Vol 1 Chapter 1 – Heukcheon Pt 4

The uneven pieces dug into his fingers, and splinters pricked his skin. The burn on his arm ached with every movement. Even with the medicine, the pain had not disappeared overnight.

Reaching across the fire had been foolish. He had not realized it at the time, but knowing that did nothing to ease the sting. As he hunched over the weaving, even his back began to ache. He reminded himself that at least he had applied the medicine. Then he remembered Kang Oh’s touch, and his ears turned red.

He had always been a kind boy. That part of him had never changed.

The finished sifter in Woo’s hands was crooked and uneven. He frowned, doubting whether it would even work. But he knew asking the Third Overseer for proper supplies would go unanswered.

He took the grain mixed with sand and poured it onto the sifter. As he shook it, some of the sand fell through. It was not perfect, but it helped. The rest, he would have to pick out as he ate.

He fetched water from the stream he had discovered the day before. Back in the hut, he added a bowlful to the sorted rice. He placed it over the pot, using a lid without a handle and sat in front of the fire to watch.

Cooking for himself would have been unthinkable in the past. At mealtime, a luxurious spread had always awaited him. He had been picky, often leaving food untouched. If the dishes displeased him, he would send the entire tray back to the kitchen.

Now, even sand-speckled rice was something to be grateful for.

He had lived with every luxury, thinking it was all rightfully his. Only later had he realized it had been stolen comfort, the life of a cuckoo chick fed in someone else’s nest. The despair, the anger, the betrayal he felt then had been beyond words.

The flames flickered with red tongues that seemed to mock him.

He covered his face with his hands and rubbed it dry, again and again. There was no good in thinking about the past. He had no intention of returning to it. That made it nothing more than lingering regret.

The rice, despite its humble preparation, turned out better than expected. When he went to serve it, he realized there was no spoon. The Third Overseer’s cruelty had been worse than he thought. He had assumed the broken lid was the end of it, but there was more.

Ignoring the rumble in his stomach, he scooped the rice directly into a chipped bowl. Then he carved a rough spoon from wood and took his first bite in the mountain.

There were no side dishes, only cold water. Sand crunched between his teeth. Still, Woo chewed and swallowed without complaint.

The meal was sparse to the point of pitiful. But he found it strangely satisfying.

He thought maybe, once he got used to chopping wood, he could forage for wild greens. That would help. Then he realized something else. He could recognize medicinal herbs and poisonous plants, but he had no idea which ones were actually edible.

He could eat herbs, he supposed, but even those could be dangerous in excess.

Woo let out a quiet laugh. After living for ten years as a servant, he had thought he was well adapted. But clearly, he still had a long way to go.

He had once believed himself competent, even admirable, apart from his status. Looking back now, that belief seemed foolish.

No matter how elegantly he could recite poetry, no matter how skillfully he had once played the zither and drawn the admiration of others, none of it was useful now.

Perhaps it had all been an illusion. Maybe their praise had been nothing more than applause for his status. Since falling to the bottom, he had begun to see it more clearly. People were skilled at becoming as soft and pliant as the tongue in their mouths when standing before those who held their fate. Woo had become fairly good at recognizing sycophants and schemers, but that had not helped. Everyone who had stood beside him had catered to his whims and watched his moods.

What a gentle world that had been.

He swallowed a sigh and looked down at what rice remained. It would be enough to boil later with water for supper.

With the old axe in hand, he returned to chopping wood. He moved carefully so the tree would not fall toward him, striking again and again, dozens of times. Even after only one tree, his palms throbbed, his neck ached, and his back was sore. His arm, inflamed from labor, reminded him with every pulse that the burn from yesterday was still there.

In the past, he might have swept away half the trees on this mountain in a single motion. He would not have needed to check the edge of an axe or count how many strikes it took. His bare hands would have been enough.

He had once trained in a technique called Golden Palm Method, powerful enough to carve through tendons, flesh, and bone. His true martial skill had been swordplay, and with his old sword in hand, he could have cleared the forest faster and more efficiently than with his hands alone. Not a drop of internal energy would have been wasted.

