“There’s a banquet at the Left Minister’s residence. I can’t slip away—it’s an official gathering. I won’t be back until tomorrow afternoon. If anything happens in the meantime—”
“No, nothing will! I’ll keep watch over Young Master Jihan and Maki!”
“If you fail, you won’t keep your limbs.”
“Y-yes, Master!”
Just then, the sound of commotion came from the main gate—Grand Secretary Choi must have returned from the palace.
Only after Seon disappeared beyond the inner gates did Little One straighten up, exhaling the breath he’d been holding.
***
Later, as the late evening hour (around 9–11 PM) approached—
Jihan had excused himself early from dinner with Grand Secretary Choi, claiming illness, and locked himself in the annex. The Grand Secretary retired soon after, and the servants returned to their quarters.
Little One shivered in the courtyard, his stomach growling. The cold night air still bit sharply, and the east wind made even his thick padded clothes useless.
Maki clicked his tongue as he approached.
“Your life’s pretty miserable, huh? Haven’t even eaten?”
“Mind your own business.”
The sharp retort came with a reddened nose.
“Hmph. Sick and starving…”
“I said it’s none of your concern. I’m not hungry.”
“Bullshit. You’ve been starving since noon. You’re no stone Buddha. There’s leftover side dishes in the kitchen—want me to bring you some?”
“No need.”
“Stubborn bastard.”
Maki turned toward the kitchen’s side room but detoured to lift the lid of the rice pot. Steam rose from the potatoes, corn, and the rice that hadn’t been cleared away. He scooped a generous portion into a brass bowl, mixing in soy sauce and sesame oil. The rich aroma of toasted sesame filled the air. He topped it with aged kimchi and a couple of silky boiled eggs, pressing them into the rice before handing it over.
Little One twitched his big nose but refused to take it. Exasperated, Maki shoved the bowl into his hands.
“I said I don’t need—”
This time, his refusal lacked conviction.
“Eat it all and leave the bowl on the veranda.”
With that, Maki returned to the kitchen.
The moment he was gone, Little One devoured the food in huge, desperate spoonfuls. The rice—still warm, oily, and slightly sweet—slid down his throat effortlessly. He savored the aftertaste long after he’d finished, licking his lips.
“Was it good?”
Just as Little One was savoring the aftertaste, Maki reappeared with a chuckle, holding a brass bowl steaming with hot liquid.
“This, my friend, is precious plum tea. I snuck some plum syrup from the storeroom and brewed it—don’t let Young Master Jihan find out. Now drink up and warm yourself.”
It was exactly what he needed. Unlike the first time, when he’d been wary, Little One accepted the bowl without hesitation. The fragrant, sweet flavor filled his mouth, the warm plum aroma coating his throat and warming his stomach.
This should hold me until morning—
Suddenly, a wave of drowsiness crashed over him. Before he could even stammer, Maki’s face blurred before his eyes. Maki watched him intently, his gaze a mix of persistence and unease. Behind him, the door to Jihan’s room creaked open—the paper door he’d thought was closed.
‘I’ve been had.’
Realizing the situation, Little One’s eyes rolled back. The brass bowl slipped from his grasp, clattering as it rolled toward the stone steps. His body crumpled like a man with slashed tendons.
“…You keep making me feed strange things to the men I fancy, Young Master.”
Maki’s exasperated mutter earned a hollow laugh from Jihan.
“Fancy, my ass. You get hard at the sight of a topknot.”
Jihan stepped out of the room and stood beside Maki, looking down at Little One with cold eyes.
“Get rid of him.”
Maki dragged the unconscious body into the kitchen and laid him near the warm embers of the hearth. Little One rolled onto his side, burying himself in the ashes before letting out a soft snore. Maki’s guilt vanished in an instant.
“Should I pack some bran feed? We’ve got soybean meal mixed with sesame—”
Jihan nodded against the kitchen doorframe before slipping away to gather his own things. Left alone, Maki rolled up his sleeves and frantically packed everything he could—pre-boiled potatoes and corn, plums (Jihan’s favorite), dried fish, jerky, fruit, charcoal for outdoor cooking, and even a small iron pot. Finally, he tied up a bundle each of raw rice and salt, securing the mouths tightly.
