Sahyeon also took out a new arrow.
“Yes. He saved my life when I was lost and wandering in the mountains.”
“Was this before you became Chae Gong’s disciple?”
“It was right after what happened in Maecheon.”
“Hm.”
He aimed at the exact center.
He was sure it would hit, but a sudden gust of wind made the arrow veer off course again.
He glanced sideways at Dan Ijae’s target.
There were now four arrows embedded right in the center.
No—five?
One of the arrows seemed to have split another one.
“Where is that benefactor now?”
“He’s dead.”
Dan Ijae turned his head.
Sahyeon shrugged hIS shoulders as if it were nothing.
“He was taken by a tiger. When I got there, only a bloodstained shoe was left.”
“A tiger, huh.”
The memory of that time surged up again, and his heart pounded.
Gritting her lower lip, Sahyeon placed a new arrow on the string.
“Do you know where one should aim when hunting a beast?”
“Well… the neck, perhaps? To cut off its breath?”
He took a deep breath, trying to calm the pounding in his throat, and pulled the string tight.
“A wild beast’s hide is tough and thick—it’s not easy to end its life with an arrow. So they say you have to aim between the eyes. Face the charging beast, and with just one chance…”
Swaaack!
The arrow pierced the air and flew straight ahead, slicing past the countless arrows stuck in the red circle, and pierced the black dot at the very center.
His arm, holding the bow, trembled from the released tension.
Sahyeon let out a shaky breath and lowered his bow.
“They say you must pierce the spot between the eyes.”
“That hunter didn’t manage it, did she?”
“No.”
Sahyeon silently stared at the arrow embedded in the center of the target.
Even he, who had once practiced so much that the tiger’s face drawn on the target wore out from repeated shots, couldn’t seize that one moment.
What about Sahyeon?
Tigers weren’t the only things one needed to shoot.
“She once had a family of five. A widowed father, a husband, and two daughters. Her father and husband were also hunters. They built a small house in the village and took turns going out to hunt while taking care of the children.”
Then one day, the county magistrate came and said: The beasts you hunt all belong to the nation.
The two pelts you provide now are not enough to compensate.
If you don’t deliver ten pelts, you will be severely punished for stealing from the state.
They left the two children with a neighbor and went out hunting more diligently, but they couldn’t manage ten pelts.
When they barely brought eight, the magistrate became enraged and imprisoned her elderly father.
She roamed the mountains all night, caught beasts, and finally brought the remaining two pelts—but by then, her father had died under torture.
There was no time to mourn.
She and her husband were driven back into the mountains.
Another ten pelts were due the next month.
In the meantime, one of the children they had left with the neighbor died from a high fever.
The magistrate beat her husband and sent him back when he brought only five pelts.
So she took her husband and the remaining child and went back to the mountains.
There, there was no magistrate pressing them for taxes.
No need to kill countless beasts for pelts.
They could hunt only what they needed to eat and wear.
A peaceful life.
They lived happily for three years—until a tiger took their daughter, who had been playing in front of the house.
Her husband, overcome with rage, scoured the mountain to avenge her.
When he finally gave up and returned home, buried the child’s clothes in the ground, and grieved, only a year had passed before he went out to hunt again—and was killed by a tiger.
It was about two weeks after her husband’s death that she found Sahyeon.
The girl had escaped from Maecheon and was wandering aimlessly, about to die from exhaustion.
He took her home and saved her life.
Sahyeon lived with her for six months.
When asked why she didn’t return to the village despite the risk of another tiger attack, the woman had answered:
“The tiger ends a life in one bite, but the government slowly strangles a person to death. I can kill a tiger, but I can’t hunt the king.”
“On that day,” while the woman was out hunting, Sahyeon was checking the traps nearby.
One animal had been caught and was thrashing in a snare.
He caught it, put it in his sack, and moved to check the next trap when the entire mountain suddenly roared.
It was a sound he had never heard before, but he instantly knew what it was.
The roar of an old tiger.
He threw down the sack and ran in the direction of the sound, clutching the bow the woman had made for him.
He had no confidence he could kill a tiger—just a baseless belief that he would find the beast lying dead with an arrow through its brow. He ran with that blind faith.
And when he arrived—
All that remained was a single arm, tied with a red leather string, once the daughter’s hair tie.
The tiger was nowhere to be found.
Sahyeon collapsed in despair and sobbed for a long time, but the tiger never returned.