But that body was gone now. What remained was a thin frame with narrow limbs. Years of being bedridden had stripped it of its strength. The injuries had done their part, but two years lying down had erased nearly all of his muscle.

Thankfully, he had been born with a strong build. Over time, doing all the menial labor required of a servant, his body had begun to grow back some of its strength. It was not the physique of a martial artist, but he had started to rebuild the muscle needed for work.

While thinking these thoughts and brushing them away, he managed to fell four trees. By then, the sun had begun to set.

Woo went to the stream to prepare dinner. He felt grateful that there was water nearby. At times, he thought he could understand why Jinrang had placed him under the Third Overseer. The man had a way of tormenting someone to the point of death, without actually letting them die.

His arms, worn out from the day, trembled as he carried back the water. He wished for something like a ladle, but in a hut with no spoon, such a thing was too much to ask for.

He would have to start making things for himself, little by little.

Warming his hands by the fire, he nodded off. No matter how much he tried to stay awake, drowsiness pulled at him. After finally experiencing proper sleep, his body now craved more.

He pinched his thigh to stay alert as he watched the rice soften over the fire. Then, suddenly, he felt an emptiness.

It was not because the other servants were gone. That wasn’t it.

It was the absence of a certain face he had barely seen.

Kang Oh had not shown up today.

Good. That’s good.

He muttered the words against the inside of his lips. Then he buried his face between his knees.

He had been terrified to meet him again. Yet now, part of him hoped to see him once more.

He did not know what to do with that selfish feeling.

He could not understand it at all.

Cold sweat soaked his back, and his hands and feet felt icy.

As the night deepened, the sound of wolves howling echoed again, just like the night before. Clutching the blanket tightly to his chest, Woo stared into the dark, wide-eyed. He could not deny it. He was now someone who flinched at the cry of a wild animal.

The warmth Kang Oh had left behind was already gone. Scattered overnight like smoke.

He knew it was not something he could ever hold on to.

Nor should he try.

He lay awake long into the night. Even when he managed to fall asleep for a moment, pain would rouse him again.

With a groan, he curled up and clenched his teeth. This night was nothing like the calm one before. Forcing himself upright, he drank a little of the water he had scooped into a bowl during supper.

The water had gone cold, but his forehead burned.

It felt like a fever.

The fire from earlier had died down, leaving only a faint ember. The sky remained dark. Dawn was still far away. Woo turned back toward the hut, but his body gave out before he made it.

He collapsed beside the fire.

Not once in the past eight years had he felt this unwell.

Had he still been staying in the servants’ quarters, one of the overseers would have found him by morning. But here, that hope no longer existed. He might not wake for hours. Perhaps even days.

“Grab hold of yourself.”

Through his haze, someone gripped his shoulder.

He could not tell if it was a dream or real. He reached out toward the blurry figure, and his fingers touched a face. The warmth of another person at his fingertips made his hand tremble.

He did not want to let go.

“It hurts… it really hurts…”

His voice cracked with quiet sobs. The man did not pull away. Faced with such a frail, trembling touch, he remained frozen in place.

Suddenly, Woo’s resentment rose.

Why wouldn’t he hold him?

You always made me hold you. Always came into my arms…

He definitely had a fever. Nothing else could explain why his thoughts kept slipping in and out like this. Pain and reason took turns overtaking him.

As if making up his mind, the man lifted Woo and helped him sit up. Tilting a cup to his lips, he let the water trickle down.

Most of it spilled, sliding down his chin and soaking his chest. But the little that made it into his mouth, Woo swallowed greedily, as though it were spring water from heaven.

A small pill followed.

He coughed violently, unable to swallow. His body shook with dry, harsh spasms. He heard the man sighed in frustration.

Woo shrank back, still half-dreaming, and began to mutter his apologies.

“I… I’m sorry… I didn’t mean…”

Something warm pressed against his lips and cut him off.

