The Silent Corner — It Comes Without Waiting
Lost in tangled thoughts, he suddenly lifted his head and looked upward.
One side of the eaves had sagged, and broken roof tiles remained unreplaced.
Grass had grown thick between the cracked clay.
Where wind and rain had endured, green had taken root.
The dragon-head ornament once fixed at the roof's edge was half gone, leaving only a fragment of its shape.
Where decoration had fallen away, rough wooden ribs were exposed.
Ancient inscriptions carved into the pillars had nearly faded.
The ink had bleached, the strokes blurred beyond easy recognition.
No one would imagine such a space existed within the resplendent imperial palace.
It was a landscape where abandoned time had accumulated.
He lowered his gaze to the ground.
A faintly pressed path suggested that someone came and went from time to time.
Following that trace, he stepped slowly inward.
Short green grass grew densely underfoot.
On either side, untouched weeds had risen higher than a man's height.
The difference between path and wilderness was clear.
He walked deeper along the flattened earth.
"You have come. I expected you would, sooner or later."
An elderly official bowed deeply.
His appearance was so humble that the phrase minor functionary came to mind.
Yet General Jin bowed in return.
Though high in rank and not one to lower himself easily,
he bent his waist before this low-ranking official.
The old man's robes were faded, the hems worn thin.
Perhaps provisions were scarce.
Yet Jin Mugwang offered him full courtesy.
The old man was thin and aged.
Little vitality showed in his face.
A quiet loneliness hovered about him like the faint shadow of death.
"Have you been well?"
Jin Mugwang greeted him.
His voice was not lowered.
There was an old familiarity in its tone.
The old man smiled brightly.
For a moment, the deep creases of his face lit with warmth.
"There has been much work. Still, it need not have reached even an old man like me, haha.
Come inside. You have suffered this time."
Jin Mugwang gave a wry smile.
"They branded me a traitor and gave me quite a scare.
I had no rest, being chased by assassins of the Black Blade elder."
"There were even rumors you had died. I never believed them."
"Ah, perhaps I should have, then?"
He compressed all his hardships into two phrases.
A scare. No rest.
What had been a threat to his life would pass another's ear as mere incident.
No matter how urgent or immense the ordeal, once past, it shrinks into a few words.
Rather than elaborate, it is better to gather a situation into several terms.
A scare. No rest.
In those words, he placed the entire course of events.
He had returned from the front line seeking to breathe, yet was not allowed to.
They were men who had shared long years and met only occasionally.
A brief coordinate of the present was enough.
There was no need to wail or recount every past event.
He had returned briefly home, and was already on his way beyond the borders again.
In between, there had been some inconvenience.
That was how he chose to think of it.
"Haha, that man is gone now, they say."
"Yes. So it seems."
He spoke as though it were someone else's story.
As if news from a distant town unrelated to him.
When one shifts one's life into the third person, everything becomes level.
One does not add weight to the meaning facts carry.
If he laid bare the moments when his breath had nearly stopped from desperation,
conversation would become difficult.
Emotion would rise first, and words would scatter.
So he stepped back from himself.
He pushed the event outward and handled it at a distance.
Among countless blades of grass, he was merely one.
He truly spoke as though he believed that.
He followed the guide further inside.
His steps were steady.
A small table by the doorway held tea ware.
In contrast to the shabby exterior, it was neat.
The cups were clean, and moisture still clung to the spout of the teapot, as though it had just been used.
Dust had not gathered; this was a place often touched by hand.
The old man seemed to have no attendant.
He himself lit the brazier and boiled the water.
Dry wood crackled softly as it burned.
When the kettle began to bubble, steam rose peacefully.
He placed the tea leaves slowly into the pot.
He poured in the water and waited.
A few leaves drifted idly atop the open kettle.
Through the rising steam, green leaves swayed lightly.