Sosang: The First Anniversary
"Ha... hahahaha! Today was truly delightful!"
Today's lesson was... more or less finished.
Sukju—no, my teacher—sprang to his feet, looking absolutely bursting with energy, while I collapsed, utterly exhausted. Of course, part of it was that rascal of a teacher—excuse me, my esteemed teacher—sucking the life out of me, but there was another reason.
Huuack.
Right. So you took out a high-interest loan on your divine powers. Why didn't you just use a divine revolving credit card instead? Not that I know if such a thing even exists.
Huuack.
I have no idea what you're going to do once those malicious comments die down.
Huuack.
...What? How much is it?
Huuack.
Huuack.
"..."
The success rate achieved by pulling out a high-interest spiritual loan and dragging his soul to the limit: 15 percent.
...Fine. Let's stop. Just stop. Dolbi looks exhausted. I'm exhausted too.
Having my energy drained from both sides was simply too much for a six-year-old body to handle. To make matters worse, my teacher started spouting nonsense again.
"Mencius once said that gathering the world's brightest talents and teaching them is one of the three pleasures of a gentleman! Now, I finally understand his words!"
...Excuse me, let's get our facts straight. I've taught you far more than you've taught me.
"Heon, is there anything you do not possess? You are so young, yet your features are so strikingly handsome. Anyone who experiences your words and writing quickly realizes your looks are the least of your gifts! And on top of all that, you even have an excellent teacher!"
Like I said, I'm the one who's your teacher. This shameless man, actually bragging about being an "excellent teacher." It's precisely because he's so thick-skinned that Seong Sam-mun will eventually brand him as the ultimate traitor.
And was that even a lesson? The lecture on the classics lasted barely three minutes, while the linguistic banter that followed went on for forty times that long.
When I gave him a subtle glare, the man—no, the bean sprout, the traitor-to-be, my... teacher—cleared his throat awkwardly. The word "teacher" really didn't roll off my tongue easily.
At any rate, feeling the weight of his unworthy disciple's gaze, my teacher finally spoke with an air of gravity.
"S-still, did I not help you immensely with the funeral arrangements?"
"..."
"So please, do not look at me with such eyes."
"...This disciple is indeed grateful to you for that, Teacher."
I couldn't deny that. What could I have possibly done alone in this frontier of frontiers?
Even if I had memorized the classics cover to cover, I was still only a six-year-old child. And though I was surrounded by reliable, caring adults, none of them were Confucian scholars.
Kim Jong-seo was far too busy. And the few literate men in the northeast were entirely occupied with assisting the busy Kim Jong-seo.
In such a situation, having Shin Sukju around was undeniably a massive help. Yes, that much was true.
"Hahaha! It was nothing, Heon! Now, let us head outside!"
But he regained his smug confidence way too quickly.
As Shin Sukju opened the door and stepped out, I followed him, still slightly dazed.
The village was bustling with noise. Shin Sukju had just mentioned the funeral rites, and that was exactly why the village was so loud.
The first anniversary of their deaths was fast approaching. It was commonly referred to as Sosang.
The initial funeral was Chosang. One year later was Sosang. Two years after that was Daesang. Finally, two months after Daesang, the mourning clothes were shed in Talsang, marking the end of the three-year mourning period.
Despite the name "three-year mourning," the process actually lasted for two years and two months.
I had lost my grandfather, mother, and father all at once, but that didn't mean I had to mourn for six years and six months.
According to ritual propriety, if multiple deaths overlapped during a mourning period, the three-year mourning was observed and concluded based on the anniversary of the last person to pass away.
Thus, I was conducting the rites based on the anniversary of the last family member who died.
It was almost time.
It felt surreal to realize that it hadn't even been a year since I regained the memories of my past life. So much had happened in that short span of time.
I had met Kim Jong-seo, crossed paths with Shin Sukju, and was even on the verge of receiving a triple "Excellent Job" commendation from the royal court.
