The Seed That Was Cast Away Now Stands Alone
"Has something happened to Hwarin?"
The Clan Head had to go, of all places. Had something happened to Hwarin?
The Chief Steward caught my alarmed expression and seemed to realize his mistake at once. He smoothed the urgency from his face and spoke to me in a measured tone.
"Ah... I must confirm the Young Miss Hwarin's condition, and then we are to proceed immediately with the Young Clan Leader's treatment. There is no cause for grave concern, Young Master Yunho."
So it wasn't Hwarin's problem—it was the Young Clan Leader's. That made sense, but I couldn't help noticing how the Steward had flinched the moment he saw my face.
"Must you go at once?" the Clan Head asked the Steward.
"The Young Clan Leader's treatment is a matter of the utmost urgency. They say that if Young Miss Tang Hwarin is stable, the treatment will proceed immediately. It can begin right away, so we ask that you hurry to observe, Clan Head."
So it was needless worry after all. It sounded like they were summoning a guardian for a child's major surgery. I suppose I'll have to get the go-ahead for Dangga Pungun some other time.
Even as I was quietly lamenting this, the Clan Head did not follow the Steward out. He simply stood there, looking at me in silence.
"There is still something you have not said to me."
The Young Clan Leader is your son too. Aren't you going?
Perhaps he'd realized the situation wasn't so desperate after all. It seemed the Clan Head wanted an answer to his words—that he wished to formally accept me as his son.
My answer was already decided. There was no reason to hesitate.
"My father raised me with love and discipline. Not once, not a single time, until the day he died, did I ever think of myself as an adopted son. I have only one father in this world, and he is the man I am proud of."
Because I actually wasn't adopted, after all.
I rejected the Clan Head's proposal with firm finality.
"But..."
This man—even after I refused him outright, he showed no sign of backing down. Fine. Then there was another way.
"If you wish to atone, then do it not for me, but for my mother. If possible, I would have you build a small shrine in her name and honor her there."
I understood why the Clan Head carried guilt. I understood his desire to make amends. But the one receiving that atonement could not be me.
The one he owed it to was Hyang-ah—not the black-haired barbarian.
"...Would that truly be acceptable?" The Clan Head stared at me with widened eyes, as if startled by my counterproposal.
Of course he was startled.
The ancestral rites belong to me, the son of Hyang-ah—both my duty and my right. It is not something a man who abandoned the woman he loved may demand simply because he wishes it.
The son he cast away was granting him permission to hold rites for the mother. That permission itself was an enormous concession—an act of forgiveness.
"It's just one more offering table. What problem could that possibly be? My mother would be pleased, too."
"Then every year, I shall honor her."
The Clan Head nodded slowly, as if hardening his resolve.
Good timing.
The Clan Head would perform the rites for Hyang-ah on her memorial day each year, and in doing so, he would begin to set down the weight on his heart.
As the abandoned son, I had yielded to the Clan Head on the matter of Hyang-ah's rites. And a concession, in the end, creates a negotiation.
I had stepped back this far to give him what he wanted—so now he had to give me what I wanted.
There was only one thing Kang Yunho the author, Hopil, desired.
"I too wish to honor my mother's will through my novels. I want to keep writing the tales of chivalrous heroes she used to tell me."
Dangga Pungun is a work of fiction. But it holds the hero Hyang-ah had longed for. I had drilled this into him countless times, so the Clan Head would surely understand what I meant.
Now I would add another layer of meaning to it. Kang Yunho writes Dangga Pungun as an act of devotion to his mother. It is a rite of remembrance—different from yours, but a rite all the same.
The Clan Head stared at me in silence for a long while, then pretended to deliberate at great length before finally speaking.
"If that is your will, then so be it. But know that the story may reach those who already believe it to be the Tang Clan's hidden history."
"Just make Saekma someone from outside the Tang Clan. Better yet, tie him to the Demonic Cult and be done with it. With a word from you about Dangga Pungun, who would dare add a footnote to it?"
All I need to do is convince you, and it's finished. Once the Great Sichuan Tang Clan's Baekho himself declares it, everyone will grovel flat on the ground. What was there to worry about?
The Clan Head nodded in understanding—then asked a question I did not expect.
"...So the ending is Hyang-ah, then?"
Aaargh! You're asking a harem novelist if he's writing a pure-love ending?! I raged inwardly, then opened my mouth as if nothing had happened.
"Did I not tell you? Du Eung-hyang is Du Eung-hyang, and she is absolutely not my mother. Besides, is there any reason he must choose only one?"
"What do you mean by that?"
I smiled at the Clan Head, who was watching me with a face that said surely not.
