

She drew back with a frown. However frail he was, he’d lacked for nothing—yet suddenly he envied a dog? She couldn’t fathom it.

“Nureong roams outside as he pleases. Every day he runs hard, barks hard, eats with gusto. I envy that so very much.”

Hoeun stared at the tightly shut papered doors that let not a breath of air through and continued,

“If I become a guide, I think I’ll see more than Nureong does—see a wider world. The thought thrills me.”

“…”

“Is it greedy? If someone like me goes to the front, will I only be a burden?”

“…”

“Even so…”

I want to be greedy for once. What should I do, Mother?

He carefully slid open the papered door. The wooden frame creaked, and at each sound his shoulders climbed higher, until they nearly touched his earlobes. Undertaking what had not been permitted, his heart thudded at the smallest noise.

Finally stepping out, he shivered. The blue predawn air was cold in every season; the chill brushed the nape of his neck and raised goosebumps.

But he did not return to his room. Instead, he sat on the veranda and began to put on his shoes. His scraped palms still stung a little from yesterday’s tantrum, but it was fine; if there was one thing he did well, it was enduring pain.

Tugging at the inner slipper bunched under his heel, he recalled what the doctor had told him at the hospital yesterday:

“There happens to be a Fate-Matching Ceremony tomorrow. Military Gods from all over the country will gather; you should be able to find your partner.”

They said the Military Gods were coming to Hanyang in search of partners. Perhaps among them would be Hoeun’s.

A partner.

One who would become his person.

One who would become precious to him.

One who would, in turn, cherish him.

As his cheeks rounded in a smile and he slipped his foot into the other shoe, a shadow fell across the threshold stone.

“Where are you going so early in the morning?”

It was his father.