Even as I was lost in these sentimental thoughts, the village continued to move at a frantic pace. The fact that the villagers' livelihoods had become much more prosperous than before certainly played a part...
"..."
"..."
...Or so I thought.
Only when Shin Sukju and I reached the busiest clearing in the center of the village did we realize the truth.
"Step back! Did I not tell you to step away from my master?!"
"Tell us where your master is!"
Uh... what...?
...Ah. No wonder it was so unusually loud.
An emergency had erupted. The name of this emergency was "An Heon." And the cause of it was as clear as day.
Even a mere child in Hanyang could have told you. The King had once again raised the stakes to an absurd degree on his crazy gamble.
"M-My Lord, now that General Kim Jong-seo's memorial has turned out like this, perhaps it would be wise to keep a low profile for now..."
"Step aside! If a high minister of the state cowers when it comes to national affairs, who under heaven will ever learn how to show loyalty to the country?!"
"..."
The Minister of Rites felt his hair turning white and his throat tightening the more he pondered the current situation.
Again, again, and again.
Once again, that cursed northern frontier development. Once again, that black hole of a project that devoured endless funds, ground up innocent lives, and ruined diplomatic relations with the Ming Dynasty.
He had mobilized the censors to stop it by any means necessary, attempting to quickly impeach Kim Jong-seo and suppress this "An Heon Incident."
He held no personal grudge against Kim Jong-seo. He simply had to halt the reckless northern expansion the King was pushing so aggressively.
Yet, by some bizarre stroke of coincidence, on the very day the impeachment was about to be set in motion, Kim Jong-seo's memorial arrived at court.
It was highly suspicious. After months of silence, the memorial had landed on the exact day of the planned impeachment.
It was as if someone had planted ears among the censors beforehand and, when the perfect moment arrived, unleashed a meticulously prepared memorial.
To a foolish observer, it might have looked as though the King himself had orchestrated the entire play.
...And the Minister of Rites decided he would rather be that foolish observer.
The King was harboring ambitions again.
For a nation founded a mere forty-four years ago, why on earth were they launching so many grand, earth-shaking projects?
For heaven's sake, they didn't even have a proper, unified code of law yet!
"A-at the very least, a code of law! Shouldn't we have a proper code of law first?! The last attempt was a complete failure! We must draft a new one!"
"M-My Lord, please calm yourself!"
"Why must we pour our state's vital energy into anything other than this paramount task—!"
"People will hear you!"
"Let them hear!"
As the Minister of Rites swept his fierce gaze across the room, his subordinates could only tremble under his frost-like roar. Of course, once they left the office, those same subordinates would probably gather over drinks and grumble, "That damn Minister of Rites, taking out all his temper on us..."
But that didn't matter right now.
The Minister of Rites smoothed his beard, organizing his fiery, boiling rage. He hadn't calmed his anger. He had merely aimed it like a loaded weapon.
For a newly established nation, there was no task more critical than stabilization. Foolish, reckless endeavors could easily tear the country apart. After all, the Minister of Rites himself had witnessed the fall of Goryeo in his youth.
He was a man this country desperately needed, because he was the only one willing to speak the harsh truths the nation required. Knowing this, the King kept him close, even while complaining that his constant nagging drove him mad.
Yes. He had to do what was necessary.
"I shall go myself."
"Pardon? But, M-My Lord, His Majesty will not grant you an audience at this moment..."
"Not to the palace."
The Minister of Rites pointed toward the far north.
Someone briefly wondered, Wait... is he pointing at Mount Samgak? But they were all sharp-witted enough to quickly realize the truth.
It wasn't Mount Samgak. It was much further north.
...Way further.
Their faces turned pale. Of course, the Minister of Rites paid them no mind. He would see it with his own two eyes. He would personally distinguish what was real from what was fake.
Thus, Heo Jo, the Minister of Rites of Joseon, arrived in Aoji.
