OGHOU C47

Chapter 47

Upon arriving before the inn, Sehwa stared blankly up at the signboard.

“Cheongyeon (淸緣). A pure bond, is it?”

A breath of incredulous laughter escaped him. The notion of his elder sister becoming an innkeeper—here of all remote places—was nothing short of absurd.

After unloading the few belongings he had brought in the carriage, Sehwa slowly pushed open the door and stepped inside. Contrary to its rather respectable exterior, the interior was dilapidated and musty, reeking faintly of rot and neglect.

What were you thinking, Sister, purchasing an inn like this?

No doubt she had been swindled by someone she trusted—she was always too soft-hearted, too ready to believe others without suspicion.

First things first, the stench had to go. He flung open every window and door. His entire body ached after the long journey, but collapsing into bed was not an option. Work awaited.

By the time he had cleaned every corner, twilight had already descended. Completely exhausted, Sehwa slumped into an old chair, which let out an ominous creak under his weight.

I’ll have to replace all the furniture too.

He laid his head on the table. Staring at the newly scrubbed floor brought an ache to his chest—memories of someone who would always snatch the broom away, scolding him, “Why are you doing chores? I’ll take care of it.”

“See? I can do it myself. You were always too overbearing. I’m not a child.”

His quiet murmur broke midway. He suddenly realized he had not even had a sip of tea since arriving. Rising to fetch a teapot, he staggered; dizziness overtook him.

Clutching the chair for support, Sehwa grabbed his chest. Pain flared from his lungs. He quickly covered his mouth with his sleeve—

And then came the coughing. Wet, violent. His sleeve bloomed red with blood. Overcome by the pain, Sehwa collapsed to the floor, gasping harshly.

Sister… it seems that farewell truly was our last.

Before leaving, he had begged her: Forget me. Think of me as already gone. Anyone who asks—say you know nothing. There was nothing to gain by being tied to him.

Had he known death would follow so swiftly, he would have spoken kindly, left a farewell letter—even one line. Regret cut deeper than the pain. Even tears refused to come.

Blinking slowly, he let a bitter smile form. To think his final act in life was cleaning—almost comical.

As his vision blurred, he fancied he saw a silhouette wearing a bamboo hat.

“Is he really dead? Brother, go check.”

“How am I supposed to check that?”

“You’re just scared, aren’t you? Ugh, fine. I’ll go!”

A racket of childish voices stirred Sehwa. His eyelashes trembled faintly.

“Hello? Hey! Are you dead?”

“Haeryeong, don’t shake a fallen person like that.”

“You have to shake them to wake them. Brother, grab his leg and shake too.”

“L-like this…?”

“Harder!”

Through the commotion, Sehwa managed to part his lips.

“Stop… I’m awake… please…”

“See? Told you shaking works!”

From nearly dying to being jolted awake—what cursed turn of fate. Sehwa opened his eyes, slowly bringing the children before him into focus.

A girl of perhaps twelve or thirteen knelt near his head. A boy, a couple of years older, sat by his feet. Their faces resembled each other so closely they clearly were siblings.

Both were thin, shabby, pitiful—orphans of the Beggar Sect? Village beggars? Wandering street urchins? Whatever the case, beggars for certain.

Sehwa sat bolt upright. Pain had weighed on him before he fainted—but now his body felt unexpectedly light, almost as if treated by a physician.

Ah… I did see a man in a bamboo hat, didn’t I?

He turned to the wide-eyed siblings.

“Did you happen to see a man wearing a bamboo hat? I think he wore white…”

“No. You were lying here alone.”

“…I see.”

A stranger, passing by, had saved him? Unknown, unseen, yet generous. Silently, Sehwa thanked his mysterious benefactor.

“So, what are you two doing here?”

The girl—Haeryeong—answered proudly, still staring at him as if he were a spectacle.

“We came to find work!”

“Work? What kind?”

“Anything! We can do odd jobs. Just pay us fairly.”

The boy interjected quickly.

“Her? No, I’ll work. Only me.”

“What? Brother, we said we’d work together!”

