“Don’t speak yet. Your throat is not fully healed.”
A soft, low voice, like a gentle breeze. Cheonohh had heard this voice before.
From behind the person holding the door frame, a cool mountain breeze entered. White hair fluttering in the wind. The man strides into the room lightly, stepping as if his feet didn’t touch the ground.
“Sayeong, Sahyeon. After you’re done tending his hands, go get whatever you want for dinner. I’ll take care of the rest.”
“Yes, Master.”
The girl and boy, who had been chatting cheerfully a moment ago, suddenly fell silent, as if their banter was a lie. They quickly finished tending to Cheonohh and rushed out. The white-haired man who had just entered glanced at their backs and then knelt in front of Cheonohh.
Up close, the man’s eyebrows and eyelashes were shining white. His expression was faint, but his features were neat, and his light brown eyes were full of calm energy. Just sitting across from him made Cheonohh feel like all his distractions were gone, and his mind was at peace.
The man extended a bowl filled with a translucent, reddish-brown liquid.
“Sit up and drink this. It will ease your throat.”
With the man’s support, Cheonoh slowly rose to a sitting position. He accepted the bowl with both hands, feeling its faint warmth seep into his palms. Hesitating for a moment, he brought it to his lips. A mild sweetness spread across his tongue as the liquid slid down his throat.
While Cheonoh drank in small, cautious sips, the man drew back the blanket and revealed his legs, rolling the fabric of his trousers up to the thighs. Just as the children had said, the wounds on his legs had been treated with the same meticulous care as his hands.
As he worked with calm, practiced motions, the man spoke.
“My name is Cho Yun. As you can see, I practice medicine, and this is my home on Dumangsan Mountain.”
“…”
It was as though his words had reached straight into Cheonoh’s unspoken questions. Setting the empty bowl down carefully, Cheonoh listened in silence.
“You suffered severe injuries, both to body and spirit, and lost consciousness. It wasn’t safe to leave you where you were, so I brought you here. Once you’ve recovered, tell me where you wish to go. If you have nowhere to return to… you’re welcome to stay.”
Injured? How?
As soon as the question crossed his mind, memories crashed down like lightning. The agonizing screams echoed as he crouched in the dark vault. Hot, searing flames seeped through the cracks in the floor. He counted to one hundred thousand just as his mother instructed him to do. The moment he finally stepped outside… and saw it all.
His heart pounded violently, as if it might burst through his chest. A cold numbness swept through his fingertips and toes, draining the blood from them. His mind stiffened, freezing solid, while a sharp knot formed at the back of his throat, swelling until it felt impossible to breathe.
There was no way he could ever forget.
The fact that he hadn’t remembered until now felt unreal. Unforgivable.
Just as the storm of emotion threatened to consume him, a hand gently covered Cheonoh’s dead, blackened eyes, and drew him into a firm embrace.
Cheonoh curled up in his embrace, trembling uncontrollably. He lifted a hand to grasp the man’s robe, but the larger hand gently closed around his, holding it still.
He wanted to scream—to pour out every shred of anguish until he lost consciousness again.
But his throat was ruined, and his body was firmly held. No tears would come. Even breathing felt difficult.
He didn’t know what to do.
Then, a voice as soft as the first snow settling on the earth drifted over him.
“The reason your tears won’t fall is because your strength is gone. Crying takes more spirit than one might think. But when you do manage to cry, something inside you will begin to open.”
Cho Yun’s hand patted slowly across his back, his tone calm and steady as he went on.
“You may claw at my robes, scream, or stamp your feet if you wish. But first, let’s focus on recovering your strength. Regain enough to weep freely. The rest, we’ll think about afterward. For now, don’t force yourself to think of anything at all. No one here will condemn you.”
Strangely, his words seemed to sink into Cheonoh’s heart. It felt as though he truly didn’t need to think, nor fear anyone, because no one would blame him for what had happened.
…No, to be precise, it felt like this person would protect him. No matter what happened, this person would embrace him like this, and everything would be okay.
And if he had a nightmare, he would wake him up.
Cheonoh let his consciousness slip away once more. He drifted into a deep sleep—never knowing that, a while later, Cho Yun would cradle him in his arms and feed him spoonfuls of porridge with quiet care.
◇
“M-Master, who is that kid?”
“Where did you bring him from? The atmosphere around him seemed strange.”
The voices of the children chirping like birds, followed Cho Yun carefully from behind. Cho Yun, with his hands behind his back, walked down the rugged mountain path with light steps and said:
“You can ask him yourself when he wakes up. It’s not polite to talk about someone’s identity in their absence.”
“B-But… y-you said he wouldn’t be able to speak for half a month.”
“And when we went into his room, he stared with his big eyes and kept his mouth sealed shut. He doesn’t answer us! We wiped him down and dressed him while he was sleeping. Doesn’t he know how to express gratitude?”
“He’s been through a lot at such a young age. Be kind and be more understanding. Once he recovers, he’ll be able to call your name and run around freely.”
