People on the Cliff
The village's food situation had improved somewhat, yet in essence, people's lives had not changed at all.
Instead of lying about in a daze, they moved around a little—but none moved with a clear purpose.
When their turn came, they pulled the cart; when it wasn't their turn, they simply wandered in search of something to eat. They looked like people living only to keep themselves alive.
Tang Mujin did not like the sight.
The heart of a physician is peculiar: it is not satisfied merely by curing an illness.
A physician wants to see people rise from their sickness and live far better lives than before. Tang Mujin was no exception; he wished these people could live with more fulfillment.
Yet at the same time, it wasn't something he could force upon them.
Not everyone lives by setting goals. With time, perhaps things will change.
Tang Mujin thought back on why he had come to Nogunsan in the first place.
It was only because of Ha Ryeong's request—to treat the villagers' illness. He had no reason, nor obligation, to concern himself with how they lived beyond that.
In fact, he had already gone beyond his duty. He had treated their sickness and even helped with other matters. That much would surely satisfy Ha Ryeong.
For some time now, Tang Mujin had been thinking it was about time he left Nogunsan.
But because of a single patient, he could not bring himself to leave. An old woman with snow-white hair—Old Madam Ju.
***
"Giiiive it to meee!"
"Elder, please calm down!"
Whenever noise broke out in the village, it was always for one of two reasons: either children were fighting in play, or Old Madam Ju was causing a ruckus.
Tang Mujin glanced out the hut window. As expected, the scene was the same—Old Madam Ju was shrieking and struggling to grab more food.
She was a troublesome person in many ways. Unlike others, who though starving and infirm still had their minds intact, Old Madam Ju was senile, her reason clouded.
And as senile folk often do, she was obsessively fixated on food—only far worse than most. At times, she seemed less a person than a beast.
Even now, though people told her she'd be given more, she ignored them and began screeching first.
"Hand it oooover!"
Living alone in a small hut, she was always desperate to snatch food enough for two or three.
If the people of Nogun Village were not so kindhearted as to share despite their hardships, real trouble would have broken out long ago.
Only after receiving meat enough for three did she finally return to her hut, satisfied. Tang Mujin watched her and clicked his tongue inwardly.
A short while later, she emerged again and set off somewhere—wandering the mountains in search of edible fruits.
So relentless and greedy was the sight that Tang Mujin sometimes thought it fortunate she was senile.
For if she had truly understood how to mix fruits to suppress the toxins, she would have hoarded every fruit that grew nearby.
And like many senile folk, she sometimes regained her wits.
But unlike others, who when lucid would regret their actions, Old Madam Ju only grew fiercer.
Her eyes clear, her face twisted with resentment, she would press her lips tight and scour the outskirts of the village.
Yet what troubled Tang Mujin most was not her senility. Such madness could not be cured by any physician in the world.
The problem was that even though she hoarded so much food, she was still emaciated.
Her frame showed she had once been sturdier, but now her wrists and limbs were thin as sticks, her eye sockets sunken until her face looked like a skull.
It was too strange to call it a mere issue of poor appetite. Other villagers had nearly recovered from their blood deficiency, but Old Madam Ju showed no sign of improvement.
"Elder, are you sure you're eating your meals properly?"
"What, are you trying to steal my food too?"
"…No, not at all."
Sometimes, as he passed her hut, Tang Mujin peered inside just to be sure no one else was eating her share. Always, she was alone.
He wanted to leave Nogunsan, but with this last unresolved case, he could not take the final step.
***
One day, as he fretted over whether to stay or go, the weather turned grim from the morning. The insects fell silent, and dark clouds rolled in from the south.
"Rain's coming!"
People hurriedly snatched their belongings inside. Tang Mujin too returned to his hut.
Inside lay Namgung Myeong, sprawled fast asleep.
Lately, Namgung Myeong had vanished each night, returning with a sack of rice of mysterious origin. Since he never asked for Tang Mujin's money, it was clear he was stealing them from Nakseong Village. That village was so prosperous, a few sacks lost would mean little.
With no one to speak to and only the sound of rain, Tang Mujin sat by the half-open door, gazing at the falling drops. Memories of Chungkyung surfaced, faces like Hong Geolgae's drifted into mind—his head grew full of scattered thoughts.
He thought the rain would soon pass, but instead the drops grew heavier.
Good thing the village is on high ground.
By the time "pouring" felt more apt than "falling," Tang Mujin noticed someone moving outside.
His eyesight, sharpened since he began training martial arts, pierced through the rain. A small frame, hair streaked white—it was surely Old Madam Ju. She clutched a rather large jar to her chest.
Out looking for food even in this weather? Truly consistent.
With a sigh, Tang Mujin stepped out. Annoying though she was, letting her wander alone in such a storm could be dangerous.
"Elder! It's too risky to be outside in the rain!"
But his voice was swallowed by the downpour.
He drew closer. Despite holding a heavy jar, Old Madam Ju walked more firmly than usual.
Doesn't look like she'll stumble.
