TMTISTBH CH 5

Chapter 5

“I must be lacking, for I do not understand what you mean… Even if I had unconsciously pressed down on that page out of nervousness, how could I have known which passage you would choose when this is our first meeting today? As for mentioning Teacher Sangwon, as my master said, I am simply too dull to grasp the situation.”

“So everything is a coincidence?”

“Yes.”

But Myeon Yuwon did not easily set aside his suspicion.

“Don’t try to deceive me.”

“……”

“Someone close to me is a master calligrapher, so I can discern brush technique to some extent. The booklet may have been a talented child’s showpiece, but what you wrote was different. The variation in pressure, the strength of strokes that contained genuine intent—though you feigned clumsiness and fooled others, you couldn’t fool me. Are you truly a servant?”

Was it simply that he had been overshadowed by his brother’s brilliance? Myeon Yuwon was sharper than expected.

Unable to conceal his identity, Inho had learned royal calligraphy through beatings, punished for using “lowly” script. Though he had tried to hide it, perhaps it was still visible to Myeon Yuwon’s eyes.

As he quietly gazed at Myeon Yuwon, Inho asked an unexpected question.

“If they’re close, are they family?”

“Hmm?”

Myeon Yuwon nodded.

“Yes. My older brother is a renowned calligrapher, even in the capital. Though he’s now busy serving as the archivist at the Royal Academy, people still rely on him for official notices.”

“Then surely you’ll pass the Royal Academy entrance exam too, Master Myeon. Your father must be blessed.”

“…You know my father?”

Though it was not something to ask a servant, Myeon Yuwon could not help himself.

How could someone like this be the servant of that small-minded Bae Honyoung? His attitude lacked subservience, and the sharpness in his gaze beneath lowered lids exuded presence—he seemed more noble than his master.

Inho couldn’t hold back a small smile at the question.

“How could that be?”

Such a face would bring trouble.

Myeon Yuwon was momentarily dazed by the small smile that softened Inho’s usually stern face. Before he could recover, Inho bowed his head and stepped back.

“I must excuse myself. Master Honyoung gave me a task to attend to.”

“I’ll be watching you.”

At that sudden remark, Inho simply glanced at him once and walked away without a word.

 

Under the flickering candlelight, the shadow of a brush danced. Noticing how late it had grown, Inho pressed the page he’d just written to let it dry and stood up, brush still in hand. He was about to begin tidying when he noticed Yeoseol, having waited too long for playtime, had fallen asleep. He picked the child up in his arms and carried her to his mother’s room.

Though he opened the door quietly, his mother opened her eyes and turned to look at him.

“Heading to bed now?”

“Yes. I’ll lay Seol down first.”

“You seem to have a lot on your plate lately.”

Her appearance was worn but calm, and the warmth in her gaze betrayed a deep kindness. Inho looked at her quietly, sensing she thought he was just tired. She continued, as if trying to soothe him.

“Now that I think of it, the end of the month is coming. I’ll make you an egg dish. Just wait a little.”

Since childhood, his mother had always made egg dishes at the end of the month. Though eggs were usually too expensive to have often, on those days they could eat to their hearts’ content. He and Seol always counted the days until then. Unlike her usual plain cooking, her egg dishes were sweet, salty, rich, and soft—his favorite.

It was only later that he learned where those eggs came from.

When Inho began working as a household servant for Bae Honyoung, he once overheard the kitchen maids gossiping behind the kitchen.

“Oh no! These have gone bad. What do we do?”

“It’s been over two weeks. Bound to happen.”

“I’ll throw them out. They smell off.”

“No, just leave them. Give them to the seamstress’s house.”

A strange premonition struck him. After they left, he sneaked into the kitchen and found a basket of spoiled eggs. Some had red or black spots, and they reeked.

Those were the eggs his mother brought home from the Bae household—leftover eggs boiled in bulk every full moon, forgotten until the end of the month. She took them home and cooked them for her children, disguising the spoilage with heavy seasoning.

That night, Inho had cried watching her crouched by the hearth, carefully trimming away the spoiled parts under dim light and cooking the rest.

Now he knew she wasn’t his biological mother. But he also knew that she had done everything she could for him.

Her elegant demeanor, quiet nature, and calm grace—unusual for someone of low status—made sense once he learned she had once served in the palace.