The apology never left his mouth.

He felt another person’s tongue slip inside, not with desire, but to pushed the pill down past the back of his throat.

He could hardly breathe. He swallowed reflexively. His whole body trembled.

A moment later, the man patted his back in a stiff, awkward motion.

How dare you. Do you even know who I am?

That thought rose through the swirl of fever and confusion. Past and present twisted together.

The lips slowly drew away.

Whether it was heat or tears, his vision remained blurred. The gentle brute brought a hand beneath Woo’s nose, checking his breath, then let out a quiet sigh of relief.

Who are you, and why do you care whether I live or die?

Everything about him felt both familiar and foreign. The broad shoulders that wrapped around him, the strength that supported his body…

“Rest.”

A hand settled over his eyes.

Woo thought it was absurd to obey anyone’s command so blindly, but somehow, sleep claimed him again. This time, deeply and completely.

The chirping of mountain birds roused him.

He blinked awake and touched his forehead. It felt like he had dreamed something warm and comforting, but the memory slipped away the moment he opened his eyes.

It was like trying to recall a dream right after waking, only for it to vanish before it could be held.

Still groggy, he stepped outside the hut and paused.

Something looked different.

From the doorway to the remains of the campfire, the marks on the ground were strange. Someone had dragged themselves across the earth.

Now that he thought about it, he was sure he had gotten up during the night. It seemed like he had gone to get some water. But he couldn’t remember returning to the hut afterward.

Puzzled, he retraced the memories step by step.

He had collapsed right there, thinking he might die like that. There was no one to check on him. But someone had come. Someone had given him water. Someone had helped him take medicine.

As the memory of how the medicine had passed down his throat returned, Woo’s face grew hot.

There had been a kiss.

Even knowing it had only been to help him take the pill, he couldn’t help being flustered.

He had never allowed such closeness. Not in the past, not now.

Ever since childhood, he had rarely been touched by others. The man he had called father was strict and had never once stroked his hair. His noble-born mother had entrusted his care to a wet nurse and never soothed him herself. Even the nurse, a servant of his mother’s house, had been careful not to show him too much affection.

He had no idea who the midnight visitor had been. The thought left him uneasy.

But the person had not touched him with any impure intent. That much was clear.

It was only for the sake of treatment.

He would leave it at that.

Woo turned his head, trying to shake off the memory. But what he saw made he froze.

The axe embedded in the tree stump was not the same as yesterday.

“A new… axe?”

He immediately covered his mouth with his hand.

Only two people besides him had been here. Only two knew about the axe. One was the Third Overseer.

The other was Kang Oh.

Why would he…

He slowly approached the stump, as if drawn by a spell, and reached for the axe.

It was clearly crafted with care. The blade was sharp and polished, the handle solid and well-shaped. As he lifted it, he heard the soft, clean sound of it sliding free.

There was no doubt. Someone had seen the pathetic state of the old axe and brought this one in its place. And then, perhaps upon finding him collapsed, had chosen to help him instead.

Woo hesitated, then carefully set the axe back into the stump.

He had no reason to accept this.

Even if it meant chopping wood barehanded, he would not use this axe.

He could not afford to grow used to comfort.

Nor could he allow himself to accept a kindness he didn’t understand from Kang Oh.

After setting the axe down, Woo picked up the pot and made his way to the stream. His body still felt depleted from the night before, and he needed a proper meal.

Perhaps the lingering fever had taken a toll, because even his steps felt unsteady. He worried the pot might slip from his hands once filled. Moving cautiously, he fetched water and headed back toward the hut. Every step felt uncertain. But he couldn’t afford to collapse again.

When things were hard, stopping midway only made it harder to move forward. That was something he had learned the hard way.

Back at the hut, he rekindled the dying embers and warmed his hands. Then he scooped some of the grain he had sifted and poured it into the pot, waiting for it to boil.

His throat felt dry and rough. It didn’t seem like he would be able to swallow proper rice, so he decided to boil it long and slow into porridge.

