Satin, wondering what to buy with his earnings, decided to get a chicken. Unlike the neatly categorized chickens of the modern day, this one was absurdly large. It probably wouldn’t be tender like broiler meat either.
As soon as he returned to the cabin, Satin went into the kitchen and washed his hands. While rinsing the massive bird, he noticed a few remaining feathers, so he singed them off over a flame before slicing the chicken in half. He set one half aside and chopped the other into pieces.
He placed the uncut half into a pot and set it on the hearth. Anticipating the broth would reduce, he added a generous amount of water. He had no herbs like angelica, licorice root, or jujube, so he skipped those and instead tossed in a wild ginseng root he had dug up earlier. Ginseng alone should be enough to make it a hearty, restorative dish.
“I saw on TV once that there’s a restaurant selling ginseng chicken stew for a hundred million won, Grandpa.”
“Mm-hmm.”
The reply didn’t carry even a hint of interest in the million-won health food. In fact, it barely counted as a reply at all. Grandpa was too preoccupied munching on peanuts at the doorway. They were part of the wages they’d received together, and it seemed he’d taken a liking to them.
When the water in the pot began to boil, Satin seasoned the chopped chicken. He used a generous amount of garlic and red pepper powder, with a pinch of the local spices. Then, beside the pot, he sautéed the pieces in a pan. He added green onions, onions, and potatoes from the garden, and the result looked decently close to dakbokkeumtang (Korean spicy braised chicken).
“I like the kind with just a little broth, but since there’s no rice to mix in, this is better.”
“Mm-hmm.”
By the time Satin finished cooking, it was a bit later than their usual lunchtime. Even though Grandpa had already eaten a ton of peanuts, he seemed to regain his appetite as soon as he sat down at the table. When Satin pulled the tender, well-cooked meat off the bone and served it to him, he devoured it in a hurry.
Satin chuckled at the sight of Grandpa’s lips gleaming with oil.
“Eat well and stay healthy.”
The early summer sunlight poured in through the rough wooden window and over the table. Grandpa’s face, whose name and age Satin still didn’t know, looked like an old black-and-white photo faded by time under that bright light. Satin smiled as he picked up a piece of bright red chicken meat in front of him.
“Feels like one of those strangely good days.”
It was like the climax of a slow but peaceful country novel. Satin wondered how long this kind of life would last.
Forever?
That guess turned out to be wrong. That night, Grandpa suddenly began complaining of stomach pain.
“Sa… Satin, Satin!”
His face paled and darkened over and over. He couldn’t even say what hurt—he just kept calling Satin’s name. His dry, withered hand clutched Satin’s wrist and trembled violently.
It was Satin’s first time in such a situation, and he had no idea what to do, so he just blurted out whatever came to mind.
“Just hang in there a bit. I’ll call 119—”
Satin froze.
119? There’s no such thing here. There isn’t even a doctor in this village.
“Okay, okay. I’ll go find someone. Someone will know what to do.”
Satin hoisted Grandpa onto his back and headed toward the village. As he made his way down the dark slope, Grandpa wept and sniffled, calling Satin’s name over and over.
But the villagers had no clear solution either. Everyone brought whatever medicine they had at home, but nothing was really useful. What good were ointments for joint pain or powdered medicine for indigestion in this situation?
Then someone finally suggested going to another village that had a clinic.
“Sa… tin.”
Grandpa passed away.
His eyes were wide open, mouth agape—and his face looked strangely filled with sorrow.
***
Staring blankly at the crematory furnace, Satin recalled the conversations he’d had with Grandpa. They were just silly stories meant to pass the time while doing laundry, but the words had come true like some cursed prophecy.
Did I really jinx us by saying that?
Saying how nice the peace was, how he wished things could stay like this forever—he never should’ve said those things.
The villagers, understanding that Satin knew nothing about funeral customs here, stepped in to help without hesitation. In this place, cremation was the norm. They carried Grandpa to the village crematorium.
While the body burned behind the closed furnace doors, each person murmured a prayer of their own. Satin just stood there, watching in silence.
“Sometimes when you’re too overwhelmed, the tears don’t come.”
No one criticized Satin for not crying. They all interpreted it in the best possible light. The villagers were kindhearted, without a mean bone in their bodies.
Just like the people in that novel my sister wrote.
The funeral ended with the cremation and the careful collection of the powdered ashes. As one of the villagers patted Satin on the shoulder, telling him not to be too heartbroken and to stay strong, he added one last thing before leaving.
“You’ll be feeling unsettled for a while anyway—take a trip to Cloverland. I’ll look after your field while you’re gone.”
“Cloverland?”
“Everyone goes after a funeral. It’s kind of tradition.”
What was that supposed to mean? Was he suggesting a city sightseeing trip to ease the exhaustion from the funeral?
