Yen adjusted his sleeves meticulously as the carriage's wheels ground to a halt. He stepped down with the precision of someone far older than his seven years, his posture rigid, shoulders squared, eyes straight ahead.
"Young lord, it's dangerous for you to roam the streets unaccompanied," Jang said, his voice tinged with concern. Despite being only a decade older, the young steward had the careful air of someone who had seen the worst humanity had to offer.
"I won't be assassinated like my father," Yen replied flatly, his gaze scanning the horizon with a quiet intensity. "You should know by now, Jang, the men in our family neither dwell on the past nor tolerate weakness."
Jang scratched the back of his neck, uncertainty flickering across his face. "Looking back, young lord, isn't about dwelling… it's about learning. Understanding the patterns, the mistakes. Even a boy of seven must know that."
Yen's expression remained unreadable. "I am not dumb," he said simply, his voice carrying the weight of conviction far beyond his age.
"Of course not," Jang chuckled, the sound warm but tinged with nervousness. He spread his hands. "Then, where shall we begin the inspection?"
"The slums," Yen said, stepping forward with deliberate calm.
Jang exhaled sharply, glancing around before signaling discreetly to the hidden men trailing them. They melted into the shadows, following the boy like silent sentinels.
Even before they passed the gates, the streets ahead were a tableau of desperation—ragged figures huddled together for warmth, malnourished children playing in the dust, beggars extending trembling hands to anyone passing by. Yet, Yen's expression never faltered. One hand rested lightly against his chest, as if feeling for some pulse of the city's suffering. Jang noticed immediately, a pang of unease shooting through him.
"Is everything… all right?" he asked, voice low.
Yen's eyes didn't leave the street. He didn't answer; instead, they roamed over the faces, noting the gaunt cheeks, the hollow eyes, the raw need in every glance. People stopped mid-motion, staring at the pristine figure of a boy in silken clothing, a young lord in the midst of ruin.
"Why the sudden urge to visit now, after the Lord passed?" Jang ventured cautiously, trying to read the young lord's intent.
"Can you shut up?" Yen's frown was sharp, abrupt, his tone cutting.
Jang muttered under his breath, "Jerk," before forcing a smile and masking it with another question. "Still, I've noticed… ever since you were younger, you'd peer through the carriage windows at this place. Why—"
"My woman," Yen interrupted, eyes flicking forward, lips barely curling.
Jang snorted, caught between disbelief and amusement. "Pfft!" He smacked his hand over his mouth when Yen's glare found him. "I apologize. Ahem. 'Your woman,' you say. And what does a little boy know of such matters?"
"…I don't know," Yen said quietly, almost to himself, before his gaze swept back to the street.
Before Jang could respond, a small figure darted recklessly into Yen. The collision would have toppled them both, but the boy's reflexes were astonishing. He caught her effortlessly, cradling her in his arms as if she weighed nothing.
"Young lord!" Jang's voice rose in alarm. He rushed forward, intending to separate them, but Yen's grip tightened gently, holding her close. The girl's eyes were wide with terror and surprise, her lips trembling.
"Young… lord?" Jang asked, unsure, crouching slightly to assess the scene.
"What's your name?" Yen asked softly, his head tilting, eyes searching hers with unnerving calm.
The girl's knees buckled as fear overtook her. "My lord, I—I am deeply sorry!" she squeaked, dropping to her knees and bowing low. Tears streaked down her dirt-smudged cheeks. "Please forgive me for soiling your clothes!"
"I asked for your name," Yen said again, voice even, detached.
"Please! Spare me!" she cried, panic sharpening her words. She thought she had done something unforgivable, that punishment would follow.
Jang studied the young lord's expression carefully—so steady, so precise—and then crouched beside the girl, offering a calming presence. "It's alright, little one. Just tell him your name. The young lord won't hurt you."
The girl sniffed, hesitating, her small fingers clutching the folds of her dress. Finally, in a trembling voice, she whispered, "Lily… my lord."
Yen's head tilted again, a slow, deliberate smile forming. "Lily." He nodded once, quietly, and without another word, turned on his heel.
"W-wait! I thought we were here to inspect… to find causes to fund…" Jang called after him, confusion and concern mingling in his tone.
"I'll still fund it. But I've found what I was looking for," Yen said over his shoulder, voice calm but unyielding.
Jang exhaled heavily and crouched down, reaching into his pocket to slip a small piece of bread into Lily's palm. "I don't know what goes on in that boy's head," he murmured softly, "but take care, little miss."
As Yen strode ahead, leaving behind the crowded, clamorous streets, Lily clutched the bread to her chest, eyes wide and heart racing. Something had shifted in the air, a spark ignited by a boy's quiet gaze—a promise, a curiosity, an unsettling weight that she couldn't yet understand.