TBML 8

A day passed, then two, then four, then fifteen—the days slipped by, relentlessly and without pause, just as the thick ice of winter melts away on its own once spring arrives. Even the fear that had filled Yeon’s heart began to thaw a little.

For a time, Yeon had laid low, like a mouse, hiding himself and moving through the village like someone who didn’t exist. But slowly, he began to shed his fear and live each day with quiet resolve, like a sprout pushing its way out of the ground.

Fortunately, the rowdy brutes—including the second son of the magistrate Seo—perhaps ashamed of abandoning Yeon and fleeing like cowards in the face of the tiger, did not spread strange rumors or try to abduct him again. It also helped that Du-soe, eyes blazing, often stood guard at the village entrance whenever he had time.

That didn’t mean the thugs had given up entirely. Whenever they found a chance, they would storm into Yeon’s house like they were letting off steam, turning things upside down. At times, they’d pressure him for money, demanding payment for imaginary interest. They even caused a commotion, claiming they’d catch the black tiger that had once terrified them.

Spring arrived. Water trickled freely through the rocky crevices of the valley, newly awakened from its frozen sleep. Sunlight shimmered across the rippling surface of the water, now warm to the touch.

The once-bare branches began to don a new robe of pale green shoots, but the tight knot in Yeon’s chest still hadn’t come undone. Just because the sun shone and the days grew gentler didn’t mean all ice melted. There were always places the sun couldn’t reach—shadowed hollows where the cold lingered. And in Yeon’s harsh, weary life, that one shadow couldn’t be the only frozen patch. So he didn’t mind that not everything within him had thawed.

He just couldn’t bring himself to stand at the edge of the mountain path without glancing back now and then. The fear of being followed still clung to him, faint but persistent.

Even today, as he climbed the mountain, Yeon stopped in place and looked behind him. No one was there. But the memories of that day kept replaying in his head, and the terror crept back in. He forced a bitter smile, as if it didn’t bother him, and adjusted the matchlock and carrier strapped to his back.

Since that day, he hadn’t let the matchlock leave his side—not even for a moment. Of course, a matchlock was useless at close range, but just holding the weapon calmed his nerves. It kept the terror from rising and overwhelming him.

Warm sunlight filtered down through the trees, but cold wind still blew between the branches. The mountain, having shaken off its snow, was already busy changing clothes. As soon as the ice began to crack and melt, the heat would come rushing in. Naturally, with spring came life. Creatures and plants that had slept through the winter stirred once again, and the mountain brimmed with vitality.

But despite that energy, the spring mountain was no less dangerous than in winter. The ground, soggy from the thawing ice, was unstable and easily gave way beneath the feet. When standing in the sun, one grew hot, but step into the shade and the chill returned, sapping warmth from the body.

Food hadn’t yet fully ripened, but many beasts had spent the winter hungry. Ironically, the season when life returned was also the time when the mountain was at its poorest. Still, unlike in winter, the air was filled with the scent of fresh grass and earth.

After barely recovering from the attempted abduction by the magistrate’s second son, Yeon found the deep mountains more comforting than the village. In the untouched quiet, where only the rustle of small animals and unknown birds filled the air, the clamor in his mind finally quieted.

Even Du-soe’s well-meaning scolding and concern had become exhausting. And the clicking tongues of village women, sighing and calling him pitiful, now only grated on his nerves.

Pausing to catch his breath in the middle of the mountain, Yeon took a long inhale and looked around. Just last year, the idea of venturing into the mountains had filled him with dread. A path unused by others looked different every time, and sometimes the sliver of sky between the dense trees seemed ominous and unsettling. He used to fear being dragged off by a tiger or bitten by a viper while lost in thought.

But now, being in the mountains brought him peace.

At least if he died here, deep in the wilderness, the villagers would feel sorry for him.

Lately, Yeon had been wandering the mountains longer and longer each day, returning later and later. It wasn’t just that he needed to hunt—it was that he simply didn’t want to go home. He wandered aimlessly, stalling until he had no choice but to head back.

Even with expensive medicine meant to straighten the backs of noblemen, his ailing mother showed no sign of recovery. She hadn’t even been able to step outside and feel the spring breeze, yet perhaps because the seasons were changing, she had lost her appetite, often throwing up the porridge she once ate so well.

If his mother were to die… what would become of him?

Yeon asked himself that question dozens of times a day. It felt like he was dangling from a cliff by a rope that was fraying and about to snap.

