“I’m back. What were you doing?”
See? I told you I can never let your guard down.
He’d noticed from down the path that the child was already awake. Pushing open the rickety wooden gate, Cho Yun announced his return in a soft voice.
‘I’m back. I’ll be back soon.’
Basic etiquette like that—he ought to teach them properly.
No answer came from inside. It was only natural; he’d told the boy not to speak until his throat had healed. Still, in Cheonoh’s case, it felt a little different.
Cho Yun slid open the wooden door and peeked inside. A small boy with hair as black as a raven’s was sitting blankly on the bed, his gaze unfocused. He didn’t even glance up at Cho Yun, simply staring into the void. The sight made Cho Yun’s heart ache.
“You’re awake. How’s your throat? Does your chest still feel tight?”
He sat by the bed and lightly pressed the boy’s wrist and neck, gauging his condition from the faint tremors of his pulse and the flow of qi. Then, with gentle but firm pressure, he examined the boy’s thin back.
Cheonoh’s dark eyes were fixed somewhere on the floor, motionless. But a true teacher will continue to persist even if they don’t get a response.
Taking a wooden comb from the drawer, Cho Yun began carefully combing the boy’s tangled hair as he spoke in an even tone.
“Sayeong and Sahyeon went down the mountain to buy food for dinner. I plan to make chicken soup for the next few days—it’ll help replenish your strength. If you have any food you prefer or dislike, please let me know, I’ll adjust it to your liking.”
“……”
“You seem well enough to take pills now. Starting tomorrow, I’ll give you medicinal pellets along with your decoction. They’ll taste bitter and sour, but you need to hold them in your mouth until they melt—only then will they soothe your throat.”
Still no response. Cho Yun patiently combed through the boy’s hair and tied it neatly with a white silk ribbon into a semi-updo. He could tell when he was brushing through Sayeong and Sahyeon’s hair earlier, Cho Yun was surprisingly good with his hands.
You could do it so well—so why did you leave the kids’ hair a mess? Seriously, these martial artist…
Cho Yun bit the inside of his cheek, silently berating himself. Recalling how tangled the siblings’ hair were the first time he met them made him frown again at Cho Yun’s “hands-off” approach to childcare.
Of course, the original Cho Yun had simply been the sort of man who neither knew nor cared about grooming children’s hair, but that didn’t matter to Jeong Hayoon.
How long did he neglect them that they got so happy just because I brushed their hair?
Thinking of Sayeong and Sahyeon’s bright smiles made something twist unpleasantly inside him.
No, well… I can just do better from now on.
Gathering his thoughts, Cho Yun patted the boy’s shoulder.
“Sitting or lying down all day isn’t the best way to recover. If you’re up to it, would you lend me a hand?”
For the first time, the boy stirred. He turned and looked at Cho Yun, his black eyes round and silent. Cho Yun gave him the softest smile he could manage.
After all, the best medicine for a withdrawn child was often hands-on learning through self-guided experience*.*
◇
When the boy stepped outside for the first time in a while, his legs wobbled under him. Cho Yun moved naturally to his side, steadying him by the shoulder. The boy winced at the bright sunlight, squinting hard.
“I’ll find us a sunny spot ahead. You can go fetch the bamboo mat rolled up in the yard. Be careful not to trip. If you hurt your knees again, that would be troublesome.”
Without saying a word, the boy turned and tottered off to go find the mat. Watching Cheonoh, Cho Yun thought,
He doesn’t seem like such a bad kid if he reacted to me asking for help…
Well, even in the original novel, Ju Cheonoh had been a “cool villain.”
Strong, cold, but never vile. He’d even killed one of his own subordinates for trying to sabotage him with underhanded tricks. He had charisma and conviction, he had enough reason why he despised the Hundred Hero Alliance and orthodox sects and walked the opposite path.
Then maybe… if I raise him right, he won’t end up a villain at all? Childhood education shapes the course of a person’s life and personality, after all.
While wheels are turning in his head, Cho Yun scanned the surroundings for sunlight filtering between the trees. He already had a spot in mind—a flat rock just beyond the fence, bathed in the gentle morning sun.
