The gang of beggars from Byeokgye Village approached with irritation, huffing and puffing as they saw Mumu, once again, eating bugs instead of begging.
“Hey, you idiot!”
Smack!
A beggar struck Mumu’s head with a gourd as he crouched, chewing on a bug, and shouted angrily.
“You’re supposed to beg and get something worthwhile! Why are you just eating bugs by yourself?”
Like other beggar gangs, the beggars of Byeokgye Village lived together in a community. They offered what they gathered through begging to their leader, who then distributed it fairly among them.
But Mumu, instead of begging properly, only scavenged bugs or trash to stuff in his mouth, which understandably drove the others mad with frustration.
Chomp, chomp.
Despite being hit hard on the head, Mumu didn’t seem to care and continued diligently chewing on his bugs.
“Argh!” As the middle-aged beggar, glaring at Mumu’s grotesque face, raised his fist again, a voice interrupted.
“Let him be. How hungry must he be to act like that? Look at how scrawny he is.”
It was Fatso, stepping forward and holding out his gourd.
“I went to the village below and got some cold rice.” In his gourd, there was cold rice along with a generous piece of tofu. “I’ll take care of teaching this guy, so you all go back inside.”
Fatso was sociable and quite eloquent, earning him respect not only among the beggar gang but also in the village.
“Fatso, I’m letting this slide because of you,” the middle-aged beggar said, snatching the gourd from Fatso’s hands and turning away. “Those jerks. They could’ve left us something, but they took it all,” Fatso grumbled, sighing as he watched the gang leave.
“Mumu, when are you going to start begging properly?”
“I don’t want to beg,” Mumu replied.
For once, Mumu spoke. His voice was low and cold but surprisingly pleasant to hear.
“Don’t want to? You’re supposed to speak politely to your big brother!” Fatso said, frowning. “When you join a beggar gang, living together as a group comes first. You can’t just eat bugs because you feel like it.”
“I never said I wanted to join the beggar gang,” Mumu retorted.
“Aren’t you a beggar? All the beggars around Byeokgye Village are under that bald guy’s control, you know.”
“Bald guy?” At that moment, a hulking man with no hair and deep burn scars on his face approached, leading five or six other beggars.
It was Heuk Woong, the leader of Byeokgye Village’s beggar gang.
“Boss, boss!” Fatso stammered.
“Fatso, you little punk. I let you slide because you’re good at begging, but now you’re getting cocky?” Heuk Woong growled.
Thud!
With a kick from Heuk Woong, Fatso tumbled to the ground.
“And what are you staring at? Why are your eyes so wide?” Heuk Woong barked at Mumu.
Thud!
Mumu was also sent sprawling with a kick from Heuk Woong.
“You lot, teach these two how to keep their eyes down properly,” Heuk Woong ordered.
Thud! Whack! Whack!
At Heuk Woong’s command, Mumu and Fatso were thoroughly beaten by the gang, as if dust were flying on a rainy day.
“Watch your mouth from now on. Don’t go stirring up trouble with the boss,” Heuk Woong warned.
As Heuk Woong’s gang dusted off their hands and left, Mumu and Fatso lay sprawled on the ground, their faces swollen.
“You jerk… I got beaten up for nothing because of you,” Fatso groaned.
“I didn’t call him bald,” Mumu replied.
“Oh, you’re real clever, aren’t you?” Fatso snapped.
Trickle.
Blood began to flow from near Fatso’s forehead. The skin on the head is thin, so even a small wound can bleed profusely.
Mumu, staring at the sight, suddenly stood up and began pulling weeds from the nearby ground. He then grabbed a clean stone and started grinding the weeds into a paste. He applied the sticky weed paste to Fatso’s bleeding forehead.
“Ow, it stings!” Fatso yelped.
“Endure it,” Mumu said calmly.
As Mumu applied the sticky paste, the gushing blood began to slow. He added more paste to the wound.
Fatso, watching Mumu carefully tend to his injury with a serious expression, said enviously, “You’re skin and bones, but your frame is sturdy, huh?”
