A Tale Of A Scribe Who Retires To The Countryside [EN]: Chapter 328

328. Someday, Somewhere

The climate in Guangdong Province, in the southern part of the continent, is hot and humid. The architectural style of building high walls facing south to block the intense sunlight is so common that even young people avoid going outside during the summer midday.

“Hoo.”

The old man with gray hair wiped away the sweat. The hot sun made even breathing difficult, and his clothes, already soaked, added to the discomfort.

Lighter, better-ventilated clothes would have been preferable, but the old man wore a heavy, long official robe.

His neck, chest, and back were already drenched, and he felt little dignity.

Thud, thud.

The old man, moving with difficulty, suddenly saw a wide-open door.

‘Well, that’s good. Maybe some water…’

Perhaps because the door was open, the old man thought he might get some cool water to drink, even though he didn’t know the house at all.

Gaining a moment of energy, he hurried toward the open door. But, mindful of courtesy, he stopped before entering.

“Hahaha.”

“Kalkkalkkal.”

The laughter of children reached him. It was rare in the heat of the day, and the old man’s curiosity was piqued. He peered inside.

‘Children?’

He saw a modest garden. In the shade of the trees, a gazebo-like structure with a canopy stood, and a dozen children were gathered beneath it.

Some were lying down, others sitting and playing, but all were huddled together in the gazebo. Running around the garden in this heat would exhaust even the most energetic children.

“Who is it?”

A soft voice spoke near the old man’s ear. Turning, he saw a gentle-looking young man sitting in a corner of the garden, watching him.

The old man was taken aback. He had been unintentionally peeking.

“Ah, this… I, I’m sorry.”

He quickly straightened and bowed politely.

“I’m just passing by. Could I get some water?”

The sweat on his face and his soaked clothes made his need obvious.

The young man smiled and rose.

“Of course. Please come in.”

“Th, thank you.”

The old man expressed his gratitude awkwardly.

The young man led him to a table in the shade.

Sitting, the old man breathed a sigh of relief. Just being in the shade made breathing easier.

“Hoo.”

Watching him relax, the young man said softly,

“It’s not much, but would you like some?”

He offered tea. No steam rose from the teapot, so it wasn’t hot.

The old man nodded. He wanted cold water, but tea would be better for his old body.

Pour, pour.

The teacup filled, and the old man sipped. The tea was lukewarm, but clearly made with good leaves, as it wasn’t bitter.

He emptied three cups in a row. The sweat stopped flowing, and his composure returned.

“Oh, my, I apologize for the intrusion. I am Yang Hwa, a scholar of the White Tiger Hall of the Imperial Palace.”

Surprise spread across the young man’s face. Yang Hwa smiled, feeling the pride he always felt when revealing his position.

“Is that so? I am Son Bin, Yang Scholar.”

“You are Son Gongja [Gongja is an honorific title for a scholar].”

Yang Scholar nodded.

“But there seem to be many children…”

“Yes, this place is a Seowon [a private Confucian academy].”

“Ah, Seowon.”

A welcoming expression appeared on Yang Scholar’s face. He looked around the grounds again.

Swaaa.

The tall tree rustled in the wind. It seemed to have been watching for a long time, casting a shadow over the old but comfortable-feeling mansion surrounding the garden.

He hadn’t noticed it earlier in his flustered state, but it was quite antique and cozy.

“I see. So that’s why the children…”

“Yes. They are precious and cute children.”

The young man’s face was full of affection as he looked at them. Yang Scholar smiled warmly.

“I envy you.”

At Yang Scholar’s words, Son Gongja smiled and looked back.

“It’s just a small Seowon. How can it compare to a scholar of the Imperial Palace?”

That was probably an expression of humility, but Yang Scholar’s expression turned bitter.

“A scholar of the Imperial Palace…”

Perhaps it was the cool shade and comfortable atmosphere, but Yang Scholar quietly continued.

“As I said, I am a scholar belonging to the White Tiger Hall, not the Hallimwon [the Imperial Academy].”

Hallimwon (翰林院). The best research institute of the Imperial family, where the best scholars in the world gather. It’s what most people think of when they think of scholars of the Imperial family.

“Not all scholars can belong to the Hallimwon, can they?”

Son Gongja said softly.

The Hallimwon is not only respected by all the literati in the world but also has an absolute influence on national policy decisions. So much so that even ‘what the Hallimwon is researching’ is a secret.

Of course, few can enter the Hallimwon. And there are many other places in the Imperial Palace that need scholars. The ‘White Tiger Hall’ that Yang Scholar mentioned would be one of those places.