Cho Yun gently patted the children on their heads as he spoke in a soothing tone. Sayeong and Sahyeon, who had been complaining, softened and walked alongside Cho Yun. In the consequent days the children had been taking care of the same person together, they seemed to have grown quite close.
Cho Yun smiled as he looked at the children, and then offered the final bait.
“In order to help him recover for the time being, we’ll feed him Yunpyehwan and chicken. Descend the mountain and buy four big ones. You can spend the rest on snacks.”
“Snacks!”
The children’s eyes sparkled as they looked up at Cho Yun. He pulled out a small pouch from his clothes and placed it in Sayeong’s palm.
“What if we get pickpocketed?”
“Don’t try to find them. We just come back.”
“What if an adult tries to pick a fight?”
“We don’t engage. Just walk away.”
“What if a stranger tries to drag us away?”
“We bite their finger or hit them in a weak spot and run away.”
“And the last thing?”
“We’ll be careful and come back safely, Master!”
“W-We’ll be back safely!”
The two children bowed deeply to Cho Yun before darting down the mountain. They looked back and waved their hands, and Cho Yun gave them a small wave.
Their figures soon vanished among the trees, but Cho Yun could still sense their presence through his keen perception—their bright, lively steps was endearing, and he smiled as he continued along the path.
Sa-yeong and Sa-hyeon had been eleven and nine years old when they became Cho Yun’s apprentices. The siblings, once orphans wandering the streets, had been taken in by him three years ago—or so he had only recently learned upon arriving here.
This is all fine. No, not fine—but anyway… Was there really no way to recall everything at once? Having to rediscover things piece by piece was exhausting. Then again, perhaps trying to restore two hundred years of memories in one burst would be its own disaster.
“Ah, it’s rhododendron. This… is good for relieving pain and fever, and for treating fatigue. It’s mild, so it’s safe to take even in large amounts.”
As soon as his gaze fell upon the large rhododendron bush, its properties and uses rose naturally to the surface of his mind, as if he had always known them like second nature. He had never known such facts, at least not until he saw it.
Cho Yun’s vast knowledge seemed to surface only when something triggered it, like this herb.
He had to think of an ailment before recalling the proper combinations of medicine; he had to touch an object before memories connected to it would reawaken.
Thankfully, it kept his recollections from tangling together, but it also led to frequent confusion.
“I would’ve been glad if I had known the children were already here when I woke up at the inn… Raising children requires more than just a little effort.”
Cho Yun grumbled under his breath, yet still carefully plucked the rhododendron leaves untouched by insects, tucking them neatly into his sleeve.
The moment Jeong Hayoon awoke in Cho Yun’s body had taken place in a shabby inn.
Where am I? he wondered—and immediately, the name Cheongmyeong Inn at Unhansan Mountain came to mind.
Why am I here? he thought, and his mind was instantly filled with vivid knowledge of the countless herbs that grew across the mountain.
Only after that did Jeong Hayoon’s own consciousness fully awaken.
Surprisingly, he wasn’t panicking. Perhaps because web novels with a similar setups were so common these days, he found himself accepting the situation with unsettling composure. Feeling slightly dazed, Jeong Hayoon sat up on the bed and began tracing through Cho Yun’s memories. In doing so, he found his mind overflowing with the images of the tragedy that had occurred not far from the inn; along with the knowledge that a certain character from the original story was there.
The village beneath Unhansan Mountain, under the protection of the Seomun Clan, was filled with unease. The people feared that the flames consuming the Seomun estate might spread to them as well. Even on the day before Cho Yun’s arrival, tension had hung thick in the air.
If it had truly been Cho Yun who was there, he likely would’ve ignored the affair and left without getting involved.
But Jeong Hayoon, who’d just awakened in Cho Yun’s body, couldn’t do that.
No way… could this really be <The Return of the Hero>?
He went to confirm it for himself, and there—like a nail driven into fate—stood Cheonoh.
As soon as the thought crossed his mind ‘Take the child somewhere safe to be treated,’ he remembered Cho Yun’s secluded home on Dumangsan Mountain, the House of Deep Mist, and brought the boy there.
The moment he arrived, two children suddenly burst out of the house shouting, “Master!”. Jeong Hayoon had frozen on the spot, utterly at a loss for words.
“One kid is already enough trouble…”
Raising children was never easy. They never grow up properly if left alone.
Jeong Hayoon, who understood all too well the weight and difficulty of childcare, now found himself responsible for three of them. The sheer pressure of that realization weighed heavily on his shoulders.
From what he could tell, Cho Yun had been the kind of person who lived a carefree, hermit-like life—something that, from Jeong Hayoon’s modern perspective, looked suspiciously like neglect.
But that wasn’t even the biggest problem.
“…I should head back. I can’t leave a child alone for too long.”
He had made sure the boy was sleeping peacefully before leaving, but parenting required constant vigilance.
Satisfied with the bundle of herbs puffing out his sleeves, Cho Yun turned back up the mountain path. The rugged slopes of Dumangsan Mountain were already familiar beneath his feet—well, it is his home, after all.
