A Deluge of Handshakes
1435, the seventeenth year of King Sejong's reign, the Year of Eulmyo.
That was when I, at five years old, awakened to my past life and resolved to observe the three-year mourning period. I received wheat from Hong-wi and hurriedly planted it near my parents' graves. Together with the villagers, I survived the winter without my parents.
1436, the eighteenth year of King Sejong's reign, the Year of Byeongjin.
At six years old, Kim Jong-seo came to find me. Shin Sukju arrived as well, and I even received a royal commendation and a commemorative arch as a once-in-a-generation genius and filial son. This time, cotton was introduced. After that, Hong-wi went radio silent.
And there, while the Jurchen government slaves spent the winter building a new reservoir in Aoji... the years turned once more.
1437, the nineteenth year of King Sejong's reign, the Year of Jeongsa.
It was already October in Hamgil-do, a time when snow fell in thick, heavy flurries. Of course, this was by the lunar calendar.
I had now turned seven. Still incredibly young, yes. But the gap between how I saw the world and how others saw me was gradually narrowing. I felt like I was on the verge of becoming an adult.
Down south, in the warm capital of Hanyang, historical figures like Jang Yeong-sil and Hwang Hui were probably busy with some monumental projects. Come to think of it, there were only six years left until the creation of Hunminjeongeum—the Korean alphabet that every student of Korean literature and linguistics should revere for eternity. Perhaps King Sejong, along with Crown Prince Yi Hyang, Grand Prince Suyang, and his other close aides, had already sketched out the basic concept of the alphabet.
Oh, right. And there were only sixteen years left until the Gyeyu Reconstruction.
"..."
"Heon, what occupies your thoughts?"
"Your unworthy disciple was thinking of you, Master. Now that the years have turned, shouldn't you be preparing to take the civil service examinations?"
"How thoughtful of you. But you need not worry; your master has already completed his preparations to enter public service."
Oho, brimming with confidence, are we?
Actually, wait. Come to think of it, this man passed the exams on his first try anyway. After that, he climbed the ranks at a breakneck pace, becoming Chief State Councillor before he even hit fifty. Of course, that rapid promotion was largely thanks to a 'certain incident' that physically cleared out the bureaucratic bottleneck... but still.
Blegh.
During this time, Yi Hong-wi had also returned. Immediately after his return, Dolbi had no time to rest.
I kept receiving long, text-like spiritual transmissions about how he had been whipped by a 'nasty Greek ghost' and forced to push boulders. Even just reading his words, I could feel his tearful sniffles. If he had been here in person, he probably would have clung to me and sobbed his eyes out.
At any rate, it was a season of wrapping things up.
The seeds of the 'Filial Piety Wheat' had multiplied exponentially. As for the cotton, the villagers had already planted small patches of it near riverbanks and ponds, as they always did.
The storehouse the King had promised to build, along with the reservoir surrounding it, was now fully completed. They had finished construction around the beginning of this year. I planned to pack that storehouse to the brim with the newly harvested wheat.
It really felt like many things were reaching their conclusion this year.
Shin Sukju was leaving to take his exams, Hong-wi had learned the terror of high-interest divine loans, the wheat and cotton farming had stabilized, and both the commemorative arch and its pavilion were fully built.
In truth, it wasn't just a feeling. Most of these events were tied to the exact same milestone.
Let us recall how the three-year mourning period actually works.
First is Chosang, the initial funeral rites. The common phrase 'chosang-jib'—a house in mourning—comes from this.
Next is Sosang, the minor auspicious rite held one year after the funeral. From this point, the daily morning and evening wailing ceases, and the mourner is permitted to consume fruits and vegetables.
Then comes Daesang, the major auspicious rite held on the second anniversary. As the grandest and most solemn of the rites, it marks the beginning of the end. Once Daesang is completed, the mourning period is practically over. The mourning staff is broken, and the mourning garments are either burned or distributed to the poor.
Yet, one final step remains.
About two months after Daesang, a ritual called Damje is performed. The character Dam is the same one used in the word 'damdam,' meaning tranquil or serene. As the name suggests, it is the moment when those who referred to themselves as sinners finally return to their daily lives. Thus, it is also known as Talsang—the formal end of mourning.
Yes, it was almost over.
That was why my master was returning to Hanyang, why Hong-wi had pushed himself to the limit to match the timeline, and why the commemorative arch and pavilion had been built beforehand.
