Three Years of Mourning in Aoji
For starters, the people living near Aoji scooped up the young master—who had suddenly started babbling about a three-year mourning period—cradled him in their arms, and carried him off to the gravesite. Then, when the young master mentioned packing his things, they swarmed back to his house in a massive herd, only to swarm right back out here to the gravesite. Yes, that young master is me. I am that remarkably admirable young master who stepped forward to observe a three-year mourning period for his grandfather and parents.
Wait, wasn't everyone dead set against this at first? Why did they all flip their stances in the blink of an eye? Suddenly, they crowded around me, gathering every scrap of clothing they could find to wrap around my body. After bundling me up until I looked like a round, puffy Michelin mascot, they rolled me all the way to my family's burial plot.
"..."
"..."
"..."
It is, once again, incredibly desolate. To begin with, the markers driven before the graves of my grandfather and parents aren't even proper tombstones; they're just wooden stakes with names crudely carved into them. Even if we're ruined, we're still technically of the gentry class—is this really acceptable? But the moment that thought crossed my mind, I looked around and immediately understood. This spot is actually the least desolate place in the entire neighborhood. In a town where immediate survival is a daily struggle, there's no helping it. When there isn't even enough food for the living, who has the money to carve a grand, polished tombstone for the dead?
"Ah, I thought the Ahn family was completely ruined with only one heir left in the second generation, but the master and mistress raised their child to be so upstanding..."
"The elders... and the eldest grandson... how could they not rejoice to see him brave the freezing northern winds to come here..."
One look at the slaves muttering beside me tells the whole story. After stripping off their own clothes to cover me, they are shivering violently in the cold. Feeling guilty, I tried to give the clothes back, but the people rushed over in a panic and bundled me up even tighter. Thanks to their efforts, only my face managed to poke out from the mountain of rags.
In that state, I waddled awkwardly toward my grandfather's grave.
"G-Grandfather... Heon is here..."
Then, I bowed. Because I was wearing so many layers, it felt less like a bow and more like I was gently rolling forward.
"I-I will do well here... so please... please watch over me..."
If a five-year-old child suddenly started reciting overly sophisticated, eloquent prose, it would look incredibly suspicious. I stuck to simple, tear-jerking words instead. Sure enough, several maidservants behind me choked up and embraced each other, weeping. Good. Keep pitying me. Don't get any strange ideas.
After rolling backward to stand up, I prepared to waddle like a penguin toward my parents' grave, but the servants picked me up and carried me over. Once again, I began my performance.
"Since I am... the eldest grandson of the Ahn family... I will do well here, and I will get married, and I will perform the ancestral rites for my parents..."
At those words, the surrounding crowd dissolved into a sea of tears. By this point, even my own tears began to flow. It seemed the memories of the five-year-old 'An Heon' were exerting some influence over me. An Heon. Even my name is exactly the same as in my previous life. I found myself deeply immersed in the emotion of the moment. An orphan left entirely alone, cast out into a freezing, perilous frontier—anyone would find his future bleak. Who wouldn't weep at such a sight?
A few seconds later, reality hit me. Wait, this isn't some tragic story I'm sympathizing with. This is literally my life.
"H-Hold onto the young master!"
"Oh... if you weep so sorrowfully, the master and mistress's hearts will break in the afterlife. Please, take care of your health first..."
After a long bout of sobbing, I finally regained my composure. Yes, it's not as if all hope is lost. I can't just sit here crying forever. When I asked the people to step back for a moment, they initially refused to leave. But when I started tearing up again, they hurriedly scrambled out of the burial plot.
Taking advantage of their absence, I continued to weep as I circled my parents' burial mound, making my way behind the saseong—the earthen screen built around the grave. Ensuring no one was watching, I frantically scattered the seeds I had hidden between the wine cup and the ancestral tablets. To be absolutely safe, I kept wailing and beating the ground, using the gesture to dig up the soil and bury the seeds properly. This should do it.
Finally, making sure I was in plain view of everyone, I clawed at the dirt and whimpered, "M-Mother, Father, are you... are you really in there?"
Seeing a child act so pitifully, the servants naturally rushed back in a frenzy. They supported me, embraced me, and showered me with words of comfort. They praised my magnificent resolve and vowed to support me with everything they had, even lifting me up in their arms to coddle me. While I was grateful, to be honest, it was also a bit terrifying. Why were they suddenly treating me so well? It felt as if they had been eagerly waiting for me to declare a three-year mourning period.
...No way. Have they already made their calculations? Are they thinking, 'That naive little brat. He'll end up dying on his own soon enough without us having to lift a finger. Let's just leave him be'?
At that thought, the tiny hairs on the back of my hands stood on end. It wasn't because of the cold; the only part of my bundled-up body exposed to the freezing air was my face. A cold shiver ran down my spine. For a moment, I wondered if I should back out, but I quickly forced myself to stay sharp. No, it's actually the exact opposite. If they had already conspired to get rid of me, there would already be another fresh grave mound here. Even if a 'Get Rid of the Young Master' project had been discussed, they were likely just testing the waters with one another. It's never easy for anyone to make the first move. For now, everyone is probably just observing. But if the atmosphere shifts even slightly, they will carry it out immediately.