As Satin blinked in confusion, the villager added more context. It seemed he’d only now remembered that Satin was unfamiliar with basic customs.
“Our village is small, so we don’t have a temple. You should go to Cloverland and stop by the temple there.”
“Why the temple?”
“To ask them to pray for your grandfather’s soul, of course.”
“Ah, so that’s what you meant…”
No wonder the funeral rites had seemed so brief.
When Satin nodded, the villager shrugged lightly.
“It’s not mandatory, but most people do it.”
“How long does it take to get to Cloverland?”
“You’ve got to go around the forest, so it takes a while. There and back will be about three days.”
“That’s quite far.”
“Well, our village is a bit remote. Anyway, if you decide to go, I’ll tell the general store. You can take their cart. It’s a freight cart, but there’s a seat you can use.”
“Alright. I’d appreciate that.”
After seeing the villager off, Satin began tidying the house alone. With no one left to constantly tend to, the chores became far easier—but his heart felt far from light.
He placed the urn containing the ashes in a corner of the bedroom and stepped outside. As the days grew warmer, tending to the garden had become a part of the daily routine. Wearing a wide-brimmed straw hat, he pulled out weeds and thought about what he’d need to do the next day.
I can just pack the essentials and go.
He had some money saved—bits set aside every time he got paid. Not even enough to buy a goat, but surely enough for a trip to Cloverland. Though he’d never taken a passenger cart before, he’d picked up enough over time to be familiar with the local cost of living.
Since he’d be heading into the city anyway, maybe he could take a little time to look around. A change of scenery might lift his spirits.
But as he thought about it, a strange question crept in.
Was this supposed to be part of the story, too?
Even in peaceful slice-of-life tales, events happened. The death of someone close was one such event.
In real life, the death of someone you know is never a minor matter. But in fiction, the death of an old man rarely carries much weight.
Sometimes it marks a turning point, or a moment of growth.
Maybe it’s because I’m not really real.
Grandpa’s death had left Satin slightly shaken, but it didn’t stir anything deeper. He was already well-acquainted with death—too much so to let this lead to any sort of personal growth. He didn’t expect it to bring any major changes to his daily life either.
I’ll probably just come back, pull more weeds, cook some food, and keep on living.
That thought remained unchanged all the way until he arrived in Cloverland, a full day later. In truth, he was too exhausted to think at all.
I thought my stamina had improved, but carts really aren’t the same as cars.
The morning after the funeral, Satin caught a ride on the freight cart from the general store to a nearby village, where he then boarded a passenger cart headed to Cloverland.
The day was hot. The passengers reeked of musty sweat, and even though the cart had no roof, the stench clung stubbornly to the air. Thankfully, Satin’s sense of smell dulled quickly.
The cart rolled on for hours, stopping briefly now and then, only to start up again in the same rhythm.
By the time they arrived at Cloverland, the sun had already gone down.
I’m dead tired.
Despite having done nothing but sit, Satin and the other passengers were completely drained.
Is it always this crowded?
As he got off the cart, he noticed the gate area was unusually busy. And the people weren’t just passersby—some were in uniform.
“What’s going on?” The passenger who had disembarked right after Satin asked a nearby person. The man blinked, then went “Ah,” and explained.
“A few days ago, the Bureau of Order got a threatening letter. Said they were going to wipe out everyone in Cloverland.”
“What kind of lunatic does something like that?”
Satin had the exact same thought. What kind of maniac would send a threat like that?
“So now there’s more patrols, and they’re doing stop-and-search checks…”
“Isn’t that dangerous?”
“Haha, this sort of thing’s happened plenty of times before. Nothing ever comes of it. It’s probably just some crazy person pulling a prank.”
The man shook his head and went on his way. Apparently, they didn’t have The Boy Who Cried Wolf in this world—he didn’t seem remotely worried. Having overheard the exchange and grown uneasy for no reason, Satin also let his concern fade.
Just like a prank call in a fantasy world, I guess.
Satin trudged along behind the crowd toward an inn. He was far too tired to enjoy any of the city’s scenery.
He rented the cheapest room available. When asked if he wanted dinner, he shook his head. He hadn’t realized it, but he’d been feeling a bit carsick and had no appetite. Maybe by morning, he’d be able to stomach something.
“Then have a good rest.”
As soon as the staff member who guided him to his room left, Satin collapsed onto the bed with a groan like an old man. He didn’t even have the energy to wash or change his clothes.
“Beds really are the best…”
Back in the cabin, he’d always given the bed to Grandpa and slept on layers of blankets laid out over the hard floor. That had been his routine for four years. Now, lying on a real bed for the first time in ages, his body practically melted into it.
Satin fell asleep without even realizing when.
i still think it was the ginseng ….if thats what it was! he should have asked