Struggle Chapter 115

“Regret. Do you not regret it at all?”

In that barren land where the north wind and cold snows rage, in that land where one must endure the long winter alongside beasts, in a place where survival takes precedence over fighting—was he not wasting away there? When he had drawn the sword called Grand Prince Baegan from its scabbard, had the blade not already been completely corroded?

It seemed as though the sound of a snow-laden wind, like a low moan, could be heard behind Taerok.

∞ ∞ ∞

Taerok had strictly instructed that sleeping with the beast was absolutely forbidden, but now that strict master was away, and the weather was far too cold to make it sleep outside.

Nanyoung lay with his face pressed close to the still-unnamed white one, wearing a troubled expression as the wind howled—wooing, whining, wailing.

‘The weather being like this, he’ll be late coming back again.’

The onset of winter had just passed. It was still a time before the capital grew bitterly cold. It was the season for busily making preparations to endure the winter.

But here, it was already full winter. The sun had grown very short, and even when it did rise, until noon it mostly cast a murky light upon the world, the color of thin, diluted milk.

Nanyoung missed the capital. To be precise, he missed his brother the King and his mother. Were they well? As winter set in, his mother, whose hands and feet grew cold and who had to take herbal decoctions, might already be complaining of numbness in her hands.

Shameful as it was to feel so.

Just then, as if sensing Nanyoung’s troubled heart, the white one whimpered and pushed along the floor, pressing its still undergrown body even more snugly against Nanyoung’s cheek.

“It’s warm….”

And incredibly soft too. Nanyoung’s stiffened cheek slowly melted, and his lips parted gently.

“With you here, I really am all right. It’s amazing.”

Did it understand? The white one, for whom he felt sorry as it still had no name, lapped at Nanyoung’s nose with a wet tongue.

Yet still, Nanyoung missed the capital.

To be precise, he now admitted it was because of Taerok, who would be in the capital.

If Taerok were to return, he would no longer regret the choice he had made, nor look back. But when Taerok was absent, he kept sinking into remorse.

“I wish Uncle would come back soon. So he can give you a name too.”

The names suggested so far were all rather disheartening ones like Sujebi, Halmi-kkot, and Ongsimi. Among them, Ongsimi had somewhat appealed to him, but Kkotnyeo had shaken her head, asking how one could name a puppy after something so delicious. And that very evening, a steaming, thick bowl of ongsimi had been served for supper.

“I’m not even hoping for a name like a person’s….”

Nanyoung fiddled with the soft, floppy ear of the white one. The white one let out a tiny yawn and flopped over onto its side, falling back asleep.

“Babies really do sleep so much.”

There was no one listening, nor could the white one answer, yet Nanyoung kept murmuring softly.

And then, lulled by the puppy’s sleeping breaths, drowsiness began to drift over him as well.

If only the snowstorm would cease by dawn. If only the mountain god, with a tiger on his left and a white dog on his right, would open the path for Uncle to come. Nanyoung wished for this in his dreams.

∞ ∞ ∞

Saon could not even properly open his eyes due to a severe hangover. Yet the master of the house, who had drunk even more than Saon, had already finished washing up and changing his clothes.

“You are departing already?”

Saon asked, rubbing his face roughly with his hands, unable to smooth out his crumpled features. Indeed, Taerok was already fully prepared to brave the winter roads. He wore not only padded trousers but also a quilted outer robe and a sable fur coat, with his hand coverings pulled up to shield the backs of his hands.

“I must leave early to cover more ground before the sun sets. I’ve promised Nanyoung that we would play strike-ball before the snow falls further, so I must go quickly.”

“…”

“You look as though you have something to say?”

Taerok asked. Saon, looking disheveled, mumbled in a voice hoarse and thick.

“I am also fond of polo.”

“Not polo, strike-ball.”

“Yes. I know how to play strike-ball as well.”

“So?”

“I wish to go with Your Highness. No, I wish to attend you.”

Taerok immediately gave a scoffing laugh. The words of the Deputy Commander of the Capital Garrison, still not fully sober, were touching. The fact that he found them more laughable and absurd than admirable meant he had properly become a subject, it seemed.

“Don’t talk nonsense. Rest a while longer in a house without its master, and leave once you’ve sobered up.”

“Your Highness! With Your Highness gone, I am so lonely I cannot bear it!”