When Maki returned to Jihan’s room, clothes, socks, and a bamboo hat were strewn haphazardly across the floor. Jihan was just as flustered, stuffing three sets of undergarments into his bundle before removing one, then counting ten pairs of socks before reducing it to seven. He was hopeless at packing.
“Three pairs of socks are enough. Same with the undergarments. The stream water will thaw—you can wash and reuse them. And that big hat? Useless for travel. One spare pair of gatsin is plenty. Why are you packing a hairpin? Afraid of heat in early spring? Take some light jewelry instead. When we stay as guests in commoners’ homes, it’ll come in handy as a gift instead of food.”
Maki rambled on as he tucked a few more strings of coins into his inner pocket. Jihan silently gathered his pipe and tobacco powder.
Outside the back gate leading to the mountain path, two horses stood tethered—a sturdy saddle horse and a smaller packhorse. Maki loaded the bulkier items onto the packhorse’s saddle. Sweat beaded on his forehead.
“Leave this on the main house veranda.”
Jihan handed Maki an envelope—a letter for his father. It explained that he was leaving for Uan’s Sanggeosan, where their family had long supported a hermitage, to clear his mind and focus on his studies. He added that there was no need to send word, but he would contact them if necessary.
By the time Maki returned, Jihan was already mounted on his horse. Maki reluctantly climbed onto the packhorse, his inexperienced riding making the saddle creak.
“I didn’t even get to say goodbye to my mother…”
“Let’s go.”
Jihan kicked his horse toward the back path, and Maki hurried after him, barely keeping up with his clumsy riding skills.
It was the early hours of in-si (3–5 AM), the world dark and silent. Every time he turned in the saddle, the estate faded another ri (0.4 km) into the distance. Beyond the walls, the plum tree swayed with new leaves.
***
By the time they reached the outskirts of the capital, the sun was high, and noon had long passed.
The horses were exhausted, their steps slowing, when they spotted a small inn with a stable nearby.
“Any vacant rooms?”
Maki asked, rubbing his chafed thighs from the saddle. The innkeeper, busy by the cauldron, didn’t even glance their way.
“Got a common room.”
Common rooms were for travelers in groups—hardly sanitary, but better than nothing. Maki opened the door, then shut it again.
“I could tough it out, but Young Master wouldn’t last.”
“Are you asking me or telling me?”
Jihan peeked inside and recoiled. The room was already crammed with shabby merchants packed like sardines in a box—low ceiling, stifling, and reeking of fermenting soybeans.
“We can’t stay long anyway.”
Jihan muttered, avoiding eye contact.
“Once that bastard returns to the estate, he’ll realize I’m gone. Probably by evening. We need to be out of the capital by then.”
Maki nodded.
“The horses need at least two sikgyeong to rest.”
“Then we’ll leave as soon as they’re ready.”
The innkeeper brought out bowls of spicy chicken and vegetable porridge with rough-cut white kimchi. Jihan struggled with the food—his palate, accustomed to refined flavors, found it salty, greasy, and unappetizing.
“Even if it doesn’t suit your taste, eat up. You need strength for the road.”
Exhausted from their predawn escape, Maki practically inhaled his meal. Jihan sighed and pushed his chicken into Maki’s bowl.
“Young Master, be honest with me. Are we really going to Uan’s Sanggeosan like the letter said? Because we’ve been heading the opposite way this whole time.”
Jihan shook his head.
“We’re not going to Sanggeosan. Just lying low in the countryside for a while.”
“The countryside? Which countryside? There are plenty in this kingdom.”
Jihan lowered his voice.
“We’re going to Jang-un.”
Maki blinked in confusion.
“Jang-un? But the Choi clan has no connections there.”
“Exactly.”
“Forgive me, but I’m too dull to guess what you’re thinking.”
“I’m picking some remote mountain in Jang-un. A secluded place where we can rent a hut and live quietly.”
Throughout the meal, Jihan kept glancing around, tense as a bowstring. The slightest noise made him flinch, as if at any moment, household servants would burst through the inn’s woven bamboo fence, shouting “Young Master!”
“You… want to live in a hut?”
Author: Hyacinthus B
Hyacinthus
Yesh boy , he did run away