Because of this delicate balance, I must tread even more carefully. I have to maintain an atmosphere where even if someone dares to whisper, "Hey... what if we...?", they will be instantly shut down and beaten to death by the others for suggesting such a heartless thing to a poor, grieving orphan.
"E-Everyone... thank you... so much for doing this..."
"Oh, please, young master! Don't say such heartbreaking things."
"We have received so much grace from your family. This is the least we can do."
"I-I will... definitely repay all of you..."
"..."
"..."
"..."
To pull this off, I must remain a pitiful, admirable, kind, and diligent child. I cannot afford a single flaw. I must be perceived as an absolutely pure and earnest boy. And above all, I must be diligent.
"I... I have just one last favor to ask."
"Name it, young master! We will do whatever it takes to help."
"If you wish, young master, we'll even go catch a tiger for you!"
"It's nothing like that... Could you... move the books in my father's study to the mourning hut?"
"...Pardon?"
"I want to study hard... to make my parents proud in heaven...!"
I had to do the most admirable thing a young noble child could possibly do. And then, I have to rise through the ranks. I need to prevent the Gyeyu Reconstruction, after all. I clenched my tiny fists and raised my head as I spoke.
For some reason, the servants' expressions went blank. It wasn't just blankness; there was a complex, subtle shift in their eyes. They looked at one another as if lost in deep thought. Looking toward the back, even that blue tiger of a man stood with his mouth agape. Just as I began to worry that I had overacted, someone finally spoke.
"I... I will build the mourning hut and carry the firewood."
"Y-Yes. Geobi, you are the youngest, so serve the young master well. But we should all build the hut together."
"Someone needs to cook for the young master, too. And make his clothes..."
"Jageun-i, you should handle that."
"Of course! I will do everything!"
"..."
"..."
"..."
Everyone wore expressions of grim determination. W-What is this? Why does everyone suddenly look like they've made some monumental 'decision'? They began assigning roles and coordinating schedules among themselves. They moved in perfect, disciplined unison, as if they had already planned this out. As if a final verdict had been reached.
I felt like I knew exactly what that decision was. Just as I was preparing to roll away at full speed to make my escape, someone grabbed me.
"Young master, we will make sure you never miss a single meal, even if it kills us!"
"Go back to the house for now. I will build your mourning hut so well that not a single draft of wind will get in...!"
The pair of slaves, Geobi and Jageun-i, had instantly latched onto my sides, staring at me with burning, passionate eyes.
...Ah, I'm doomed. They've already assigned my watchdogs. It's over. I briefly contemplated whether it would be less painful to die by Geobi's axe or Jageun-i's poison. In the movies, King Danjong possessed immense spirit, choosing to have his friend strangle him rather than drink the poison sent by the usurper, King Sejo. I, however, lacked such noble courage. Yeah, I'd rather just go with whichever way hurt less...
"G-Geobi? Jageun-i? Um..."
"Yes?"
"Would you like a bowl of gruel, young master?"
"...Never mind. G-Go on and talk."
The young master trailed off, stopping himself from calling them. His usual calm yet bright smile was nowhere to be found. Feeling their hearts ache for him, the two servants followed the beckoning gestures of the village elders. The whispering voices gradually grew louder, sounding almost like an impending brawl. The air froze cold. No, wait. Come to think of it, the air in this place was always frozen. At any rate, given the sensitivity of the topic, they couldn't let their words leak out. Glancing nervously at the young master, they quietly moved further away. Seeing this, the young master's eyes trembled with fear, which only made him look more pitiful and heart-wrenching to the onlookers.
But it was fine. Now, a warm dream of hope was blooming in all of their hearts. In their minds, they were already sketching the blueprint of a grand, red-painted Gate of Filial Piety. The King himself would write the plaque. And passing through that gate, an upstanding young man would return home in a grand palanquin. The eldest grandson of the Ahn family, of course. A brilliant prodigy who had been renowned nationwide for his filial piety since the age of five, who had passed the civil service exam as the valedictorian and secured a high-ranking government post. Overcome with emotion, they would bow before him, and the young master would embrace them, saying:
'You have all worked so hard. Now that our hardships are over, I will never forget the debt of gratitude I owe you...'
"Are you all out of your minds?"
Ah. Some clueless fool shattered their beautiful dream. Every slave and farmhand in the village glared at him as if they wanted to murder him on the spot.
"Are you trying to kill the kid? Observing a three-year mourning period in a place haunted by Jurchen ghosts, where frost falls in October? And you're just going to let him do it?"
Yet, the fool continued to squawk without a shred of remorse. His voice was so loud it might even carry over to the young master. The others quickly covered his mouth. Just then, the oldest farmhand in the village, his beard speckled with gray, stepped forward and smacked the back of the fool's head.