Sehwa felt his head spin. He hadn’t even officially opened the inn yet, and suddenly beggar children were scrambling for jobs.

“Quiet, both of you. Let me think.”

They pressed their lips shut, watching him with shining, expectant eyes. If he refused, he would shatter their hopes.

I did plan to hire help… but aren’t they far too young?

Suspicion crept over his expression. Haeryeong immediately burst into tears.

“We… we don’t have parents. No home. It’s so hard to survive…”

Her pitiful sobbing left him flustered. In the end, he relented, telling them they could stay and work. Suspiciously fast, her tears vanished, replaced by bright eyes and a tiny smirk—but he had already spoken.

“So what are your names? This little one’s Haeryeong.”

“I’m Haewoo.”

“Haewoo and Haeryeong. Good. My name is…”

He stopped. His own name—he should discard it now. With a bitter curve to his lips, he said:

“Cheongyeon. Same as the inn.”

As it turned out, Haewoo had experience assisting a cook at another inn—though the cruel innkeeper there had refused to pay him and thrown him out. Thanks to that, Haewoo knew Szechuan cuisine better than Sehwa himself and could prepare anything skillfully.

Haeryeong was too young for real work, but despite his protests, she kept throwing herself into tasks. Even when he reassured her she didn’t need to, she persisted.

Concerned about manpower, Sehwa had hired an older errand boy as well—but the boy was lazy and constantly earned customers’ ire. Haeryeong eventually began serving tables herself, and the errand boy was soon dismissed.

Truly, the children were blessings fallen from the sky. Sehwa even let them stay in the guesthouse out back.

Then, one day—

A clatter of breaking plates rang out from the kitchen. Sehwa rushed in to find Haeryeong clutching a reddened hand, panicking as Haewoo hovered anxiously.

“You’re hurt?”

He swept aside the broken porcelain with his foot and moved toward Haeryeong.

“Let me see your hand. Don’t cry. Ah, that must hurt.”

Hot food had spilled, burning her badly. He had warned her repeatedly not to do such tasks alone. Clicking his tongue, he fetched a basin of cold water, gently placing her hand in and pouring water over it.

“S-sorry… I ruined the plate…”

“That’s not what matters.”

The burn looked more severe than he expected. While soothing her, dread gnawed at him—what if her hand never recovered? He handed the ladle to Haewoo and ran out to fetch a physician.

That was when—

“Use this.”

A calm voice called from behind him. Sehwa turned. A man sat there, head bowed beneath a deeply-pulled bamboo hat.

Was he here the whole time?

Puzzled, Sehwa accepted the item the man extended.

“What is this?”

“Golden Salve¹. Specially prepared to treat burns. Apply it.”

“Just this will work?”

The man nodded once. Though a stranger, his aura commanded trust. Sehwa bowed deeply.

“Thank you!”

Without hesitation, he hurried back. After drying Haeryeong’s hand with clean cloth, he carefully applied the salve. At once, the redness faded and the blisters vanished. Eyes wide, Haeryeong stopped crying and stared at her healed hand.

When the chaos settled, Sehwa went to thank the man properly—but only an empty Soju-type bottle and a few coins remained.

Peering around, he spotted the man stepping out the door. Watching his retreating back, Sehwa could tell—this was no ordinary traveler. That gait belonged to someone who had wielded a sword for many years.

Running up, he called out:

“Honored hero!”

The man paused and turned. Though his face was obscured by the bamboo hat, Sehwa could somehow feel the serenity in his gaze.

“Thank you. The child could have been badly injured. Thanks to you, she’s well.”

“It was nothing.”

“May I ask your courtesy name? I would repay this debt one day.”

“…A wandering physician needs no courtesy name.”

“…Pardon?”

He gave a small nod, as though he had not heard, then turned again. His steps grew distant—light, as though he walked upon clouds.

Sehwa watched him leave, mind turning.

Was that… him, from that time?

In the end, he never fulfilled his promise of repayment. His longing for the one he loved had hollowed him out—an illness of the heart more fearsome than pain of the flesh. As time passed, Sehwa spoke less and less, withdrawing into isolation, sealing himself away from the world.