Mumu seemed accustomed to being beaten, as he got up and moved around briskly despite the thrashing.
“Seeing you move your mouth, it looks like you’re still alive,” Mumu remarked.
Once Fatso’s bleeding stopped completely, Mumu went back to eating bugs.
“Tasty?” Fatso asked.
“Not really,” Mumu replied.
“Give me some. Those jerks took all the rice I got because of you,” Fatso grumbled.
Crunch, crunch.
Before long, Fatso was crouching beside Mumu, amicably eating bugs together.
Clop, clop!
Suddenly, a large shadow came galloping wildly from the distance. It was a white horse with fur as white as snow, and atop it was a young woman, eyes wide, shouting loudly.
“Whoa!” Judging by her palace attire, which was ill-suited for riding, it seemed she was struggling with a horse she couldn’t control, leading to this chaos.
“Get out of the way!” she shouted upon spotting Mumu and Fatso, but it was too late. The horse, charging at full speed, was already right in front of Mumu.
But as the horse locked eyes with Mumu—
Skid!
The horse suddenly halted its charge, sliding to a stop.
Neigh!
It reared up on its hind legs.
“Ack!” the woman let out a short scream as she fell from the horse.
In that instant, Mumu moved swiftly, catching the falling woman in his arms.
“Whoa,” Fatso exclaimed in amazement.
Mumu had been inches from colliding with the horse, yet somehow, he had maneuvered to its side in an instant.
“Miss!”
Clop, clop!
From the distance, a warrior on horseback came galloping, shouting. He wore glossy black armor that fit snugly, with a red sash tightly tied around his waist. His appearance was fairly handsome, but his eyes held a sinister glint. This was Gyo Cheonak, a martial arts instructor employed by the Seong family.
“Are you alright?” Gyo Cheonak asked, dismounting and rushing over.
The woman in white regained her composure and nodded. “Yes, I’m fine.”
Only then did she look at the face of the beggar holding her. His face was hidden by long hair, but beneath it, melted skin and dark scabs were visible. His appearance was grotesque, yet his eyes were strangely clear and deep.
Mumu carefully set the woman down on the ground.
Gyo Cheonak, observing this, swung his whip and struck Mumu’s back.
“How dare you!”
Crack!
A red welt instantly appeared on Mumu’s back. Though the pain must have been excruciating, Mumu only let out a low groan and curled up.
“Master Gyo! What are you doing?” the woman in white shouted.
Gyo Cheonak replied matter-of-factly, “This beggar dared to touch your noble body, Miss.”
“He only saved me from falling off the horse!” she protested, helping Mumu up. “Are you okay?”
Mumu’s clothes were covered in all sorts of filth, but she didn’t seem to mind as she spoke. “I’m so sorry. I’ll apologize on his behalf.”
Mumu stared intently at her face. Her eyes were long and elegant like a phoenix’s, and her skin was clear. However, her lively expression and spirited voice slightly diminished her refined appearance.
This was Seong Suryeo, the only daughter of the wealthiest man in the region, the head of the Seong family.
“…”
Mumu didn’t respond to her question and averted his gaze.
“We’re fine!” Fatso interjected, sensing the awkward atmosphere and waving his hands. “For beggars like us, getting beaten is just part of daily life. Don’t worry about it, Miss.”
“But…” Seong Suryeo began, looking back and forth between Fatso and Mumu with a guilty expression. Then her eyes widened. There were bits of half-chewed bugs stuck around Fatso’s mouth.
“Are you… eating bugs?” she asked.
“Uh? Y-Yes. I mean, no… I was just hungry, so I ate them,” Fatso stammered, quickly wiping his mouth.
Seong Suryeo, as if making a decision, removed a bracelet from her wrist. “Take this. It should cover your food for a few months.”
“You’re giving this to us?” Fatso asked, astonished.
“You helped me and got hurt because of it. This is nothing,” she replied.
“Thank you so much!” Fatso bowed deeply, reaching out for the bracelet, but Mumu stepped forward with a frown.