As he waited for the porridge to finish, his eyes kept drifting toward the axe. It stood there, sharp and polished, clear proof that Kang Oh had come.

Why had he come?

That question twisted tighter and tighter in his chest.

Would he come again?

He didn’t want to know the answer. He didn’t want to hope.

The heavens had never been kind to him.

Having a harsh fate was one thing, but the heart that broke under it was far harder to mend. Perhaps it was because he was too weak. If he had a stronger will, he might have faced the truth with grace instead of running from it.

But the past could not be changed.

He ate the thin porridge, blowing on each spoonful before swallowing. It had barely thickened, but it was something.

Then he got moving again.

He refused to touch the axe, so he began snapping the smaller branches from the felled trees by hand. After that, he planned to search the nearby woods for dry branches he could gather. Last night had been brutal. He would also collect any herbs he spotted during the work.

Mentally reviewing his tasks, he moved quickly. Though his weak, recovering body did not follow his thoughts as swiftly as he liked, consistent effort would be enough to get things done.

He didn’t see any herbs that could reduce fever, but near the stream, he found a few wild plants known to repel animals. He pulled up the roots and shook the dirt from them. The ground was soft by the water, which made it easier.

That alone felt like a small blessing.

It was strange. By now, any wild animal should have caught his scent and come closer. But the wolves’ howls still echoed only in the distance.

Woo vaguely wondered if Kang Oh had been coming and going through the area, driving them off. Maybe that was why no predators dared approach the hut.

He washed his dirt-caked hands in the flowing stream, gathered the wild plants he had dug up, and returned to the hut. He planted them in a loose ring around the campfire. He wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand and caught sight of his fingertips. Once again they were stained with dirt.

He wiped them roughly on his clothes.

They would only get dirty again while he collected dry branches. He might as well wait and wash everything before dinner.

As he headed toward the forest, he passed by the axe embedded in the stump. His steps were so natural it was as if he had forgotten the axe was even there.

He bent, straightened his aching back again and again while picking up scattered branches. Sweat poured from his forehead.

His body, still worn down from the previous night, was clearly running low on energy.

A low voice murmured nearby.

“You really are the most stubborn man I’ve ever met.”

Woo turned his head toward the voice.

Kang Oh was sitting in the tree above. The branches were dense, and he hadn’t noticed him at all. Given that Kang Oh had trained under Jinrang, it made sense that he could completely hide his presence.

“Th-Third Disciple…”

Woo dropped the branches he had gathered and immediately lowered himself to the ground, bowing low.

“You didn’t like the new axe?”

Kang Oh stepped down lightly from the tree. His robes shifted slightly as he landed, but not a sound followed. Even the dust stayed still.

“It’s not that…”

“Let me see your arm.”

Kang Oh had no intention of listening to any excuses. He simply reached out his hand.

Woo bit his lip. He remember how dirty his hands were.

He knew what Kang Oh wanted, to see the arm that had been burned. But even if he had wiped them down, he could not bear the thought of letting Kang Oh touch something so filthy.

Kang Oh must have already figured him out, because he did not ask again.

He stepped forward and took Woo’s hand. The dirt did not seem to matter to him in the slightest.

Woo lowered his head further.

He should have taken the time to wash at the stream.

Still holding his hand, Kang Oh pulled back the sleeve. The wound had become inflamed again, a faint sheen of fluid rising to the surface.

“With an arm like this, and that broken axe, of course your body couldn’t hold up.”

Kang Oh’s tone made it sound as if he had expected this outcome. He reached into his robe and pulled out a different ointment. It was not the gold salve he had brought the last time, but one specifically meant for burns.

He dipped his fingers into the balm and applied it gently to Woo’s wound.

“Why… why…”

Woo spoke then stopped himself. There was no good in asking Kang Oh anything. He needed to avoid any more involvement with him.

“Why did you stop halfway through the question?”

“Because I am a servant.”

Kang Oh’s brow drew slightly together. He clearly did not like the answer.