A Heartwarming Tale

Even people of the twenty-first century would know this: books are precious in this era.

But there is one thing people tend to overlook. In this era, absolutely everything is precious unless it is a bare necessity.

For the record, "bare necessities" here refer to straw, dirt, various wild greens, and the like. This includes crude, handmade items fashioned from those very materials.

They aren't just lying around everywhere; you have to go out and gather them. They don't just make themselves; you need someone to craft them. That is what "precious" means.

Books, however, are far from common, and they require skilled artisans to produce. On top of that, they aren't even something you can use to feed yourself.

Even in modern times, the number one destination for college textbooks after graduation is underneath a hot pot of instant ramen. In this era, it goes without saying.

The real problem is that paper itself is scarce, yet it has countless practical uses. There are endless historical anecdotes of ancient texts being discovered repurposed as window paper or wallpaper.

This was true even in the modern era. The rumor that a furniture store was using scrap paper as toilet paper, only for it to be discovered as the original handwritten manuscript of The Wings by Yi Sang, has been a legendary tale in Korean literature departments for decades.

"Hmm..."

In any case, the books currently sitting before me hold that exact same value. Highly useful paper bound together in a completely useless state. The fact that these pages haven't been pasted onto a door frame or used as kindling yet is a miracle in itself.

That alone is proof of the villagers' deep consideration for me. They gathered these books—which could have been sold to buy actual food—just to educate a five-year-old who can't even help with the chores.

In other words, their very existence is a massive debt... and a burden. If I don't study properly, Geobi, who is currently carrying an axe outside to chop firewood, might turn into an axe-wielding berserker and charge at me.

These books absolutely, unconditionally have to be of use to me, but...

"...Whew."

"Young Master, why have you been sighing like that for the past half hour?"

"Ah, it is nothing, Geobi. I have simply hit a bit of a wall in my studies..."

"A wall, you say?!"

"No, that's not quite what I meant..."

"Then does that mean you are deeply troubled, Young Master?!"

"Not that either... It's just... Never mind."

There is a problem. As I said, books are precious. But it wasn't as if I had none. After all, my family was something resembling the yangban gentry... sort of.

To be honest, our status was rather ambiguous. If we had stayed in the south, we probably would have remained minor local functionaries. But since my father ultimately received a local military post, we technically qualify as yangban.

This is the sole benefit of my late father's bold decision. He was addressed as a respected elder back in our hometown, and he came here with ambitious plans to rebuild our family's fortune. Naturally, he brought along the bestsellers of the academic world of this era. He had to.

As a result, the books currently laid out before me are as follows:

The Thousand Character Classic. No explanation needed there.

The Collected Commentaries on the Four Books. This is the compilation of the Four Books of Confucianism—The Great Learning, The Doctrine of the Mean, The Analects, and Mencius—annotated by Zhu Xi.

Reflections on Things at Hand. This one requires a slightly more complex explanation, but it is essentially an introductory text to Neo-Confucianism co-authored by Zhu Xi and Lu Zuqian.

And... that was it.

Of course, just because I mentioned three titles doesn't mean there are literally only three physical books. The Collected Commentaries on the Four Books alone spans dozens of volumes. While the density of information per volume is lower compared to modern books, people of this era made up for it by memorizing every single word. One could argue this is more than enough.

But in my current situation, it is absolutely not.

The Thousand Character Classic. The Collected Commentaries on the Four Books. Reflections on Things at Hand. Even a modern person would spot the glaring issue with this lineup. There is no middle ground.

"You want me to read To Kill a Mockingbird in the original English right after finishing phonics?"

"Come again, Young Master?"

"I was... using words I learned only yesterday. It is natural that you cannot understand them, Geobi."

"..."

"Ahem. Why are you staring at me like that?"

"You truly are devoted to your studies. A mere servant like me can't make heads or tails of it."

"Indeed. That is correct."

I put on a good show of studying hard. It was just that there really was no middle ground.

...Common sense dictates that after The Thousand Character Classic, one should read The Elementary Learning and The Precious Mirror of the Clear Mind. Even I, who was dragged off to a traditional etiquette camp as a child, know that much.

