Busy with Farming 6: From Needle Thief to Ox Thief
There's a saying: a needle thief becomes an ox thief. It's the wisdom of the sages, advising that even the smallest crime, if not stopped, can turn a petty offender into a major criminal. And why, out of all things, did the sages specifically mention oxen? Simple. Needles are commonplace, but oxen are precious beyond measure. In this agrarian society, an ox is the next most valuable asset after one's home—perhaps even more so. Sure, you could rough it homeless for a while, but without an ox? You're done for.
Even in this era, which feels a bit wild compared to 21st-century civilization, ox thieves are treated like utter scum, denied basic human dignity. People say, "How could anyone steal an ox?" That's how vital oxen are—they're the farmers' lifeline, their constant companion, their very soul. Farmers themselves.
'They ate it?'
Yet some farmers are supposedly slaughtering these oxen for food. Willingly destroying what rivals their home in value, what sustains their livelihood, what deserves every glowing adjective imaginable. It's absurd.
Oxen are so precious there's even a saying about selling one to educate your children. If you sell it, at least people think, "Must be some urgent need for cash." But eating it? That's like dumping your entire fortune into a casino.
"It's just a rumor. No way farmers are eating their oxen."
"I agree, my lord. If they're despairing over ruined crops, they'd cherish their oxen even more, not eat them."
That's why Grandfather and Pojeongsa both dismissed the bizarre, heartbreaking news at first. Even Grandfather, who said to report even the smallest things, and Pojeongsa, who brought it up himself. I felt the same. I hope Pojeongsa just got bad intel. With all the beast incidents stirring up Gansu, maybe some wild misinformation bubbled up too. He even said they hadn't verified the facts yet.
In the 21st century, with advanced transport and comms, fake news runs rampant—what more in the 14th? 'Please let it be.'
Now I'm desperately praying. Farmers eating oxen. How desperate and venomous must they be to make that call? It's a catastrophe beyond my imagining.
Grandfather, Pojeongsa, and I all wish it weren't true. We three pray to unite in saying, "Just a false rumor." If we return to Kaepyeong like this, it'll nag at us for weeks or months. So Grandfather and I decided to head to the rumor’s source ourselves.
We can't report to the Emperor, "Farmers in Gansu are eating their oxen." He'd be horrified.
"Yun, change into these."
Before leaving Nanjou, Grandfather fetched clothes befitting ordinary folk.
"Grandfather, these are...?"
"We're not meeting local officials—we're approaching the commoners. To avoid alarming them and get the real story, we need to blend in from our attire."
Sound logic. I agreed instantly. Of course. If someone in fine robes, with a face white as fresh powder, shuffles up and starts chatting? Folks would panic, bow low, and filter every word through a sieve of caution. No honest answers there.
To get the truth, they need to speak freely. Otherwise, we'd have to cross-check dozens individually.
"Heh, it's been ages since I wore rags like these. Back when I raced across the land with Taizu the Great."
"During the war?"
"Aye. Infiltrated Mongol-held territory once. Dressed like this—bit shabby, dust on the face. Perfect."
I couldn't muster the right reaction to Grandfather's cheerful reminiscing. A Hwagyeong master and Taizu's key figure, disguising himself to infiltrate enemy lands? What madness drove that? And was his disguise really perfect? Maybe guards noticed but pretended not to tangle with a Hwagyeong.
'Ask later.'
Opening my mouth now meant hours of war stories. Save that joy for after Kaepyeong.
—"Speaking of which, I'll tell you on the way! During the Kaepyeong liberation, this old man and Ak Hyeon stirred chaos from inside!"
"Ah, yes. Thank you."
Looks like we'd indulge now.
"Um, Grandfather."
"Hm? What is it?"
"We should leave Kki-ing-i behind, right?"
His gaze shifted to Kki-ing-i.
—Kki-ing?
The deer tilted its head at me, as if asking why now—after dragging it here and to Beukhae Binggung—leave it? Why not leave it in Kaepyeong from the start? A protest.
But no choice. Farmer cosplay won't fly with a horse, let alone a deer—especially a white-furred, blue-eyed one that screams "special."
"Mm, true. Too conspicuous."
Grandfather stroked his beard, then—
"Roll it in mud a few times?"
—Kki-ing!?
Casual suggestion that horrified Kki-ing-i. Mud hides the white fur, but not those majestic antlers symbolizing a noble stag. Saw them off? After Jiayu Pass already broke one? And Kki-ing-i would hate being mud-caked. It dotes on its fur like its horns—always bathing in lakes or rivers during our travels.
'White fur... and mud.'
Even as owner, I cringed. A stain on white clothes irks me; mud in fur? Worse.
—Kki-ing... kki-iing...
"Lad, it was a joke—don't look at me like that."
Thankfully, Grandfather softened at the deer's pleading eyes, backpedaling his "sincere" remark. A relief.
Kill the beasts.
Kill the beasts that killed my life.
That's all.
That resolve turned farmer Yang Geon into hunter Yang Geon.
'Watch me, Nureong.'
He recalled Nureong—the ox he'd tearfully eaten recently, now one with his body. His Nureong. Docile, obedient. More diligent than others, healthy, never a worry. Family.
Dead. Unable to speak, but he'd sworn they communed by heart. Gone forever, for decades to come.
Because of the beasts. Those damned beasts.
'You bastards...!'
Still trembled with rage. On their usual walk, beasts appeared wildly, eyes rolled back, charging.
In the sudden calamity, Nureong shielded him, battling the ferocious horde. The gentle ox blocked faster than any. He froze in shock and fear—no escape.
Now? Good he stayed. Fleeing while Nureong fought? Regret eternal. Never witnessing the end? Lament till death.
Hunters chased the beasts, saving him—but wounded Nureong crossed the final river.
"Lucky it was Chungu here. You'd have been in real trouble without him."
The hunter's comfort barely registered. Never dreamed he'd lose Nureong. So kind... his dear family... Beasts—his sworn enemies.
So after sharing Nureong with the hunters, he begged to learn their craft. Kill the beasts that slew his family, ruined his farm. For that alone.
"No—you've farmed your life. How could you hunt—"
"Sitting idle means starvation. Half my byproducts for five years."
"Farmers have stamina and strength. Been waiting for talent like you."
Heaven moved by his vow—the savior who saved him granted the unreasonable request. Divine mandate for vengeance. Watch from above, my family!
"Pardon the intrusion."
'Hm?'
Steeling for beast extermination, an unfamiliar voice from the village. Turning, he saw grandfather and grandson—sturdy builds fit for fieldwork.
"Got nothing to give alms."
Vagabonds, by their ragged look. Pity. If not beast-obsessed, he'd share a meal. Damn beasts—even stole chances to help the pitiful pair. Vile.
"No, that's not—thank you, but—"
The young man waved it off.
"One question. Beasts rampaging nearby lately—"
"Why ask about those filthy curs?"
Snapped harshly, then clamped shut. Embarrassing—venting on innocents.
"Sir, have beasts harmed you?"
Instead of anger, the man continued eagerly. Odd vibe, but Yang Geon's head nodded reflexively.