TBML 16

Yeon’s feet sank deep into the thick pile of fallen leaves, soft as snow, but he pressed his lips together tightly and stepped lightly, yet with force. Having set out early, he planned to go farther than usual today. His heart was anxious—his coin pouch had run dry from the frequent visits of those debt collectors who came to snatch up what little he had.

It was then that a passing hunter had shared news: not a tiger with long stripes, but a beast with rounded, spot-like markings had been seen in the woods. Those rounded patterns—he meant a leopard.

That creature, wearing a dizzying pattern that made one’s head spin the longer one looked, was slightly smaller than a tiger. Unlike tigers, this one roamed into villages and had even taken people. Similar yet different—still, it counted as a “tiger,” a wild beast.

An herbalist had said he’d run for his life after seeing that spotted creature while on his way to dig up a batch of baeksuo (Cynanchum wilfordii) he had marked out earlier. If he could dig it all up, it would’ve fetched a fine price. But now, too afraid of running into the beast again, he didn’t dare go near the area—and made sure to whisper it as though meant only for Yeon.

It was understandable. He didn’t want word getting out to every wandering hunter and end up losing both the beast and the baeksuo to someone else.

Yeon gently brushed his still-stinging cheek with his palm. He’d only grazed the skin, yet it throbbed like a rotten tooth. From before sunrise, he’d combed every part of the woods the herbalist had mentioned, but there was no sign of the leopard. Just as he was about to dismiss the tip as nonsense and turn back, he spotted a set of animal tracks among the undergrowth.

Yeon placed his hand beside one of the clear pawprints to estimate its size. Judging by that alone, it wasn’t quite a large tiger, but likely a mid-sized one.

Looking at that print reminded him of the thick, solid paw of the black tiger caught in the trap. That one had been much larger, so at least it was clear—this print didn’t belong to the black tiger. Steadying his breath, Yeon’s eyes sharpened as he followed the trail.

Of course, it wasn’t likely he’d catch the beast that day. And the deeper he went into the mountains, the fainter the tracks became. Soon, even the occasional prints and claw marks disappeared, and Yeon had to accept the hunt was over for the day.

Even if the location had been pinpointed, who could say if the beast hadn’t simply wandered off somewhere far away this very morning, driven by some whim?

He told himself not to linger in regret, but with his circumstances growing more desperate, it wasn’t easy to let go. He had no intention of returning to the village empty-handed. It was autumn now—rabbits would be fluffed up like round balls of fur, so he decided to keep his eyes sharp and look for smaller prey.

Fruits had ripened in the fall, and their sweet scent clung to the air, scattered among the underbrush. As he followed the animal smell that cut through the sweetness—alongside pawprints that looked like a pair of tangerine halves pressed into the ground—he heard the rustle of leaves that went on and on, until finally, a pair of antlers poking up like a tree branch above the red-tinted brush caught his eye.

Yeon swiftly ducked down and wrapped cloth around his mouth to muffle his breath. There was no need to waste a shot from the matchlock on a deer. He quickly readied an arrow and pressed his back to a thick tree trunk.

Deer were sensitive animals. When facing a predator, they had no choice but to run, just like Yeon—so it was only natural for them to be cautious. Even now, as Yeon’s heel crunched a leaf, the deer, nibbling on a tree, lifted its head at the slightest sound.

Its dark, round eyes looked directly toward where Yeon was hiding. Judging from the full, strong antlers atop its head, it was no young buck. The antlers would fetch a decent price.

A gleam flickered through Yeon’s black eyes. He was being bled dry day after day, and the expensive medicine made with ginseng wasn’t helping his pouch either. Aside from the money he spent for his mother’s illness, he hadn’t even spared a bowl of hot soup for himself. He barely had enough to make it through the next few days.

One hundred nyang—the price of the black tiger’s mother. That hefty sum had vanished into thin air.

Greed welled up in Yeon’s eyes. He knew one mustn’t grow numb to taking a life to survive, but when life grew harsh, it was only human to want. His days were difficult, and the harder he fought, the deeper he seemed to sink into the swamp.

His cheek still ached, burned with humiliation, and throbbed with injustice. There was no way he’d return empty-handed again today. He would catch that deer.

