I Will Deal With Them Myself
In principle, the three-year mourning period was a duty that any child must naturally fulfill. Even in the Analects, when Zai Wo asked his master, Confucius, whether one must absolutely observe such a harsh three-year mourning period, Confucius rebuked him. Confucius said, "A child cannot leave their parents' arms until three years after birth."
In other words, because parents must cradle their child for three years for the child to survive, the three-year mourning period is a debt of gratitude that the child must naturally repay. Since the ancients spoke thus, how could anyone dare violate it?
...Or so they say. But to put it another way, even one of Confucius's ten elite disciples questioned whether the three-year mourning was truly necessary. For over a thousand years, people had been whispering, wondering if this was truly the right way.
Even Yuan Shao, who stood against Cao Cao, gained fame across the realm simply because he observed the three-year mourning twice in a row when his parents died one after the other. That was not a hundred, but over a thousand years ago. Even back then, completing consecutive three-year mourning periods was considered an extraordinary feat worthy of renown across the land.
One did not even need to dig through ancient history to realize this.
"Those disloyal, wicked scoundrels must be sliced to ribbons as punishment...!"
"..."
"..."
"..."
Take Kim Jong-seo himself. In the end, he had been unable to complete his own three-year mourning. He had begged to do so, but His Majesty had forbidden it, forcibly sending him back to the frontier.
In a nation founded on Neo-Confucianism, the mourning rites were so grueling that even a king revered as a sage had to order his subject to abandon them. That harsh reality had forced Kim Jong-seo to return to this freezing, frozen land, feeling like an unfilial wretch. That was the true nature of the three-year mourning.
And yet, a mere five-year-old child had "voluntarily" stepped up to perform those very rites, and was even commendably studying his letters while doing so?
"...How much further to Aoji?"
"J-Just over that single ridge ahead, and we are there, My Lord."
"..."
Inhaling the biting, icy air of the northern frontier, Kim Jong-seo made a silent vow. I will kill those bastards. I will purge every single subhuman beast surrounding that poor six-year-old child.
The future of that village played out vividly in his mind. The young "filial son" would likely meet a "tragic" end during his graveside vigil. Of course he would; sending a mere child out into the dead of winter made such an outcome inevitable. In fact, the boy might already be dead.
Once the boy was gone, the servants would "have no choice" but to take custody of the noble family's estate. Since there would be no heirs left, it would be framed as an unavoidable necessity. How could the state even intervene?
And if one visited a short while later, the village that had produced the "filial son" would have vanished without a trace. The house would be reduced to ruins, leaving only foundation stones, while every valuable item would have slipped away, tucked securely into the robes of fleeing slaves and servants.
It was a predictable sequence of events. It was also a distressingly common one.
...But he had rarely seen a scheme this malicious. To kill a child, the offspring of a Sadaebu—even if only a low-ranking local official—and their own master at that? Considering that final point, the slaves there deserved to be executed for high treason against the moral order.
Indeed, Kim Jong-seo had ridden out today with his sword strapped to his waist. Perhaps today, this blade would taste the blood of Joseon subjects rather than rebellious Jurchens. He did not care. Why hesitate to cut down those who deserved to die?
In Hamgil Province, especially as the Provincial Commander, there was never any shortage of blood to be spilled. He felt no hesitation.
With eyes burning with boiling fury, he crested the ridge, and that disgusting village finally came into view...
Aigoo.
"...What was that sound just now?"
"I am not certain, My Lord. Perhaps a high, warbling cry of a bird or some other small beast..."
Aigoo.
Hearing it repeat a second time, the possibilities narrowed drastically. There was no need to think. They urgently wheeled their horses toward the source of the sound and galloped forward. Surely... a young voice was weeping...!
Aigoo.
"..."
"..."
By the third time, they corrected their assessment. It was neither a scream nor a mere sob; it was the genuine, ritualistic wailing of a mourner.
Having rushed over in a hurry, they found themselves not at the entrance of the village, but somewhere else entirely. Two burial mounds protruded from the earth. Anyone could see they were graves. The source of the wailing seemed to have moved in the meantime.