I already know the contents of those advanced scriptures inside and out. I'm not a normal five-year-old; I have twenty-eight plus four years of life under my belt.

But... it would look incredibly bizarre to others, wouldn't it? If a kindergartener suddenly started solving calculus, everyone would lose their minds. Am I supposed to pretend to study The Thousand Character Classic—a text already engraved into my very spinal cord—for months on end? How could I possibly pull that off?

I would inevitably get distracted, fidgeting with my fingers and toes. And that behavior would be reported to the village in real-time by my self-appointed guardians. If a famine hits, they'll immediately conclude, 'This kid has no future, cut his rations!' My family's remaining assets are quite substantial. Selling just the books here could save several starving people.

...Sigh. It makes me want to sigh. This is all because my father brought books he didn't even understand himself. That was the root of the problem.

But still. Logically, a man determined to rebuild his clan wouldn't prepare only The Thousand Character Classic for his son's education. He must have planned to acquire more books as I progressed through it. Surely, that was his plan.

But now, there is nothing. No plan, and no father. Only a blue tiger cub tilting its head beside me.

Damn it. If only others could see this cub, rumors would spread that a divine beast is protecting me. Even if I can't be as famous as some legendary historical figure, I should at least have enough presence to warrant a page in the Annals of the Joseon Dynasty. That way, I can make an impression on people before I head to Hanyang to take the civil service exams.

"Books... I do not have enough books..."

"Huh? Is that so? Don't you have plenty, Young Master?"

"A scholar seeking knowledge must constantly seek new books."

"Ah..."

"Geobi, what are you doing over there? Get back to chopping ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠wood!"

"The Young Master says he needs more books."

"What? But we scraped together every single book from the master's study!"

"Of course they did. As far as I could remember, this was indeed everything. There were no hidden books. My father didn't have the money for that, and even if he did, he had to display every single volume he owned to show off, so he wouldn't have hidden any.

Anyway, that's not important. The real issue is how I'm supposed to pretend to study... Wait, hold on.

"G-Geobi? Jageun-i?"

"Yes, Young Master?"

"Why did you call us?"

"Do you... find anything strange about this?"

"About what?"

"I'm not sure what you mean, Young Master."

"..."

Ah. I was worrying over nothing.

"Jageun-i, I have finished The Thousand Character Classic. Has it even been a week yet?"

"It has just been a week, yes. Why do you ask?"

"..."

"..."

"It is nothing."

Come to think of it, everyone here except me is a commoner or a slave. This entire village is illiterate.

"Upon further reflection, even if I have already read these characters, the profound words of the sages yield much wisdom when pondered repeatedly. I do ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠not need more books for now, so you may leave."

"Yes, Young Master."

"Shall I bring you some porridge..."

"Jageun-i, you leave as well. This mourning hut is cramped."

"Yes. Call us if you need anything."

...Thank goodness! Thank goodness they don't even realize how absurd it is to master The Thousand Character Classic in a single week!

I quickly warmed my stomach with the meat soup Jageun-i had brought. Stepping outside the mourning hut to sit by the bonfire made me feel instantly warm. Come to think of it, my being five years old is another stroke of immense luck.

If I were awkwardly older, this period of mourning by the grave would have been brutally strict. I would have been forced to survive on thin gruel, shiver in a freezing hut, and wear hemp clothes that offer less insulation than a plastic bag. All because that is what proper etiquette demands.

As the son of the only sajok family in this area, that would have been the only way to maintain my authority. Of course, neither Geobi, who is gathering twigs over there, nor Jageun-i, who is boiling the meat soup, has ever read a single line of Zhu Xi's Family Rituals ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠or the Book of Rites. But even if they don't know the exact rules, they've seen how funerals are held in neighboring villages.

'And of all places, their hometown is Gyeonggi Province, so they've seen plenty of fancy noble funerals...'

In any case, because of my young age, I can get away with lighting a fire, wearing warm clothes, and eating meat like this. If anyone objects, I can just claim that at my age, I only need to wear the mourning clothes while a relative handles the actual duties of the chief mourner. That... is what's keeping me alive.

"Does it taste good, Young Master?"