Saon flung himself at Taerok’s legs as he was about to leave coldly.

Taerok shook his leg as if detaching a falcon’s jesses, throwing Saon off. Wearing a winter cap beneath his hat, Taerok lifted just one corner of his mouth.

“You’ll see me again soon enough anyway.”

“…Pardon?”

Mumbling an ambiguous answer somewhere between “eh” and “yes,” Saon, still sprawled on the floor, looked up at Taerok. Taerok answered simply.

“Just pray the snow doesn’t fall too heavily this winter. Still, I can’t not come at all. The ground can’t dry before the sowing season. Just enough, hm? If it falls just enough, I can come again before spring arrives.”

“I-is that truly so, Your Highness?”

Taerok’s heart was already beside Nanyoung. No matter how much he treasured Saon, he had no intention of lingering this long. That was his indifferent nature, unchanged even from before things had become this way with Nanyoung.

Without a thought for the dignity of the Deputy Commander who had rushed out in just his socks, Taerok mounted his horse in one swift motion.

“Serve His Majesty well.”

And Taerok departed as coolly as if they were the sort of acquaintances who had seen each other just yesterday and would see each other again tomorrow.

∞ ∞ ∞

Just as he had let Saon taste the simmered wild boar meat, for Nanyoung he laid out well-dried persimmons and ginkgo nuts—harvested early in this region, roasted in oil, and sprinkled with salt. Having keenly noticed that Nanyoung’s voice had changed slightly while he was away, Taerok ordered ssanghwa-tang to be brought out instead of the sikhye that Nanyoung usually liked.

As he ate the ssanghwa-tang and dried persimmons, Nanyoung pestered him for a name for the white one. This wasn’t just childish wheedling; Taerok knew it was Nanyoung’s own way of trying to soothe the loneliness that inevitably washed over him on the days Taerok returned from the capital. And wasn’t that why Taerok, too, had racked his brains over a name for the beast throughout the long, tedious journey back?

“Call it Bokjaengi.”

“Bokjaengi?”

Taerok popped a piece of roasted ginkgo into Nanyoung’s gaping mouth. Having diligently chewed and swallowed the savory, slightly salty nut without realizing it, Nanyoung asked again.

“Bokjaengi? Like a lump of fortune?”

“Yes. Well. Probably.”

On the way back, he had asked the servants about various names. When he suggested Bokjaengi, they said it also meant blowfish in this region, and asked if that was all right. Blowfish. It didn’t seem bad. It puffs up when threatened, so when fully grown, it seemed it would protect Nanyoung well.

Taerok did not teach him the hidden meaning of blowfish. Fortunately, Nanyoung seemed pleased, murmuring “Bokjaengi, Bokjaengi” to himself before suddenly scooping up the white one, which had been sleeping belly-up under the wooden floor.

“White one, from now on your name is Bokjaengi. It was given to you by none other than His Highness Grand Prince Baegan. Go and boast to your brothers?”

What was so wonderful about such a small thing? Taerok smiled softly at Nanyoung’s rounded upper cheeks. If he was going to be this happy over so little, he should have named it sooner. The indifferent man expressed an affection that only tasted faintly sweet after being chewed long, and felt just that measure of regret.

But how was he to tell him that his elder brother the King missed him…?

Taerok’s expression, which had warmed while looking at Nanyoung, darkened once more.

Feeling Taerok’s gaze, Nanyoung, somewhat sheepishly, set Bokjaengi back down. Bokjaengi immediately began yapping and frolicking around Nanyoung’s feet.

“I haven’t been holding it too much.”

Nanyoung told a clumsy lie, saying he had faithfully kept to the instruction not to dote on it too much, nor give it too much affection.

Taerok, his head filled to the brim with other matters, swept back Nanyoung’s fine, stray hairs and shook his head.

“I’m not reproaching you.”

Right now, Taerok felt an urge to be endlessly tender toward Nanyoung. Whether it was because of guilt, or because he wanted to curry favor with Nanyoung in advance so that he would be utterly and helplessly devoted to him.

∞ ∞ ∞

The accumulated snow had been quickly swept away with a broom, and today the weather was warmer than usual. In the pale midday light, like water faintly mixed with milk, Nanyoung and Taerok were outside for the game of strike-ball they had promised each other earlier.