Why had she left the royal court with him? Who were his real parents? What had happened that she came to hide in Jamsongol? He had so many questions. But by the time he found out, she had passed away, and now that he had returned, he could no longer bring himself to ask.

He had once resented her, confused and angry at the revelation. But looking back now, after living an entire life, he realized no one else had ever treated him with such selfless love.

Inho looked at her for a long moment and, without realizing, took her hand. Though he said nothing, she must have sensed his inner turmoil—she rose and placed her hand atop his.

“Inho… what is it? Is something wrong?”

“……”

“Is it work? Should I speak to the lady of the house for you?”

“It’s nothing. I just wanted to thank you.”

“What’s gotten into you all of a sudden…”

She looked bewildered, but also touched by the rare show of affection from her normally quiet son.

Inho bid her good night and left the room.

 

The only library in Jamsongol was at the Bae household. Using the copying task given by Bae Honyoung as an excuse, Inho went in and out of the library searching for what he needed.

In three years, once the royal warrant was issued, the capital and the palaces of the royal princes would be searched first. Hiding in a small village like Jamsongol might buy him time, but eventually, he would be found. He needed a place where he could hide from the imperial reach forever.

The Bae family lacked scholarly inclination, so their library had few rare books. However, the occasional government bulletins brought in from nearby villages provided valuable news from the capital. He had heard they acquired new materials the day before, so he came to the study—and sure enough, a new bulletin had arrived.

Though dated several weeks ago, in Jamsongol this was hot news. Heart pounding, he unfolded the dry paper. One bold headline made his breath hitch.

“…I see.”

Prince Taekyung, the fourth prince, had died.

It was Tae-seon’s doing. As Tae-seon’s hound, Inho knew exactly what had happened. The official word was that the prince had fallen from his horse and become ill. But Tae-yul had tampered with the horse, and though the prince had survived the fall, Tae-seon had poisoned him to ensure death.

Even while he remained oblivious in Jamsongol, blood was being spilled in the palace.

The memory of the agony he suffered when poisoned with deadly nightshade came rushing back, and Inho covered his mouth with his hand. Forcing his gaze away, he folded the bulletin and stuffed it in the farthest corner.

Trying to shake the memories, he immersed himself in books once more. Finally, after much searching, he found a clue. It wasn’t in a geography book or travelogue—but in a children’s story.

“That’s right. I remember this.”

Mumyeongbu — the Village of the Nameless.

A place said to shelter those without names.

Most dismissed it as a myth, but Inho, as a former prince, knew the place truly existed. Even within the palace, its exact location remained unknown, hidden so deeply none could find it. There could be no better place to flee from royal pursuit.

The flaw was its hidden location—but whether he stayed in Jamsongol or not, he had no way of finding Mumyeongbu unless he set out. So he had to leave.

He owned nothing, so there was little to pack. If he hurried, he could be gone within days. But the thought of never seeing his mother and Seol again stirred a lingering attachment. They had died unjustly because of him. In this life, he would save them.

“There’s no urgent reason to leave immediately…”

After much thought, Inho decided to stay through the winter and leave afterward.

He was organizing the books he’d laid out when the library door opened. Bae Honyoung stepped in, covering his nose at the dust floating in the dim room.

“What are you doing holed up here? I’ve been looking all over for you.”

“I was looking for the History of Gyeongwon.”

“It’s probably in my room. Whatever—get it later. Come on, the weather’s fine. We’re taking Munbyeok out for a ride.”

“Yes, sir.”

 

When Namwon pulled out a portable inkstone, Honyoung waved him off.

“No need for that. Why don’t you use mine? It’s more convenient.”

“You carry an inkstone around?”

“Of course. Pre-ground ink doesn’t compare to freshly prepared ink.”

Leaning against the pillar beneath the pavilion, Inho listened to their banter with inward disdain.

What good is fine ink, when you can’t even pass the exam?

“Inho! Are you down there?”

Called by Honyoung, Inho hurried up the pavilion steps. Namwon, seated beside Honyoung, smiled and waved.

“You called, sir?”

“Bring another inkstone—grind some ink for Namwon’s, too.”

“I’d appreciate it.”

Quietly watching them, Inho bowed his head and descended again.