"I-It's delicious! This rabbit is incredibly tasty!"

"I am glad, Young Master."

It truly is a relief. When I imagine having to eat nothing but thin gruel for months, I feel a deep sense of injustice that this rabbit porridge hasn't received a Michelin Bib Gourmand.

"J-Jageun-i! I want just one more bite!"

"Eat as much as you like. We can just eat less."

"...I-I think I'm done."

"Oh, why is that? You're making me feel bad!"

"N-No, it's not that. Now that I think about it, I'm actually really full. And neither of you has eaten yet..."

So, let's just keep a low profile. For now, I should enjoy this stroke of luck and keep my head firmly attached to my shoulders. Thank you, tiger cub. Once the winter wheat arrives, everything will be perfect... Wait. Is losing both parents and being exiled to Aoji actually considered "lucky"?

"Did you hear what Jageun-i said? The Young Master has already mastered all one thousand characters!"

"Oh... He must be a genius. The gentry truly are cut from a different cloth than us commoners."

"Stop gossiping and eat your food before the men get back."

The prediction of An Heon, the genius boy of Aoji whose intellect would have left Confucius himself utterly dumbfounded, was spot on. The villagers had no idea anything was amiss; they simply took his word for it when he said he had finished the book. The Young Master is studying hard. If he were to claim tomorrow that he had solved the general solution to the Navier-Stokes equations, their reaction would be exactly the same.

To them, the distance between the Four Books and Five Classics and the Navier-Stokes equations was roughly the same. This was proven by the fact that when a five-year-old declared he would perform the three-year mourning ritual, people only tried to stop him out of fear he might die, not because anyone thought, 'Isn't he too young for such rites?'

Yet, while the distance between them and academia was vast, their distance from a toddling child trying to study was incredibly close.

"Sigh... It breaks my heart to see a little child suffer like this. I feel so guilty."

"Why feel guilty? The Young Master is being incredibly brave."

"Exactly. And we are doing our best to fulfill our duty to our late master by helping him."

"Even so, my eyes well up with tears every time I see that little child blowing on his cold fingers."

"That is true."

"It really is..."

This was the kind of closeness they felt. The village women swallowed hard, a bitter taste in their mouths. Whether they were eating or gathering firewood, an uneasy feeling constantly gnawed at them. Are we letting a mere child ruin his health for nothing? Did he sense the greed of the adults and push himself to do this? Whenever these thoughts crossed their minds, their meals lost all flavor.

The food in the northeast was already dreadful, and adding a layer of bitter guilt made it completely unpalatable. Hadn't they all watched that little child take his very first steps? How could they let him suffer alone? Meanwhile, the adults lay comfortably in their drafty houses, wearing whatever clothes they had left after giving their best garments to the boy.

"We must do something as well. Once a sword is drawn, it cannot be sheathed without striking a blow."

"That is true. But what do you propose we do?"

"Excuse me, what are you women whispering about over there?"

"Come over here. We have something to discuss. It's about the Young Master. You see..."

"...Oh, my. That is absolutely correct."

"Indeed. But we don't know what to do about it."

"Hmm... Oh?"

"Did you think of something?"

An old man who had been carrying dry branches clapped his hands.

"We have seen how noble families hold funerals before. Back when we lived in Gwangju-mok, there was a massive funeral in the neighboring village, wasn't there?"

"There... was, yes."

"What did the chief mourner wear back then?"

In truth, the three-year mourning ritual was unfamiliar to them as well. After all, it had only been about forty years since Joseon was established as a Neo-Confucian state. During the Goryeo Dynasty, everyone simply held a forty-nine-day Buddhist memorial service and called it a day. Building a mourning hut and going through all this trouble was still a trendy new custom imported from China. This old man himself had been born during the reign of King U of Goryeo.

Yet, they had still seen and heard things. Just as An Heon had guessed, it was because they were from the Gyeonggi region. The area surrounding the capital where the King resided was naturally the first place where the laws and customs of the kingdom were propagated. And among the rare three-year mourning rituals they had witnessed, what the chief mourner wore was...

"...Hemp clothes!"