A month ago, we had cast lots according to the Book of Family Rites to determine the exact date.
Now, it was time to bring this long, three-year mourning to a close.
It had been long.
This was his second year in the northern frontier, having spent a full, grueling year in this freezing, desolate land.
By birth, he was a member of the capital's scholarly gentry, never knowing want a day in his life. He had been hailed as a prodigy since childhood. He was destined to rise through the ranks of office without a single obstacle, bringing glory to his family name and sharing in the honor of governing the realm.
If only he hadn't been suddenly summoned to this absolute middle of nowhere.
Shin Sukju still remembered the day he received the secret royal order.
To win the favor of the King and his ministers, and to make them indebted to him. The words sounded grand. But who would not shrink from a reward that felt so much like exile? Even General Kim Jong-seo himself, the Tiger of the North, yearned to go south. How much more so for a young man with a brilliant future ahead of him?
Shin Sukju recalled the countless curses he had spat into the biting wind on his journey up here.
Sending a perfectly fine scholar to this frozen northern waste all because of some nonsense about being a 'prodigy'... It makes me think of the tyrannical kings Jie and Zhou...
"Heon."
"Yes, Master."
"It is tomorrow."
"..."
"You have suffered much for one so young."
Perhaps it was because the end was near that these absurd memories suddenly drifted back to him.
It was night. They stood beside An Heon's mourning hut. A graveyard late at night was a bit eerie, but the moon hung bright and clear, casting ample light. It was cold, as winter was fast approaching. But starting tomorrow, there would be no need to stay here any longer.
Tomorrow, after the Damje ritual, Heon would leave this hut for good. Once his parents' spirit tablets were moved to the family shrine and the final bows were made, it would truly be over. His disciple would finally return home to sleep under a proper roof.
"Should we leave the hut standing? The villagers built it so sturdily; if we tear it down, it would yield a decent amount of firewood."
"Hahaha! Of course we must leave it. The King himself is aiding this town; do you truly begrudge them a bit of firewood? Do you not value the hardship you endured here?"
"I merely got by, Master."
"Then leave it so that future generations may see where you 'merely got by.'"
Shin Sukju nodded.
"Everyone must see it. Was this not the very reason I shivered my way up to this freezing northern frontier?"
He looked up at the bright moon and laughed softly.
"And was it not for this that you piled on those thick layers of clothes when it was cold at night, refusing to take them off even when you slept?"
"..."
"So we must leave it. Only then will those who come after us say, 'Master An Heon observed his full three years of mourning in such a bitterly cold place.'"
At those words, An Heon offered a faint smile and nodded. Then, as if to prove he was now seven, he began to walk with larger, firmer strides. Though to Shin Sukju, he still looked like a child taking quick, pattering steps.
Shin Sukju intentionally let his disciple lead the way, following closely behind.
Everything had changed.
The burial mound, the surrounding earthen wall, and the grounds had been neatly manicured. The days of sparse grass and exposed dirt were gone. Many hands had painstakingly weeded the area, transplanted fresh turf, and installed proper stone monuments. The wooden grave marker, once carved with An Heon's crooked handwriting, had been moved to the commemorative pavilion. In its place stood handsome, professionally carved stone tablets.
And the boy had changed.
Children do grow rapidly between the ages of five and seven. But it was more than just physical growth. Though Shin Sukju had arrived late, shortly before the Sosang anniversary, he could feel how the very air surrounding the child had shifted.
The boy's gaze had changed.
When they first met, Heon had possessed a deep inner mind but still retained the innocence of a child. Now, he carried himself with more maturity than the young scholars one might encounter in Hanyang. Perhaps even more than Shin Sukju himself had before coming here.
While Sukju was lost in thought, An Heon kept walking.
He watched his disciple wander. The boy stepped past the earthen wall, walking over the ground where the wheat had first grown. The stalks harvested back then had long since returned to the soil. He then walked through the area where the cotton had once bloomed in white, fluffy clouds. Sukju looked to see if any traces remained, but the ground had been swept perfectly clean.
After quietly circling the graves, the boy returned to stand directly in front of the mound.
As mentioned, the wooden marker was gone. In its place stood a proper stone monument, inscribed with Kim Jong-seo's calligraphy and carved by a master stonemason.
An Heon bowed deeply to his parents and whispered something inaudible.
Shin Sukju could not hear the words, but he could see the boy's face. It was an expression of profound, settled peace.