Kim Jong-seo scanned the area with wide, searching eyes to locate the "target of rescue"... and spotted something.
"Tell me... is it the custom in Hamgil Province to build a mourning hut so sturdily?"
"Normally, they do not build mourning huts at all, My Lord. How could the Jurchens ever observe a three-year mourning period?"
Looking at that "something," his eyes wavered slightly. The mourning hut was remarkably neat.
To be perfectly honest, in this northern region, human dwellings were barely distinguishable from the burrows of wild beasts. In fact, calling them barely distinguishable was a generous understatement. Many people literally lived in dirt tunnels fit for animals, and it was not uncommon for them to be dragged away by bears.
A structure barely worthy of being called a "house" rather than a "nest" was a simple mud hut; one that required actual effort was a log cabin. As for tiled-roof houses, those were luxury items that could only be considered once proper roof-tile artisans migrated up north.
Thus, judging by the standards of Kim Jong-seo, who had become somewhat "localized" to Hamgil Province...
"...It is quite decent."
At the very least, it was far superior to a mere nest. That realization alone made Kim Jong-seo's brow twitch.
The officers accompanying him quickly read the Provincial Commander's mood and stepped back. Kim Jong-seo also quietly withdrew from the gravesite. He did not know when the chief mourner might emerge, and barging into a sacred burial ground during a period of mourning was a breach of etiquette. For now, he suspended judgment.
They turned their horses back toward the village. Gradually, the local inhabitants came into view. Upon seeing him, they gasped in shock, throwing themselves to the ground or scrambling away in a panic. It was only natural, given that this visit was essentially a surprise raid. What hunter warns his prey beforehand?
The villagers slowly gathered around the horses of Kim Jong-seo and his officers. As Kim Jong-seo maintained a majestic posture, he expected to see terror in their eyes...
...But instead, he saw anticipation?
What is this? Kim Jong-seo narrowed his eyes, projecting an intimidating aura.
"..."
"..."
"..."
That's more like it. Blessed with naturally fierce, piercing features, his glare caused the villagers—who had been looking on with sparkling eyes—to quickly avert their gazes and tremble. Maintaining his stern demeanor, Kim Jong-seo dismounted and spoke.
"I have heard that Ahn Yu-jik, a local official of this district, has passed away. Having belatedly learned that the state has lost a scholar, I have come to pay my respects."
He lifted his chin, looking down at the commoners.
"Though I know it breaches etiquette, I intend to visit his residence first. Let someone step forward to guide me."
According to his theory, the villagers must have coveted the estate of the local official's family after successive deaths left only a young heir. That would explain why they had driven an ignorant five-year-old boy into a mourning hut. If so, building a sturdy hut made sense—it was a guilt-driven attempt to keep the boy alive while they plundered his home.
With the house losing its master, there was no way the official's family fortune remained intact. It was as clear as day. Surely, the walls would be riddled with holes, the guest quarters reduced to ruins, and the hearth choked with cobwebs...
"We are here, My Lord."
"..."
...Or so he had thought.
The fences were perfectly maintained. The courtyard looked as though it had been swept just yesterday. Every single door was securely hung, without a scratch.
As if possessed, Kim Jong-seo slid open a room door. He knew it was rude, but he could not stop himself. Inside, there was not a single trace of disarray. He quietly closed the door.
Only then did he take a proper look at the slaves and servants gathered around. Even by generous standards, they did not look well-fed or prosperous. No matter how he looked at it, the narrative of "wicked servants abusing a noble orphan and embezzling his family fortune" simply did not fit.
"And the master of the house...?"
"Since he is in mourning, he resides in the straw hut over yonder, My Lord."
"..."
Of course he did. Kim Jong-seo wondered why he had even asked such a foolish question. Clearing his throat awkwardly, he stepped out of the official's residence.
"Now, I must go pay my respects."
"The burial site of the masters is this way, My Lord."
He knew. He had just been there. Regardless, Kim Jong-seo quickened his pace. His mind was in utter disarray.
