“How admirable, to have such a tender heart for animals. I will make sure to finish its treatment and return it to you.”
Once I get my old horse back, I’ll probably have to return this white one, right?
Still, after riding it for a few days, I’ve grown fond of it… it’s not like I’m hoping it won’t get better or anything…
Sahyeon, entertaining shameless thoughts, gave the horse’s rump a light pat.
“You’re not about to tell me you can’t ride a big horse, are you? If so, I could get you a donkey instead.”
Responding as if to mock Dan Ijae’s teasing, Sahyeon swiftly stepped on the stirrup and climbed onto the horse.
Dan Ijae wasn’t entirely wrong.
It was his first time riding such a sturdy horse.
The view from that height was dizzying, like standing on the edge of a cliff.
But he quickly regained his composure, straightened his back, and took in the clear, open view of Yeonju.
Perhaps this was the exhilaration people spoke of when riding a fine steed.
Until now, a horse had been nothing more than a means to travel farther—but on a horse like this, he wanted to feel the rush of galloping across a field.
“Hyun-ah!”
Then something strange happened.
Maybe being up high made his ears more sensitive, because even the voice he shouldn’t be hearing pierced his ears clearly.
Still holding the reins tightly, Sahyeon looked around.
Amid the crowd passing in front of the palace, Ogwang—taller than most by a whole head—suddenly appeared.
“Wait, what is Sahyung doing here…?”
“The 8th young master said I could come at this time. Don’t worry, I’ve stayed away the rest of the time just like you said!”
Why would he even ask Dan Ijae for such permission?
Sahyeon glanced over to where Dan Ijae had stood, silently demanding an explanation—but in that short moment, he had vanished without a trace.
Ogwang had already rushed over to him.
Wearing casual clothes unbefitting a scholar—more like a street vendor’s attire—he hurried over shamelessly.
“Did the young master give you this? Oh my, it’s so white—it’s just like you, Hyun.”
Before he could scold him with “As a disciple of Chaegong, you should maintain your dignity!”
Ogwang naturally took the reins from him and began leading the horse.
“W-Wait, Sahyung! Just a moment!”
“It’s a gentle horse. When I used to lead our teacher’s horse, if the beast got bored on the road, it would nibble at my hair. When I’d turn around in shock at the crunching sound, it’d be chewing on a chunk of my hair… it looked so smug doing it, too.”
“Please stop! How can I ride a horse being led by you? Let’s just walk together instead!”
“Sit tall. Aren’t you the master’s teacher now?”
Master’s teacher or not—if that were the case, Ogwang was Chaegong’s first disciple.
If Sahyeon hadn’t kept him hidden, Ogwang might have at least landed a decent government post thanks to the symbolic weight of being “Chaegong’s first disciple.”
Of course, the ending wouldn’t have been pretty.
Ogwang trusted people too easily, and anyone who spoke a few words with him could tell how easily he could be used.
That’s why Sahyeon had kept him hidden, at least until he had the power to protect him.
He believed that was the best way to care for him.
But now, watching his back as he casually led the horse carrying his shabby old fellow disciple, guilt crept in—maybe what he thought was protection had only made him see himself as smaller.
“Hyun-ah, do you remember? When you were a child, you trailed after our teacher’s carriage for days, dragging your feet, and whenever I offered to carry you, you’d glare like you’d eat me alive and insist you were fine. Then at Gi-dang, I think, you collapsed with your legs giving out.”
“You said it was because I got bitten by a snake.”
“Oh please, it was just a harmless wine snake. Anyway, that was the first time I carried you, and somehow I keep remembering that day now.”
With burly Ogwang leading the snow-white steed, people naturally cleared the path.
Merchants’ carts that wouldn’t budge when he was walking on foot now moved aside.
Even drunkards who were already staggering and giggling made way with cautious glances.
“That day, for the first time, I felt like I had a purpose.”
“What nonsense are you saying? Back at the teacher’s place, things would’ve fallen apart without you!”
“You know something? You were the only one who called me ‘Sahyung.’ The other disciples all called me ‘Janghyeong’ or ‘Oh-hyeong.’ Even our teacher didn’t acknowledge me as a disciple.”
“I was just a helper doing chores. But whenever you called me Sahyung, it made me feel like I was truly our teacher’s disciple.”
“That’s not true. Our teacher cared deeply for you. Until the very end, he worried only about you.”
