Chapter 89
Chapter 89
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Translator: uly
Chapter: 89
Chapter Title: Reap What You Sow
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The man kept licking his lips with his tongue as he stared at Heuk Do-san.
The wife still hadn't shaken off her wariness, one hand tucked inside her bosom. It was obvious she gripped a kitchen knife in that hand.
The little girls sat in a row behind their mother like baby sparrows, peering at Heuk Do-san with curious eyes.
The man said.
"So, you're saying you're a disciple of the White Deer Academy that used to be here?"
"That's right."
"How do I know that's true?"
"If not, why would I bow to a stranger's grave or place a bottle of liquor on the altar?"
The man belatedly spotted the liquor bottle on the altar and smacked his lips.
"I had no idea. But if you were an academy disciple, you must've read plenty of books. How'd you end up a beggar?"
"I'm not a beggar!"
Heuk Do-san raised his voice sharply.
The man and wife flinched in surprise. The children ducked their faces behind their mother's back.
Seeing even the children startle made Heuk Do-san feel a twinge of regret.
On top of that, declaring he wasn't a beggar stirred a slight guilt over the shame it might cause the kids.
They were begging because of rotten parents—no child chose that life from the start.
"Begging isn't always a bad thing."
"It's nothing to brag about either."
"If I offended you, I apologize."
"I wasn't born a beggar either. When I snuck a cow out of the stable without telling my father and left for my hometown, I figured I'd live as well as anyone. But the world doesn't work that way. Hey, grab that liquor over there."
Tacked on at the end, the man subtly ordered his wife to fetch the liquor from in front of the grave. She rose, brought it over, and he tilted the filthy bottle to his mouth, gulping it down.
Then he swiped his liquor-dreg-crusted beard with his sleeve and held the bottle out to Heuk Do-san.
"Care for a swig?"
"No."
"Ah, now that you mention it, I just chugged it without asking. My bad. Heh heh heh."
"Forget it. Keep it."
"Anyway, my first stop was Yangju, but I got conned and lost my only stake—the cow. A pregnant heifer, no less. After that, I've wandered everywhere, trying every job there is. Once, in a mine..."
Heuk Do-san's head began to throb faintly.
Why was he wasting time on this drivel? Best to shut it down cold.
"How long have you been in Bongrae?"
"Hm? Bongrae?"
"This place."
"Oh, about ten years? Beggars don't stick around one spot long, so that makes me practically a local. Yeah, sure does."
"Then you know the lay of the land well."
"You bet. Nothing goes down in Bongrae Port I don't know about. I even have the lowdown on whose house is holding rites when. This place especially—Old Scholar never treated us beggars like dirt, so I know it inside out."
"Perfect. How'd the academy fall apart? Where'd everyone who lived here go? What happened while I was gone?"
"About three years back? Long story short, after Old Scholar died, the disciples scattered—no way to make ends meet."
"He was my master. How did Master pass?"
"Word is, years ago Old Scholar sent one disciple off to some far-off place. Every birthday, he'd head to Dan-ae Mountain's entrance, waiting for him to come back."
That was my story. At first, I'd resented Master for shoving me onto the battlefield to avenge my family.
But hearing he'd waited at the entrance every birthday made my chest ache.
'He sent me into hell itself, yet Master fretted like that all along.'
"Three years ago, on his birthday, he ignored the disciples' pleas, dragged his sick body out, and sat at the entrance."
"Sick body?"
"Bad lung disease. Folks said it was a miracle he lasted that long—he clung to life just to see that disciple one last time."
"What happened then?"
"That very day, like something out of a tale, someone claiming to know the disciple showed up. But Old Scholar took such a shock he fell ill and died four or five days later."
If alive, he'd be seventy-five by lunar reckoning this year.
Few lived past sixty back then, so he'd had a good run.
A disciple's heart didn't see it that way, though—Heuk Do-san's chest felt hollowed out.
He should've carved out time during the war to visit.
The resentment and guilt over failing revenge had let him procrastinate, and now it gnawed like nothing else.
"Who brought the news of his passing?"
"Said he owed the dead disciple big-time, multiple times over."
"Man or woman? You must remember that."
"It's ancient history, and none of my business then, so details are fuzzy. Pretty sure it was a guy with his face buried in hair, though..."