“We don’t need it,” he said firmly, waving his hand. “Take it back.”
Seong Suryeo blinked in surprise as Mumu continued calmly, “Even if you give us something like that, we can’t sell it. We’d only get accused of stealing and beaten up if we’re lucky.”
“Sorry, he’s a bit crazy!” Fatso said, trying to cover Mumu’s mouth, but Mumu brushed his hand away sharply.
“Even before we could sell it, the boss would take it,” Mumu added.
“Is that so?” Seong Suryeo said, looking apologetic. “I wanted to thank you. What should I do?”
“If you’re grateful, have your servants bring us some cold rice. That’s the best thing for us,” Mumu replied.
“You insolent beggar! Do you know who this lady is?” Gyo Cheonak roared at Mumu’s blunt tone.
But Seong Suryeo nodded casually. “Most beggars take whatever’s given, but you’re quite particular.” She flashed a bright smile, showing her white teeth. “Alright, next time I’ll bring some cold rice.”
She then turned and bowed to Gyo Cheonak. “Master Gyo, I’m sorry. I insisted on riding even though I wasn’t ready. I just wanted to tame Baek-ah quickly.”
Gyo Cheonak smacked his lips, as if he couldn’t help it. “Let’s head back, Miss.”
He helped her onto his horse, took the reins, and began walking slowly with Baek-ah in tow.
Fatso stared blankly as they left, then snapped back to reality. “You crazy idiot!” he shouted, grabbing Mumu by the collar and shaking him. “Do you know how expensive those accessories are? With one of those, we could eat and laze around for a whole year!”
He pounded the ground in frustration. “And why can’t we sell it? There are fences who specialize in handling stuff like that!”
“It’s a death sentence,” Mumu said.
“What do you mean, death?” Fatso asked.
Mumu replied with a stern expression, “Don’t fences pay off the black societies?”
He stared at Fatso and continued, “When even a couple of silver coins can cost someone their life, what wouldn’t they do to quietly take something that valuable?”
Fatso’s jaw dropped. He had been too excited by the jeweled accessory, but thinking calmly, a fence would likely kill them and take it for themselves. For thugs from the black societies, killing a couple of nameless beggars was nothing.
“You’re right… A while back, Dog-Nose from the next village got killed by black society guys for messing with some stolen goods,” Fatso admitted.
“Even without that, it’s best not to take things offered by the wealthy. Their servants or warriors often snatch them back,” Mumu added.
Fatso nodded, recalling Gyo Cheonak’s chilling gaze. If they had taken the bracelet, that man would surely have done something.
“Mumu, you may not know much, but you’re definitely a true beggar,” Fatso said.
“What do you mean?” Mumu asked.
“Even with no memory, you know more about the beggar life than I do,” Fatso said, laughing. “Hahaha.”
“Seems like it,” Mumu agreed, nodding.
He didn’t even know his name or anything before arriving at the village, yet his beggar instincts were undeniable. That meant he was, without a doubt, a beggar.
“Maybe you got killed messing with stolen goods? Your clothes were torn to shreds, but they were pretty high quality,” Fatso mused.
When he found Mumu, his clothes were in tatters, like rags. It was possible Mumu had gotten into trouble over some stolen goods.
“That’s possible,” Mumu said, looking at the distant sky with a bitter expression. “Maybe I’m being punished for bad things I did, losing my memory…”
“Don’t say that. It could be something else,” Fatso said, patting Mumu’s shoulder with a laugh. “Let’s go sleep. I’m aching all over from that beating.”
“Alright,” Mumu replied.
Side by side, Mumu and Fatso headed back to Byeokgye Village.
That night, heavy snow fell, blanketing the world in white, while a freezing wind howled relentlessly.
Despite the bone-chilling cold, Mumu slept curled up in a small shack a little ways from Byeokgye Village.
Normally, he would have slept in the village under Heuk Woong’s rule, where sturdy houses and warm fires kept out the cold. But Mumu didn’t sleep there.
He didn’t want to deal with Heuk Woong’s scrutiny, and more importantly, his sleep-talking often got him beaten.
