Longevity - Chapter 16

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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Episode 16: Why the Words Grew Long
The moment Jeon Jingung heard Na Yangja speak, he went straight to the sleeping mat and began packing.
Jang Saeng alone remained standing in place. Na Yangja waved his hand.

“Pack what you need. We leave at once.”
“Master.”

Jang Saeng fingered the cord of the quiver tucked inside his robe.

“What does Sibul Adae mean?”

Na Yangja hesitated for a moment. Then, looking at Jang Saeng, he smiled faintly.

“Soon enough, the murin will swarm like bees. Before that happens, we must spare no effort in preparing ourselves thoroughly.”
“I see…….”

Jang Saeng understood the words, yet something more seemed woven through Na Yangja’s meaning.
Na Yangja set down his cup and tapped the boy’s shoulder lightly.

“Now go and pack your things.”

Before long, the party paid their lodging and left the inn.
Jang Saeng’s pack was light: a change of clothes, cloth wrappings, a crossbow, and his newly acquired quiver—that was all.
As he tried to sling the crossbow across his back, his left shoulder tightened. Jeon Jingung took the quiver and hung it on the right side for him. Jang Saeng swallowed his thanks and tied the knots firmly.
Outside the inn, a horse Na Yangja had purchased stood tethered. At the marketplace, the party bought another horse and a wagon with a black cover.
Yi Jungyong loaded sacks of dried flatbread and dried meat—only things that could be eaten without building a fire.
Na Yangja paid the moment they were done and turned toward the western road. He seemed determined not to waste a single moment.
Around the hour of the rabbit, two horses pulled the wagon out through the west gate of Jeukmuk. Baturü held the reins with Yi Jungyong beside him. Na Yangja, Jang Saeng, Jin Ipchu, and Jeon Jingung sat facing one another inside the wagon.
Once the city fell away, Na Yangja spoke their destination. Baturü cracked the whip.
Inside the cover, the space was low and cramped.
The wagon quickened its pace. Each time the wheels found a rut, Jang Saeng’s shoulder brushed the wall. Jin Ipchu pressed his hand to the wound on his chest, while Jeon Jingung wedged a folded cloth behind Jang Saeng’s back for support.
The hoofbeats never ceased. Though the sun still hung high, they were prepared to ride through the night.
Na Yangja looked at Jang Saeng.

“Do you regret coming with us?”

Instead of answering, the boy shook his head.
Na Yangja did not smile and asked again.

“The murin often say: ‘If you would leave affection behind, do not raise your hand; if you have raised your hand, leave no affection behind.’ What do you make of these words?”

No answer came to mind. Jang Saeng’s eyes drifted toward Jin Ipchu across from him, but Na Yangja’s voice cut across first.

“Do not look at Ipchu. I am asking you.”

His fingers atop his knees kept interlacing.

“It seems right, sir—that if you use your hand, you should leave no affection, and if you would leave affection, you should not use your hand. I suppose it is better not to fight whenever possible.”
“So it means: bear what you can until you can bear no more, and then kill?”

As the conversation twisted that way, Jang Saeng’s back stiffened.

“It meant that if killing need not happen, it is better not to kill, sir.”

Na Yangja did not press further. Instead, he straightened his spine.

“Remember this well. When your martial arts have matured in time to come, should someone insult or provoke you, do not simply retreat. Neither does patience quiet the storm, nor does one step backward widen the path.”

The wagon jolted sharply over a stone. Na Yangja swallowed a cough and continued.

“People are quick to despise the weak. The moment they commit a wrong, they must receive punishment proportionate to their transgression. Tolerance without cause merely feeds evil; it summons neither goodwill nor respect.”

Jang Saeng fell silent.
In the village, he had always yielded first. But if he had stepped back even on that night when they tried to take Nohwang from him, he would have lost everything he sought to protect.

“Patience is not always forbearance or magnanimity. Sometimes it is cowardice and evasion. Act when action is called for. If you restrain them at the right moment, anger will not accumulate within you, and your opponent will not cross the line endlessly until they forfeit their life.”