"Then let me ask you this instead. The child is weeping for his mother and father—are you telling us to stop him?"
"So we don't stop him? We just let him die?"
"That is why you will never amount to anything!" The old man's eyes blazed with fire. "To keep him from dying, we must do everything in our power to support him!"
"...Huh?"
"We will supply him with firewood every day, cook his meals, and if there is no food, we will boil gruel! If we run out of that, we'll cut off your flapping tongue and feed it to him!"
"Whoa, wait... that's..."
"And fine. Let's say we do as you suggest, stop the young master, and keep him safe at home. Let's see how that plays out."
"Then at least..."
"But at this rate, the young master will starve to death anyway." The dissenter fell silent. "And we will starve to death too."
"..."
"Well, you won't starve to death. Because before that happens, we'll beat you to death."
"..."
"So keep your mouth shut."
The man proved to be highly obedient. Having crushed the last voice of dissent, their passion and resolve burned even brighter.
"Indeed, perhaps it is because we are commoners, but the blood of the gentry is truly different."
"How could uneducated fools like us understand righteousness? I always knew the late master raised his child with strict discipline."
"Indeed. Our late master was no ordinary man, after all."
He certainly wasn't ordinary. To dump his entire family fortune into this Jurchen-infested wilderness, believing it would succeed—he was a special kind of madman. He hadn't even gone alone; he had dragged his father and wife to their graves, leaving his only child and lifelong servants to freeze to death in this desolate wasteland.
"Of course. A tiger's cub is bound to be a tiger, is it not?"
Yet, at this moment, their memories of the late master were beautifully sanitized. The late master was elevated to a saintly sage of gentle and solemn character, who had never once raised his voice at his servants. Come to think of it, even his reckless journey to the north, which had nearly wiped out his entire lineage, was now viewed as a noble act of patriotism far beyond the comprehension of common folk. Since his wisdom, appearance, character, and conduct were perfectly mirrored in his son, he was indeed a tiger father who had not sired a dog.
Who could dare look down on these people as uneducated commoners? Even the servants of the East were so skilled in the subtle art of historical spin that Confucius himself would have looked down from the heavens and gasped in admiration.
At any rate, they were filled with overwhelming respect and loyalty for the late master, his wife, and their only son. They would succeed. No matter what, they would ensure not a single hair on the young master's head was harmed—
"A-Achoo!"
Oh?
"Son of a bitch! The young master sneezed!"
"Who was it? Who took the young master's outer coat?"
"I-I did, because I was too hot..."
"Take him back to the house immediately!"
"Everyone, keep your eyes peeled! Don't let so much as a rat slip through!"
"Keep everything away from the young master!"
"..."
They escorted the young master inside with the utmost care and stoked the fire to its absolute limit. To ensure he wouldn't lose his strength while mourning and studying, they generously served him rabbit and venison as side dishes. That night, no fewer than five volunteers stepped forward to stand guard near his quarters. In the end, the five of them took turns patrolling all night to keep wild beasts away. For some reason, the young master seemed to want to leave his room, poked at the meat as if checking for poison, and shuddered whenever he saw the guards... but it was surely just their imagination.
Soon, the young master moved into the mourning hut near the graves. The servants, clutching axes and scythes, kept watch around the hut with burning, vigilant eyes.
"Comforting the people and punishing the guilty, Fa of Zhou and Tang of Yin... Argh, why am I reading the Thousand Character Classic at my age—whoa!"
"I brought this, wondering if you might be hungry..."
"I'm fine, so please, put down the scythe first!"
Throughout it all, the young master shivered. They assumed the wind was simply too cold, and his grief for his parents too profound. Truly, there was no greater exemplar of filial piety.
"Commander, have you heard? There are ridiculous rumors coming out of Gyeongwon again."
"Is there ever a shortage of ridiculous rumors in the northeast? I am in a hurry, so tell me later."
"Just listen to this one. They say some five-year-old child has begun studying on his own, and after losing his mother and father, has stepped forward to observe a three-year mourning period..."
"..."
"I-I apologize, Commander. I did not consider that your mother is currently ill..."
At his subordinate's thoughtless remark, Kim Jong-seo, the Regional Military Commander of Hamgil Province, closed his eyes, let out a heavy sigh, and suppressed his rising anger.
"Be careful next time."
"I am deeply sorry. I..."
"If there is other urgent news, send word to Hanyang."
Still unable to entirely shake his irritation, he added one last thing. What was that fool thinking? To bring up a story about an orphan to a man rushing back to Hanyang because his own mother was gravely ill?
"If that story about the five-year-old studying and observing a three-year mourning period is still circulating when I return... and if it actually turns out to be important..." He let out a dry laugh even as he spoke. For a government official to babble such nonsense as if it were a joke. "...report it to me properly then."
Kim Jong-seo, the Regional Military Commander of Hamgil Province, delivered his stern warning.