Sukju felt a wave of relief.
The ancients had not designed these mourning rites without reason. Every heart requires a clean break. One cannot wear mourning weeds forever. One cannot live a life of perpetual weeping. One cannot dwell on a single memory until death.
The requirement for the chief mourner to eat vegetables starting from Sosang, to taste meat again from Daesang, and to return to ordinary garments was all born of this wisdom. No matter how deep and admirable this child's filial piety was, his young heart could not be allowed to engrave the single word 'grief' forever. That would be a sickness of the mind.
An Heon seemed to understand this wisdom well. That was why, in this very moment, he was attempting to make that clean break.
...Or at least, he was trying his best to do so.
And that was enough.
As An Heon straightened his back from his deep bow, Shin Sukju prepared to speak. Let us return.
"..."
"..."
Suddenly, both of them froze.
Heon's mouth parted, but no sound came out. His eyes widened, and his small hands began to tremble violently. Shin Sukju was likely in a similar state.
In front of the gravestone.
From the frost-covered earth, something was sprouting.
It was merely a slender green stalk, nothing extraordinary in appearance. However, the speed of its growth defied nature.
A sprout broke through the soil. Stems shot upward, and leaves unfurled in a blink. A flower stalk rose, and purple buds burst open. Tiny violet dots, like scattered millet, bloomed and swayed gently in the wind.
The entire process took no more than a fleeting instant.
The gaze of both man and boy locked onto the tiny wildflower, frozen in a moment that felt like eternity.
Shin Sukju recognized the plant. It was a herb whose roots, when boiled, were used in medicine to nourish and invigorate the blood.
"D-D-Dangui... It is Angelica..."
With those words, a realization struck Shin Sukju.
Normally, the Angelica flower blooms around the End of Heat in late summer. There was no reason for it to bloom now, in the freezing cold of October. Yet the flower remained there, mocking his common sense.
He stood frozen in shock.
Before Shin Sukju could stop him, An Heon collapsed to his knees. He clawed at the frozen earth with his bare hands, digging up the root.
The root of the Angelica, which had sprouted and grown in mere seconds, was as thick and robust as if it had matured for five or six years.
An Heon held the root in both hands, staring blankly. He remained on his knees.
With hollow eyes, the boy began to mutter incomprehensible words in a tiny whisper.
Was that... was that how the cotton happened too? Then... who... who did this?
Who else could it be? The master offered an answer to his foolish disciple.
"Your parents told you not to starve, and they told you not to shiver in the cold."
"...Pardon?"
"And now, they are telling you not to be sick."
An Heon froze. The sound that escaped the boy's throat was finally that of a child his age.
"Mom... Dad..."
Shin Sukju leaned down. He hesitated several times before finally placing a hand on his trembling disciple's back, stroking it gently.
"Let us go home."
Sukju's voice shook as he spoke.
In the boy's ears, another voice seemed to overlap with his master's. A deeply familiar voice.
Go on home now.
"They are telling you, 'It is time to return home'."
Have a safe journey back.
Clutching the Angelica root to his chest, the boy looked up at the sky.
The violet sky reflected in his eyes like a mirror. His eyes, filled with stars that shone like Angelica flowers, suddenly overflowed. A torrent of starlight poured down the boy's cheeks.
The end of mourning was complete.
A few days later, our preparations for departure were finished as well.
"Thank you all for everything. Take care of yourselves while I am away."
"Thanks to you, Young Master, we'll be living better than we deserve!"
"Don't you worry about a thing. We'll keep your house spotless while you're gone."
"Hey, what are you eating?"
"Rice cake. Made from the rice the King sent down."
"Oh."
"...Oho."
Yeah, they're definitely going to be just fine.
I asked Jageun-i for a piece of rice cake, stuffed half of it into my mouth, and gave the other half to my master. Munching on the cake, I waved goodbye to the villagers who had come to see us off.
As we left the village, I waved one last time to Geobi, who was tidying up the graveyard... and wow.
We were actually leaving.
For the first time since I was born in Joseon, after spending my entire life wandering only around the vicinity of Aoji, I was stepping beyond its borders.
Had I ever traveled this far before?
Ah, wait. Come to think of it, I had traveled from Gwangju in Gyeonggi Province all the way up here when I was a toddler.
