Return Home 1
“Father! Father!”
In the pale glow of the moon, So-yeon’s eyes shone as she lifted the frail old man into her arms as if he weighed no more than a bundle of kindling.
The place she had rushed to with a tide of worry was the stream nearby. She could hear the water murmuring as it slipped over smooth stones, and the wind carried the scent of some nameless tree—an aroma that seemed to settle the heart the moment it was breathed in.
If a painter had seen it, he would have spread out his paper on the spot and begun sketching without a second thought. It was the sort of scenic beauty that deserved a brush and ink.
Unfortunately, Sam-cheong had long since fallen into madness, and now he could only mutter to himself with unfocused eyes, spouting words no one could make sense of.
The fate of the Kunlun Sect depended on this. How could one turn one’s back on the righteous path?
Nothing but those vague, tortured half-sentences.
By the time So-yeon reached the water’s edge, she lowered him gently onto a broad rock.
“Hoo...”
Her lower eyelids trembled.
She knew better than anyone what she would have to endure from here on.
If she washed his dazed body slowly with cold water, it would take time, but eventually he would come to his senses.
Time. Endurance. Patience.
“Father, just bear with it for a little while. It’ll be over soon.”
So-yeon carefully slipped off Sam-cheong’s outer robe.
Then she dipped her hand into the stream and let the water soak her palm.
Starting at the old man’s toes, she moved slowly upward, working her way back toward his heart as she washed him clean.
“A, aagh, keuaaaagh—!!!”
And, as expected, the scream came.
It was that same damn howl, shrill enough to sound like he was being tortured, the kind of cry she had heard so often she was almost sick of it.
But this was only the beginning. She had to steel herself.
His voice, a shout that could have split her chest open, startled the lark resting in the trees into flight.
So-yeon did not stop. She held him in place with just enough force to keep him from thrashing, and went on washing him.
Was this the twenty-... what number was it again?
It had always been like this. The same tone, the same expression. She had heard it so many times she’d practically memorized it.
What on earth had he been through to end up like this?
—
Sam-cheong was not her real father.
So-yeon had no memory of her early childhood. Not of the parents who had given birth to her, not even of whether she had had brothers or sisters.
The only scraps of old memory she possessed were these:
Charred trees buried in the spread of a wildfire.
Collapsed houses and shards of roof tiles scattered in disarray.
Unknown bodies with blades and spears lodged in their backs.
That was all.
And yet she remembered her first day in Go-chon clearly.
She remembered being carried on his back as he ran beneath the sun, then washed just like this.
She remembered his bent shoulders from behind, stuffing torn bits of sujebi into her mouth when she said she was hungry without a hint of hesitation.
It had been sujebi made with plain water, barely cooked because there had been too little firewood.
Even so, the taste still lingered faintly on her tongue.
It had been the finest feast of her life, because she had eaten it with her father’s broad, beaming smile beside her.
And then...
She had lived without wanting anything.
So how had this happened?
What had gone so wrong that he had lost even himself?
Would he spend the rest of his life like this?
Would he forget, someday, the fool of a girl who had called herself his daughter?
Would he die as one already dead, forgetting even the small happiness of being someone’s gift, forgetting the kindness of the name So-yeon he had given her?
—
She lifted her water-wet palm and laid it over his hand.
It was the same as when they had first met, and yet it was different.
His hand was withered and shriveled with age, useless and ugly.
Pale and callused, hideous with hardened work-worn skin.
Sam-cheong, who had been quietly sensing So-yeon’s presence, was warning her even then.
“Ugh, ugh... keuaaaagh—!!”
His expression changed. The look in his eyes turned alien, as though he were staring at a sworn enemy.
Of course, even that was familiar.
Everything was familiar. No matter how hard she tried not to remember, it came flooding back all the same.
From here on, her father would say things like this:
“You demonic bitch... a monster would bow its head to you. Get away from me. Don’t touch my body!”
“You filthy street thug! You think you’re any different, do you?”
“It’ll all be exposed to the world soon enough, so hide it well.”
“Heavenly Lord knows, and the Wise Goddess is listening—!!”
—
“Huff, huff... So-yeon...?”
“Father, are you okay?”
“I... I’ve gone and talked nonsense again, haven’t I...”
“It’s okay. It wasn’t your fault, Father.”
Without a word, the old father and daughter clung to each other.
Through the heartbeat thudding against her chest, she could feel his shoulder trembling as he patted her back.
Warmth spread between them, a body heat so much like her own that for a moment it felt impossible for it to come from the stream.
“Girl.”
Sam-cheong’s voice was soaked in melancholy.
“...Yes?”
“I think I’m done. I can’t even be dead weight properly. I ought to just go and die for real.”
