It Is Time to Leave
Now he had to leave.
He had to go.
Mirang looked at him.
It was a gaze that already knew.
Yet knowing, she still asked.
"Are you going somewhere far, young master?"
"Yes. I think I must go a little far."
In life, there are moments that require few words.
There are times when no long explanation is needed.
The more words one speaks, the more traces are left behind.
Sowoon did not voice what he had resolved.
There was no reason to announce it.
Nothing good would come of saying it aloud.
He had not failed to imagine the worst.
But before anything else, he had to draw a line so that whatever might happen would not return here.
If there was a burden to carry, better that it remain within the shadow of his own name.
Jin Family Manor was a place where people lived.
It was not a place for the lingering breath of drawn blades.
So he bowed his head quietly.
"You will return, won't you?"
Sometimes the weight of a person's actions speaks what words cannot.
Mirang's question rose from that unspoken dread.
When explanation cannot be asked for, one asks instead for the ending.
"Perhaps…"
The faint chill that he might not return—
that this might be the last—
tightened her body.
When he had gone to face five thousand soldiers before, she had fastened his armor without fear.
That time, she had felt certain of victory.
He had not gone alone.
The White Dragon Unit had gone with him.
The manor's warriors had stood beside him.
There had been no room for dread.
Now there was something left unsaid.
Something that could not be exhausted by words, nor by tears, nor by worry.
She could not name it.
It was only a distant ache, a trembling sense that he was going far—
perhaps too far to return.
It felt like a boy setting out alone on a long road.
And that his small steps were heavier than they looked.
She did not know the details.
She knew nothing of war's movements, nor of politics' hidden turns.
But a woman's intuition does not stir without cause.
Her chest tightened with the certainty that something grave was unfolding.
A flash of thought struck her—
this might be the last time.
Mirang suddenly could not contain herself.
She stepped forward and gathered his sweat- and blood-scented head into her arms.
She pressed his small head against her chest and held him tight.
Had she always wanted to hold him like this.
Or had the nearness of departure moved her heart first.
His slender body sank into her embrace.
With such a small frame, what was he trying to do.
What weight was he carrying on such narrow shoulders.
Pity surged within her.
Tears fell in quiet drops.
If she held him tighter, it felt as though he might remain safe.
"You must come back. You must."
That was all she could say.
Her throat closed, and no more followed.
Sowoon gently wrapped his arms around her waist, then slowly stepped back.
With a small smile, he said,
"You worry too much, noona. I'll come back. If only because I'll miss you. Ha… ha."
When he had changed clothes and gathered his things, he rose with his sword in hand.
Mirang sank to her knees and wept.
He had gone to war at such a young age.
And now, where was he going again.
She had heard clearly that they had survived because of him.
And yet he set out again, alone with a single blade.
Where was he going.
What for.
Was it something even more dangerous.
As she saw him off, Mirang cried for the first time.
She had packed his bundle carefully—
weapons, provisions, travel money, a small brush and ink, a folding writing case, even salt.
Yet it all felt insufficient.
She was nearly twenty now.
She knew what was lacking.
What she felt, without naming it, was the ache of parting itself.
They did not know how to endure farewell.
Because this was the first.
When he stepped out through the side gate, Cheonsangaek and Lee Sojin were waiting.
It was the General's arrangement.
Sowoon had no experience of wandering the rivers and lakes alone.
So companions had been chosen.
Lee Sojin and Cheonsangaek had volunteered.
Lee Sojin's elder brother joined because of her.
A swordswoman from Cheonsan also came.
Their party was five.
Without such company, he might not even reach the capital road.
Lee Hee stood behind them, face set.
"I will not see you off. I pray for your martial fortune."
He remained blunt as ever.
He knew what Sowoon intended.
Sighs and grief and frustration rose in his chest, yet as a commander he could not voice them.
It felt heavier because the one departing was so young.
The sorrow that one should not ask such a thing of a boy cut him silent.
Sowoon, once more the scholar he had been, smiled brightly at him.
"Thank you, General."
Behind them stood the General, Lee Sojin, Jin Musik, the little grandchild, Mirang—
and farther back, the comrades of the White Dragon Unit.
Ga Gyeongpil, Yang Johwi, Yu Gunmyeong, So Sam…
Names without end.
Faces dear even when seen every day.
Farewell is difficult.
Perhaps that is the better word—heavy.
The moment he mounted his horse, he spurred it forward.
It was not like the proud departure days ago, when cheers followed him out.
The things he carried in his heart weighed upon his steps.
It was better to leave quickly.
As Sowoon rode out, the other four followed.
Like true martial wanderers, they moved as though horse and rider were one, swift and clean across the road.
Journeying Across the World
177.
The two Cheonsangaek riders looked like husband and wife.
They rode side by side, their horses' heads nearly touching.
Lee Sojin rode beside her older brother, Lee Sojeong.
Behind them, Soun lightened his body and followed the four who raced ahead.
The two seasoned wanderers calculated the day's distance and chose routes that passed through modest towns with inns, moving from one walled settlement to the next.
Soun had grown up moving with the army and had rarely left Taewon as a child.
This was his first true long journey.
If all his previous movements had been marches, this was closer to travel.
When he traveled with the army, they passed countless villages, yet his gaze always remained within the formation.
The sound of hooves and drums, the spacing of ranks and commands—those had been his entire world.
Even when he looked outward, he saw only banners, soldiers, formations, and commanders.
But now it was different.
There were no military tents blocking the way, no urgent commands pushing him forward.
