Chương 107: The Road Back

On the road home, his thoughts were heavy. In the past, he would have crumbled under that kind of provocation. No matter how hard he tried, his achievements had seemed small. It had felt as though he had made no progress at all. The self within and the self that others saw had been the same. But now it was different. Assassins no longer shook him. He had stepped beyond provocations of brute force. He could see how to respond—and when he did, the situation resolved.

Yet it still weighed on him that he had not killed them. How could he so easily take a life? He knew they would return. They would take survival as proof of their own skill and plot again. He moved along the dark road toward home. As a child, the journey had taken more than half a day on foot. Now, on horseback, it passed quickly. Beyond the bend of the hill lay the village, crouched low against the land. The signs of a fallen household were stark. Yet the grounds still spread wide upon the old foundation.

It was not a small estate. A light burned at the entrance. Someone was waiting at this late hour.

"Who's there?" The aged voice startled him. It was his uncle— younger than his father, yet worn, his body no longer whole. A long sorrow lingered in his breath.

"It's me. Yeong-u." A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

"What? Yeong-u?" The voice rose too loud. Yeong-u looked into the dark. His uncle hurried forward, dragging an unsteady leg.

"Yeong-u?"

"Yes."

"You're alive."

"Yes."

"Then why didn't you come even once?"

"The family opposed my entering the army."

"Because of that, we live like this—but it is not how a man should live."

"And Mother—" The torch flared brighter. His uncle had raised it.

"You fool." Yeong-u dismounted slowly.

"You thought you could just leave like that?"

"I'm sorry."

"Then why do what calls for apology?"

"There was no other way." Though the estate was large, the space they lived in had shrunk. The household had dwindled, and so had the people.

"You should have rebuilt this house. How could you leave like that?"

"I saw no other path."

"How many years?"

"Seven." At the noise, his mother came running. She clutched her clothes together in haste, weeping. She collapsed onto the cold ground, sobbing. Yeong-u stepped forward and lifted her up.

"Mother, I'm here."

"For years, not a word… and now—now you come… Do you know how much we needed you…" When a household collapses, everything collapses with it. Things once taken for granted simply cease to function. There must have been so much hardship.

"Have you eaten?"

"I ate in Jeojeon after finishing my report." The few remaining servants glanced at him. One holding a torch bowed deeply.

"You've finally returned." It was Seungdo. His head was large, but his wit did not match it. He had managed the household affairs, but in the end, things had fallen apart under his watch. A land deal had gone wrong. They had lost valuable land without proper payment. The details were unclear. Servants were dismissed, possessions sold—barely enough to settle matters. That was when the decline began. The house itself still stood, but its substance had drained away. It felt as though its very spirit had vanished.

After that, misfortune followed one after another. The Yeonju Yi family had once been known— now, no one came or went. They had even reached the point of struggling to eat. Tears flowed without end.

"You should have come at least once."

"What would I have done if I came?"

"Still…" His mother led him to his room. The room he had used since childhood remained intact. It had been cleaned daily. As Yeong-u set down his weapons and gear, the household came to help. When he leaned the long banner-staff against the wall, it rose higher than the roof. Had the roof always been so low? His mother sat on the wooden porch and would not leave. She watched him unpack, sighing. His uncle had someone lead her inside.

"How long will you stay?"

"I don't know. I thought about fifteen days, but there is much to do."

"I see. Stay comfortably."

"Yes."

"You must be tired. Go rest."

"Yes." The servants watched him. Their eyes seemed to hold expectations.

"Go back. I want to be alone."

"Yes." Leaning against the porch, exhaustion washed over him all at once. He wondered if the grain tax from his rank had arrived, but there was no one to ask. It must have—he had been told it would. As he leaned against the doorway, sleep overtook him. He crawled into the room. The floor felt cold. He had thought his home would feel warm. He fell into a sleep deeper than death. —* The next day, he half-listened to what had happened while he was gone and rose. He put on his armor again and set out.

His mother followed him a long way.

"You'll come again, won't you?"

"Yes. I have matters to report in Kaegyeong."

"I know that, but…" Tears streamed down her face again. He knew he had done wrong. No matter how difficult things had been, leaving might not have been the answer. Perhaps he should have stayed and faced the family's collapse together. He had believed that by maintaining his father's military post, the grain tax would continue—and that alone could keep the household alive.