Mukeoja — A Relentless Interest
He was relentless.
The old man's attention did not waver from Sowoon, who had surpassed Hwagyeong.
Jin Mugwang attempted to steer the conversation elsewhere, yet it did not move.
The question circled the same point.
They shared their tea.
The cups placed in the corner of the shabby storehouse were unexpectedly refined.
The flavor was deep.
Aroma rose first, then a subtle aftertaste lingered.
Tea drunk in such a place might reveal its truest character.
A dusty back room, a draft slipping through cracks, the scent of aged wood in the air.
A faint sharpness brushed the tip of the tongue.
A stillness settled, as though the moment itself could be held.
Desolation sharpened clarity.
The emptied space made the taste distinct.
Jin Mugwang slowly surveyed the surroundings.
Worn pillars.
Peeling walls.
Cracked floor.
A long sigh escaped him.
This was no place for a man to be buried.
That was what he thought.
Relentlessness eventually draws something up from the depths.
When focus fixes upon a single point, it sifts through rumor, legend, and idle talk, separating what is needed from what is not.
The bond among the three men was old.
In youth, they had entered service together and stepped into the palace.
Jin Mugwang gained his office then.
Mukeoja had also entered official life at the same time.
They chose different paths, yet their relationship did not sour.
They drifted apart, but did not sever ties.
One became a military officer and chose the battlefield.
One served as a magistrate, traveling the provinces.
Mukeoja remained in the palace.
He chose no brilliant post.
He once handled affairs near the palace bridgehead, then settled there.
Soon he accepted an unimportant position and withdrew deep within the palace.
It was a place removed from the tides of political upheaval.
A role called "present yet unnecessary."
At first, he oversaw the imperial archives.
He spent his years among books and documents.
Later he transferred to an office of disbursement, taking on miscellaneous tasks.
He endured the nameless passage of time quietly.
"I cannot tell you. Or rather, I do not know."
Jin Mugwang spoke slowly.
"He is now practicing all the martial arts within the Compendium. I do not know which passage he grasped first, nor which brought his awakening."
He paused, then added:
"Yi Hui may know. The Compendium reached him through Yi Hui."
Mukeoja's eyes glimmered faintly.
"You should meet him. Yi Hui would have observed more closely."
Jin Mugwang nodded and elaborated.
"General Yi—you know him. The one who has been with me since the Southern Expedition."
The old man slowly shook his head.
Leaving the palace was inconvenient.
Not because his body was weak.
His psychological boundary lay within the palace walls.
His mind had long ago taken root inside those gates.
The thought of stepping outside had been folded away years ago.
Even imagining such movement did not arise.
The word retirement did not fit his life.
He remained here every day.
When the sun set, he kept his place.
When dawn broke, he began again in the same spot.
Decades had settled upon this old pavilion.
The palace was his world.
"Where would this old body go? It is impossible. My health is poor."
He spoke calmly.
His refusal to move was clear.
Jin Mugwang smiled faintly.
"The boy… is here now. In the imperial capital."
It was a short sentence.
Yet the air changed.
At the two words imperial capital, Mukeoja's eyes widened.
Something long still stirred within him.
"In the capital… hm."
He cleared his throat.
His gaze shifted.
"Indeed… After killing the Emperor, he did not immediately depart. He must have remained to see whether matters settled properly. A cautious child."
Jin Mugwang's face hardened briefly.
He felt he should explain—no, defend.
"No. That is not so."
He continued at once.
"Go to Namsan. Or to the Cheonhwa Inn. He is training martial artists there."
In the end, he had said everything.
He had placed the clue the old man desired directly into his hand.
What remained was the old man's choice.
What followed belonged to fate.
Mukeoja would go to Namsan.
Knowing his temperament, Jin Mugwang was certain.
He was not one who waited.
He might go at once and request a sparring match.
He might ask directly:
"How did you reach Hwagyeong?"
Or even more bluntly:
"In the moment you cut down the elder of the Black Blade, what martial art did you use?"
That had always been his way.
He did not circle his questions.
Jin Mugwang did not restrain him further.
He had done what he could.
One fulfills one's part and releases the rest.
Beyond that lies no grasp.
No man controls every element.
No one holds the outcome to its end.
Thus people say they entrust it to Heaven.
It means acknowledging what cannot be predicted.
And knowing that limit—that is the condition of being human.