Twenty years ago, Tang Baekho made a single choice—and lost the woman he loved most, and forever lost all knowledge of where his own child was. The wound never healed; it stayed with him for life.
I am Kang Yunho, the illegitimate son of Tang Baekho of the Sichuan Tang Clan.
But Dang Jeong of Dangga Pungun is not Tang Baekho. And Hopil, the author Kang Yunho, will never allow Dang Jeong to walk down the wrong path.
What choice would the illegitimate son tell the Clan Head his hero would make?
"I want an ending where everyone is happy. The protagonist, his betrothed, the courtesan, every woman he shared his love with. If Dang Jeong is not the Young Clan Leader but a chivalrous hero, who is there to point fingers at him for having several wives?"
Dang Jeong would make a different choice than Tang Baekho—and he would make everyone smile.
That is why Dangga Pungun is fiction, distinct from the truth. And it is the finest decision an illegitimate son could ever deliver.
"...I see. Dang Jeong is not me, but a better man than I. Do as you wish."
The Clan Head said it with a clear, unburdened smile, as if admitting defeat.
"Good. Hwarin has awakened, and the Young Clan Leader will wake soon enough. So let our meeting end today. I shall be leaving as well, before long."
Excellent. I got everything I wanted.
Now it was time for everyone to part ways. Let's not meet again. Time to stride out shouting it was filthy knowing you, and may we never cross paths again.
"You cut out the Tang Clan's rotting flesh, forged a complete Poison Human, and earned the greatest credit for curing the Young Clan Leader—where exactly do you think you're going? Don't say such things."
The Clan Head rebuked me, apparently startled by my declaration.
I knew he'd tell me to stay. But listen here—I'd already planned my countermeasure.
"There can be no place for a man like me in the Tang Clan. Your resolve wavered from just a brief conversation with me—how could I possibly remain here? If I stay, the Young Clan Leader's heart will forever tremble with unease."
"I will make certain it does not waver."
Uncle Clan Head. Do you really think you can keep me from leaving just by declaring it?
Let me shake you up all at once, then.
"And what if I told you I do want the position of Young Clan Leader?"
"You... want it...?"
The Clan Head faltered, his words trailing off. Beside him, the Chief Steward, who had been listening, turned to me with startled eyes as well.
"You see? I have no need for any such thing, and yet look how quickly you waver."
I chuckled to make it clear I was joking.
"If it is not the heir's seat, I can give you anything you desire."
"That's quite all right. It's precisely that kind of attention of yours that could put us both in an impossible position."
Nothing unsettles a legitimate successor like a parent openly favoring a child from the other side—it's a truth that spans East and West alike.
Once in a lifetime is quite enough to have my neck on the line over a succession dispute. Like selling at the absolute peak with Mureem's finest kiss, now was the moment to take my profits and exit.
"You make me feel infinitely small..." the Clan Head murmured in anguish.
There's no need to suffer too much—I'm just cashing out. And since selling feels this good, allow me to offer you an encouraging word.
"It's only natural. When a son grows up, his father grows small. That is simply how it goes."
"What did you just say?"
The moment I casually dropped the word father, color bloomed across the Clan Head's face.
I ignored his expression entirely and walked toward the door, speaking as I went.
"Hwarin has awakened. The Tang Clan's festering wound has been cut away. The Young Clan Leader will reclaim his health. None of it is entirely my doing, but I feel good—as if I've become the chivalrous hero my mother spoke of, the one I dreamed of becoming. So now is the time for me to go."
"You played a truly great part in all of this."
Perhaps he'd realized he could not stop me from leaving. The Clan Head gave me one final word of praise for the road of our parting.
"That will do. A true hero often vanishes without a word—leaving after actually saying goodbye is practically a luxury."
I broke into a bright smile, thoroughly satisfied.
"...So this is farewell, then."
Unlike me, the Clan Head asked with a voice dripping with reluctance.
A midlife crisis, is it? Why is our Clan Head being so sentimental? Being too resolute wouldn't be good either, so in moments like this, a man deserves words that indulge his feelings.
I gazed out the window at the sky and recited, just loudly enough for the Clan Head to hear:
"The seed that was cast away has grown, and now it can stand on its own. And yet... on those days when I feel as though I've been left utterly alone in this world—I will look to the west, from Yichang in Hubei Province. For the two of us, that is more than enough."
It was the finest words an illegitimate son not yet ready to accept a father could offer.
"Then I, too, will sometimes look to the east."
Tang Baekho's chin drew back slightly in surprise at my words—then he broke into a smile of quiet satisfaction.
"Thank you, Young Master Yunho."
The Chief Steward had come out to see me off, offering his gratitude with a deep bow.
"Young Master Kang will do just fine."