Why on earth did my family make such a drastic decision back then? To move the entire household to the absolute edge of the civilized world. It was deeply frustrating that my memories from when I was three or four were so hazy. I should have remembered that instead of all the 21st-century college major knowledge...
But as I mounted my horse, those regrets slowly faded.
Now that I thought about it, this was my first time riding a horse too.
I rode in a state of high excitement for hours. Even after sleeping through one night, and then another, the thrill didn't wear off.
After a considerable journey, we finally crossed into Gyeonggi Province.
Hanyang was just around the corner. I began to recognize landforms that were familiar from my past life. Tomorrow, we would finally arrive in the capital.
However, with the sun beginning to set, we decided to call it a day and stop here.
As I dismounted, a sudden realization washed over me, sending a shiver down my spine.
What... what is this?
Could this be... that sensation known as [warmth] that supposedly exists in the southern regions?
No way, seriously?
It was already October—which would be around November in the solar calendar—yet the rivers weren't frozen solid, and there wasn't a raging blizzard in sight?
My entire body shuddered like an elf in an isekai novel experiencing 'delicious food' for the first time.
Seeing my reaction, my master chuckled.
"H-Hieeeek..."
"Haha, watch your step. The thin ice can be slippery—whoaaaah!"
"..."
Look who's talking.
A fragile southerner daring to warn a hardened northerner about 'ice'?
I grabbed my master—who was as delicate as a wildflower—pulled him back to his feet, and led him into the nearby village.
Perhaps because we had entered Gyeonggi Province, the houses looked much grander, with a noticeably higher proportion of tiled roofs...
"My word! Is that not Scholar Shin?"
Suddenly, the moment we reached the edge of the village, someone called out.
I turned to see a yangban in a horsehair hat and long, flowing robes hurrying toward us.
"I heard rumors that you were traveling to the capital, but to run into you like this!"
"It is an honor that you recognize my humble self," Shin Sukju replied politely.
"If you are looking for a place to lodge, won't you please stay at my humble abode?"
The moment he stopped in front of Shin Sukju, he adopted an incredibly humble posture, all while shooting glances in my direction and rattling off words like a machine gun.
Before we even had a chance to decline, we found ourselves ushered into the largest mansion in the neighborhood. Since this was the early Joseon period, the roof tiles and dancheong paintwork were exceptionally lavish.
"We are rather hungry at the moment..."
"Your meal will be served shortly."
"We should wash up..."
"Hot water is already prepared."
"..."
"..."
"While you are here, perhaps you could write a few characters for me? I have already prepared paper, brushes, and ink."
Everything was handled in the blink of an eye.
By the time we snapped out of it, my master and I had been escorted into a spacious room. Since we had much to discuss before entering the capital, we had agreed to share a room.
My body felt stiff after the long, hurried journey. I wrote a few characters for our host, and when he suddenly begged me to offer some words of academic encouragement to his grandson, I obliged.
Meanwhile, a crowd of other men in horsehair hats gathered outside the wall, whispering excitedly before dispersing.
...It was utterly chaotic.
I began massaging my own neck, just as I'd seen on YouTube, when my master watched me with curiosity and asked me to massage his shoulders as well.
"Argh! Ack! Hurrrgh... Heon, you didn't... do this to yourself..."
"The method for loosening a child's muscles is different from an adult's, Master."
As a petty act of revenge on behalf of Yi Hong-wi, I applied maximum pressure to Shin Sukju's shoulders, making it as painful as humanly possible. Dolbi nodded in thorough satisfaction.
This was the least I could do. Both Hong-wi and Dolbi, who had been thrilled at the prospect of not seeing Shin Sukju for a while, had turned incredibly sullen when they realized they would all be traveling to Seoul together.
Having barely survived the torture, my master realized with surprise that his shoulders felt remarkably light. He rotated his arms and spoke.
"Tomorrow, we shall finally enter Hanyang. For the time being, you will be staying at my family's estate."
"Yes, Master. I am aware."
"Good. Always remember the reason you were summoned to the capital, Heon, and conduct yourself with the utmost discretion."
I nodded at my master, who was finally acting like an adult for once.
Why had I been summoned to the capital?
The answer was obvious. A five-year-old in Aoji had observed a three-year mourning period, which somehow caused wheat and cotton to sprout from the earth, and finally, a miraculous medicinal herb. On top of that, the boy was hailed as a genius, drawing visits from the Provincial Commander and the Minister of Rites. My introductory papers on phonetics and phonology had undoubtedly spread by now as well.
