The Lost Dream
The room Jimin chose carried the quiet air of a scholar's chamber.
A window opened toward the back, keeping the noise of the streets at a distance while still holding the pulse of ordinary life within sight.
Below, the rooftops of common households spread out in a single glance.
It was clearly chosen with care.
During the meal, when she excused herself to secure a room, she must have inspected and decided on this one in advance.
Is it a dream I have lost?
Or something that can still be reclaimed?
He sat there for a long while.
In the meantime, Jang Jimin finished arranging both her belongings and Sowoon's.
She hung the two swords side by side on the wall.
The items that needed to remain within easy reach were placed neatly on the shelf.
"What are you doing, Young Master?"
"Ah, noona. I was just lost in old memories."
"What old memories could a child possibly have?"
"My father wished for me to walk the path of a scholar, not a warrior.
He filled my room with things like these.
The scent of ink never faded.
When I opened the window, plum blossoms, cherry trees, camellias, and magnolias bloomed in turn with the seasons.
In spring, there was not a single day without flowers."
"You were the son of a great household. Of course it was so.
You can still do it now. Why regret it?
Since we're here, let's go buy brushes and ink tomorrow. I'll get you the finest ones."
"That is not what I mean.
It feels as though the scholar's path has grown too distant."
"Then start again now.
Why hesitate? We'll go tomorrow."
Sowoon lowered his head.
Even if told to begin again, it would not be simple.
In a world intertwined with the men he had cut down,
could he stand above them and govern the people?
He had seen too clearly the hollowness of power and the fragility of men.
To return to that world and lift a brush did not come easily to his mind.
Jimin sensed his thoughts in part.
For someone whose hands had been stained with blood, returning to the scholar's way was no light matter.
It was not a step taken without weight.
Yet from the outside, it appeared simple enough—just begin again.
To cling to a path not taken might look foolish to those who did not know.
"Then, Young Master, write me something.
A line I may carry with me always, to read and remember."
Sowoon turned his head.
"A line?"
"You said you were once a licentiate scholar.
You grew up in a house steeped in the scent of ink.
And look—there are brushes and inkstone here already.
It may lack the old atmosphere, but still—write me a few characters."
It was an unexpected request.
For a moment, Sowoon was speechless.
Yet the brush, ink, inkstone, and paper were laid out in order.
His thoughts were already in turmoil.
To refuse to take up the brush would have been stranger still.
"Very well… then please grind the ink for me."
Jimin's eyes brightened.
"Truly? You will write it?"
She eagerly pulled the inkstone closer, added a drop of water, and began grinding with force.
The sound was harsh.
Sowoon frowned slightly.
Though a woman, she was a martial artist—her strength pressed too hard.
Ink ground that way would not flow evenly.
"Gently. Hold it as though you are holding an egg—firm yet barely so.
Grind slowly. Only then will the ink bloom richly."
She shot him a look.
"Say something believable.
You might as well claim that a sleeve brushing a rock for a million years turns it into sand."
Her words came sharp and lively.
She had not spoken so before.
Yesterday and today felt like different seasons.
He did not know what had changed her.
But the change tugged faintly at his chest.
Perhaps parting had reshaped her heart.
Women's emotions often ran in directions unseen.
He almost asked more about Cheon Il-cheong.
But he held his tongue.
When Sowoon read a person, it was not by measuring the depth of their internal energy, but by sensing the flow and color of their qi—the current of their consciousness.
He could not miss the quiet loneliness within Jimin.
After several gentle corrections, the ink finally deepened to the right shade.
Sowoon tested it with the brush, then unfolded the paper.
Perhaps she had arranged this room and its writing tools deliberately.
Perhaps the matter was not as finished as it seemed.
Perhaps they would remain in the capital longer than expected.
He considered what to write for her.
After a long moment, a hexagram from the I Ching came to mind.
Yes. That would do.
He gripped the brush.
Strength surged through his hand.
It was said that excess strength was worse than deficiency.
Fighting with a blade had altered more within him than he realized.
He steadied himself and wrote with deliberate care:
天火同人 — Cheonhwa Dongin
— Licentiate Yu Sowoon —
Cheonhwa Dongin, the thirteenth hexagram of the I Ching, depicts fire rising beneath heaven.
It signifies people of shared purpose uniting with upright hearts to accomplish great aims.
When selfish desires are cast aside and minds align, all endeavors prosper.
Before the ink had fully dried, Sowoon set down the brush and rose.
He walked slowly to the window and looked outside.
Jimin could not take her eyes from the characters.
She traced each stroke darkened by ink—
and at last, a choked sob escaped her.
The characters shaped the image of fire rising toward heaven.
Two forces meeting, becoming one.
A symbol of comrades without equal beneath the sky.
It was Sowoon's wish.
That Cheon Il-cheong and Jang Jimin would stand as one.
That quiet hope was carried in the ink.
Whether she understood the meaning, he did not ask.
One does not question the meaning of a gift freely written.
Jimin waited for the ink to dry, tears falling.
She mounted it carefully, rolled it gently, and held it to her chest.
"Thank you for your thoughtfulness, Young Master."
She knelt on one knee and bowed deeply.
Her black hair spilled forward to the floor.
"Noona, this is too much—please."
Sowoon waved his hands, flustered.
"I am grateful for your heart. Truly."
Her voice trembled.
"Ah…"
Sowoon smiled awkwardly and found no further words.
Are women's hearts truly so changeable?
He let out a quiet sigh.
Her moods leapt here and there—
and he could not quite catch their direction.