I have no intention of becoming the Tang Clan's young master, I tell you.
At my answer, the Steward smiled faintly, then glanced back toward where the Clan Head stood before continuing.
"The Clan Head is, by nature, an immensely strong man. Before you, he was so convinced of his own guilt that he could barely bring himself to speak—that is why you saw him weak. In truth, on the day you two first met, had the question of succession not been entangled in it, he would have resolved the entire incident in a single stroke."
"I heard that story as well."
Even Yi Seong-gye, the greatest of them all, was hailed as the mightiest general in the peninsula's history and its founding king—yet before the matter of succession, he was a weak, wavering father.
In the end, Tang Baekho showed weakness only where he and the matter of love were concerned.
I heard that when the Clan Head returned, every last piece of the Tang Clan's rot had been swept away. Even the Council of Elders, they say, trembled like leaves, too terrified to cross his state of mind.
"The Clan Head has suffered his whole life from the wound of a young man's love. The forgiveness you granted him today will be a great pillar supporting him as he leads the Tang Clan from here on."
The elderly Steward bent at the waist a full ninety degrees in thanks. There was really no need for all that.
"My mother has passed, and I have grown into a man. It is no good thing for even one of us to remain behind in the past."
Fumbling over an old man's obeisance didn't suit the persona of the Clan Head's illegitimate son, so I tossed out the remark with studied indifference.
"Thank you. The Sichuan Tang Clan will never forget Young Master Kang."
No, seriously—please forget me.
"What do you mean, I can't see Hwarin?"
Three days had passed without my being allowed to see her, so I cornered the warrior stationed outside her quarters and pressed him for answers.
"Sh-she still needs more time to stabilize."
"Then at least let me have a visit. If Hwarin needs to calm down, what she needs is the sight of my face."
"She expended far too much mental energy forming her poison core. She requires further rest."
No matter what I said, the warrior repeated himself like the impenetrable girl who answers every text with a single thumbs-up.
"Eui-gak-ju?"
Just as I was winding up to say more, the Medical Pavilion Head came bursting out of the building. He took one look at me and jumped—and then tried to slip right past me.
"Eui-gak-juuuuuu! Why are you trying to run away!"
Hey, hold it right there. If you treated someone, you should face them proudly. Why run? You're not some knight of darkness.
"There is nothing to tell you! Nothing to say!"
Dr. D! If you won't tell me, who am I supposed to ask? If the heir to the will of D won't speak, I have no choice but to improvise.
"You don't have to say anything. Just let me see Hwarin's face, once. Please."
I blocked the Eui-gak-ju's path and begged him with the most earnest face I could muster.
He stared at me for a long moment—then gave me that same look of pity I'd seen from him once before, and finally nodded.
"Wait just a little longer. I'll work something out for you."
This is why you never trust a verbal contract.
Days passed, and still no word. Next time the Eui-gak-ju makes me a promise, I'm demanding a stamped seal upfront.
And I couldn't for the life of me figure out why. Why this nagging unease?
The Eui-gak-ju's pitying face kept surfacing in my mind. His attitude had been off ever since before Hwarin swallowed the Human-Faced Spider's poison core.
What was going on? Was there some reason he was deliberately keeping me away?
In the end, I found neither my answer nor any news of Hwarin, and I collapsed into bed, my body wrung out from martial arts training.
"Wake up. It's morning."
Shhk. The sound of blackout curtains sliding open, and a voice.
"Ugh."
Sunlight stabs into my eyes. Who is it? Who dares wake the child of darkness?
"Yunho. It's morning."
"Five more minutes."
Just five more. The subway schedule changed with the season, you know. If I squeeze hard enough, I can bank another five minutes of sleep.
"Yun. Ho. Our dear author."
Who is this? Why so sweet? This is exactly like the doting little sister from volume one of a rom-com speaking in her gentlest voice. A rom-com, in my life? Am I still dreaming?
My mind is foggy. Hold the line anyway. Whatever this is—sleep is a fortress that must not fall.
"Hey! Yunho! It's the middle of the day already! Get up!"
And then the voice ripped the covers clean off the bed.
"Wh-what the—?"
"Honestly! It's the only way to get you up!"
"...Hwarin?"
The voice belonged to Hwarin—the very person whose news I'd been dying to hear.
"No time. Get up, quick."
"Is it really you, Hwarin?"
What is this? A dream? But she was far too vivid for a dream. A cold draft poured in through the window Hwarin had thrown open, snapping my mind awake.
"Yunho. Let's go out and have some fun today. Just the two of us."
Reality and dream. The border between first light and morning.
Like dawn dew that would vanish the moment the sun grew strong, Hwarin smiled at me with a smile that somehow trembled on the edge of uncertainty.