Lost in his grim thoughts, he shook his head hard. Despite being a skilled mountain hunter, his mind had been so distracted these days that he often returned to the village empty-handed. Just yesterday, he’d scraped together money to repay part of the interest, leaving his pockets empty. So today, he had to catch something—anything that could be sold. At the very least, he needed something to eat for supper.

His feet sank deep into the shaded earth, where the snow had yet to fully melt. This time of year, you had to walk carefully—you never knew what might lie beneath the thin ice. More than anything, the squelching sound of the wet ground made it hard to move without being noticed.

Yeon crouched low, holding his bow close to his chest, and moved swiftly across the muddy terrain.

With the weather warming, the rabbits that had awakened were scrawny. Their fur, once thickened to survive the winter, now grew in patches, and having only just resumed activity, their bodies were nothing but fluff with barely any flesh underneath.

Because the game was little more than hollow shells—like an empty rice puff or a rattling cart—Yeon grew all the more greedy today. Crouched low, circling a rabbit busy grooming its ragged fur, he already had five rabbit carcasses piled in the carrier on his back. Rabbit meat was meager, and the sheen of their fur wasn’t what it would be in autumn, but still—it’s the desperate man who digs the well.

Just as Yeon was fully engrossed in the hunt, a sudden presence made him flinch and whirl around. Startled, he shot to his feet, and the rabbit, sensing the disturbance, bolted away in a flash.

He cautiously scanned his surroundings, slowly reaching for the matchlock on his back. The cold, rigid barrel offered no warmth, but the moment it touched his hand, the tremor in his chest settled.

With a calm gaze, Yeon examined the area. Was it just his imagination? Nothing suspicious came into view. Likely just a symptom of the anxiety that had taken root in him—he let his body relax and exhaled a long sigh. It had lasted only a moment, but his palm was drenched in cold sweat.

Yeon still dreamed of that day every single night.

In the dream, he held no spear, no bow—nothing at all. Helpless, without even a single struggle, he was dragged off by the thugs, and the second son grinned at him, only to suddenly turn into a snake. Its tongue split in two, flicking in and out, as it coiled around his body and began to choke the breath from him. Just as he was about to suffocate, unable to move, the black tiger would appear—just like that—and the dream would end.

He had been rescued countless times by the black tiger in those dreams. But even so, a tiger was still a tiger. What kind of person would feel grateful to a tiger simply for not being bitten? Most would just clutch their chest and breathe a sigh of relief—Thank goodness I’m still alive—but no one would bow and say, Thank you, Tiger, for sparing me.

Yeon wiped his damp hand on his clothes and picked up the bow he’d dropped on the ground.

Suddenly, the image of the black tiger standing across that mountain path came to mind.

Since that day, the black tiger had vanished. For animals—especially predators—it was common to leave behind a barren mountain and roam in search of better hunting grounds. Its body had likely grown larger, and it had probably crossed the mountain into a more remote and abundant area. The idea that such a ferocious tiger had saved a person was absurd.

It must have been chasing a deer—that deer that had burst out of nowhere and startled him that day. Caught mid-chase, it had run into people. Even for a tiger, facing so many humans at once wouldn’t have been pleasant. That was probably why it left.

Some time had passed since then, and the tiger had been large to begin with. By now, perhaps it was large enough to be called a full-grown adult. Whether by its own will or by circumstance, for whatever reason, the two of them were now bound by a shared debt of life. That thought made Yeon oddly conscious of the black tiger.

Hopefully… that black tiger doesn’t cross paths with some wretched mountain hunter like me. May it live a long life.

Yeon wiped the sweat from his brow with his sleeve and began walking again. He picked up his pace, hoping to drive away both the idle thoughts and the rabbits he’d scared off.

He moved with purpose for some time. The sunlight was warm enough to make him sweat, but once he stepped into the shade, the lingering chill in the wind made him shiver. Deeper into the secluded forest, the underbrush had grown thick.

Suddenly, Yeon tensed—he heard a rustling from somewhere nearby. Today’s target might’ve been rabbits, but the sound of something moving through the brush was clearly from a much larger animal.

The distant rustling and the weight behind the footsteps sparked a quiet hope in Yeon: A deer, maybe? Moving silently, he followed the noise, carefully masking his presence.

Just as he neared the source of the sound, a deep, growling breath vibrated through the air, stopping Yeon in his tracks. It was the breath of a large beast—he’d heard it before.

No way…

Cautiously, he parted the undergrowth with his hand and peeked into the brush. The unsettling growl grew louder. As he scanned in its direction, his eyes widened at the sight of thick, black-striped fur rising above the grass.

Yeon instantly ducked back and covered his mouth with a cloth, stifling his breath.