100
Taking Up the Sword Again
Night had deepened.The village slept, and the wind from the slopes of Chosan brushed the eaves of the house.Moonlight of his homeland settled white upon the dirt path in the backyard.Beneath it, Park Seong-jin stood alone.
He drew his sword.
It was the place of his mind that he had never skipped, not a single day—the place of training.Once, it had been with a wooden sword, with a stick of wood, facing his own shadow.Now, in his hand, was a real blade.
The silver edge caught the moonlight and glimmered faintly.
He inhaled, then swung once, slowly.The air split, and a low resonance spread outward.That sound traveled through empty space and struck deep within his chest.
A heavy stillness settled there—the kind only those who have passed through blood can know.
The sword was a tool that reflected his condition.Through it, he confirmed who he was now.Like a mirror, the blade was slowly revealing his mind.
"In… hold… out…"
He quietly repeated the breathing he had learned that day.Inhale. Pause. Exhale.Under the moonlight, his breath guided the rhythm of the sword.Each time, a silver arc scattered through the wind like a dream of spring.
Once, and again.He continued the same movement without interruption.Maintaining the flow, as if carrying forward the thread of years.
When the sword's tip cut across the sky, the mind followed behind it.
Before long, his mind grew still.As the tip of the blade sank into the moonlight, the world seemed to stop.
Within that stillness, Park Seong-jin set his direction.
He would go to Guwolsan.There, he would continue his studies.He would learn the martial path, follow the Way, and seek a road that connects him to the world.This time, he would walk that road with clarity.
Then, behind him, came the soft sound of a door opening.
It was his mother.
In the darkness, she stood for a long while, looking at her son.Then she let out a small breath—a breath of confirming that he was alive.
Park Seong-jin sheathed the sword.He quietly lifted his head.
The sky was filled with stars.Each light settled down like a question.
Where will you go now?
He answered silently.
I am going to study.So that I will not die carelessly,and so that I may live with meaning.
A Brief Exchange with His Mother
His mother approached without a word.She gazed for a long time at her son's shadow cast upon the dirt path in the backyard,then stood beside him.
"The night wind is cold."
That was all she said.
Park Seong-jin nodded.He set the sword down.Her gaze lingered on it for a moment.
"Do you want something to eat?"
Hunger still remained—a sensation that could not be filled no matter how much one ate.Still, it was not mealtime, and eating again would be strange.At home, such things were not spoken of aloud.
"In a little while."
She did not ask further.Why he had taken the sword again.What he was seeking.Where he was going.
As if she already knew, she did not add words.
Silence passed between them.A single drop of water fell from the edge of the eaves and darkened the earth.
"You're not hungry?"
"I'm fine."
It was not a lie.Nor did it mean he was full.
She nodded.Then spoke slowly.
"A person needs a full stomach to endure.Even more so when the road is long."
Whether those words were meant for the journey,or for the person, could not be clearly told.
In her breath lingered the trace of already having read her son's state.It was the posture of someone who sees preparations for departureand chooses to pretend not to notice.
After hesitating briefly, Park Seong-jin spoke.
"Mother."
She turned.
"In a few days… I'll be going… somewhere."
He did not say when exactly.Nor where.Nor for how long.
She did not appear surprised.Instead, she studied his face carefully.
It was not the face from before the war.Nor the face from just before departure.
She knew—with painful accuracy—the heavy resolve settled in the heart of a son she would one day have to send away.
"All right. Go, then."
The texture of those words held both permission and waiting.
She stepped closer and took hold of her son's sleeve.There was no tremor in her fingers.
A soldier's wife had become a soldier's mother.
What was different?
At home, she had already learned with her bodythe unspoken language of such people.Perhaps it was better to say she was more familiar with it.
They do not bring home the hard, painful, filthy, cruel stories.Knowing this, she did not scold their clumsy way of speaking.
"Just come back alive."
That was enough.
She did not askwhere he was going,why,when he would return,or whether he needed anything for the road.
Park Seong-jin bowed his head deeply.He did not perform a formal farewell, nor add a promise.He simply held onto the warmth of her hand a moment longer.
She turned away first.She did not look back—the gait of someone who knows she would otherwise reach out and stop him.
Park Seong-jin remained alone in the backyard.The sword still rested on his knees,and the moonlight had tilted a little further.
He spoke inwardly.
I will be back.
It was a sentence that had already arrived,even without being spoken.