"Exactly! If the young master of a noble family is trying so hard to follow proper etiquette, we must do our part to help!"

"The old man speaks wisdom. Here, take a piece of rice cake."

"Ha, thank you kindly."

The old man, quickly swallowing the acorn-mixed rice cake, coughed a couple of times before speaking again.

"I shall gather the others."

Once the villagers were gathered, they brought up the topic of mourning clothes. Everyone agreed it was a wonderful idea and offered to bring whatever hemp fabric they had at home.

...But it was nowhere near enough.

The reason was simple. They had only migrated here a year or two ago. When they packed up their belongings in the south, they had thought, 'It's cold up north and hemp grows well there, so we don't need to pack much of it!' And indeed, that was the case. Of course, all their crops—including the hemp—had failed, leaving everyone barely scraping by. In any case, there was no hemp to be found immediately. They fell into deep thought once more.

"Should we... ask the local government office for help?"

"No. When I went there last time and brought up the Young Master, they just scoffed at me for some reason."

"I went with him, and it's true. Besides, the high official is busy preparing to go to Hanyang. If we go there, we'll probably just get beaten."

They grumbled, wondering why on earth the government office would laugh at the story of a five-year-old voluntarily performing a three-year mourning ritual while studying. After much deliberation, they reached the obvious conclusion.

"Sigh... We'll just have to go around the neighboring villages and beg for scraps."

"Just make sure none of you get eaten by tigers."

And so, the villagers combed through the other settlements around Aoji to gather hemp. Fortunately, they managed to collect more than enough to cover a small child's body. Given the circumstances, the garment ended up in a rather 'unusual shape,' but the crafting process went smoothly.

Combining bits of knowledge they had overheard here and there, they fashioned a garment that was as coarse, scratchy, and paper-thin as a cicada's wing—completely incapable of blocking even a gentle breeze. It was a sight that would have surely moved Confucius to tears of admiration. The ancient rites of the Zhou Dynasty were shining brightly here in the East. The villagers, who had never read a single word of Confucius, ran to the Young Master with their masterpiece in hand, their hearts filled with joy. Surely, the child would be delighted.

Well.

"How is it, Young Master? The entire village worked themselves to the bone to make this for you!"

Jageun-i's face beamed with pride, and behind her, the other servants and slaves wore expressions of immense accomplishment. Yes. I suppose they would.

...Thin hemp clothes in this freezing weather. An assassination of this caliber is so ingenious that even Sherlock Holmes wouldn't be able to crack it. And since I can't even refuse, it is the perfect crime. If I back out now, they'll have the perfect excuse to get rid of an unfilial brat.

I have only two choices here. Die while running away, or die with dignity. If you ask if they aren't ultimately the same, you are wrong. In the end, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠all lives lead to death. But the choices we make along the way change everything. It is the same now. Do I die a miserable dog's death, or a comfortable one? Faced with this monumental dilemma, I made my decision.

"T-Thank... you. I shall... wear it... well."

I choose to die comfortably. As tears stream down my face, the villagers begin to cry as well. You hypocrites. I suppose you feel a twinge of guilt sending an innocent child to his grave right in front of his parents' tomb. I will curse you all. I never imagined that watching a movie about Yi Hongwi would lead to me sharing his tragic fate, but I will curse you. If I ever star in a box-office hit, I'll drag some random person back to the past with me to get my revenge. Blegh.

A scroll containing completely useless information unfurls before my eyes and vanishes. It doesn't matter anymore. Jageun-i is approaching to personally dress me in this insane executioner's garb. In the dead of winter. Farewell, cruel world. I depart without even an Eom Heung-do to gather my remains.

I feel my body slip into the coarse hemp fabric. Slip. ...Wait, slip?

I close my tear-filled eyes, then open them again. I look down at the hemp clothes that have just slipped perfectly onto my body. It... fits. This makes no sense. I'm not wearing this on my bare skin; the villagers had bundled me up so tightly that I looked like a round little penguin. Unless they had meticulously crafted this garment stitch by stitch specifically to fit over all these layers, there is no way it would have slipped on so perfectly...