Jang Saeng recalled the men who came to seize Nohwang. Had he possessed the strength to stop the hand that first raised the club, perhaps those final moments would never have come—when they pressed close and swung their sickles.

“You’re saying I should have stopped them from the beginning, Master.”

Even as the words left his mouth, doubt seized him, and Jang Saeng studied Na Yangja’s face. Na Yangja nodded slowly. Jin Ipchu, his elbows propped on his knees, glanced between them both. Had it been any other day, he would have offered a quip, but today even the hint of a smile had fled his lips.
Jin Ipchu scratched his chin and broke in.

“Do you mean that if a wicked man raises his fist and one blow can stop him, we shouldn’t wait until he draws his blade?”
“Precisely.”

Na Yangja raised his voice so those at the front of the wagon could hear.

“If you delay in applying a small punishment that might end the matter, later you may find that even taking a life does not suffice. Remember this, all of you: repay the good with goodness, and answer the evil with justice, but do not be swept away by anger.”

The three inside the wagon bowed their heads. Outside, the voices of Baturü and Yi Jungyong acknowledged the words.
Na Yangja closed his eyes once he had finished speaking. He could not sit in the lotus position while the wagon moved. He leaned his back against the wall and regulated his breathing.
Jang Saeng too relaxed the tension in his shoulders. Just as Jin Ipchu’s lips began to move—as if to say something—Na Yangja opened his eyes again.

“There is one thing more. I have not told you to grow narrow in spirit and seek revenge for every small slight. Even those we despise have their own sorrows. Before you act, you must always discern right from wrong, and distinguish between the person and their circumstances.”

No one offered objection.
Na Yangja’s gaze turned to Jang Saeng.

“Jang Saeng, do you hate your people from your hometown?”

Jang Saeng hesitated a moment before answering.

“I do.”
“Nohwang plowed their fields during the day. Yet when night fell, they sought to kill him. Is it their ingratitude that you hate?”
“Yes.”
“You are right to hate them. They showed themselves to be heartless and without honor.”

At Na Yangja’s words, Jang Saeng’s fingers went rigid. It was the first time his master had not rebuked his resentment.

“But consider it again. Nohwang was close to you—family, in your eyes. To them, he was merely a single ox that stood between them and hunger.”

It was not wrong. Jang Saeng could not deny it.
Yet to acknowledge that truth was different from forgiving them. Still, he hated the people of his village.
But now he also glimpsed something else—the hope he had harbored that they would cherish Nohwang as he did. Recognizing that hope as false did not diminish the time he had spent with Nohwang.

“You are all still young and have not yet witnessed the depths of human nature.”

Na Yangja’s voice grew quieter than before.

“Even if betrayal comes or kindness is repaid with enmity, do not hate all the world because of it. We help others not in expectation of return, but because we wish to help.”
“Master, we will all remember your words.”

Yi Jungyong spoke from the front of the wagon.
Na Yangja looked toward Jang Saeng.

“And you—what of you?”

Jang Saeng could not answer at once. When he thought of those who forgot that Nohwang had plowed their fields, anger still kindled within him. Yet he did not wish to believe that what Nohwang had done was wrong.

“I’m not entirely sure yet.”

He spoke frankly.

“Still, what Nohwang did doesn’t disappear just because others don’t acknowledge it. I’ll remember that.”

After he finished speaking, Jang Saeng closed his lips, uncertain whether he’d answered correctly. What remained in his mind was not some difficult principle but the dark furrows of the field and Nohwang’s wet breath. Even if others forgot what happened that day, he could choose not to.
Na Yangja’s eyes softened slightly. From that look alone, Jang Saeng knew his answer hadn’t been entirely wrong.
Na Yangja regarded him for a long time. Each time the wagon lurched, his shoulder bumped the wall, but he didn’t look away.

“That’s enough. Don’t rush to understand everything right now.”

