Busy with Farming - 7: The Former Farmer's Fury
The fury of the hunter, once a humble farmer, was intense.
"Those damn beasts I wouldn't mind chewing up myself! They killed my precious Nureungi! To a farmer like me, an ox isn't just livestock or property—it's a lifelong companion!"
I flinched at the words "lifelong companion," but it wasn't the impure intent I had in mind. I nodded earnestly, expressing sympathy for the hunter's words.
"A truly tragic affair. Even weeds become more than weeds when you care for them—how much more so for an ox you've shared years with."
"Exactly!"
In the midst of venting such fierce anger, who wouldn't brighten when someone empathizes and scratches the right itch? The hunter was no exception to this universal truth.
'Good.'
Of course, if he could read my inner thoughts, his eyes would have rolled back in rage. But what could I do? It really was a relief.
Before arriving here, I'd worried: What if the farmers had gone mad from their ruined crops? What if the worst case awaited—farmers slaughtering their own oxen willfully? But no.
They had eaten oxen, true, but not by willful slaughter. The beasts had died, and they'd honored them by eating the remains. The phrasing was odd, but it was involuntary, not deliberate.
'That settles it.'
Agriculture is the foundation of the realm, and oxen are the foundation of agriculture. They're a farmer's greatest asset and a national strategic resource for survival. So even if it's the farmer's own ox, willful slaughter is unforgivable—but if it's not willful, the officials won't crack down too hard.
Oxen aren't immortal, after all. When they die from various causes, disposing of the carcass is the farmer's prerogative. We're not turning them into undead cows to keep working.
Thanks to that, I sighed inwardly in relief. A unparalleled tragedy for this hunter personally, but nationally, just an everyday occurrence.
"Young man."
"...Pardon? Ah, you're speaking to me. Yes."
At last, Grandfather— who had been silent—spoke, and the hunter blinked before responding belatedly, as if surprised to be called young.
His eyes blazed with venom from Nureungi's death, his beard unkempt from the ordeal. He looked anything but young.
Of course, in Grandfather's eyes, he was young.
"Are you the only one in the village who suffered losses?"
"Yes. Whether it's fortunate or not, I was the only one caught in the beasts' rampage—thanks to the other hunters chasing them down fiercely."
When this hunter and Nureungi were tormented by the beasts, other hunters appeared at the right moment and dealt with them. Without them, this hunter would have died too, and the damage would have spread across the village.
"So other areas might be different."
Tsk.
Put another way, as Grandfather said, other regions could be devastated. Multiple hunters—not just one or two—had pursued the beasts here. Hunters who usually stuck to their local areas had chased them to this distant village.
Optimistically, with beasts in a pack, it was like double or triple the income for the hunters, drawing them here. But,
"Indeed. Other villages missed the chance to hunt them in time, leaving vast farmlands ruined."
Unfortunately, no. These hunters from afar hadn't come just for profit—they burned with vengeance and a sense of duty. Whether any were former farmers like this one, they'd all tasted the beasts' wrath.
"I only ate my already-dead Nureungi, but in other villages, they seriously debated slaughtering their oxen. Kill them, and starve next year; spare them, and starve this year. Besides, before oxen plowed fields, people did it themselves, right? They even talked about people plowing if needed."
"What era is that talk from? Ox-plowing began late in the Spring and Autumn period."
"That's how desperate they were. Farmers who know oxen better than anyone discussing slaughter means the damage was severe."
The hunter shook his head wistfully, stroking his chin before adding,
"Oh, and I heard from the other hunters—there's a group going around affected villages providing relief."
"Huh. Such people exist?"
"Yes. Distributing famine-crop seeds or doing the oxen’s work by hand, like I mentioned. If true, they're remarkable. Fierce beasts appear, and compassionate souls follow."
With a wry chuckle, the hunter rose from the rock he'd been perched on.
"Anyway, repaying a debt of gratitude to Ugeom from long ago, or so they say. That's all I know. I need to head out hunting now."
"Ah, yes. Thank you. You've told us a great deal."
"Take care, then. Things won't look good wherever you go."
Without lingering, he turned and strode swiftly toward the outskirts—for his hunt, as he'd said.
"Grandfather."
Once the hunter was gone, I turned to Grandfather, who had fallen silent again.
I hadn't expected to hear Grandmother's epithet here. I'd planned to wander incognito, gathering info from various sources and cross-verifying.
But the first person I approached happened to be full of resentment, spilling high-quality intel with a mere nudge.
To be thorough, we should verify more here, but
Ugeom.
That epithet flipped our priorities. "Repaying a favor to Ugeom"—that specific testimony boosted the hunter's credibility.
Honestly, Ugeom isn't a widely known folk nickname now. Grandmother acted before Daesong's founding, and even then, far from peak masters. It might have been known in ancient times, but not from commoners today.
Yet it emerged. And "favor" implied a real past connection, great or small.
"Un-ah."
"Yes, Grandfather."
"He said they roam affected villages?"
"Let's head to the Pojeongsa first. If outsiders are coming for news of the damage, the prefectural governor must know."
Instead of blindly village-hopping, get intel from the Pojeongsa. Faster and surer—Grandfather nodded.
"Heh, indeed."
"Grandfather?"
"I've roamed the Central Plains my whole life without such events. But traveling with you, Un, and they crop up immediately."
Grandfather patted my shoulder with a gentle smile—his way of showing appreciation. But I felt my heart tear apart.
Officially stamped by Grandfather as "the guy who attracts incidents."
Un had gone to Beukhaebinggung with Father. To seek allies against the Mongols for the coming war, to claim merits for stake in this conflict.
With Giwang and the crown prince set to join the campaign, the crown prince heir heading off to a distant land for diplomacy too. How many loyal houses like our Giwangga exist in Daesong?
'The father toils, and the son suffers.'
I let out a small sigh.
Only Un knows my plan to join the expedition. Father doesn't, so in his mind, only he of three generations goes to war.
Thus, Un went to Beukhaebinggung.
One stays for house preservation and Kaepyeong defense, but two abstaining invites gossip.
To block that and boost Un's fame, Father accompanied him there.
Safe journey with Father, of course. But piercing enemy lands to reach Hanha—only reached before by Guo Ziyi—is no small feat, even safely.
Which groom yearns to leave his pregnant wife for such a road?
Yet Un went. To guard this father's secret.
Truly shameful, apologetic, grateful.
"Crown Prince."
"Hm?"
Lost in worry—If my campaigning leaks, will Father maim me instead of the Mongols?—the chief steward's voice came from outside.
"His Highness has sent a letter."
Father's letter. I went out myself and took it from the steward.
I knew Father and Un had returned from Beukhaebinggung. The recent letter from Jiayu Pass had brought such relief.
Head said they'd be safe, but nothing calmed me till confirmation.
They're in Gansu, not Kaepyeong yet—but safe beyond borders means safer within. No more worries.
Or so I thought, before reading the letter.
Send half the Ten Thunders to Nanjou. Include a few hundred oxen as well.
What in the world.
Confusion. Father safely back in Daesong, lingering in Gansu is odd enough—now demanding half the Ten Thunders?
Mongol infiltrators inside Daesong? But then why oxen—hundreds, not a few?
What on earth?
What happened on the Beukhaebinggung trip to demand Ten Thunders and oxen?
Un-ah...
I rubbed my forehead unwittingly.
Un-ah, my son. Even as Jwa-cheom Do-eosa, you faced endless crises—has something bizarre happened again?
This father fears the fate bestowed upon you.