"Though it is contrary to ritual propriety for a guest to linger here for so long, there is only a young, immature child and a mere student who has not even passed the civil exams. How could I, as a scholar, not lend a hand?"
"..."
"For your sake, I have personally corrected every single detail of the rites that fell short of proper etiquette."
"T-thank..."
"It is not to me, but to those who gave you life and raised you, that you should direct your gratitude. As the chief mourner, devote your utmost sincerity to your parents and grandfather first."
"..."
...This is insane. What kind of Minister of Rites travels all the way to the northernmost edge of the country just to oversee a three-year mourning period at some backwater countryside house? Who on earth allowed this, and why?
"..."
"..."
Ah, never mind. Looking at that stubborn, rigid face of his, I get it. He didn't get anyone's permission—no one could stop him. The man is completely out of his mind.
"What are you doing? Now that you have donned your yeonbok, proceed to where the spirit tablets of your parents and grandfather rest."
He was the one who provided the yeonbok, the mourning garments. He was also the one who forced me to perform the ritual bathing and purification the day before the Sosang. Surprisingly, he didn't forbid me from eating meat. He was actually more lenient than I—
"Did you finish all the pork I gave you yesterday?"
"Well... I ate it with gratitude, but the portion was so generous that I left a little..."
"From now on, do not leave a single scrap. I heard you are the only son of the family for two generations. If the sole surviving child ruins his health, it is a grave sin against filial piety."
...Never mind, he wasn't lenient at all.
Still, even though the village had become a bit—alright, a lot—noisier and busier, the whole scene looked remarkably dignified thanks to him. Just as Heo Jo had said, he had brought bundles of everything needed for the funeral rites. He had personally procured meat, grains, and fruits to give to me, which greatly relieved the burden on the villagers.
"Adjust your shoes."
"I understand..."
"What are you lot staring at?! Keep your eyes on the ground!"
"..."
"..."
"..."
"I wonder if the rumors I heard were true. If you are merely going to mimic the gestures without any true sincerity, why did you even bother to hold these rites?"
"..."
On the flip side, absolutely no one welcomed the arrival of an old man who spat out nagging complaints every seven seconds.
"M-magnificent... To think the Minister of Rites himself would travel all the way to this northern frontier, drawn by your fame and mine!"
At least Shin Sukju was here too. His notable traits included being a veteran of the three-year mourning period and a budding future traitor.
"Heon, do not be so tense. This is the moment for you to show your utmost respect to those who cherished you."
"...Thank you, Lord Commander."
Fortunately, Kim Jong-seo had also made it. His notable trait was having his own three-year mourning period personally blocked by King Sejong.
...Anyway, with three scholars present—two of whom were high-ranking ministers—and royal support for an officially recognized filial son, the atmosphere was incredibly grand. It felt as bustling as a modern funeral home adorned with wreaths from the Minister of Foreign Affairs, the provincial governor, and the President, but it certainly made the ceremony look highly prestigious. At least, compared to the initial funeral held shortly before I regained my memories of the future, it was an absolute world of difference.
"Beom-ong, I apologize for not being able to attend your father's funeral."
"Please, do not speak of it. You were burdened with the great affairs of the northern frontier, so my late father would have surely understood your heart, My Lord."
"It was a tragedy. Your late father was not a man to pass so soon. But seeing how splendidly his son has grown, he must have departed with no regrets."
"Your words are far too kind."
"Kind? Not at all. I did not recommend you as Heon's teacher for no reason."
And seeing Kim Jong-seo and Shin Sukju conversing so warmly was another mind-boggling sight. When I thought about what was destined to happen between them in a little over a decade... goosebumps broke out all over my skin.
Regardless, I bowed to the elders and stepped forward. There was no one to follow behind me. I was the only son for two generations. My great-uncles had all passed away early. Any distant relatives were down south, and I had no idea if they were dead or alive. Thus, I was the only one who could bow and pour the ritual wine before the spirit tablets, regardless of age or gender.
