The Crescent Moon of Vengeance
Hong-wi decided to take a brief stroll through the village.
He crossed paths with a few people along the way, and each time, they recognized him and offered their greetings first.
It struck him anew just how remarkable a man he had become.
Have I ever, in all my life, been welcomed this genuinely by people—purely on account of my own ability?
Hong-wi's chest tightened. Many had laid down their lives for him, but that was less a recognition of his ability than a matter of Confucian duty—they did it because propriety demanded it. He had merely been fortunate enough to be born into the royal household, blessed with good parents, yet possessed of neither talent nor skill. Had he not, then, squandered precious lives for nothing, sending good men to needless, dog-like deaths? That regret had haunted him without end.
Perhaps I—simply because I was lucky enough to be born into this noble station—drove capable people to their deaths, people who were willing to follow me blindly despite my having nothing to offer?
This was precisely the question that had tormented Hong-wi all this while, and in the end, it was what drove him to surrender himself to despair and resolve to hand the throne over to his uncle Suyang.
And at the same time, this doubt was something he could never, ever voice to those who had followed him—least of all to Ho-in.
How could he possibly say such a thing?
But…… there are people here who acknowledge me. There are those who hold me up as a man of worth, regardless of my station.
Only now could Hong-wi begin to shed some of the guilt he carried toward the dead.
If only he could, he wanted to tell Seong Sam-mun and Park Paeng-nyeon and their comrades, his uncle Grand Prince Geumseong, the old man Jeon Jung-jae, and his wife Song Hyo-bin—that their sacrifices had not been in vain.
Hong-wi looked up at the sky.
It happened to be Chuseok, and the full moon hung bright overhead.
An emotion he could not name welled up inside him, and his body trembled faintly.
"What are you doing out here alone?"
"Ah……"
Startled by the familiar voice, Hong-wi turned around.
Wolyeong had followed him without his noticing, and she was watching him with a smile.
"I was out walking."
"You're fond of night walks, it seems. Every time we meet."
Hong-wi gave an awkward smile, and Wolyeong smiled back.
"That's quite all right. So am I."
"Is that so."
The two of them gazed up at the sky in silence.
"I couldn't properly thank you for what happened today, so I was looking for Lord Temusi-i. Thank you, truly."
She bowed at the waist in a formal gesture of gratitude, and Hong-wi hurriedly returned the courtesy.
"It was, of course, only what anyone ought to do. For a lady as lovely and noble as you to—"
Hong-wi stopped mid-sentence and shut his mouth. His face flushed red.
Wolyeong kept her head gently bowed.
Hong-wi rushed to finish.
"……How could I stand by and watch a lady like that suffer such indignity at the hands of such a brute?"
"Thank you. You are the savior of my life."
Wolyeong's voice was barely above a whisper.
"……You must have heard what my half-uncle said today, my lord."
"……I did."
Wolyeong looked up at the full moon.
"Perhaps my uncle is right. Father has grown old now, and apart from my half-uncle there is no male heir to succeed him. For the good of the clan, I should…… marry Kunaha—"
"That is absurd!"
The cry burst out of Hong-wi before he could stop himself.
He had never met Igonahap more than a few times, but he felt an instinctive revulsion toward the man.
Wolyeong turned to look at him.
Beneath the pale moonlight, the sight of a maiden with tears brimming in her eyes could have moved even a heart of steel.
Hong-wi quickly averted his gaze.
"……I may be nothing more than a foreigner here, but even so, that is something I cannot accept."
He paused for a moment before continuing.
"Tung Jugang would not stand for it either. Nor would I."
"Thank you for saying so."
Wolyeong bowed her head again.
Hong-wi, unable to think of anything else to say, cleared his throat.
"They say true matches are made in heaven. There is certainly someone out there worthy of you—someone other than that lowborn thug Kunaha."
"Do you really think so……?"
Wolyeong studied Hong-wi steadily as he looked away.