It wasn’t only for money. The antlers were used in medicine—but even more precious was the blood drawn from the fresh antler. It was known to restore weakened bodies and treat lung illness—perfect for his sick mother. If he could make a small wound and gather enough for just one spoonful, then hand the rest over to the butcher for sale, it would be a win-win.

Deer often moved in herds, so if he watched carefully, there might be another nearby. If possible, he hoped to catch two. He stilled the pounding in his chest and quietly lifted his bow.

He waited in silence for the deer, still nervously scanning its surroundings, to let down its guard. Just like the young black tiger that had once silently stalked him, Yeon now lowered his body, waiting for the mountain to fall into silence.

And the moment it did, he rose swiftly—and pulled back the bowstring with all his strength.

His small, bony shoulders opened wide as he drew the bowstring taut with the strength and composure of a seasoned archer. Taking a deep breath, Yeon let out a sharp “Hap!” and released his fingers from the bowstring. The sharp whistle of the arrow slicing through air brushed past his ear.

Startled by Yeon rising from behind the tree, the deer scattered in a frenzy, shaking the underbrush wildly. Before the large-antlered buck could even turn its head to flee, the arrow he’d released pierced clean through its eye and skull.

The mountain’s silence shattered. Birds that had been resting on branches, wings folded in exhaustion, flew screeching across the sky, and crimson-tinged bushes trembled with glimpses of fleeing deer legs kicking out.

Yeon rushed toward the fallen prey. Drawing the dagger from his waist, he ended the faint breaths still lingering in the deer. Whatever his greed, he didn’t want to give unnecessary pain to the gentle beast whose life had come to an abrupt end. As he deftly tied the deer’s legs with rope, he looked toward the direction the other deer had fled.

He might be able to catch one more. If he remembered the direction they’d taken and struck again when the tension in the woods eased, he could descend the mountain with two on his back.

The pulse he’d felt through the deer’s legs faded like a dying flame and was gone. Though it happened every time, Yeon still furrowed his brow at the feeling that never grew familiar, and quickly moved his hands again. He couldn’t afford to dwell in sentiment and let his greed waver—not with his cheek still smarting from the blow he’d received.

He needed to hurry and chase after the fleeing deer, if he wanted even a tuft of fur brushed off on a twig. Growing impatient, Yeon tightly fastened the deer to his carrier and slung it over his shoulders. The weight thrown backward made him stagger for a moment, but he quickly bent low and found his balance.

Adjusting his bow, Yeon started running in the direction the deer had disappeared. As he ran, he notched another arrow to the string.

Though his small feet were still swift, the weight of the deer dragged him down, his steps sinking deep into the piled leaves. The distance between him and the herd wasn’t closing as quickly as he hoped, and anxiety began to prick at him. Peering into the distance, Yeon stopped at once the moment something that looked like a deer entered his field of view, and once again erased his presence.

He could feel the panic of the deer spreading through the trembling plants. He was a seasoned hunter.

Quickly scanning his surroundings, Yeon searched for the deer. From the sounds echoing from every direction, it seemed more than one were still nearby. He tightened his grip on the bowstring.

Just one more—just one!

Greed flared. If he could just catch one more, another buck with antlers, he could speak to the physician about adding more strengthening herbs to his mother’s medicine.

Rumble—

As if to scold his rising greed, the sky roared. A flock of crows, startled by the thunder, took off shrieking in unison.

The sky had grown dark without him noticing—perhaps he’d really been blinded by greed. Raindrops fell suddenly and heavily onto Yeon’s upturned face.

Caught off guard by the sudden downpour, Yeon quickly looked around. He hadn’t realized how deep he’d gone chasing the deer—the forest around him was already dim. The hunt no longer mattered. What mattered now was getting off the mountain before the sky grew darker, before the rain worsened.

As the rain soaked into his hair and clothes, Yeon hesitated. If he just turned now, loosed the string, he could still bring down another deer. How long could it take to catch just one more?

He knew well how bitter autumn rain could be, yet greed bordering on recklessness took hold. He told himself he was fast—if he climbed swiftly, he wouldn’t be late.

Reassured by his own reasoning, Yeon’s black eyes quickly locked onto the prey. Like a hawk spotting its target from the heights of the sky, his gaze fixed dead center on the deer’s head. He narrowed his eyes and pulled the bowstring tighter, not even twitching.

Rumble—

Another thunderclap shook the heavens, louder than before—but something far closer and far more terrifying than thunder was drawing near Yeon.