What Parents Bestow
“U-Um, Lord Commander, I, well...”
“You are a genius of the highest caliber.”
“T-Thank you... but, um... my shoulders...”
“As the light of civilization shines upon this land of Cheonggu, a child as extraordinary as you has been born.”
“Um, first of all, my shoulders hurt...”
He had definitely... seen him before. The father of this young child.
When An Yujik, a man of Gwangju in Gyeonggi Province, was appointed to a local togwan post and received the official robes and sword bestowed by the state, Kim Jong-seo had taken note of his impression. He was a man of little consequence, so Kim Jong-seo hadn't made much effort to study him closely. In truth, there had been no need to.
Though the man had done his utmost to dress respectably, he could not wash away the grime of a country bumpkin. He had tried to carry himself like a great man, but his petty, gambling-addicted nature bled through. His features were quite handsome, but that was all. His speech and behavior were frivolous, and Kim Jong-seo had rarely spared him a second glance afterward.
And now, his son.
...At a glance, the boy seemed to share absolutely nothing with his father, save for those handsome features. It was a classic case of a dog giving birth to a tiger.
But Kim Jong-seo was a man who knew how to repent for his mistakes. He silently offered a deep apology to the deceased scholar. Who could have known that the spirit of a true scholar resided within that man's breast? The same went for his wife. Though he had never met her, she must have been a virtuous and wise woman.
Petty men might argue: They are already dead, so how can you possibly know what kind of character they possessed?
Nonsense. How could one not know, simply by looking at their child?
A mere six-year-old child possessed such brilliant eyes, a handsome face, an effortless grasp of letters, and unwavering resolve in practicing the Way. If this was not the virtue of his parents, whose could it be?
After losing all the elders of his family in an untimely tragedy, the very first things the child thought of were the three-year mourning period and his studies. From whom else could he have observed and learned such things? Could he have a hidden tutor?
The wooden grave marker from earlier revealed the truth. The heartbreaking truth that during the funeral, the only literate soul in the entire village was a five-year-old toddler, forcing the child to write his own parents' names with his own tiny hands.
...This, too, was enough to bring tears to one's eyes. How tragic, yet how admirable!
Kim Jong-seo marveled for a long time, tossing various questions at the boy, An Heon. Though An Heon looked troubled by many of the inquiries, when it came to the classics, he hesitated briefly before pouring out everything he knew.
That he had completely mastered the Thousand Character Classic was already beyond doubt. And he had even memorized all fourteen volumes of the Geunsarok, the Reflections on Things at Hand.
Though some called the Reflections on Things at Hand an introductory text, its depth was by no means shallow, and it was certainly not an easy book to read. It was a compilation compiled by the great scholars Zhu Xi and Lu Zuqian, gathering the writings and sayings of Zhou Dunyi, Zhang Zai, Cheng Hao, and Cheng Yi to establish an introduction to Neo-Confucianism. In other words, it was the culmination of the theories of the great Song Dynasty scholars, yet the boy answered without a single stumble whenever questioned about it.
And once again, the realization struck him. This child was only six years old. A mere six years old!
“The saying that our current King is a sage, filling the land with talents and abundance, is indeed true...!”
While Kim Jong-seo was lost in an unspeakable sense of wonder... the child spoke.
“...I am terribly sorry, but it is time for me to perform the ritual wailing.”
“Ah.”
Kim Jong-seo hastily set the child down. An Heon bowed politely and waddled back out of the mourning hut. As Kim Jong-seo followed him outside, he saw the government officials and villagers who had been waiting all this time.
A sudden realization hit him. No matter how cool the northern autumn-like weather was, it was still summer, yet the boy was wrapped tightly in layers of clothing. Who had dressed him like that?
When the villagers asked if everything was alright, An Heon smiled and replied. Soon, the villagers' eyes turned toward Kim Jong-seo.
He recalled what he had been thinking just a few hours ago.
'Lowborn scoundrels trying to get rid of a noble young master to seize his family's wealth.'
'Beasts in human skin surrounding a pitiful six-year-old.'
'Sinners against the Three Bonds, deserving of death.'
...Kim Jong-seo awkwardly averted his gaze, finding himself at a loss for words.
“...”
For some reason, those "lowborn scoundrels" followed his gaze. He shifted his gaze again. They followed him in unison once more. He shifted it yet again. They followed him yet again.
...His guilt faded slightly, replaced by a mild annoyance at what on earth they wanted from him. As his head cooled, his assessment of the current situation fell into place.
Around last year, rumors had begun to circulate. A local official's son who had volunteered to observe the three-year mourning period at the age of five. A filial son who took it upon himself even without any family elders left. A prodigy who mastered the Thousand Character Classic by reading books even while in mourning.
One... that was true.