Yet her behavior was odd. Even when edible fruits hung nearby, she paid them no attention. Instead, she moved straight toward a clear destination—away from the main peak where villagers dwelled, toward a neighboring one.
Where is she going?
Had she hidden something valuable there?
Curiosity won out over concern, and Tang Mujin followed.
At last, she stopped.
It was a precarious spot, the middle of a narrow cliffside path.
There, she opened the jar—and dumped its contents over the edge.
Tang Mujin squinted to see.
Inside had been food: salted, dried meat; some grain and roasted cakes; several fresh-looking fruits.
Nogun Village's food supply had improved, but they were still far from wealthy enough to throw food away.
Just as he was about to stop her, a hand suddenly gripped his arm from behind.
Turning, Tang Mujin saw the face of Pyo Chung.
"Good heavens—you startled me. When did you arrive?"
"I've been following from the beginning. You must not have noticed because of the rain."
"What brings you here?"
"I was worried something might happen to Old Madam Ju."
Clutching her jar again, Old Madam Ju resumed walking.
Tang Mujin did not know why she acted this way, but since Pyo Chung did not stop her, it seemed there must be a reason.
He cast a sidelong glance at Pyo Chung, then followed the old woman once more. Pyo Chung walked beside him in silence.
She climbed yet another peak and scattered the rest of the food.
Twice on the cliff paths, and finally near the precipice where Tang Mujin and Namgung Myeong had once been stranded.
When the jar was emptied, she slumped down on the spot, staring blankly as the rain drenched her. Her mind seemed both clouded and clear.
The day was not cold, but lingering too long in rain could still harm the body.
Just as Tang Mujin was about to step forward, Pyo Chung approached and gently took her hand.
"Mother, what are you doing out here?"
His voice was far brighter than the situation suited, yet his face was unbearably heavy.
Old Madam Ju looked at him with clouded eyes.
"Mm?"
"You didn't come home, so Seok and Hwan are waiting without touching their food."
"Who are you? Are you Deok?"
"Of course I'm Deok. Who else would I be?"
"Yes, yes… my boy. Nothing bad happened, did it?"
"What could have happened? You must have had another strange dream. Come on, climb on my back."
Pyo Chung crouched and offered his back. The old woman hesitated for a moment, then clambered onto him.
Her face brightened with a serene, grandmotherly kindness, her expression so transformed she seemed a different person entirely.
On his back, she rambled about this and that. Pyo Chung answered patiently, humoring her every word. Tang Mujin followed in silence, watching the strange pair.
At last, Pyo Chung carried her home. As he set her down, she looked around in confusion.
"Deok, where did Seok and Hwan go?"
"They must have stepped out to play. They'll be back soon."
He wiped the rain from her clothes, laid her down on a mat in the corner, and covered her with a soft fur blanket.
Though she looked about uneasily, soon she began to nod off, and before long she was fast asleep. Walking the mountains in the rain was no easy feat for anyone.
When Pyo Chung stepped outside, his face shadowed, Tang Mujin asked quietly:
"Old Madam Ju… was she your mother?"
"No. All of her children are dead. Those places where she cast the food—those are where her three sons died."
"On the cliff path?"
"To be precise, they died below the path. They fell while carving out the ledge. The food she scattered was an offering for them."
Only then did Tang Mujin truly realize: the cliffside paths laced across Nogunsan were not formed by nature.
Some were carved straight from the rock, others made by driving beams into sheer walls to support planks. Each path was forged by someone who had staked their life against the cliff face.
He had simply never imagined it was the people of Nogun Village who had done so.
But thinking on it, who else would have carved paths in such a desolate place?
Another thought struck him.
"Just now… didn't she also scatter offerings at the precipice?"
"Yes. Her eldest died there."
"But there was no path there. How could he have died—?"
"That…"
Pyo Chung hesitated, then said quietly:
"Come with me. There is something I must show you before I speak further."
He led Tang Mujin behind the village, to a jagged peak. There, hidden from view, was a small cave.
Lighting a damp torch, the air filled with acrid smoke, and the darkness gave way to light.
All around them stood countless tablets.
Each was carved from chestnut wood, a little more than half a handspan tall.
"These are… memorial tablets?"
"Yes."
Nogun Village had scarcely two hundred souls. Yet here, there were easily over a thousand tablets—perhaps two or three thousand in all.
They were arranged in sections, separated just enough that each family seemed to keep their own together.
Tang Mujin stepped closer to read.
[Yang Deok-jo. Age forty-one. Fell to death from cliff path.]
[Seon Ja-ryang. Age thirteen. Died of illness.]
[Chu Yeo-hye. Age nineteen. Starved to death.]
Each bore only a name, age, and cause of death. More than half the men had died from falling off cliff paths. Illness and starvation followed. Very few lived to die of old age.
Then Pyo Chung picked up one and handed it to Tang Mujin.
"This is Old Madam Ju's eldest son."
Tang Mujin read the inscription. The cause of death was unusual.
[Seo Song-deok. Age twenty-nine. Killed by a martial artist's blade.]
Pyo Chung spoke in a low, bitter voice.
"That martial artist… was me. I was the one who killed her son."
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