A dilapidated straw hut where a child had been abandoned. (False.)
A noble estate completely plundered. (False.)
Greedy servants growing fat on embezzled wealth. (False.)
...He was losing his mind. Not a single one of his expectations had held true.
Yet, he had to keep his wits about him. He knew all too well how cunning and deceitful commoners could be when they set their minds to it. Even if he was a high-ranking official addressed as "My Lord," he was merely a passing visitor. If they had conspired to deceive him, they could easily pull the wool over his eyes.
Therefore, he had to see it for himself. He had to lay his own eyes on that five-year-old—no, six-year-old child. Otherwise, in his current state of mind, he would not be able to sleep a wink tonight.
Kim Jong-seo dismounted and strode forward. Unlike before, he was now accompanied by the villagers as he stood once again before the burial ground. Two humble mounds. A crudely erected wooden grave marker. A low crescent-shaped earthen ridge built behind them.
"Is the chief mourner here?"
Beside the graves stood... the mourning hut. It was the same one he had seen earlier. A shallow pit dug into the earth, with straw woven tightly over it.
Seeing it again, the anger that had temporarily subsided flared back up, refined and burning hot. Kim Jong-seo whipped his head around, glaring at the villagers who had followed him. They all looked utterly bewildered, shuffling their feet in confusion.
These two-faced hypocrites. There was no way they were truly clueless. How dare they put on such innocent faces after forcing a young child to abandon a perfectly fine house to shiver in a wretched—well, not entirely wretched, but still—straw hut?
They might have managed to deceive Kim Jong-seo for a moment, but they could never deceive the heavens. Soon, their crimes would be laid bare for all to see.
"Y-Yes, yes...!"
Right now. At the very moment the chief mourner emerged.
"I am here. My name is An Heon!"
...Roll?
"Those resting over there are my grandfather, and my parents... I-I am deeply grateful to you for coming all the way to such a humble place..."
...Roll, roll?
"B-But might I ask... who you are?"
A tiny child, bundled up so tightly in layers of clothing that he looked like a round ball, was "draped" in hemp mourning garments that fit him like wrapping paper on a gift. It was impossible to tell if he was walking, rolling, or bouncing forward like a skipping stone. Regardless, he made his way forward.
The boy bowed politely—which looked more like him rolling forward—and stood up to speak. His eyes were slightly hollow, and his small frame trembled a bit. But none of this was unusual. If one could remain perfectly healthy and energetic while performing a three-year mourning, everyone would do it; why would anyone avoid it?
"I am... Kim Jong-seo, the Provincial Commander of Hamgil Province. I have come to pay my respects to your grandfather and parents."
"...Pardon?"
"One moment."
Naturally, the child was startled to hear Kim Jong-seo's name, but Kim Jong-seo himself was far more bewildered. As he turned his head in a daze, the slaves and servants, who had been cowering in silence until now, began to chime in.
"T-That is our young master, My Lord! He is the greatest filial son in all of history!"
"Even when we wept and begged him not to do this, he stood firm, saying this was the duty of a Sadaebu!"
"We barely managed to force him to eat meat when he refused, bundle him up in warm clothes when he complained of the stuffiness, and light a fire for him in there!"
"Indeed, indeed! We even offered to wail in his stead, but he flatly refused..."
"Silence."
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"..."
"..."
Ah. Hearing their clamor, his mind cooled down. Right. It seems these scoundrels did play a part in this. There was no way a child had done all this purely of his own free will. Someone among them who knew a bit of etiquette must have coaxed the boy and pretended to assist him.
"Is there anyone here who knows the proper rites? It seems someone assisted the chief mourner, which is highly commendable. I wish to reward them. Who among you is it?"
But petty tricks would not work on him. If he cast a lure like this, wouldn't the culprit bite immediately like a hungry minnow?
"..."
"..."
"..."
"...Is there no one?"
"O-Our young master did everything himself, My Lord. Aside from cooking meals and chopping firewood, what could we possibly have done to help?"
...Or were they even more cunning than he thought? Wondering who this formidable adversary could be, Kim Jong-seo turned his gaze back to the graves. Once again, the wooden grave marker caught his eye...