I burned the incense, poured the wine, set the offering table, raised the cups, and read the prayer. After completing several other steps, I performed the final bows and burned the paper spirit tablets and the written prayer.
As I followed every single one of these seemingly rigid procedures, a realization dawned on me.
Ah. Ritual propriety wasn't just a collection of inconvenient rules. If anything, it was designed to put a person at ease. It brought order and structure to those overwhelming moments of sobbing, stumbling, screaming, and drowning in grief whenever a memory surfaced.
Cry only up to this point. Bow only up to this point. Grieve only up to this point.
By moving within these disciplined boundaries, one's emotions and actions naturally settled. If one had to wring out their grief, it set a boundary to ease the burden. Conversely, if the sorrow was too overwhelming to bear, it helped them pull themselves together. That was the true essence of ritual propriety.
As I stepped outside after concluding the Sosang, a sudden silence fell over the crowd. Geobi, Jageun-i, and the other villagers who had stood by me all this time stopped their whispering. The solemn-faced Kim Jong-seo, the usually lighthearted Shin Sukju, and even the rigid Heo Jo silently watched me. When I turned to walk back to my mourning hut, they quietly followed.
Beside me, Dolbi trotted along before suddenly retching.
Huuack.
Even Spirit Hong-wi, who usually squeezed his words together to save spaces and periods, did not do so now.
There was really no need for everyone to be so solemn. Even if they were indeed my parents and grandfather, I didn't just possess the memories of the five years I spent living here. I had spent several times that lifespan in twenty-first-century South Korea. I had connections there too, and people I cared about. I wasn't experiencing the world-shattering despair of a real six-year-old who had lost his entire family.
It was just...
...Well, that is to say, I suddenly stopped in my tracks.
I stared at the sight before me.
Before my eyes lay my parents' graves, positioned slightly closer than my grandfather's. Beside them stood the mourning hut where I resided. And there was something else.
Just then, a soft retching sound came from beside me.
Huuack.
I finished reading the message. Once again, the world fell silent. Alone, I walked forward into that quiet world.
Heo Jo had not stayed here for very long. He was not a mere student like Shin Sukju; he was a high minister of the state. If a state councillor were to settle down in this tiny village for an extended period, it would soon be stripped bare to accommodate him. Even so... he had visited this burial ground incessantly.
What had he said when he petitioned the King? Had he not claimed he was going to teach An Heon proper ritual etiquette? Furthermore, looking at Heo Jo's original purpose, it made perfect sense. He had to verify whether the boy rumored to be a "once-in-a-generation filial son" and "the world's greatest genius" truly lived up to those titles. And even if he did, Heo Jo needed to see where that wheat had truly come from, and whether heaven had genuinely responded to the boy's sincerity.
To do that, it was only natural to inspect the burial ground thoroughly, as it was the place where ritual propriety was of the utmost importance during a mourning period. Moreover, An Heon was staying right here. Having arrived as a guest during a time of mourning, he could not, as a fellow scholar, refrain from helping out.
In other words, he had looked upon this very spot just yesterday. Until then, there had been absolutely nothing here. Not even these white, softly fluttering... cotton plants.
Cotton had bloomed in this frozen northern frontier.
At that moment, Kim Jong-seo quietly murmured.
"Before, they fed their child... and now, do they wish to clothe him...?"
There was a distinct tremor in his voice.
"The devotion of these parents is truly..."
"..."
"..."
"..."
No one added another word. No one even made a sound. Only a young maidservant of the village covered her mouth, her shoulders shaking as she wept. The shoulders of so many others trembled in unison. Salty, hot tears fell and mingled with the dirt floor.
Heo Jo watched as the child quietly stepped forward and knelt before his parents' graves. The child was enveloped by the cotton blooming in soft, white clusters, as if being held in a warm embrace. And so, the biting cold wind could not reach him.