Another... that was also true.
And finally... ah, that part was wrong.
He hadn't 'merely' mastered the Thousand Character Classic.
He wasn't 'merely' a prodigy.
“...”
“Um, My Lord? The chief mourner is about to bow and begin the wailing. It seems you should join him.”
“Was it you who arranged for the relief supplies here?”
“I-I beg your forgiveness...!”
“You did well.”
“...Pardon?”
“I will make sure to look after you to the very end.”
The official still hadn't grasped the situation. He trembled blankly as Kim Jong-seo patted his shoulder. But that wasn't important right now. In any case, Kim Jong-seo was a mourner.
...Of course, he had arrived with dozens of military officers, fully prepared to wipe the entire village off the map, but he was still a mourner.
Kim Jong-seo and the others all bowed, wailed alongside the chief mourner, and exchanged mutual bows with him. Throughout the entire process, An Heon remained perfectly composed.
...Admittedly, due to his bulky attire, it was hard to tell whether he was bowing or rolling on the ground, but no one pointed it out. What choice did they have if they wanted to keep a five-year-old chief mourner alive in a village right next to the Tumen River?
Of course, some of the military officers thought, 'Wait, didn't the Lord Commander say we were going to crush some lowborn bastards who committed crimes against the Three Bonds?' But the rest of them had quick wits. And even those who lacked wits had enough sense to watch their mouths here.
Once the mourning ritual was finished and they stepped back, the boy—far too young to be called a chief mourner—bowed deeply to them and spoke.
“I-I never... never imagined that the Lord Commander and the government officials would come all this way... My grandfather and parents would never have dreamed of this...”
Overcome with emotion, the boy hung his head and trembled.
“We... our family is of humble standing, and we do not have much wealth... How could you do this for us...”
“But you possessed virtue.”
At Kim Jong-seo's words, the boy lifted his tear-stained face. Kim Jong-seo spoke.
“As the ancients said, 'Virtue is not lonely; it must have neighbors.'”
Kim Jong-seo nodded at the boy.
“Because your grandfather and parents possessed virtue, many people followed you. And their virtue has made you a virtuous person as well.”
“...”
“Therefore, you shall not be lonely. It is because you possess virtue, and because those who raised you possessed virtue, that I have come here.”
At those words, the boy, already covered in tears, burst into a loud sob. As the boy wept, the villagers could barely keep themselves upright, overcome with emotion. Even the hardened military officers serving on this northern frontier found their eyes growing red. It seemed there was not a single soul between heaven and earth left unmoved.
“T-Thank you... Please, go down to the village first. I... I will join you after I finish a few simple tasks...”
The boy barely managed to stop crying, bowed politely, and turned back. In silence.
As the villagers and officers began to disperse, the boy suddenly looked back at Kim Jong-seo. His eyes seemed to hold an infinite depth of sorrow, gratitude, and pain. Unable to look away, Kim Jong-seo grabbed one of the servants and asked.
“You there. What is your master doing, walking around the graves like that?”
“I-I do not know, My Lord. Whenever he does that, he forbids us from coming anywhere near him.”
“What?”
Turning his head, Kim Jong-seo saw the boy walking past the saseong mound surrounding the grave. Kim Jong-seo was about to leave as well, but...
“...”
“...”
...He felt the boy's gaze brush past him once more. It was a sudden sensation. Though it lasted only a fraction of a second, it felt as if that gaze had tied a silk cord around his waist and was pulling him.
Unconsciously, Kim Jong-seo followed the path the boy was walking. He passed a maidservant cooking rice for the boy and a male servant weeding the gravesite. And when he stepped over the fairly high saseong and looked at the boy...
“Heh?”
...There was something there. What it was, even Kim Jong-seo could not put into words. He wondered how he had failed to notice it until now. Perhaps because the northern frontier was so desolate, piles of withered grass were common, so he hadn't paid it any mind. Or perhaps he had been so captivated by the sight of a young boy guarding this place alone with just a couple of servants that he had missed it entirely.
What was certain was that, in that moment, Kim Jong-seo forgot all decorum. He rushed forward and grabbed the shoulders of the boy walking beyond the mound.
“Child. Child!”
“Lord Commander? Why... why have you not gone down to the village...”
“There is... one thing I must know.”
The year was the eighteenth of the reigning King's rule, the first year of the Zhengtong era of the Ming Dynasty, a year of Byeongjin. In the calendar of the far Western regions, of which Kim Jong-seo knew nothing, it was the year 1436. It was the sixth lunar month, during the solar term of Deseo—the hottest period of summer. Yet the weather in this region was so harsh that it felt like autumn in the south.