Her cheeks had flushed pink, but Hong-wi failed to notice.
"I am certain of it."
"Hearing you say that, Lord Temusi-i, puts my heart at ease."
"I'm glad."
Their conversation lapsed into silence, and Hong-wi somehow felt at a loss.
The Book of Rites teaches that men and women past the age of seven should not share the same seat—this was neither a bedding nor a seated meeting, but still, he wondered if this was proper.
Just then, Wolyeong asked abruptly.
"You came here…… from Joseon, didn't you, my lord?"
"That's right."
"Did you leave anyone behind?"
The question pierced Hong-wi's heart like a blade.
Instead of answering, he looked up at the moon.
In the bright moonlight, the image of the woman who would remain eternal in Hong-wi's memory rose vividly before him.
Wolyeong watched him in silence for a long moment.
"There was someone."
"I see."
Hong-wi managed to squeeze out the reply.
Wolyeong nodded as though that alone were answer enough. A strangely sorrowful expression drifted across her face.
"What…… became of her?"
"She's dead."
Hong-wi answered quietly. After a moment, he added,
"As far as I know, that is. I couldn't even give her a grave."
Wolyeong did not respond. Only after a long while did she speak again.
"If it isn't too much of an imposition…… might I ask what kind of person she was?"
Hong-wi turned his gaze back to the sky.
"She was truly, truly more than I ever deserved……. An extraordinarily strong woman. And yet she loved me—loved this worthless man—with all her heart."
His voice sank lower and lower.
"……Not even a grave, no—not even a place at her side in the end, nothing but watching from far away. And still, for this wretched man, she staked everything—her one and only life included. That is the kind of woman she was."
Hong-wi bowed his head.
The guilt and self-loathing he had long kept buried came flooding back, and it pained him bitterly that he had ever been capable of forgetting them at all.
Wolyeong gazed at him with sorrow. What else was there to say?
"You loved her too…… didn't you, my lord."
"I did."
Hong-wi nodded, and Wolyeong nodded silently in return.
In the darkness, he could not make out her expression clearly. And even if he could have, Hong-wi would not have noticed.
The two stood without speaking for a long time.
At length, Hong-wi broke the silence.
"It's grown late. You should return."
"Yes, I suppose so."
Hong-wi and Wolyeong turned their feet back together.
The feast was still roaring with noise. Drunken revelers recognized the two and called out to them, but both, each lost in their own tangled thoughts, only smiled without a word.
And so the night of Chuseok passed on.
In the darkness, a band of wild men waited in readiness.
Every one of them looked vicious and hard-bitten. Yet they could not quite hide an undercurrent of unease, and several glanced restlessly about, again and again.
A dark silhouette appeared.
Rough frontier Jurchen passed back and forth in low voices.
"Is Lord Samuhatu here? Has Lord Kumai arrived?"
"The Big Brother is coming."
At those words, the men froze as one.
"There he is."
The men called Samuhatu and Kumai turned, and the band snapped to attention.
For a group little better than bandits, their discipline was remarkably strict—discipline maintained through fear and dread alone.
Before long, another silhouette emerged from the darkness. Even through the murk, the sharp gleam in the eyes of a lean, powerfully built man was unmistakable.
The men swallowed dryly.
"Bushuku is dead."
The words came out short and clipped.
"It's been over a month now. Nearly two."
"Lord Kunuma."
Samuhatu bowed his head low. Kumai followed suit.
Kunuma barely acknowledged them. A chill, faintly rancid aura radiated from his body—anyone could see at a glance that this was no ordinary man. It was the aura peculiar to a murderer who had killed many.
"Have you brought me the head of the one who killed my brother?"
"We beg forgiveness."
"We are not worthy."
Samuhatu and Kumai bowed their heads again and again, but Kunuma whirled on them. Even in the dark, his clouded eye seemed ready to devour them whole. The next instant, he turned his one sound eye upon them.