He had companions at his side and a measure of leisure in the saddle.
Everything they passed caught his eye.
Water shimmered between rice paddies, and thin threads of smoke rose from distant fields.
Soun turned his head left and right without rest.
More than once he leaned too far to the side to look at something and fell behind the group.
They had to stop and wait for him.
Sometimes someone rode back and caught his reins.
Only then would Soun grin sheepishly and urge his horse forward.
It grew worse when they passed large cities.
They avoided busy markets when they could, but whenever they had to go through a gate, Soun's eyes were everywhere.
He stared up at carvings on the gate towers and counted the roadside flags one by one.
He even studied the shape of passing wagon wheels.
Was it the curiosity of a child?
Or the freshness of the world to one who had stepped beyond a realm?
Perhaps it was both.
What captivated him most were the roadside shops.
Many had broken open one wall of their siheyuan courtyards and set out stalls at the front.
The inner yard lay open to view, goods spread out in neat rows.
Faced with such abundance, Soun stood open-mouthed.
Steam rose from dumpling stalls, the savory scent drifting far into the street.
Red lacquerware gleamed in the sunlight.
Farming tools stood in tidy rows.
Before a smithy, hammers rang sharply against iron.
All the things needed for daily life lined the road.
He could not simply pass by.
He would slip from his horse and stand before a stall.
He touched bowls with his fingers, lifted a pitchfork to test its weight.
He bought snacks and his eyes shone as he tasted them.
He was easily swayed by merchants' words and sometimes bought things he did not need.
Not knowing how to bargain, he paid the full price and only later scratched his head with an embarrassed smile.
Each time, one of the Cheonsangaek stepped in quietly to settle matters.
The merchant's tone changed at once, and Soun rubbed the back of his neck.
Their pace slowed again and again.
The companions sighed inwardly.
Could this boy, so ignorant of worldly ways, truly set the world right?
It was exasperating.
Yet none dared scold him.
The sword they had seen on the battlefield bore no resemblance to this innocent face.
That made it harder.
He could laugh like a child, yet when his gaze deepened, no one dared speak lightly.
Soun mounted again, a small wooden trinket he had bought turning in his fingers.
He spun it idly, smiling brightly in the saddle.
That smile was not the smile of the one who had split battlefields with a blade.
It was the smile of a boy seeing the world for the first time.
The Cheonsangaek moved quickly.
With long experience they watched their horses' condition, urging them forward when needed and slowing them when terrain demanded, keeping the animals from exhaustion.
A horse cannot gallop at full speed for long.
A steady, moderate pace carries one farther.
They traveled at an easy trot, hooves clopping rhythmically.
To avoid Jeongju, they made a wide detour.
Whether by the physician's instruction or caution of their own, the Cheonsangaek spoke little and focused on watching the road, especially avoiding areas with government troops.
Detouring along smaller paths, they inevitably encountered those who lived beyond official reach.
Groups who blocked roads and demanded tolls.
A dozen men stood across the path, swords drawn, demanding payment.
The barricade was crude.
One of the Cheonsangaek smirked and prepared to cut through with a single stroke, but Soun rode forward and raised a hand.
"Wait, uncle. Please wait. I'll try to handle this."
The Cheonsangaek turned his horse aside.
He was curious.
He wanted to see what a master beyond realms would do.
After all, part of traveling together was the hope of witnessing such things—
perhaps a flash of sword energy cleaving enemies in a single stroke.
The man at the front was fearsome, his broad face scarred, brows jutting upward like blades.
He rested a wide-bladed saber on his shoulder and flexed thick muscles for intimidation.
"No money, no passage, boy."
"Hehe, I understand. But how much would that be? I'm from the countryside and don't really know."
"One liang per head."
"Then we're five, so five liang?"
"Boy, you can't count. That's heads too."
He pointed at the horses.
"Oh! Per head, right. These are heads too. Hehe, I forgot."
"If you understand, pay and go."
"But what if we don't? Do we have to turn back? It's a day's road. Should we find another route?"
"Then I suppose you will."
Soun searched his pouch.
Mirang had given him a little money.
Exactly five liang.
He looked at the coins in his palm, then at the burly bandit, then back at his palm.
"Would this be enough? It's all I have."
"Aren't there others with you?"
"That's a bit difficult. The four are helping me. It wouldn't be proper to ask them to pay. So please, just this once, accept this. All right?"
"No such half-price deals."
"But if we turn back because we lack money, you earn nothing. Isn't this better?"
Soun persisted.
Beside him, the Cheonsangaek's hand trembled.
He could not understand why Soun was negotiating with such lowly bandits when one stroke would suffice.
But he endured it.
Soun had said he would handle it.
Time dragged.
At last, worn down by Soun's stubborn persuasion, the bandits agreed to five liang and cleared the way.
Unable to contain his curiosity, the Cheonsangaek rode close.
Soun's horse flicked its eyes sideways.
Soun blinked as if to say, "What is it?"
"Young Master, could we not simply have cut through?"
"To live here, shouldn't we follow the customs here? Even bandits share this world. It sounds absurd, but they didn't seem the type to cause great harm. If I cut the world apart as I please, wouldn't there be no world left for me to live in? Conversation, compromise, negotiation, persuasion… something like that."
The Cheonsangaek laughed softly.
"Young Master, to think we, masters of the realm, would pay tolls."
At some point he had begun calling him "Young Master."
"Scholar Soun" felt too distant for the relationship they now shared.