A man with a face buried in hair?
Only my comrades from the lunar dais had seen my "death"—and even they thought me dead.
None matched that description. Who the hell came by?
"Anyway, that's when I claimed this empty house. See, my wife's got a fine face on her, and three little girls despite her youth—port area's no place for that."
Heuk Do-san stole a glance at the wife. Then quickly looked away.
"But where'd the rest go? Over thirty disciples—none left?"
"When Old Scholar's lungs gave out, students stopped coming to study. Winter martial artists quit visiting too. Disciples trickled away seeking livelihoods; by his death, maybe five hung on. They split after the funeral."
Books don't fill bellies. White Deer Academy had no official paths from the start—if no tuition-paying scholars came, they loaded ships at the port just to eat.
Imagining Master and his brothers struggling without him tore Heuk Do-san's heart anew.
"Any idea where they went?"
"Nope."
Heuk Do-san shoved his bundle forward. Untying it spilled out bolts of vibrant silk—Joseon weave bought south for gifts to his brothers.
The man and wife's eyes bulged.
"Think hard one more time. You hung around here; close to a couple at least? They mention destinations before leaving? Anything small. If it helps, the silk's yours."
The man flicked his gaze between bundle and Heuk Do-san, gulping dryly. Regret plain on his face, he said.
"Look, I truly got nothing. Those who vanished during his illness bolted at night. Runners don't broadcast where they're headed."
"And the others? Five for the funeral, you said."
"No clue on them. Came begging one day—funeral in progress. Learned he'd died then. Next visit, gone."
Heuk Do-san let out a sigh that seemed to sink into the earth.
The man ventured carefully.
"You set on finding them?"
"Yes."
"I reckon it'd be wasted effort, though..."
"What do you mean?"
"I'm no scholar, just a lowly bum, but I hear academy lineages pass down like bloodlines. Master's death scattering them means no intent to carry on. What good dragging back hearts long gone?"
"......?"
Buddha on the road, they say—and damn if it didn't fit. Unexpected insight from a beggar.
Heuk Do-san felt blocked, directionless.
No clue where to begin or how.
Like the beggar said—what then? Play belated senior brother?
But pretending nothing happened rang too hollow for his White Deer days.
Felt like carving out life's chunk. Worst, no face to show Master who'd raised and taught him like kin.
No office maybe, but tombstone called him eldest disciple plain.
"No helping it."
Heuk Do-san yanked the bundle back.
That instant, the wife snatched it and said.
"Hold on."
"......?"
Dodging Heuk Do-san's eyes, she murmured to the man.
"What if we let him meet that kid?"
"Which kid?"
"You know—the pickpocket down at the port..."
Slap!
"Right, her!"
The man smacked his thigh.
Heuk Do-san couldn't hold back.
"Who?"
"Daughter of one academy disciple lives nearby. Pickpockets at port to eat—nimble as hell, tons of marks."
"Daughter? Whose?"
"Beats me."
"Don't know whose, but sure she's a disciple's girl?"
"That's the word. She spreads it herself. Better than gisaeng spawn, right? Claims daddy was a bookish academy man."
"Born to a gisaeng?"
"One disciple—no, gentleman—had a night with a gisaeng. Whoops, baby. Thirteen, fourteen now?"
Thirteen or fourteen—around my departure, or a year prior.
If true, some brother slipped up at a brothel.
Third brother for sure. No-office despair hit us all.
I stuck to gambling, occasional brothels; he lived in them. "Brothel Scholar" didn't come free.
"But pickpocket? That age, years of academy lessons. Girl too. Father ditches her and bolts why?"
"Heck no. Old Scholar died clueless about the granddaughter. Disciples too. She surfaced post-scatter—head on straight by then."
"What're you saying?"
"Rumor: mother hid her till ten—shame to academy, dad. Gisaeng had heart, figured dad'd climb official ranks big."
"Foolish..."
"But hears dad's death notice one day. Old Scholar gone, disciples split—no hiding left. Since, every death anniversary, brings girl here, burns three incense sticks."
"Death anniversary... of her father?"
"Third grave there's daddy dearest. No body found, buried his fave book instead."
In a flash, the sky roared. Hands shook wild, mouth parched raw, sweat beading on his brow.
'What bullshit is this beggar spewing?'
"Are you alright?"