“Well, that’s true, but… Ahem.”

Clearing his throat, Yang Scholar avoided his gaze and continued, embarrassed.

“Actually, I came in first in the Daegwa [the highest civil service examination].”

“You came in first?”

This time, even Son Gongja was surprised.

The first, second, and third place winners of the Daegwa are directly awarded official positions by the Emperor. They are allowed to use the Omun [the main gate of the Imperial Palace] only once, a great honor.

“You are truly amazing.”

Son Gongja’s admiration was sincere, knowing how much effort and patience it required, not just because of the honor.

“There’s nothing great about it.”

Yang Scholar smiled bitterly, fiddling with his teacup.

“No, it’s rather embarrassing. The only thing to be proud of is something that happened decades ago.”

“That’s not true.”

Yang Scholar looked up at the soft but firm voice. Son Gongja’s deep, clear eyes were staring straight at him.

“It is a clear fact that you achieved it through your own efforts. It’s by no means embarrassing. It’s something to be proud of.”

Son Gongja smiled.

“I know how difficult it must have been to get there.”

Something in that voice resonated deep in Yang Scholar’s heart.

“Thank you. No, thank you, Son Gongja.”

Son Gongja said to Yang Scholar, who quickly corrected his title.

“You can speak comfortably.”

“No, I can’t…”

Yang Scholar declined, but nodded at Son Gongja’s smile.

“Ahem, I understand.”

A moment of silence. Yang Scholar, fiddling with his teacup, continued.

“Yes, at that time, I felt like I had the whole world. But it didn’t take long to realize the wall of reality.”

“The wall of reality?”

Yang Scholar chuckled.

“I didn’t know at all that scholars also need family background, connections, and wealth. You even have to be from the same Seowon…”

Son Gongja listened silently. Yang Scholar said.

“I was naive. I didn’t know anything. I was quickly pushed into a minor position, but there were good things. At least I didn’t have to worry about losing my life in a power struggle. Hahaha.”

His laughter was hearty, but short-lived.

“From then on, my dream was to quietly grow old and retire. But it wasn’t bad. Thanks to the position of Imperial Palace Scholar, I got a pretty wife and cute children. And the work at the White Tiger Hall was also fun in its own way.”

He didn’t ask or say what he did at the White Tiger Hall, as one can’t carelessly reveal the work of the Imperial Palace.

“But when it was time to retire, I felt sorry for something. The last trace that I existed… As a scholar, I wanted to leave at least one book.”

Son Gongja seemed to fully understand. How could he not know the desire to leave a meaningful book as a writer?

“I see. Then what kind of book…”

“Ahem.”

Yang Scholar cleared his throat.

“That is, it’s about the Murim [the martial arts world]…”

“The Murim?”

There are books that discuss literature and martial arts (文武). But a book about the Murim is unusual.

At Son Gongja’s puzzled expression, Yang Scholar waved his hand.

“I’m not trying to compile a ridiculous story. The masters of the Murim fly in the sky and break rocks, but how can such a thing happen? But I… What should I say? I think there is something deeper in what is called martial arts and Murim…”

Yang Scholar glanced at Son Gongja’s expression, knowing that the reactions of others, especially literati, were usually fixed.

They openly scoff as if it’s ridiculous, or nod dismissively and subtly change the subject.

But Son Gongja’s reaction was different. He was listening with interest. Encouraged, Yang Scholar continued.

“…So, maybe martial arts is a way to explore the path to the ultimate Tao [the Way, the fundamental principle of the universe]…”

“I see.”

Son Gongja was impressed, his eyes shining as he looked at Yang Scholar.

“That’s a great insight.”

Yang Scholar cleared his throat, finding the gaze burdensome.

“Ahem, it’s not that great… Anyway, I’m traveling around the world collecting data. It’s my own exploration of the origin of martial arts.”

“Are there no books in the Imperial Library?”

The Imperial Library, Munyeongak, is a treasure trove of knowledge, but Yang Scholar shook his head.

“There are some, but they are not classified, and there are hardly any serious approaches. Besides, how can you call it a living study without visiting the site yourself?”

Son Gongja nodded. Though he seemed picky, the old scholar’s attitude was correct.

“That’s right. But the Murim sects are very closed…”

Yang Scholar sighed deeply.

“Exactly. If I present myself as an Imperial Palace Scholar, they welcome me as a guest, but that’s it. The Moonju [sect leader] or Gaju [family head] won’t even meet me, nor will those skilled in martial arts.”

Son Gongja understood why Yang Scholar wore an official robe. It was to avoid being turned away.

