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Chapter 16
The next morning.
Haegon rose slowly, clutching his head as if it might split open at any moment. Just as he was about to sit up, he felt weight on his left arm. He froze awkwardly mid-movement and turned his head.
There, sleeping soundly beside him, was Yeon.
It wasn’t the first time she had used his arm as a pillow, but the moment Haegon saw her, his face—usually tanned like scorched charcoal—went completely pale.
Because… Yeon wasn’t wearing a single thread of clothing.
The bitter taste of last night’s alcohol still lingered in his mouth. Haegon rolled his tongue helplessly, but his memories of the night before drifted away like smoke, impossible to grasp.
All he could recall were faint lights, the soft scent of peach blossoms fluttering in the air, and Yeon’s tearful face beside him.
“Ah, f—…”
Haegon barely stopped himself from letting the curse escape his throat.
Yeon lay sleeping, her hair—once neatly pinned with a hairpin—now loose and tangled. On her pale nape were several red marks, unmistakably made by him. If someone saw it, they would think she had been mauled by a beast.
Seeing her exposed to the soft morning sunlight, Haegon felt a crushing guilt. He pulled the blanket up, covering her body as best as he could.
But that movement woke Yeon.
The moment her round eyes met his, Haegon recoiled as though he had just encountered the King of the Underworld himself. He dropped to his knees.
“If I… if I did something terrible last night… please forgive me. I was drunk—truly, I remember nothing…”
He bowed so deeply his head nearly hit the floor. A suffocating silence filled the room—so heavy even the sound of someone swallowing would have echoed loudly.
Yeon, though awake, stared at him blankly as if still half-dazed. As the silence dragged on, Haegon felt like dying.
“Y-you… don’t remember?”
Yeon’s voice was lower than he had ever heard—cold and sharp.
“My rut must have come early… I didn’t realize. There should have been at least a week left…”
But before he could finish, Yeon threw the blanket aside, stood up, and began gathering her clothes. The sudden sight of bare skin made Haegon flinch mid-speech.
He lifted his head quickly, but Yeon’s eyes were already frigid.
“Madam, I— you see…”
Even the famed courtesan of Mongyugak had fled screaming from him once. There was no way Yeon hadn’t been overwhelmed.
If only he remembered—he could apologize properly. But with nothing but emptiness in his mind, even asking after her condition felt shameful.
“I… I’m glad you don’t remember.”
Her trembling voice struck him like a blade.
Certain that she was furious, Haegon clawed at his hair. The missing memories tormented him. How monstrous must he look in her eyes right now? The thought tore at his chest.
“M-Madam…!”
But Yeon fled the room without another word. The slam of the door felt like a nail driven straight into Haegon’s heart.
His chest had dropped last night too—he remembered faintly the way Yeon’s face glowed under the moonlight. The fragments that surfaced only deepened his agony.
“…Damn it! Damn it all!”
Just then—
“Aaah!”
A piercing scream echoed from outside.
Haegon barely threw on something resembling clothes and stumbled out, only to find everyone else gathered in front of Old Chilseon’s room—drawn out by the same scream. Yeon was among them.
Knowing instantly what had happened, Haegon straightened his disheveled outfit and approached. The murmuring men fell silent and parted to let him through.
Inside, the room was thick with the scent of herbal medicine. Haeju clung to the old man’s hand, sobbing like a child.
“…He’s gone.”
Haegon’s trembling voice filled the small hut. The mountain bandits bowed their heads all at once, shoulders shaking with suppressed tears.
There wasn’t a single soul among them who hadn’t been helped by Old Chilseon. He had died collecting herbs for sick children, even at the end.
As Haegon held the old man’s cold hand, tears dripped one by one from his eyes. His ragged breathing soon turned into sobs.
After a while, the oldest remaining among them, Aunt Beomseok, stepped forward.
“Songwon, fetch some water from the valley. A man’s last journey should be clean.”
“…Yes.”
Songwon wiped his tears and hurried out.
Yeon, who had never really spoken with Old Chilseon, tried to hold back her tears. But seeing Haeju—usually so cheerful and grown for her age—cry like a lost child, her throat tightened painfully.
Yeon offered Aunt Beomseok her handkerchief—embroidered the previous night with peach blossoms, meant to be given to Haegon. She had not expected it to be used like this, but she wished to contribute something—anything—for the old man’s departure.
Understanding her intent, Aunt Beomseok dipped the handkerchief in the fresh mountain water and carefully washed the old man’s body.
His hands—roughened from a lifetime in the mountains—gradually lost their tension. His expression softened, as though old burdens finally lifted.
They had no burial shrouds, so Haengsil brought the cleanest padded coat the old man owned. Though patched and worn, it held decades of sweat, blood, and affection.
“This suits the elder best,” Haengsil murmured, adjusting the clothing.
The bandits moved hurriedly, as though they had long prepared for this moment. They sawed pine boards, tied them together with rope and leather instead of nails, and built a crude coffin—not beautiful, but full of heart.
Haeju placed the herbal pot and the old man’s acupuncture tools inside, touching them one by one.
“Grandpa… go to a good place. I’ll finish what you couldn’t.”
That afternoon, they carried the coffin up the mountain. There was a place waiting beside other mounds—where the old man had always passed while gathering herbs.
Tears fell into the dirt as they shoveled earth over the coffin. Songwon laid pine branches—his favorite—on top and ringed the grave with stones. Haegon poured liquor onto the soil and spoke heavily.
“Elder… without you, we’d all be dead men.”
At those words, the bandits knelt, pressing their foreheads to the ground. Their bodies were rough, but their reverence was deeper than any noble’s.
Once the burial was done, they returned to the hideout to tend to the exhausted Haeju. Only Haegon remained, smoothing the mound and pulling weeds from the neighboring graves.
Someone approached him—Yeon, who had stood quietly through the entire funeral.
Haegon glanced down, instinctively noticing her legs before catching himself.
“I—I didn’t carry the coffin. This much walking is fine.”
Perhaps she sensed his gaze, answering before he could ask.
Seeing her, Haegon remembered the morning again. He should have apologized properly, but the funeral had consumed the day; dusk was already falling.
“About this morning… I—”
“Nothing happened last night.”
Strictly speaking, that wasn’t entirely true. In the forest, Haegon had suddenly kissed her—and Yeon had kissed him back, almost eagerly.
But they had not gone further. The moment he undressed her in the room, Yeon burst into tears. It was her first time feeling such sensations—fear overwhelmed her.
‘Shhh… If you’re scared, you don’t have to force yourself.’
Half-dazed with heat, Haegon had comforted her instead—wiping her tears, holding her close.
“So I… I wanted to tell you not to worry,” Yeon finished awkwardly.
Haegon felt a tangled rush of emotions—relief, yet unmistakable regret. He sank down in front of the line of fresh graves, staring down the mountain.
“If you’re not busy… could you stay by my side a while?”
“…Pardon? Ah… yes.”
Yeon glanced at the barely covered mound, then nodded gently and sat beside him.
