Chapter 10
The night owl cried ominously.
To slip past the loosely guarded North Gate, they had no choice but to cut through the abandoned garden. The bamboo grove quivered and whispered with every passing breeze.
Even their panting breaths seemed to lose their way in the thicket. Yero scraped the trunk of a tree with a stone to mark the path.
“This is wrong. We’ve already been here. Let’s try another way.”
Tracing the pale mark carved into the bamboo with her hand, Yero whispered softly.
Whether Yuso understood her anxiety or only pretended not to, she suddenly plopped down on the ground with a thud.
“Ugh, I can’t go any further! I really can’t!”
Like a child about to throw herself flat on her back, she slapped at her skirts in exaggerated complaint.
The most troubled of all was Yero. Her exhausted body had felt unbearably heavy the moment they realized they were lost.
Perhaps it would be better to wait out the night and set out again at dawn.
Uneasily, Yero lifted her gaze upward. The tightly packed bamboo leaves blotted out the moonlight.
The slow hoot of a night owl resembled the cry of a wild beast. Cold sweat trickled down the back of her neck.
“Let’s try just once more, Yuso.”
Bending down, Yero picked up a sharp stone and turned in a different direction. She carved another deep mark into the bamboo.
Though Yuso scowled miserably, she got up and followed after.
The crunch of a twig underfoot made Yuso jolt and clutch at Yero’s sleeve in fright.
Could it be this path…?
Sometimes the deepest darkness, the most profound silence, might actually be the way forward. Perhaps once it had been a well-trodden path, now left to grow wild.
Uncertain, but without hesitation, Yero pressed on.
At last, they reached a darkness so dense not even starlight seeped through.
Yuso finally broke into sobs.
“It’s too dark… I’m scared, Princess…”
Her crying bounced back at them, unable to escape the grove, echoing among the bamboo until it felt almost enchanting.
Yero drew her close, soothing her, then closed her own eyes and listened carefully. She was used to the dark; after all, she had learned to live without wasting oil for lamps. For her, night was merely passing time.
“Princess, did you hear? They say each bamboo stalk holds a soul. At night those spirits weep, and their cries fill the forest…”
“Nonsense.”
Gently wiping away the tears streaking Yuso’s cheeks, Yero pulled her up to her feet. How cold her hands were, like ice despite the summer heat—she must have been trembling terribly.
Yero’s heart ached with pity.
“Come on, it’s not far. I smell smoke. Someone’s made a fire nearby.”
Soothing her like a child, Yero coaxed Yuso onward. They held hands tightly as they pushed through the dense bamboo where not a single ray of light entered.
Then Yero, walking ahead, stumbled over a root she hadn’t seen. She fell forward, bruising her pale knee with a swelling purple mark.
“Are you all right, Princess?”
“Shh.”
The sound of Yuso swallowing back a sob made Yero’s eyes suddenly glimmer.
From far away, like an echo, like ripples across water, a voice carried toward them.
…ya.
Ah… ya.
Yero rose as if enchanted and followed the voice. Her feet sank into soft, damp earth, leaving squelching footprints, but she did not stop.
And then the voice grew clearer, nearer.
“Child…”
When the call reached her ear as though spoken right beside her, Yero froze.
“P-Princess! It’s a ghost! A spirit!”
No, that wasn’t it.
Yero clutched at her chest, as though to hold down the pain swelling inside.
“It’s Mother. It’s my mother.”
Stumbling forward, she tore through the thicket, pushing aside the bamboo with outstretched hands. As she squeezed her way between the narrow stalks, small embers fluttered down at her feet.
“Princess! Look! It’s the Cold Palace!”
Yuso shrieked, jumping up and down. But Yero’s eyes were distant, still following that voice.
“When I return, I’ll have the palace maids punished severely.”
Through the bamboo, she saw a woman searching frantically with a grief-stricken voice. Tears blurred Yero’s eyes.