“Don’t say that! Who says you’re dead weight?”
“If I can’t even be dead weight, what good am I? At least dead weight stays still...”
Before long, So-yeon’s own voice had gone soft and loose.
Sam-cheong began patting her back gently, over and over again, in the same steady rhythm as always.
It looked as if he were stroking even his own wounded heart.
Only after some time did his hands finally still.
By then, the cry of the lesser cuckoo had filled the mournful sky.
“It’s Hwa-yeong.”
The rough voice broke the silence.
“She says she can’t do this anymore. It seems I must have, without thinking...”
So-yeon could guess how her father’s unfinished words would have ended.
Today, the woman who had met Hwa-yeong while she was cooking barley rice had been in tears.
And on that beautiful, flower-like face of hers had been ugly scratches from fingernails.
While So-yeon had been away at work today, the one left to watch over Sam-cheong had been...
Hwa-yeong.
So-yeon knew that better than anyone.
What had gone through her father’s heart as he sobbed that even being dead weight would be better than this?
What had it been like for the older sister, frightened she might never find a husband and pass the proper age for marriage?
No one had done anything wrong, and yet this was the ending.
Look at the world, and tell me this isn’t enough to make one stare in disbelief.
Those who fell into the ditch had to rot there for a lifetime.
There was no way out but to pray that the next life would be kinder.
The weather was fine, the work was fine, the people were fine. And yet...
If this was a world cursed with endless misfortune, then she would thrash against it with everything she had, even if it killed her.
“That’s enough. You don’t have to say it.”
So-yeon cut him off.
“Let’s go home. I’m off tomorrow.”
“Really? Well, what’s this about?”
At the news that his daughter was taking a day off for the first time in her life, Sam-cheong’s eyes went round as walnuts.
“Why else? I want to see you, Father. They said the Banghosa was coming, too.”
“Did the overseer tell you to?”
“Heh. I pestered him a little.”
For nearly fifteen long years, there had been almost no time when they had spent the whole day together.
When So-yeon wasn’t working, Sam-cheong was out at the worksite. They had been living together for years, but because they were assigned to different sections, there was usually no reason for them to meet.
“A Banghosa is coming, huh.”
“Mm. I just hope nobody dies. Like last time.”
“There shouldn’t be any trouble. Everyone’s used to it by now. At worst, he’ll stab a few people with a knife and move on.”
“This Banghosa is a new one, though.”
“One man’s as good as another. It’s not like they come to this backwater because they want to be here. He’ll probably do a half-hearted job and leave.”
“I guess so. Anyway, let’s hurry home. The night air’s still cold.”
Supported by So-yeon, Sam-cheong gave a little “oof” and pushed himself upright.
Toward the brilliantly lit night sky, where the moon was so bright the stars seemed to vanish, and yet it was beautiful all the same.
“Father.”
Her eyes curved in a smile that made anyone watching feel warm inside.
“Want me to carry you? Come on!”
The girl crouched and spread out her arms, and Sam-cheong climbed onto her back so lightly she hardly felt his weight.
He let out a dry laugh for no real reason. Tonight, of all nights, he didn’t want to refuse a bit of childish indulgence.
“Being carried by my little girl... if I topple backward right here, what then?”
“Ho ho. Then this old man could die with no regrets.”
“What do you mean, die? Stop talking about dying! You’re making me nervous.”
They left the valley behind and crossed the fields, walking toward home.
“Girl. May I ask you for one thing?”
“Yeah, what is it?”
“Do not ever step into the affairs of the martial world.”
“...Okay.”
“Still, if by some chance you do get mixed up with those men—”
Their steps were neither fast nor slow, just an even, unhurried pace.
Across the field, where even the cuckoos had already gone, only the faint chorus of insects remained.
—
The next day.
Around the hour of Si, just after a bright morning had passed into late morning,
So-yeon, who had been helping with the fields while chatting with her aunts, suddenly caught sight of a broad-shouldered man striding toward her with forceful urgency.
He wasn’t dressed like a villager. A hard-faced man with a whip hanging at his waist.
And yet he was someone she knew, someone who should not have been there.
Gong, the supervisor from the worksite, a man known for his kindness.
But there was blood on him. And his face was as white as if he’d seen a ghost.
The blood didn’t seem to be his.
“So-yeon! Where’s So-yeon!”
The stranger’s desperate shout rang out.
The aunts, who had been holding their breath, exchanged uneasy looks.
“Uncle Mu-ryang!”
“Huff, huff... So-yeon!”
“What happened? And why do you look like that? That’s blood!”
“We’ve got trouble. That damned Banghosa...”
“Him?”
“Damn it, he said to bring you here!”