The reaction of the Moonpa [martial arts sect] or Muga [martial arts family] was also understandable. How could they carelessly reveal their family’s martial arts?

Yang Scholar knew that too, so he tried to find out indirectly through the experiences of Gaju or Moonju, but even that was not easy.

“Of course I understand, but it’s too closed. How can there be any development like this? Like us, discussions and debates must take place actively for martial arts to develop…”

As the complaints grew longer, Son Gongja cut him off.

“Have you gained anything here?”

Yang Scholar was lost in thought.

“The young master of the Mugwan [martial arts school] in the city has quite a spirit. He is open-minded and seems to have a deep understanding of martial arts. I got some useful things…”

Yang Scholar frowned.

“After all, there is something like the logic unique to martial artists. I don’t know, but there are aspects of martial artists’ way of thinking that I don’t understand…”

Son Gongja nodded. The way of thinking of martial artists is different from that of writers. Besides, there are many things that writers cannot accept.

If it were normal, he might let it go, but if he goes into serious study, it is a problem he can never overlook.

Swaaa.

The leaves fluttered in the wind. The children who were playing and those who were lying down were asleep.

The small garden was as quiet and peaceful as a mountain temple in a deep valley.

“Actually, I’m also interested in the Murim.”

Yang Scholar turned. Son Gongja, holding a teacup, was smiling softly.

“You too?”

“Yes, that’s right. To be precise, it’s the sword (劍), but…”

Son Gongja continued shyly.

“I can say that I know a little bit.”

“Hooh, is that so?”

Yang Scholar’s face was full of interest.

“A writer and a sword are unique… No, no. Historically, it’s not strange to learn swordsmanship. It was essential for nobles to learn swordsmanship.”

Usually, the noble hobbies of scholars are the seven-stringed zither, Go [a board game], calligraphy, and painting.

But historically, it was not uncommon for writers to learn swordsmanship as a liberal art. Rather, it was essential for nobles to learn swordsmanship, though they valued archery more.

“Then what do you think? Beyond simple self-defense or killing, what is the meaning of the sword (劍)?”

Yang Scholar’s eyes twinkled. It was natural, as it was directly related to his subject.

“Well, it’s just my point of view, so I don’t know if it will be of much help…”

“Hey, don’t take it back now.”

Yang Scholar grinned.

“Tell me comfortably. A writer’s view on the sword (劍) will be helpful. Isn’t the perspective of a border crosser popular these days?”

“A border crosser? What does that mean?”

“It means a person who has feet on both sides. Or someone who is neither this nor that…”

Yang Scholar realized his mistake and changed the subject.

“It also becomes the foundation for new insights or fresh interpretations. Who would read obvious stories these days? I don’t want my ‘report’ to be just another common book.”

“‘Report’?”

“Ah, it’s the name of my book. The original title is ‘A Report on the Holistic Approach to the Origin of Martial Arts Transmitted to the Murim Bangpa [martial arts sects]’, but I’m just calling it ‘Report’.”

Son Gongja smiled bitterly. It is common to decide the title of a book in advance, but it’s too complicated and long.

“Isn’t the title too long?”

“Hey, you don’t know the trend at all.”

Yang Scholar frowned, his white eyebrows distorted.

“Long titles are in vogue. That way, you can get one more look. Besides, you can tell just by looking at the title, ‘Ah, what kind of book is this?’ Old book titles are unkind. You can’t tell what kind of book it is just by looking at the title.”

Perhaps because he had regained his energy, or because it was a subject he was interested in, Yang Scholar’s voice was full of energy.

“Even this is a big concession. There are more unusual books coming in from other countries these days. There are even titles in the form of descriptive or interrogative sentences.”

Son Gongja didn’t understand. Interrogative sentences? How can the title of a book end with a question?

“Really?”

“Some are like that. Some.”

Yang Scholar waved his hand. But he clearly said it was a trend earlier.

Sonbin thought the world was changing quickly, but he didn’t want to adapt. It was enough if this place could be a small shelter, like a big, old tree that casts a shadow silently.

“So, what do you think?”

Yang Scholar urged. Son Gongja smiled softly.

“Well.”

Son Gongja’s gaze, holding the teacup, was directed far away. His softly smiling expression was as faint as if he was recalling happy memories.

Swaaaaa.

The blue wind swept through the small Seowon. The trees in the garden cast shadows, and the colorful breaths of the sleeping children are heard.

“In my opinion…”

Along with Son Gongja’s low voice, another peaceful day in the Seowon, no different from any other, was passing by.