TCBW C13

Chapter 13

With her voice as calm as ever, yet carrying a faint trace of fatigue, Gye‑geum stepped in between the two of them.

“…Yes, Lady Gye‑geum.”

Only then did Unhyo, swallowing his regret, release Suhoe from his arms completely. His eyes were rimmed in red.

“Let’s go, Suhoe.”

As if there were no more time to spare, Gye‑geum immediately took hold of Suhoe’s arm and stepped out through the shrine gates into the darkness.

Drawn along by her swifter‑than‑expected pace, Suhoe almost stumbled backward, but managed to turn once, raising his hand in a firm wave toward those who had come to see him off before turning away entirely.

Unhyo and the servants watched his receding figure until it was swallowed in the forest’s darkness—standing there until even the long stretch of their own shadows, cast by the dusk, sank fully into the night.

Once the shrine’s lights were completely out of view, Suhoe spoke in a slightly trembling voice:

“Then… I suppose this means I’ll never see the shrine folk again, won’t I?”

In the dark, Gye‑geum’s faint silhouette seemed to pause for a heartbeat.

“…Who’s to say? You never know, when it comes to human connections.”

Her answer was as calm and flat as he had expected. She said nothing more, resuming her forward stride.

Threading an unlit path through the night as though she carried an invisible lantern, she soon led him down a narrow side‑trail where few human feet had ever trod.

Both kept silent.

Suhoe was too intent on following the sound of her steps, and Gye‑geum never once looked back.

Another might have felt slighted that she would offer no parting comfort on this last walk from the shrine, but Suhoe was different.

He knew that by simply stepping out into the dark and dangerous winter mountain night in her own unwell body, Gye‑geum was already giving the utmost she could.

Though she had never shown him overt warmth, he knew better than anyone that she had always been there — a quiet, enduring presence in his otherwise ordinary days.

After some time, Gye‑geum stopped.

They had walked scarcely ten minutes when, ahead in the dark, the familiar shape of a black sedan came into view, its headlights spilling light.

“Your husband’s name is Lee Dowoon.”

With that, Gye‑geum moved as if to hand over Suhoe’s luggage — then clasped his cold hand firmly between her own wrinkled palms.

She looked straight into his eyes.

“…Keep this in mind: even though he is your husband, he is not your husband. And even if you bear and give birth to a child, it will not be your child. That is your duty. Your fate.”

Her voice dropped to a low whisper.

It was an admonition Suhoe had heard so often since childhood, he could recite it by heart. But now, he nodded slowly, as though repeating his vows to himself once more.

As soon as her words were done, she gave him a light push between the shoulders.

Suhoe blinked once, twice, as though accustomed to what came next—

—then, in the next instant, he was standing beside Dowoon’s car.

When he glanced back over his shoulder, Gye‑geum had already vanished into the darkness.

For a while, he simply stared at the entrance to the forest where she’d gone, listening to the winter night air settle, sharp and cold, over the weighted stillness.

Before he could sort through the mix of feelings about leaving the shrine forever, and all that was to come, the sound of something rustling behind drew his head around toward the car once more.

“You startled me.”

Emerging from beside the vehicle, Hae-eon wore the look of someone genuinely surprised. At first, the silhouette in the dark had made him think of a wild animal; realizing it was Suhoe had shocked him almost as much.

“Wh—where did you come from so suddenly? I didn’t hear a single step.”

He still seemed a little jumpy, unable to shake off the day’s shocks and fatigue.

Seeing him so flustered on his account, Suhoe gave a small, awkward smile—until he realized his eyes were brimming. He wiped hastily at them with his sleeve.

“I just came down with Lady Gye‑geum. There’s a particular energy flowing through Mount Unbang… For most people, the path to the shrine shifts every time. But if you go with someone as spiritually strong as Lady Gye‑geum, you can travel by the true hidden route.”

“I… see.”

Even after hearing it, Hae-eon rubbed his temple as though his head ached more. The more he learned here, the less his everyday logic could make sense of it, and the more it tangled in his mind.

Suhoe’s faint smile suggested he was used to such bewilderment—or perhaps simply felt sorry for him.

Then, as if clutching at a thought, Hae-eon asked with sudden urgency, the way someone might grasp at a final hope:

“Wait—does that mean Lady Gye‑geum might still be nearby?”

Laced in his voice was the desperate idea that perhaps she could help him resolve this maddening situation.

But Suhoe, looking startled, instinctively stepped back a pace or two as the man drew closer.

“Ah—no. She’s surely gone back to the shrine by now. She walks very quickly.”

“I see… Damn. Then what am I supposed to do?”

His sigh was heavy enough to sound hopeless.

“What’s wrong? Your face doesn’t look good.”

“It’s… this car.”

“The car?”

“Yes. As you can see, the engine’s running, but it won’t move—as if it were glued to the ground. Nothing seems broken, but I began to wonder if… something strange might have attached itself to it.”

Glancing back at the sleek black sedan, Hae-eon looked genuinely troubled; given the bizarre run of events, it wasn’t paranoia. A fine sheen of cold sweat dotted his brow.

“Mm… That could happen, actually.”

Suhoe’s voice lifted in mild realization.

“May I… take a look?”

“…Do you have some way to drive it off?”

“No, nothing like that.”

Shaking his head quickly, he set one worn sports bag down on the ground, knelt, and unzipped it.

“I don’t have that kind of power.”

From inside, he drew out a long branch, its green leaves still fresh and pliant.

“If you can’t—then—?”

“Just… give me a moment. I’ll show you.”

Ignoring Hae-eon’s confused stare, Suhoe held the branch in both hands, then began to sweep it slowly and deliberately around the car’s body and each of its four wheels — as if brushing away invisible cobwebs.

There was no hesitation in his movements, a certain sober precision that somehow carried an air of sanctity.

In the cold night, Hae-eon thought he caught, faint but distinct, the fragrance of ripe peaches.

Without hurrying, Suhoe made his circuit — front, back, even low under the wheel‑wells — then stepped away a couple of paces.

“Now… try it again.”

“…All right.”

Still skeptical, Hae-eon climbed into the driver’s seat, released the hand brake, and eased down on the accelerator—

“…You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Where before the car had felt rooted as if to a massive stone, it now rolled forward smoothly, as if nothing had been wrong.

“How… what on earth did you do?”

He leaned out the window to stare, surprise and bewilderment written plain on his face.

Suhoe gave a sheepish smile, holding up the branch.

“It’s peach wood. For ages, it’s been said to repel evil and hold sacred energy. So it can drive harmful things away. I brought it just in case… looks like it worked.”

“‘Harmful things’… You mean—those lights from earlier… or the old man with the bell…?”

Hae-eon’s voice wavered, edged with dread. The uneasy thought that these strange events might all be connected crept coldly along his spine.