Chapter 125 — Dreams
Dream 1
I fell asleep.
The paddy field was shallowly filled with water.
The muddy water had not settled, floating like a thin film on the surface.
When I stepped in, the water rose lukewarm.
It wrapped around the tops of my feet, and mud seeped between my toes.
It was a familiar sensation.
Somewhere, water was flowing.
The sound was faint, but it did not stop.
My eyes followed the sound.
Below the ridge of the field, where water seeped in.
There was a small hole.
Water moved in and out of it, just slightly.
I brought the thin stick in my hand toward it.
Slowly, I pushed it in.
The soil crumbled a little, and the water trembled.
For a moment, nothing happened.
Then once more, I nudged it—very slightly.
That was when it happened.
The tip of the stick stopped, ever so subtly.
Something inside was resisting.
I felt it at my fingertips.
Hard, and alive.
It did not move.
I waited.
Tap.
The stick was pulled just a little.
Something inside had bitten onto it.
I followed that force and slowly drew it out.
I did not pull hastily.
So it would not slip away, so it would not break, I followed it as it came.
The muddy water parted, and something black appeared.
It hung there, claws spread open.
A crayfish.
It clung to the stick.
It did not let go.
It held on to the very end.
I reached out and grabbed it from behind.
Even then, its claws kept moving.
Not to grab, but to hold on.
I lifted it above the water.
Drops fell.
Mud flowed with them.
It was small, solid, and alive.
That moment lingered.
The smell of the paddy water rose.
Warm, wet, and not heavy.
Somewhere far away, someone was calling.
It felt near, yet distant.
The sensation in my hand began to fade.
The crayfish's movement slowed.
The things floating on the water disappeared one by one.
The mud, the water, the hand, the breath—
faded as though blending into one another.
Dream 2
Autumn light lay low across everything.
The sunlight was warm but short, and the air was clear and light.
My sisters stood beneath the tree.
There were not many words, but laughter came often.
Walnuts lay scattered at their feet.
Some shells were still damp, others hardened and solid in the hand.
When nudged with a foot, they rolled along with the soil.
I bent down and picked one up.
It felt heavy in my palm.
When I scratched the shell with my nail, its rough surface scraped faintly.
A sister tossed one.
It fell with a dull thud, and we looked at each other and laughed.
Some went farther to gather more.
Some stayed and piled them in one place.
Words did not continue, but the flow did not break.
Movements followed one another.
The wind blew.
Dry leaves brushed against each other above, making a sound.
Then, a walnut fell.
Everyone's eyes turned toward it, then returned.
Our pockets slowly filled.
The weight in our hands grew.
What had begun lightly was now accumulating.
The sunlight tilted.
Light stretched long between the trees.
The shadows of my sisters lengthened.
They overlapped each other.
They passed over the walnuts on the ground.
Someone called a name.
No answer came immediately.
Instead, footsteps paused once, then continued.
What was held in the hand was not let go.
I wanted to remain there.
Just like that, without a word.
Dream 3
The winter field was empty.
The wind did not stop, and its sound stretched on.
The kite string in my hand was pulled tight.
My palm felt frozen, but the string was still alive, still moving.
It was dragged far away by the wind.
The kite had already risen high.
It had become too small to follow with my eyes, dissolving into the sky.
Still, the string clearly connected us.
Just a little more. Just a little higher.
I let out more string.
As I loosened my grip, my hand emptied.
The kite went farther.
The wind surged once.
The string cut into my hand.
It felt like my skin was splitting.
Still, I did not let go.
Then a thought passed through me.
What if I let it go now.
My hand tightened around the string.
For a moment, a very brief hesitation.
And then—I let go.
The string slipped from my hand.
In that instant, I became light.
There was nothing left to hold.
The kite rose higher.
Nothing pulled it back anymore.
Only the wind carried it upward.
It rose as though disappearing into the sky.
A dot, then smaller than a dot.
Even when I could no longer follow it with my eyes,
I stood there.
Nothing remained in my hands.
Only the wind passed by.
That emptiness lingered for a long time.
Dream 4
The man came in and said the errand runner had returned.
He was delighted, saying he would become rich now.
When I said that was good, he told me to keep my promise.
I agreed, and he smiled brightly, cleaning my wounds.
"Oh, not hurt at all. Bruised, but this armor is excellent."
"My whole body is a mess."
"How much is armor like this? It must be expensive."
"Take it all."
"Really?"
Then, behind him, I saw Park Geun-su.
Youngwoo spoke in a low voice.
"Brother!"
But something was wrong with his expression.
Without a sound, Park Geun-su approached
and drove his sword into the back of the foolish man dreaming of fortune.
The blade burst out through the man's chest,
and blood sprayed like a fountain from the white steel.
It had pierced the heart without a doubt.
The silent act of killing unfolded slowly, in full view.
Ugh—
The man twisted, but with the blade lodged in him, he could not move.
Gasping like a bird, he slowly collapsed.
Park Geun-su stepped on his back and pulled the sword free.
Blood burst from the wound.
He had struck straight through the heart to kill in a single blow.
Youngwoo could not believe it.
Park Geun-su… Park Geun-su…
He gathered his strength.
"Brother…"
His eyes were filled with tears.
A man so soft-hearted—there must be a reason.
A tear fell onto Youngwoo's face.
"Youngwoo… I'm sorry."
"Don't say anything. Just kill me."
"I'm sorry."
The tip of the blade that had once killed Cheonyeok was placed against Youngwoo's chest.
Youngwoo grasped the blade with his fingertips and moved it aside.
"Not there—here. Something's going on, right? Then just do it. If it helps you, not there—here."
He guided the blade to the left side of his chest, to his heart.
Park Geun-su wept.
"They took my family hostage."
Now he understood.
Now he finally understood.
He would not live anyway.
If his death could save his brother—
"Your family has to live. Strike here. Hurry. Please. Kill me quickly so it won't hurt."
"Youngwoo!"
Park Geun-su could not bring himself to strike.
He collapsed over Youngwoo's chest instead.