"My finest lieutenants—and you still cannot even identify the man who killed my brother."
A soft, chilling shiiiing rang out.
Samuhatu and Kumai squeezed their eyes shut as the cold touch of metal pressed against their throats.
"I will kill that man and bury his head beside my brother's grave."
Bushuku's body had not been found until well after the fact. Two wandering herb-gatherers had stumbled upon it, and Kunuma's men had immediately seized them both. They never opened their mouths—and likely never would again. Those two herb-gatherers had paid with their lives for the sole crime of being the first to discover Bushuku's corpse.
But who could the killer possibly be?
Bushuku had commanded more than twenty men. Judging by the scene of the fight, some had presumably followed their master into death, but others had not—and the whereabouts of those men remained a mystery.
Where had they gone?
"……They seem to have fled out of fear."
That was the best answer Samuhatu and Kumai could offer.
Anyone who knew Kunuma's temperament understood that when his brother died, only three options existed: die on the spot alongside him, flee and be hunted down by Kunuma, or hide somewhere in the deepest shadows and pray.
When he heard this, Kunuma dismissed it with cold contempt.
"There is nowhere in this world a man can hide from me."
It was the truth. Concealing a secret from Kunuma was all but impossible—unless his temper overcame him first and he smashed a man's skull mid-interrogation.
His men had thrown a tight net around the whole of Anchuunbugu and its surroundings. The unidentified men the Tung Jugang's brothers had reported seeing were, in fact, Kunuma's men.
"Big Brother."
Samuhatu spoke. Kunuma's single eye remained fixed on the crescent moon in the night sky.
"We've tracked down one of the late Bushuku's men."
"Have you, now."
Kunuma turned his gaze back.
"Where is he?"
The moment he spoke, two men dragged forward a figure who was barely recognizable as a living human being.
Kumai explained.
"After the young master died, these men apparently took to robbing travelers on the road. The moment they saw us they bolted, so we had no choice but to put three of them down. This one's the only one we managed to bring back alive, and even he—"
Kumai shrugged. Even to the naked eye, the man looked to be at death's door. He might as well have been a corpse already.
Kunuma looked down at him.
"Who killed my brother?"
The man could barely answer. He had lost too much blood.
"Who was it?"
"Te……"
The man's cracked lips barely moved.
"Who? Speak up."
"Te…… mu……"
The man's body went slack. They splashed water on him, but his flesh had already begun to cool.
Samuhatu bowed his head.
"We are not worthy."
Kunuma lowered his head. An unnameable fury and hatred churned within him, and Samuhatu and Kumai exchanged uneasy glances.
"Who was the most recent man to come and go from Anchuunbugu?"
"That would be…… Lord Kunaha."
"Lord Kunaha."
Kunuma murmured the name, and slowly licked his lips.
"I've long held my blade in check where Lord Kunaha is concerned. But it seems the time has come to pay him a courtesy call."
Kunuma turned to his men.
"We move. Now."
"Yes, sir."
The answer was hardly necessary. The men fell into formation in the darkness.
Kunuma looked up at the night sky once more.
When beasts fight, the struggle ends then and there. But when men fight, it bleeds onward into something far more tenacious and obsessive: vengeance. And the hunger for revenge among the wild tribes burned more stubbornly than in any other people.
When one of their blood was slain, they hid their vengeance behind expressionless masks and nursed it with infinite patience. As the years piled up, that hatred did not fade—it sank deeper, heavier, and stickier with time.
Kunuma had lost his parents long ago. The killers had been men under the Liaodong Regional Military Commission, and Bushuku had still been a child then—so it was he alone who swore vengeance beneath the moonlight.
After years of obsessive, relentless pursuit, he slaughtered his enemies to the last man—along with their wives and children.
Now, a long stretch of years later, Kunuma had drawn out a new target for his vengeance.
He gazed up at the crescent moon. Sharp as a blade's edge, it carved into his heart and gouged it out, driving the hatred deeper still.