The Visit – Jin Mugwang 2
"Soun, have you been well?"
The General's voice was low, yet firm.
It was a gentle question, but within it lay concern for one long separated.
"Yes, General.
Has your health recovered much?"
Soun answered clearly, his back straight.
His tone was respectful, yet his voice carried sincerity.
"Good. Many things have improved, thanks to you.
And who is this young lady who came with you?
Did you perhaps meet her here in the capital?"
A faint smile touched the corners of the General's eyes.
The tension within the inn eased slightly.
Jimin stepped forward, sword still in hand.
She brought both hands together in a formal salute (抱拳).
Though holding a blade, her movements were composed, her bow exact in angle.
"My greetings are late.
I am Jang Jimin of Cheonsan."
Her voice was low but clear.
She remained bowed for a brief moment.
"Ah, I saw you when the Elder of Cheonsan visited.
That time was rather chaotic… my apologies."
The General nodded, searching his memory.
"I have heard that you accompanied him here and offered much help.
Thank you—for aiding our Soun."
His words were warm.
Though spoken before many, it was no mere formality.
It was gratitude from a guardian, from an elder.
The people in the inn watched quietly.
What had moments before felt like a den of rival factions now resembled the orderly hall of a household.
Soun wore clean garments and smiled brightly.
There was not a speck of dust upon him.
His eyes were clear; joy lit his face.
But Jimin's appearance beside him told another story.
Dust clung to the hem of her clothes; her sleeves were worn and rough.
Her hair was neatly tied, yet the ends had loosened.
Faint traces of sweat remained upon her face.
Had she endured hardship?
The thought arose, yet to ask a grown woman outright felt improper.
And for one dressed in martial attire, roughness of appearance could be natural.
The General asked no further.
He withdrew his gaze and regarded the two together.
"Shall we go up to my room?
Upstairs…"
"Yes, let us go."
It was fortunate.
The General moved toward the stairs under his own power.
His steps were heavy, deliberate.
The suffering he had endured still lingered in his movement, yet it did not diminish the bearing of a giant.
Each tread of the wooden stairs resounded dully below.
Jimin quietly cleared the way ahead.
Soun followed a step behind.
Those who had witnessed their reunion lowered their heads unconsciously.
Someone exhaled softly.
The tension that had pressed down at last eased.
Entering the room filled with the scent of ink, Lee Sogun gave a small cry of delight.
Papers and brush from the previous day lay as they had been left, and the rich fragrance of ink lingered in the air.
On the table were open sheets, strokes not yet fully dried.
"Oh! Soun, what is this?
Have you begun studying again?"
There was joy in her eyes.
Perhaps she had wished him to walk the path of letters (文) rather than arms (武).
Perhaps she had dreamed of gentler days with brush and paper instead of blade and blood.
Faced with her bright expression, Soun looked faintly embarrassed.
He silently began gathering the items on the table.
"No, Aunt. I am only scribbling.
Passing the time."
"Oh."
Lee Sogun gently stopped his hand.
She lifted the drawings and calligraphy he had made, one by one.
Tilting the paper toward the light, she examined the flow of strokes and the breathing of empty space.
Her gaze lingered over the places where the brush had rested.
She raised the sheet and angled it again toward the light.
At every point where the brush had paused, energy clung distinctly.
The strokes were as disciplined as lines drawn by a blade; the dense ink spread evenly.
At first glance, it was the writing of a refined scholar.
The characters were upright; spacing steady as measured breath.
There was no haste, no ostentation of strength.
It was the script of one seated calmly, building thought upon thought.
Yet the longer one looked, the more the texture changed.
At the fine tips of extending strokes, a living tension remained.
Even a pressed dot bore the weight of a thousand catties.
Though the pressure upon the paper was even, beneath it lay an unseen firmness.
It was written with a brush—
yet carried the sensation of a hand accustomed to the sword.
The flow did not falter, though it was not cursive.
Even in strokes that seemed to stand still, the next motion was implied.
Upon the elegance of a literati's hand
rested faintly the bearing of a martial artist who had reached Hwagyeong.
It was neither exaggerated nor displayed deliberately.
Yet the force filling the blank spaces could not be concealed.
"Oh!"
For a long moment, Lee Sogun said nothing.
She was not merely reading the writing; she was reading the person.
Upon the page lay ink—
yet within it stood a quiet momentum, a blade unraised.
Soun silently led the General to the window.
From there the city spread clearly below.
One could see the movement of people, the wind brushing across tiled roofs.
Memories stirred of sitting there once, striving not to lose touch with the world.
When they reached the window, Jin Mugwang caught Soun by the arm.
He drew him down to sit before him.
His strength remained; his hand held no hesitation.
"Come, sit here as well."
"Yes."