Even so, whether flora or fauna, anything meant to stretch and grow seized this very moment. It meant this was the season when all things under heaven grew most vigorously. And so, pointing at 'it'—which had grown so vigorously—Kim Jong-seo asked:
“What... is this?”
“Pardon?”
In truth, he knew what he was looking at. Or at least, he believed he did. The problem was that Kim Jong-seo could not believe his own eyes.
“This strange thing... has grown in abundance all around your parents' graves.”
“I-I beg your forgiveness! I was so busy tending to the inside of the mound...”
“No. I am not scolding you.”
Dazed, Kim Jong-seo spoke, trying his best not to frighten the child.
“Did you or your servants sow any seeds around here?”
“Pardon? No, none at all. Who would use the burial ground of their grandfather and parents as a field? There is land everywhere...”
“Is that truly so? Could there be something you are unaware of?”
“I have never left this place, so how could that be?”
At that answer, Kim Jong-seo's breath caught. Here was a person who looked over this place every single day. A person who must have watched 'it' daily. Therefore, Kim Jong-seo had to ask.
“Just when did this begin to grow?”
“Well... from what I recall, the sprouts began to emerge during this past winter. I remember seeing them then.”
“Since winter?”
“...Yes.”
Bowing deeply to Kim Jong-seo, the child turned to look at 'them' as if tracing back his memories.
“A-At first, I thought they were just weeds and tried to pull them out. But since they were outside the mound anyway, I did not want to waste my energy and make people worry.”
“...”
“Then spring came, and the sprouts grew taller, forming stalks that swayed in the wind... It might sound like an excuse, but I-I did not want to break them.”
As he recalled a certain moment in his memory, his gaze grew distant and tender.
“You did not want to break them?”
“Yes... Since they grew on my parents' gravesite, the servants did not dare touch them, so I should have done it myself. But I, too, simply...”
Tears welled up slightly once more.
“They... they happened to bloom so close to where this unworthy sinner resides, wrapping around my parents' burial mound. It felt strange in my heart, so I could not bring myself to...”
“...”
“But I must cut them down now. The grains have ripened so fully, and they have grown so tall, so I was planning to clear them...”
“Child.”
“...Yes?”
Kim Jong-seo had no choice but to interrupt the boy. Very slowly, he looked around.
This golden wave rippling far beyond the graves of the boy's grandfather and parents. Stalks that, though short, bore heads so heavy that they swayed and leaned with the wind, as if struggling to support their own weight.
“You... you did well.”
Though he tried his best to suppress it, Kim Jong-seo could not stop his trembling. He gripped the child's shoulders tightly once more.
“Your filial piety... and you... and these...”
“...”
The boy's tireless pacing around the gravesite, ensuring no one desecrated this sacred ground. And something that had drifted near such a gravesite. The boy's devotion, which had protected 'it' until it bore grain...
Kim Jong-seo blankly released the boy's arms.
“...First, I must see for myself. May I?”
“M-My Lord? What do you mean by that...”
“Just wait a moment.”
Kim Jong-seo stepped toward 'it'. He rubbed the densely packed grains between his fingers. Naturally, it possessed the exact shape and texture he knew so well.
A crop sown in winter to sprout, growing vigorously through spring and summer to bear grain. Wheat. No... was it truly wheat?
There was no way he could fail to recognize an ear of wheat. Yet right now, Kim Jong-seo could not trust his own judgment. For naturally, the wheat he knew did not look like this.
If a cat were as large as a house, and a tiger as small as a puppy, who wouldn't doubt their own eyes? ...Who would believe themselves to be sane?
Kim Jong-seo touched the ear of wheat. It possessed a weight and density unlike anything he had ever felt in his life. The mouth of the foolish, suspicious scholar opened of its own accord.
“Do not worry... I swear upon my honor that I will do nothing to desecrate the graves of your grandfather and parents.”
“L-Lord Commander?”
“I shall take nothing from you by force. I give you my solemn promise. I...”
Patting the boy's shoulder instead, Kim Jong-seo said:
“...I will not allow a single thing your parents have bestowed upon you to be stolen or ruined.”
He spoke in a trembling voice.
“First... let us summon all the villagers.”
When Wang Xiang of the Western Jin Dynasty melted the ice of a lake with his bare chest in the dead of winter to catch fish for his stepmother, two carp leaped out of the water. When Meng Zong of the Wu Kingdom wept because he could not find bamboo shoots for his ailing mother, bamboo shoots suddenly sprouted from the very spot where his tears fell.
And here, in this place...
“...Ah.”
Kim Jong-seo lamented, clutching the ear of wheat.
When filial piety and reverence reach their peak, they ultimately touch the heavens. How is it that the words of the ancients hold true in every corner of the world...!
Hot tears streamed from his eyes, impossible to hold back. If one could suppress their tears at such a sight, they were no true scholar of the Way.