He turned to see Cheonoh returning, clutching the rolled mat in his small arms.
Those dark eyes locked onto him, sharp and clear. Perhaps it was because the child was so pure and instinctual, but a corner in Cho Yun’s chest twinged uneasily.
Cho Yun didn’t show it. Instead, he pointed to the rock.
“Spread the mat out over there.”
Cheonoh stumbled a little but managed to keep his balance. The shoes he wore seemed slightly too big for him.
Ah, they must’ve belonged to Sayeong when she was eight. Kids that age grow like weeds… I’ll have to find something that fits before he trips and hurts himself again.
Same goes for his clothes—too big for Cheonoh’s small, seven-year-old frame. They were the only ones Cho Yun could find after rummaging through the hut.
He watched as the boy moved cautiously. Teaching independence meant resisting the urge to step in and do things for him.
The boy was doing well—wobbly, but steady. The distance between them shrank to a single jang, and as his small feet crossed into the sunlight surrounding Cho Yun—
Thud!
The mountain trail struck again. Maybe he’d let his guard down, thinking he was almost there; his foot caught on a stone, and he pitched forward.
If he fell over now, his barely healed knees and shins would surely open up again. Cheonoh squeezed his eyes shut, bracing for the impact.
—but what caught him wasn’t the hard ground.
Before he knew it, Cho Yun was in front of him, catching his falling body.
“Looks like those shoes really are too big,” Cho Yun said, patting the boy’s shoulder a few times as though in praise. Then, taking the mat naturally from the stumbling child, he spread it neatly across the rock.
“Come here.”
When the boy approached, Cho Yun took out the rhododendron leaves he’d gathered and scattered them over the mat. Perhaps a little surprise, the boy’s expressionless face blinked. Cho Yun began spreading the leaves with his hands.
“These are rhododendron leaves. They’re used for all kinds of medicine, which is why these leaves are also called Thousand-Cure Herb*.* In summer, it blooms white flowers that resemble azaleas. Have you ever seen an azalea?”
“……”
“It’s a raw herb that needs to be dried properly in sunlight before storage. Make sure every leaf gets plenty of sunlight. The leaves will turn bad if you press too hard, so you have to handle them with care.”
Especially since his hands were still healing.
Cho Yun glanced down at the boy, who hesitated for a moment, then stepped forward and began carefully laying the deep green leaves and spread them out one by one.
“You have delicate hands,” Cho Yun said with a faint smile. “That’ll come in handy.”
Seriously? How do you turn ‘Aw, my cute little helper, you’re doing great!’ into that? This is the best you can do, Herbalist?
Cho Yun bit the inside of his cheek. Still, at least the boy didn’t seem offended (if anything, it felt more like he was quietly focused on his task without as much as a reaction). What a relief.
As the boy worked, Cho Yun began arranging the herbs from the other side.
“When the flowers bloom in summer, they give off a lovely scent, so the plant is also called hyangsu—the fragrant tree. It grows twice as tall as I am and stays green all year round.”
“……”
“Even when the world is buried in snow, this tree remains vivid and alive. Its resilience is what makes it a medicine for all ailments.”
He went on—explaining how it restore vitality, strengthens the spleen and stomach, relieves inflammation, and eases pain and fever…
Cho Yun continued blabbering on like a herbology nerd. To be honest, it was less a children’s story and more like reading from a pharmacology textbook. But once he started talking about herbs, he couldn’t stop.
By the time they finished laying out the last of the leaves, Cho Yun had already gone on to describe two subspecies of rhododendron in detail.
Watching the boy finally stepped back, deeding his task complete, Cho Yun instantly changed topic instantly.
“That’ll do. You must be tired—let’s head back inside before the sun wears you out.”
The boy gave a small nod and stepped back. See? Cho Yun thought. Self-guided experiential learning works every time.
Satisfied they could accomplish the intended goal, Cho Yun scooped the boy up into his arms. The child stiffened for a moment, then relaxed, resting quietly against him.
Now I should feed him some porridge and put him back to sleep.
Step by step, one day at a time—if things continued like this, they’d eventually find a way forward.
That was Cho Yun’s quiet but hopeful plan.