“Mother… Yero has come. I’ve come to you, Mother.”
Her trembling fingers reached out to grasp her mother’s hem.
Lady Heo, startled, recoiled in fright. Shaking her head like a frightened animal, she backed away—until her gaze caught Yuso. Then her face lit with joy.
“My child…!”
Before she knew what was happening, Yuso found herself swept into Lady Heo’s arms, staring in confusion at Yero.
Abandoned, Yero slowly lowered her empty hand.
“Where have you been, my child? I’ve been searching everywhere…”
Her mother—once famed for her beauty, now pale and broken—caressed Yuso’s sun-darkened face tenderly.
“Madam, I… I…”
Yuso stammered, her voice trembling, but could not finish. She tried to push Lady Heo away, but the woman clutched her clothes tightly and smiled faintly, like a waning crescent moon.
Suddenly, tears brimmed in Lady Heo’s eyes and rolled down her cheeks.
In her hand gleamed a hairpin.
Yuso’s eyes widened as she saw the sharp wooden pin raised high. Before she could even scream, it came down toward her face. She squeezed her eyes shut, bracing for pain.
But seconds passed—and nothing.
Peeking one eye open, she gasped.
“Princess…!”
Yero had seized her mother’s thin wrist, holding it aloft in a desperate struggle. At last, Lady Heo let out a frustrated groan and collapsed.
Yero turned to Yuso and smiled gently.
But Yuso hesitated to run into her arms. The darkness filling Yero’s eyes was too deep, too frightening, as if all the world’s shadows resided there.
“Let go of me! Better to die than live as a woman trapped in the palace! At least as a spirit I could roam the plains, cover the sky!”
Lady Heo shrieked, struggling to wrench free.
“…Ah.”
At last Yuso noticed the butterfly-shaped scar at the back of Yero’s neck.
How sweet that voice must have been for her—“child”—from a mother who had never truly looked at her.
Yero avoided Yuso’s gaze, as if ashamed to have revealed such weakness.
“Let go! Let go!”
Lady Heo spat in her daughter’s face.
Slowly lowering her eyes to hide her tears, Yero whispered:
“Mother, it’s me—Yero. Your daughter. The last descendant of the Fire Clan.”
“Lies! My child is right there! Your kind… yes, your kind trampled us! We were the people who ran with the wind, who tended the gardens. And under the guise of peace, you… you defiled me… You stole away my beloved, my husband for whom I gave my very life…”
Yero wished the moonlight would die.
That the night’s darkness would cloak her mother’s pain. Why was it only the agony that remained sharp, while everything else faded with time?
Closing her eyes in anguish, she felt her wet lashes tremble. Tears slipped between her lips, bitter and astringent.
“…Yuso, go fetch the palace maids. Bring Mother’s medicine as well.”
Even before Yero had finished speaking, Yuso had already bolted off. She couldn’t bear to witness Yero’s sorrow, her fragility as she broke apart.
As the sound of footsteps receded, Yero gently rested her mother’s weary head on her shoulder. She ran her fingers through the tangled hair and whispered:
“Mother, do you know? There is no such thing as a past we can return to.”
Who could dare say her pain, her memories, were worthless?
But still—the suffering was hers alone. Yero could pity her, but the agony belonged solely to her mother.
And so the girl’s heart ached. And her tears burned bitterly.
“Let me go… She’s getting away… Please…”
“Mother, I’m here. I’m right by your side.”
It was you who taught me sorrow and loneliness. Loneliness is always learned from the one closest to you.
“Mother, let go of your memories. Forget everything—forget me, forget the Fire Clan, forget that this is the imperial palace…”
At last Yero’s voice broke, and sobs spilled out.
The bamboo grove, where sounds linger, echoed her grief back to her.
“So sorrowful, aren’t you?”
Ah, yes. You’re right.
Hearing her own sorrow returned to her ears, Yero wept—for sadness, and for loneliness.