"..."
Reading the inscription on the marker, he saw that one mound belonged to the child's grandfather, and the other to his parents. His grandmother's grave was likely further south. But that was not what caught his attention.
...The characters carved into the wood were incredibly crude and crooked. Was it because the carpenter was unskilled? No. Even if a carpenter was clumsy, if they carved along lines drawn by a proper hand, the shape of the characters would remain intact. This meant... the original writing itself had been crude and crooked from the start. Like the handwriting of a young child weeping as they wrote.
When he scanned the villagers once more, something else finally registered in his mind. Their faces practically screamed that they were completely illiterate. It was no exaggeration; some of them looked as though they did not even know the character for "one." His mind went slightly blank.
With a wave of his hand, Kim Jong-seo signaled his officers to dismiss the villagers. He took a deep breath, composed himself, and called the child, An Heon, closer.
"It is a g-great honor to meet the Provincial Commander, My Lord. However, I do not even have a bowl of porridge to offer you..."
"Do not concern yourself with such things. If anything, I worry that I have intruded upon your mourning and disturbed your peace."
"D-Disturbed my peace? How could you say such a thing? I am merely a virtueless, unfilial son whose sins are so deep that I have lost both my late grandfather and my parents. How could I possibly take offense...?"
With those words, An Heon bowed his head once more.
"On the contrary, having a pillar of the state like the Provincial Commander visit during our mourning will surely bring joy to my late grandfather and parents in the heavens."
"..."
"F-First, the wind is cold, so please step inside."
...His words and actions were in perfect harmony. Despite suffering consecutive losses, the chief mourner remained composed and exceptionally polite. Under normal circumstances, anyone would have praised him. But the person in question was a six-year-old child. Kim Jong-seo's cognitive faculties had completely ground to a halt.
Stepping inside the mourning hut, he found it meticulously constructed, sealed tight against even the slightest draft. Once he entered, the space was completely packed. But since it was originally built for a single child and he was a man of large build, that was only natural. Everything else, however, was utterly bizarre.
As soon as they both sat down, Kim Jong-seo spoke. He felt that if an awkward silence stretched between them in this situation, he might actually lose his mind.
"...Indeed. For a child as young as you to devise such a plan on your own is truly commendable and exceptionally clever."
"O-Oh, not at all! This is merely the basic duty one owes to their parents, so I must do it."
"But are you not a mere six years of age?"
"A-As I understand it, Confucius also told Zai Wo that a child cannot leave their parents' arms until three years after birth, which is why the three-year mourning is a universal rite observed throughout the realm."
The Yang Huo chapter of the Analects. It was the exact passage Kim Jong-seo had recalled on his way here.
"W-When the mourning began, I was five years old... which means I have already received more than enough of my parents' grace..."
The child looked up at him with clear, bright eyes. Eyes filled with righteous resolve.
"How could a child not seek to repay that debt?"
Uh... uh...?
Kim Jong-seo narrowly swallowed the urge to blurt out, My child, even I could not repay that debt. For a split second, he wondered if he was losing his sanity to even think of such a response.
"...Then how have you been spending your days here?"
"Though I am lacking... I am s-striving with all my might to fulfill the proper rites. In hopes of making up for my shortcomings, I am also studying my letters."
Ah. Right. Studying. Now that he remembered, he looked around and noticed piles of books that he had somehow missed until now. The Thousand Character Classic, the Reflections on Things at Hand, the Collected Commentaries on the Four Books... It seemed the boy had gathered whatever he could lay his hands on, even texts far beyond a child's comprehension. Upon closer inspection, the Thousand Character Classic was so worn it looked like a tattered rag, while the Reflections on Things at Hand was relatively intact.
It seemed Kim Jong-seo's suspicions were correct. Even though the Reflections on Things at Hand was technically an introductory text, it was actually a profound compilation of various philosophical theories and exhortations by Zhu Xi. It was not a book a child of this age could possibly comprehend.
"I see. How far have you progressed in the Thousand Character Classic?"