It was better to endure the cold and hardship alone for some peace of mind.
“Ugh…”
Curled up in the shack, Mumu let out a groan in his sleep. He was dreaming again.
***
The sleeping child slowly opened his eyes.
Before the blurry surroundings came into focus, a pair of vivid, beautiful eyes, reminiscent of an open sea, appeared before him.
“Another nightmare?” a gentle mother’s hand brushed over the child’s head and cheeks.
As the child blinked again, his vision cleared, revealing the kind, smiling face of his beautiful mother.
“…”
The child’s eyes darted left and right. A room lit by dim lanterns came into view. On one side was a small desk with an expensive inkstone and brush, the kind used by high-ranking officials. A bookshelf was filled with countless books, and a chair was perfectly sized for a six- or seven-year-old child.
At a glance, it was the bedroom of a scholarly noble’s heir.
“Are you alright?” the mother asked, stroking his forehead again.
The child, with only his head poking out from the blankets, nodded.
At about five or six years old, he had chubby cheeks, fair skin, and striking black-and-white eyes. His appearance was almost angelic, with a calm, mature gaze.
“Sleep more. It’s not even the third watch yet,” the mother said.
The child nodded and soon fell back into a deep sleep.
Creak.
The door opened, and a middle-aged man in blue robes entered, speaking in a low voice. It was the child’s father.
“Another nightmare?” he asked in a clear, resonant voice.
He looked at his son under the blankets and smiled gently. “Lately, I don’t know why he’s been sleeping so restlessly.”
The couple had rushed to the child’s room after hearing his faint groans in the night.
“Maybe it’s because he secretly read the Beast Poison Scripture last night?” the mother suggested.
“The Beast Poison Scripture? Who gave him such a book?” the father asked.
“Who else? That lama monk you brought from the Western Regions,” she replied, crossing her arms. “This child loves reading more than anyone. That monk, knowing this, has been sneaking him strange books he shouldn’t read.”
The man coughed awkwardly, looking embarrassed. “He’s a highly enlightened monk who came to heal our son. He’d never do anything reckless…”
Their whispered conversation continued for a while.
In truth, the child wasn’t asleep yet. He was listening to their soft voices as a lullaby.
A father revered by all, and the kindest, most loving mother in the world. As long as his family was together, the child wanted for nothing. He wished this moment could last forever.
But it was a futile dream.
Whoosh!
A massive manor was engulfed in flames. The clash of weapons and desperate screams echoed all around.
“I’m sorry,” the middle-aged man said, his face filled with anguish as he held the child and opened the door to a secret passage in the manor.
“I’m not capable enough… I can’t protect you anymore.”
Swallowing his pain, he hugged his beloved son tightly. “Forget everything.”
He channeled his energy and lightly tapped the child’s crown acupoint. All the warm memories in the child’s mind vanished, and he fell into a deep, unconscious sleep.
Tap, tap, tap!
The man swiftly sealed the child’s acupoints using the long-lost Ghost Breath Technique, placing him in a death-like state that could sustain his life for three months with only a sliver of breath.
“And survive, no matter what,” he said, his face heavy with sorrow as he placed the child in the passage and closed the door.
And so, a season passed.
Rustle, rustle.
In front of a pavilion in the manor, now reduced to ashes and ruins, a circular hole appeared near a standing beam, and a small child emerged.
“…”
The child’s eyes were empty as he climbed to the surface.
Who am I? Why am I standing in these ruins?
No matter how hard he thought, no answers came.
Plop.
Suddenly, the sky turned gray, and white snowflakes began to fall.
Instinctively, the child reached out to touch a snowflake. It should have melted on contact, but perhaps because his blood flow hadn’t fully returned, the snowflake didn’t melt.
“…”
Staring at the snowflake for a long time, the child looked around. Then, with unfocused eyes, he began to walk.
He didn’t know where he was going, but instinctively, he felt he had to move forward.
And so, through the falling snow, the child followed his instincts, leaving the manor behind.
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