Chapter 11
'What? Why... why are the twins back so soon?'
I bit my lip without thinking. My twin cousins, who had tormented me endlessly, had returned far earlier than I remembered.
"You! Yeah, you! Come on out!"
A young boy's voice rang out again. Baek Ri-pyo and So U-ak—the twin sons of Baek Ri-ran, my aunt, and my cousins. The reason they had different surnames stemmed from a promise made at their marriage: if children were born, one would take the husband's name, the other the wife's, raised as a true Baek Ri clansman.
And so, true to that vow, Baek Ri-ran bore twins, and they were amicably registered—one under each name.
Their voices were identical, indistinguishable to most, but So U-ak's tone carried a subtle difference as he shouted to Baek Ri-pyo.
"Don't go easy on 'em!"
"As if!"
Different surnames or not, they were twins through and through, thick as thieves.
As Father turned toward the training grounds, a glimpse of the interior came into view. At my height, peeking would have been impossible, but cradled in his arms, I could see just fine.
"That's the Baek Ri clan's training hall," Father explained, assuming my curiosity.
But my question lay elsewhere.
Why are they back already? Am I misremembering? No, I'm not.
Soon, Baek Ri-pyo, wooden sword in hand and clad in the Baek Ri clan's disciple robes, began sparring with another disciple.
The opponent was far larger and older-looking than Baek Ri-pyo, yet he was utterly overwhelmed, finally dropping his sword.
"I-I lost!"
No sooner had defeat been declared than several disciples rushed forward, hoisting Baek Ri-pyo onto their shoulders.
So U-ak shrugged, smirking. "Why's everyone so lame? No one can even touch you."
"Right? This is boring. Come on, step it up! Who's next?"
I felt Father sigh.
"What's wrong?"
"Nothing. It's nothing."
Even as I asked, I knew. How could I not?
I can see it plain as day.
Those Baek Ri clan disciples were throwing the fights on purpose.
The next bout was the same. And the one after. Even when So U-ak took the field, nothing changed. The disciples let the twins pummel them one-sidedly before crying defeat, over and over.
"Father, how skilled are my cousins?"
From such sham spars, there was no gauging their true strength.
"Their technique is solid, but their foundations are lacking. Their stance wavers. They won't gain a thing from fights like these... Hm?"
Father, mid-critique, turned to me sharply.
"But how did you know those boys were your cousin brothers? You've never met Pyo or U-ak before, have you?"
Oh no. Come to think of it, I hadn't met the twins yet—not in this timeline, anyway. Forgetting I shouldn't know their voices at this point—what a blunder!
"W-Well... who else around my age could challenge the Baek Ri disciples like that? And with two who look exactly alike, it had to be the twin cousins, Baek Ri-pyo and So U-ak, right? Hehe."
"Sharp eyes. Spot on."
Father nodded readily at my quick excuse.
"Your twin cousins, yes. Your aunt brought them back from the marketplace a few days ago."
"Was that the plan all along?"
"No idea."
Father seemed as puzzled about their early return as I was. I turned my gaze from the training grounds.
Ugh, gotta avoid running into them.
They were two of a kind—the delinquent sort.
I scratched my forehead. The spot on my right temple bore a scar from those twins in my past life. Now, it was smooth skin instead of that jagged ridge.
Unlike me, who looked away quickly, Father watched them with a bitter expression before pulling me close.
I knew what he was thinking. I patted his cheek soothingly.
Don't worry, Father. I'll be fine.
* * *
After that day, I wanted walks elsewhere. Father obliged without protest, heading to another garden. The vast Baek Ri estate had no shortage of them.
"What's that?"
"Just killing time."
I held out the cloth from my needlework practice. Short strolls back to my quarters left me bored. I was better, but not yet up for romping about—no playmates anyway—and I hadn't learned to read yet. Tired of rolling around all day, I'd given sewing a try. With six-year-old hands... well...
"A cloud?"
"It's a pear blossom..."
"......"
"......"
"If you're bored, why not learn your letters? I could... no, I'll teach you myself."
"You, Father?"
"Of course. Why didn't I think of this sooner? How far along are you?"
I gaped blankly. I couldn't recall a thing. Who remembers letters from over a decade ago? Not me.
"I... I only met the tutor a couple times..."
I mumbled evasively, as small as possible. Father just smiled faintly and stroked my head.
"No matter. We'll start from the beginning. Plenty of time."
The Baek Ri clan was a martial house through and through. After I arrived, swordplay came before letters. The writing tutor arrived only after I adjusted to the blade. But the elixir and my qi deviation had sent those lessons flying off to the heavens.
Father fetched paper and brush from the corner. Lately, aside from training, he pored over books all day, so the inkstone was fresh and ground fine.
He rolled up my sleeve and said, "Write any letters you remember."
I nodded and gripped the brush with a grunt. But my untrained fingers wouldn't obey.
Father chuckled softly, covering my hand to guide my grip.
"Ugh... it's hard."
"Everyone struggles at first."
My tiny hand trembled holding the brush. Deciding this was good enough, I lifted my elbow. A black stroke marred the white page.
Father watched my straining efforts fondly, then nodded in satisfaction. Despite only two tutor sessions, my posture was straight and proper. The child's body wobbled at times, but I strove for precision—thanks to muscle memory from my past life's writing. Father, oblivious, simply admired it.
Then, peering at the tiny, earnest characters I'd poured my soul into, he let out a "Kh-hm" and hacked violently.
My posture was textbook; the letters, a disaster.
I glanced mournfully at my scrawl, ignoring Father's reaction. The basics—heaven cheon, earth ji, man in—were abstract black blobs.
What is this ink blot?
The earth ji, with its many strokes, was an unrecognizable mess.
Glancing at Father, he nodded for me to continue.
What next...?
I pondered, then wrote another. Father lifted the still-wet paper, squinting intently before whipping around in shock.
"Isn't this my name?"
He recognized the blob! Overwhelmed by his love, I nearly clapped.
Intent yi, firm gang. A name fit for Father.
"Yes, that's right!"
I grinned sheepishly, "Hehe."
"......"
But Father fell silent. Looking up, I startled—his eyes were red.
What? Again?
Father, were you always this sentimental?
"I wasn't even by your side... yet you remembered my name first, calling me Father."
I stomped in frustration, climbed onto my chair, and dabbed his teary eyes with my sleeve.
"Don't get like this over something so small, Father. I'll write it lots and lots from now on."
Father exhaled softly and hugged me.
"Don't stand on the chair."
"......"
"It's dangerous."
"......Yes, sir."
As he lifted and set me gently down, a cough sounded from outside, followed by a voice.
"Ahem. Fourth Young Master? Fourth Young Master, are you in?"
"What is it?"
"The Patriarch has sent for you."
Father straightened, face hardening. But his red eyes screamed he'd been crying!
"Send him in."
I'd expected a "wait a moment," so I gasped in surprise.
"Ah, Father...!"
Too late—the servant, permission granted, opened the door. Seeing Father's face, he...
"Gasp!"
Froze solid.
"What is it?"
"......"
"Hey."
"Hah! N-No, I-I'm sorry. I... lost my wits for a moment."
The Fourth Young Master's tears? Must be seeing things.
But the servant dared not look again.
"Uh... right, why I'm here... um..."
He fumbled, then recalled.
"Ah! The Patriarch invites you to sup with the Sok faction elders. Young Master Ui-muk, Lady Ri-ran, the young masters, and the young lady will attend too."
"Understood."
"And the Patriarch insists Young Lady Yeon come as well."