He brought the woman’s arm back and buried it with the rest of the family behind the house.
A modest grave with just the husband’s finger, the daughter’s leg, and the woman’s arm buried in one mound.
“What about you, my lord? If you came face-to-face with a tiger, do you think you could hit its brow?”
Dan Ijae nocked another arrow.
“I don’t know for sure. But—”
His bow, which had been aimed at the target, suddenly tilted toward the sky.
The afternoon sun hovered at the tip of his arrow.
With a loose string, the arrow was gently released.
It soared toward the brilliant sunlight, drew a long arc, and then fell.
“If you can’t even catch a tiger, how could you catch anything else?”
That day, Sahyeon made a promise in front of the woman’s grave:
“I’m not a hunter, so I can’t catch the tiger for you. But one day, I swear I’ll catch the ‘lord of this land’ who made you end up like this.”
He had made too many promises in his foolish youth—promises he couldn’t keep.
Maybe that’s why.
The pressure crushing his chest wouldn’t lift.
Just like that arrow, launched toward the sky, only to fall helplessly.
***
“I can go alone.”
Sahyeon turned and said firmly to Dan Ijae, who kept trailing slowly behind him.
“I’m just heading out for a drink, you know.”
Of course, he’d expected such an answer.
“Then why don’t you tell me where you’re going to drink?”
“My regular place.”
“And where might that be?”
“Looks like it’s the inn you’re staying at.”
Sahyeon narrowed his eyes, as if it wasn’t even worth responding to.
Dan Ijae simply snorted and shrugged instead of acting flustered.
“You barged into the place I always go to, and now you’re trying to block my way? Even a rolling stone shouldn’t knock out a rooted one.”
“Why would someone of your standing drink at such a lowly inn?”
“Why?”
“There are a lot of familiar faces in good places. There’s no better place to drink in peace.”
“Do you like alcohol that much?”
“Well, you get drunk so easily, you’d probably lose your mind before you could even enjoy it.”
“What do you mean I…!”
Sahyeon started to argue back but bit down hard on his lower lip and swallowed his words.
What good was it to bluff in front of a drunkard?
No one would respect him just because he could hold his liquor.
“Just don’t be late for class tomorrow morning.”
“Ah, we could just hold the class at that inn. What difference does the location make on the path of learning?”
“Sir, I’m a hypocrite who cares deeply about propriety. I’d like to sit properly dressed in a clean room and teach with elegance, so I’d really appreciate your cooperation.”
“The innkeeper would be hurt to hear that. They sweep and mop every day, you know.”
“Ha ha. Feel free to tell them.”
As they walked out the palace gate, Sahyeon could feel people’s eyes on them.
He heard whispers like, ‘What kind of trick did he pull to get that delinquent Eighth Prince to see him off so kindly?’
Honestly, it would be better if such rumors spread everywhere—even to the king’s ears.
Then maybe, out of curiosity, he’d be summoned to Jeonghangu.
The stable boy appeared right on time, leading a horse.
It was a snow-white horse with a coat that gleamed with luster.
Sahyeon stood quietly, assuming it was for Dan Ijae, but then the stable boy suddenly handed the reins to him.
“?”
Sahyeon looked down at the reins suspiciously and stepped back, as if to say, Why are you giving this to me?
“Sir, didn’t you come to pick up your horse?”
“No, this isn’t my horse…”
“Oh, I forgot to mention it. I felt sorry for the poor horse that had suffered under your care, so I decided to treat it somewhere nice for a while. You’ll be riding this one in the meantime.”
So that’s why he chased him all the way here.
To begin with, Sahyeon’s horse had been sick and scrawny.
It was so pitiful that he hadn’t even been able to ride it properly, often walking half the way instead.
And yet now he was being falsely accused of abuse.
He wanted to argue this “invention” of a crime…
…But the new horse was just too beautiful.
Its neck arched gracefully, its long, strong legs stepped with a firm elegance.
Its silver mane shimmered like the feathers of a celestial being, and its full tail swayed like silk.
Even when Chae Gong was treated like a royal tutor, he had never seen a horse with such legendary presence.
Sahyeon tucked his lips inward and tightly sealed his mouth.
Then, he gently stroked the horse’s mane.
The white horse sniffed him with gentle eyes and lightly swished its tail.
Do horses even wag their tails like that?
“You did it with good intentions for a poor animal, so I guess I can’t really protest.”
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