...Ah. I look at the villagers. Perhaps because I had been crying so sorrowfully a moment ago, the villagers are now a sea of tears themselves. Hmm... Hmmm...

"I-I'm sorry for misundersta—"

"Pardon?"

"What did you say, Young Master?"

"Ah, no... I was saying thank you. Ha, haha. I suppose I was just overwhelmed with emotion upon receiving these mourning clothes..."

At that, the villagers rush forward to embrace me, tossing me in the air, weeping as they offer blessings, and affectionately ruffling my hair. I wonder if this is appropriate treatment for the child of a yangban family, but honestly, our status was ambiguous to begin with. And besides, I'm the only one left in my family anyway.

"Thank you... everyone!"

"Stay strong, Young Master!"

"Study hard! We've been bragging to everyone about how you mastered The Thousand Character Classic all on your own!"

So, let's just say my family is this kind of family now. After all, no one here besides me even knows that "mastering The Thousand Character Classic on one's own" is practically impossible for a normal child. Laughing and smiling, I returned to my mourning hut. Whew. I slept soundly for the first time in a long while. After that, time seemed to fly by.

In fact, time really did pass quickly. This was largely because An Heon had completely relaxed the moment his trust with the villagers was restored. It went by so fast that winter had already come and gone. It was now the year 1436, the eighteenth year of King Sejong's reign, the Year of the Fire Dragon.

Indeed, An Heon had survived the winter. He had endured the brutal winter and spring of the northeastern frontier. This was thanks to the absolute support of the villagers and the minor relief supplies sent by local officials who thought, 'Ah, if we lose another village, we're done for...'

Seeing the relief supplies arrive, the villagers cheered and wept, crying, "Of course! This is all thanks to the Young Master! The Young Master is the treasure of our village!" And so, just as this small village near Aoji was brimming with life...

"..."

"..."

...The Hoeryeong Prefecture was enveloped in a heavy silence for that exact same reason.

It was now June. During this time, Kim Jong-seo, the Military Commander of Hamgil Province, had lived through an incredibly turbulent period.

In early September, he had traveled to Hanyang to visit his ailing mother and audience the King. In early October, his mother passed away. In November, the King commanded him to cut his three-year mourning period short and return to his post. In February, after a long struggle, he ultimately conceded and returned to Hamgil Province in tears.

No sooner had he managed to calm his mind and body than the ruthless officials of the Office of the Inspector General impeached him, accusing him of incompetence and deceiving the King. Finally, after cleaning up that entire mess, it was June. Having barely caught his breath, Kim Jong-seo was belatedly informed of a certain matter.

"So... you sent relief supplies to a village where a five-year-old boy voluntarily undertook a three-year mourning ritual while studying...?"

"H-He is six now, My Lord..."

"Explain why you did this."

Why else? Because if things went wrong, the blame would fall squarely on the person who refused to send aid. They knew this, so why ask? Of course, the subordinate couldn't say that out loud, so he simply replied, "I-I have committed a grave error, My Lord."

But hearing that answer did absolutely nothing to appease Kim Jong-seo's anger. Not in the slightest.

He reviewed the situation. A five-year-old child was performing the three-year mourning ritual—something even he, a grown man, had been unable to complete. Furthermore, the child had done so 'voluntarily' without a single adult guardian. And in the meantime, he had supposedly mastered The Thousand Character Classic 'all on his own.'

...It was the clumsiest, most transparent scheme to extract handouts he had ever heard of. At this thought, his fists clenched.

Moreover, a 'three-year mourning ritual' performed by a 'five-year-old' in a 'northeastern frontier village' with 'no adult to look after him.' Anyone could see the murderous intent behind it. He could clearly picture the servants plotting to get rid of the young noble heir to seize his family's assets. His fists clenched even tighter.

And thirdly...

"And so, you sent relief supplies there first...?"

"Y-Yes..."

"I was not asking."

"..."

...State funds had been funneled into such a place without his knowledge?

"I am going."

"W-Where to, My Lord...?"

"To that village."

He would go personally. Kim Jong-seo's face was as terrifying as a man-eating tiger that had already mauled half a dozen people. He had already made up his mind. I will go and put an end to this myself.