Jang Saeng nodded slightly. When the cloth that Jeon Jingung had tucked behind his back began to slip, he pulled it back up. Jin Ipchu opened his mouth to say something, then closed it again. With someone who would normally have spoken first and made a fuss now falling silent, Na Yangja’s words lingered unusually long.
Na Yangja closed his eyes again. This time, no one spoke to him.
Inside the wagon, only the creaking of the wheel axle and the hoofbeats of horses remained. Jang Saeng stole a glance at Na Yangja’s face. His eyes were closed, but the furrow between his brows hadn’t eased.
His hands rested on his knees, and his fingertips trembled very faintly. A cough rose in his throat, but Na Yangja suppressed it, his lips pressed firmly together.
The early spring sun was brief. As it tilted toward the mountains, Baturü brought the wagon to a halt. The horses needed water, and the travelers needed to stretch their limbs for a moment.
Baturü supported Jin Ipchu, while Yi Jungyong took Jang Saeng’s arm and led him toward the forest north of the road. Jeon Jingung remained beside the wagon.
Sunlight lingered at the forest’s edge, but the interior was already dark. Jang Saeng stepped over roots with Yi Jungyong’s arm to lean on. The dizziness that lingered after blood loss lasted longer than the pain in his shoulder wound.
The sound of Na Yangja’s cough came once from the wagon’s direction and then stopped. All three men slowed their pace in unison.
Once they’d entered deeper among the trees, Yi Jungyong lowered his voice.

“Don’t you think there’s something strange about our master today?”
“He did seem off.”

Jin Ipchu spoke as he loosened his belt.

“He spoke far more than usual today.”

Baturü let out a short, harsh laugh.

“What’s strange about our master giving us some good counsel for once?”

Jin Ipchu turned to face him.

“Good counsel?”
“You’ve served our master for a long time. In all that time, has he ever taught us so lengthily before?”
“Well…”

Baturü scratched his head.

“Now that I think about it, I don’t think he has.”

Yi Jungyong glanced at Jang Saeng.

“Today’s teaching was mainly directed at you, our youngest disciple.”

He tapped Jang Saeng’s shoulder lightly.

“Our master seems worried that you might stray down the wrong path someday.”

Jang Saeng didn’t know whether to laugh or feel offended.

“Brother Yi, don’t tease me. My legs are unsteady and I haven’t even learned any martial arts—what wrong path could I possibly take?”
“Who knows? You were told to see a person anew after just three days. You have a good memory and natural talent, so you might climb higher than any of us in time.”
“I’m only quick at memorizing things.”

Jin Ipchu cut off their exchange.

“Anyway, our teacher seemed different today.”

He pushed the dried grass blade from his lips to one side.

“You saw him coughing the whole time, didn’t you?”

Baturü answered casually.

“It’s probably from riding hard and the wagon jolting about. From now on, I’ll drive more slowly.”
“Never mind, never mind. Just go water the horses and bring some back.”

Jin Ipchu waved his hand.
Baturü tightened his belt and left the grove first. Only Yi Jungyong, Jin Ipchu, and Jang Saeng remained.
Jin Ipchu looked at Yi Jungyong.

“What do you make of it?”

Yi Jungyong did not answer at once. He glanced around before speaking in a lower voice.

“The thin needles that came from Jong Akyung’s body appeared to be coated with poison.”

Jin Ipchu’s eyebrows twitched.

“You have tools for detecting poison. How did you not know whether it was there or not?”
“I couldn’t isolate it.”
“You didn’t find any antidote on the corpse?”
“A few porcelain jars came up, but there’s no guarantee the medicine inside them is the right antidote for this poison.”

Jin Ipchu moved the grass blade in his mouth with his tongue. After a moment, he spoke.

“Our teacher was gone alone for several days and rode a horse to go. Do you remember what he said about a certain master surnamed Seol called the Yeomla Daejuk in Giju when we passed through there before?”

Yi Jungyong’s face hardened.

“Are you saying our teacher went to Giju?”

Jin Ipchu spat out the grass blade.

“Work it out. A round trip of five days—the timing fits, doesn’t it?”

Jang Saeng found himself unable to speak. In Jeukmuk, the five days he had waited for Na Yangja matched exactly. The reason he had hurriedly found a horse and left alone, the long lessons that followed his return, the cough he had tried to hide until just now—all of it aligned into a single line.
Jang Saeng turned toward the wagon. Five days alone—as a calculation—could decide nothing.
Then, from beyond the grove, Na Yangja coughed again.

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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