Ogwang wiped his eyes with his sleeve, seemingly swept up in memories of Chaegong.
“I know. I know he cared for me more than I deserved. But not as a disciple. It was just affection for someone who had stayed by his side. Hyun-ah, I’ve still never read the second volume of The Lesser Learning.”
“Even at the temple where I grew up, I never learned a single character. I just swept the courtyard all day. When our teacher found me at the temple and tried to teach me, I’d forget everything by the next day.”
“I knew I wasn’t fit to study, but I still lied and said I wanted to learn. That’s why he took me along—because I was the ‘first disciple.’”
Ogwang had been abandoned in front of a temple.
When Chaegong, still a young man then, happened to stay at that temple, he took a liking to the bright-eyed temple boy and took him in.
Honestly, Sahyeon never believed Ogwang had fooled their teacher into taking him in—he thought Chaegong just needed a strong boy to run errands and couldn’t pay, so he brought Ogwang in as a ‘disciple’ in name only.
“When our teacher finally gave up teaching me, that was the first time I felt at peace. Hyun-ah, I really like this place right now. I don’t want to ride a horse—it scares me. I just want to lead the horse by the reins, and think, ‘Look at this amazing kid—he’s my junior,’ like I did back then when I carried you.”
They reached the alley, and the lantern-lit inn came into view.
Ogwang gradually came to a stop.
“So don’t even think about recommending me. Just thinking about it terrifies me. I was too scared to bring it up, but the 8th young master said something.”
“That throwing a pine caterpillar into a mulberry grove will of course lead to it starving. That you, Hyun, need to understand that I know my place. That way, if I crawl toward the pine grove, you won’t stop me.”
Somehow, it felt like those words weren’t meant only for Ogwang.
Was Dan Ijae suggesting that Sahyeon, too, should return to the pine grove?
“When did you even meet the 8th young master?”
“Two days ago, I think? The day you rolled down the stairs and crawled your way back.”
Now he wondered—what was he thinking?
Was Sahyeon a pine caterpillar,
or a silkworm holding fine silk within?
Either way, he was far from spinning a cocoon.
***
The sky began to darken from the east.
The crisp winter air carried a faint burnt scent.
The musty aroma from dry bark, the fresh pine resin stirred by swaying branches, the faint incense from palace attendants’ robes, and the smell of food rising with cooking smoke…
All those vivid scents, brushing past his nose and lungs, faded one by one—overpowered by the foul stench of death brought in by the deepening dark.
He stopped in his tracks, overtaken by nausea. He parted his lips and exhaled the foul breath.
Even when he closed his eyes and held his breath, the stench of rotting corpses crept in through every pore in his skin.
They say laborers who spend a lifetime hauling human waste grow used to the smell and stop noticing it.
Then why was it that the stench clinging to Dan Ijae never became familiar?
As if to punish him for those fleeting moments of freedom, it surged in again—stronger, more nauseating than ever…
He pressed his forehead, throbbing with pain.
Through his blurry vision, he saw someone scurrying over to Dan Ijae and bowing their head.
“I greet the 8th young master. The 5th young master, this evening…”
The murmuring, completely unintelligible, made the pounding pain in his temples even worse.
Overwhelmed by unbearable irritation, Dan Ijae roughly shoved the person away.
With a scream of “Aigoo!”, the palace attendant collapsed onto the floor.
“There you go. Just when we thought he was getting better, his madness flares up again.”
“Pity the new master from the Office of Archives. He’ll come to teach tomorrow not knowing a thing.”
“Let’s hope nothing happens. Last time, Master Yehaksa almost got stabbed.”
Behind him, as he strode quickly toward Gamcheondang, the whispering of the palace attendants followed.
But whether it was fortune or misfortune, not a single word reached Dan Ijae’s ears.
All he could hear was…
“Bring the lotus flower extract.”
As Dan Ijae kicked open the door and entered Gamcheondang, a large palace attendant urgently muttered in a lowered voice.
The other attendants, seemingly used to this situation, silently scattered around the hall to gather what was needed.
The youngest attendant, crawling on his knees, began extinguishing the lights that had brightly illuminated the room one by one.
Even in the daytime, the lacquer-black pillars and floor of Gamcheondang gave it a gloomy appearance, and now that scenery quickly melted into the darkness.
Premium Chapter
Login to buy access to this Chapter.