Without a teacher, the boy had likely done little more than flip through the pages, but Kim Jong-seo asked anyway, assuming the child's late father must have taught him some basics before passing.
The child replied.
"I have completed the Thousand Character Classic."
"..."
Impossible. He had finished the entire Thousand Character Classic? Unable to resist testing him, Kim Jong-seo blurted out:
"The states of Jin and Chu alternated in holding hegemony. Do you know what follows next?"
"The states of Zhao and Wei were troubled by the Horizontal Alliance."
"..."
"..."
At that moment, Kim Jong-seo's estimation of the late local official, Ahn Yu-jik, skyrocketed. The child was only six, had lost his parents at five, yet carried himself with the dignity of a true gentleman and was already literate. He was flawlessly performing the three-year mourning for his grandfather and parents. He had already mastered the Thousand Character Classic. He could even recite anecdotes from the Analects. Just what kind of education could produce such a six-year-old child?
Even putting that aside, a child could not learn to read entirely on their own, which meant he must have mastered the Thousand Character Classic while his father was still alive. That implied he was already reading fluently by the age of five...
Was it even permissible for such a prodigy to exist in this remote northern frontier?
He wanted to immediately... No, no. He was getting ahead of himself. Calling him a prodigy based on a single exchange from the Thousand Character Classic was a bit of a stretch. Kim Jong-seo tried to calm his racing heart—and failed—as he pondered what to ask next.
The rumors that a five-year-old had voluntarily undertaken the three-year mourning—which even Kim Jong-seo had failed to complete—and had mastered the Thousand Character Classic were all true, but that was no longer what mattered. Or rather, questioning the truth of those rumors had become entirely meaningless. Now was not the time for skepticism.
"I see. Then you must have been reading the Thousand Character Classic over and over again. Was it not terribly tedious?"
Right now, this brilliant talent was stuck in this remote corner, unable to receive a proper education. Just look at the state of this mourning hut. How could anyone study properly in a place like this? He had nothing but a single copy of the Thousand Character Classic. He lacked the Elementary Learning, the Precious Mirror for Enlightening the Mind, or any other basic texts. All he had were the Reflections on Things at Hand and the Collected Commentaries on the Four Books, which a child could not possibly read.
Still, seeing how he had recited the anecdote of Confucius and Zai Wo earlier, he must have picked up various teachings from his late father. Kim Jong-seo wondered how a mere local official in this region could possess such profound scholarship, but that, too, was of little importance now.
"Indeed. How could it not be tedious to cling to a book you have already finished until it falls to pieces? I must provide you with some assistance."
This child, this heaven-sent genius, possessed a genuine passion for learning. As Kim Jong-seo pondered what books he should bestow upon this extraordinary talent, An Heon spoke.
"O-Oh, no. It was not... tedious at all."
"There is no need to be polite. While fine writing is like fine meat, yielding new flavors each time it is savored, you are still young—"
"That is not what I meant. I d-did not read only the Thousand Character Classic."
"..."
"..."
Kim Jong-seo briefly glanced back at the worn copy of the Reflections on Things at Hand. Then, he looked back at the six-year-old boy. Ha, haha... The child plays too much. Even if he is talented, he is growing far too arrogant...
"Master Yichuan also... did not say that investigating the principle of a single thing would allow one to penetrate all things."
"..."
"He said that by investigating one thing today and another t-tomorrow, and continuously accumulating knowledge, one will naturally come to a state of complete and thorough understanding."
Master Yichuan. The honorific title of Cheng Yi, the Song Dynasty sage. And that passage was...
"Following the teachings of the ancients, I also alternated between studying various books and passages... and s-so, learning came naturally to me..."
Volume 3 of the Reflections on Things at Hand: The Acquisition of Knowledge.
Before he knew it, Kim Jong-seo grabbed the child's shoulders. His hands trembled so violently and his jaw shook so hard that he accidentally bit his own tongue. Yet, he kept his eyes wide, staring intently at the child before him. His name was... ah, yes. An Heon.
A future pillar of great sages had been born in the East.