Naturally, the King would want to see me in person. This was a Neo-Confucian state, after all.
A legendary filial son born of loyal subjects, a once-in-a-century genius, a Confucian idol. If the King of Joseon didn't meet someone like that, he might as well abdicate.
Blegh.
More than anything, Hong-wi was right.
First, surviving the 4 outposts and 6 garrisons (though only 2 outposts and 4 garrisons had been established so far)? The odds of me or the villagers suddenly dying from a tiger attack or a blizzard had plummeted to near zero.
That left two remaining objectives.
Objective: Prevent the Gyeyu Reconstruction.
Objective: Ensure Yi Hong-wi dies of natural causes.
Those 'ultimate goals' still lingered in the back of my mind.
To save Yi Hong-wi and crush Grand Prince Suyang. To achieve that, I couldn't remain just the 'Filial Boy of Aoji.' I had to climb to the very center of power.
And power resided in Hanyang.
...With Kim Jong-seo and Shin Sukju already acting as my backers, I was off to a great start. It was a slightly bizarre combination, but it would do.
From now on, I would make a name for myself in Hanyang, catching the eye of King Sejong and other influential figures. This would be the beginning.
It was close. Very soon...
"I am enjoying quite the luxury thanks to you," my master remarked.
"Not at all. I can massage your shoulders anytime. Besides, it is thanks to you, Master, that we are staying in a mansion like this now that we've reached Gyeonggi Province."
"What?"
"Pardon?"
"Do you truly think the host recognized me?"
"But he called out to you earlier..."
"Do you not think he simply made a swift guess upon seeing a scholar traveling with a 'certain young boy'?"
"..."
Our conversation ground to a sudden halt.
It wasn't because of my master's tense, 'here it comes' expression. That was merely the reaction.
Startled, I flung the door open and looked outside.
The surrounding area was in utter chaos.
From outside the gates of the scholar's estate, a massive din of footsteps, shouting, and clamoring voices erupted.
It was early evening. Since winter was near, night would fall quickly. Why was there such an uproar in a reasonably small town near the capital?
I tried to calculate the numbers.
Was the population of Joseon around six million right now? In the 21st century, how many people lived on this same land? I was about to think fifty million, but then realized that Aoji, where I had been living, wasn't part of that fifty million. Including the entire Korean Peninsula, it was seventy-seven million.
The population density back then was less than a tenth of the 21st century's. In terms of daily life, it felt like less than a hundredth.
Most of the 21st-century population was packed tightly into cities. In this era, there was no agricultural productivity to support such concentrated populations. The population of Hanyang right now was about a hundredth of modern Seoul's.
In other words, the phenomenon of 'crowds of people gathering' only occurred under very specific circumstances.
Usually, it was one of three things in Joseon:
The state examinations.
Military mobilization.
...Or the King.
"M-Master, we have a problem."
"Indeed. Stay calm."
"Pardon? Has the King arrived?"
"Hmm?"
My master's expression turned bizarre. It was a look that clearly said, What on earth is he talking about?
So I pressed him.
"I mean, a massive crowd has suddenly gathered outside! What else could cause such a commotion unless something monumental has happened?"
"True."
"Would scholars gather in this town for a sudden exam? Or would soldiers assemble for military duty?"
"Neither."
"If it is neither, then what on earth is going on..."
"..."
"..."
Wait.
My master—Shin Sukju—didn't answer. Instead, he simply gestured with his chin toward me.
Yes, he was pointing right at me.
"Argh! The gates are finally open! I thought I was going to be crushed to death!"
"Is this where An Heon, the Seven-Year-Old Sage, is staying? I must meet him!"
"How dare a young scholar raise his voice before his elders!"
"Look, that is the third son of the Goryeong Shin clan, the boy's master! Then the one beside him must be..."
"An Heon? Is that child truly the one?"
"Heavens, he is as striking as they say. Young Master An, it is an honor to meet you. Please, grant me just a brief conversation..."
"Young Master An! Won't you discuss with me how to reconstruct the pronunciation of the ancients, unlike these bothersome fools?"
"Young Master An, I shall not pester you like the others. I only wish to obtain the Seven-Year-Old Sage's calligraphy for my grandson. If you could just write the first line of the Analects..."
"..."
"..."
My master gestured with his chin once more.
His expression seemed to say:
See? I told you we have a problem.
You.