Returning to the Estate of Deep Mists, Cheon-oh finally received a private room for the first time in ages. Before the Seomun Clan burned to ashes—back when he was their sole young master—having his own room was an absolute given, but the Estate of Deep Mists was an entirely different story.

The small, cozy, and worn-down Estate of Deep Mists possessed very few rooms. At best, it consisted of a kitchen, a room the siblings shared, and Cho Yoon’s room. Meals were eaten together at a table placed in Cho Yoon’s room, and Cheon-oh had always slept in the same room as his master.

However, this dynamic abruptly shifted the moment his Senior Sister and Senior Brother moved out.

“…”

Standing blankly in the center of the cozy room, Cheon-oh stared down at the bedding laid out on the floor. Slowly turning his head, he scanned his surroundings once before dropping his gaze back to the floor.

Cho Yoon and Cheon-oh had arrived at the Mount Dumang the day before yesterday. After resting for a full day to shake off the fatigue of their journey, they had spent the entirety of today thoroughly cleaning the Estate of Deep Mists and organizing the siblings’ belongings.

Though it felt as if they hadn’t been away for very long, the state of the Estate of Deep Mists had been quite disastrous. What once felt like a well-maintained cabin had seemingly transformed into a crumbling ruin. The old saying that a house quickly falls into disrepair without human occupants appeared entirely true.

Still, thanks to sweeping and scrubbing diligently alongside his master, the Estate of Deep Mists had regained its original appearance in just one day. Cheon-oh had personally mopped the floors and wiped down the furniture in this specific room. When the sunlight streamed through the windows, he couldn’t have been more pleased with the gradually spotless room, but…

Why… does it feel so uncomfortable now?

For now, Cheon-oh sluggishly crawled into the bedding, pulling the quilt all the way up to his chin. Squeezing his eyes shut, he waited a moment, hoping sleep would quickly claim him.

…It was entirely useless.

Ultimately cracking his eyes open, Cheon-oh habitually glanced toward the bottom-left corner of the room. Where his master would normally be sitting—illuminated by an oil lamp, concocting medicine or writing in herbal texts—only a desolate, empty corner stared back. At this point, he had no choice but to admit it.

Cheon-oh intensely hated this situation of being separated from his master and having to sleep alone.

Honestly, when he first realized he would have exclusive use of the room his Senior Sister and Senior Brother used to share, he had felt quite pleased. Even with a private room, there wasn’t anything specific he wanted to do, nor were there any secrets he needed to hide from his master, but finally having his very own space felt quite thrilling.

He had even discovered the ‘treasures’ his Senior Sister and Senior Brother had hidden in the corners of the wardrobe (polished acorns, a kite with a hole in it, a fist-sized insect molt, etc.). When he lived in his master’s room, he couldn’t carelessly leave his personal belongings lying around, meaning he couldn’t bring back anything fascinating he found. But from now on, he could bring all of those things inside and add to the collection.

However, all those positive sentiments had completely vanished the moment night fell.

His master’s calm voice flickered through his mind.

—You are old enough to sleep on your own now, so it should be fine.

…When his master phrased it like that, how could he possibly argue that he didn’t want to sleep alone?

He desperately wanted to grow up quickly and show his master his progress, yet he also secretly wished to still be treated like a child. The contradiction was absolute. Ultimately, Cheon-oh had no choice but to enter the room feeling rather gloomy.

“…”

The sound of the wind leaking through the tightly sealed window cracks caused the frames to rattle loudly. The branch-like shadows of the moon, cast against the paper-lined windows, swayed eerily.

Clamping his mouth shut, Cheon-oh rolled over and curled his body into a tight ball. Just as he squeezed his eyes shut again, a ghastly, unfamiliar bird cry faintly echoed from outside.

—Did you know? There are countless monsters in this Point of No Return Mountain Range.

His Senior Sister’s voice from the past suddenly began ringing in his head. For a while, she used to tell him various mischievous stories hoping to elicit a reaction, but she had quickly lost interest when Cheon-oh showed no noticeable response.

It didn’t bother me at all back then, so why am I suddenly remembering this now?

Regardless of his bewilderment, Cheon-oh’s brilliant mind sequentially recalled every single memory from that time.

—The monsters Master is wary of aren’t just the ones you saw last time. If that were the case, simply setting up arrays around the mountain would be enough. Why else would he give us all sorts of mystical artifacts like beads, hairpins, and jade plaques?

—The truly terrifying ones… are the monsters that bewitch people. They’re so incredibly smart that they evade all the arrays and secretly come right up to your door at night.

—And then, they mimic the voices of other people and call out to a child who is all alone. ‘Baby, baby,’ just like that.

—What do you think happens if a child is tricked into opening the door?

Well, obviously, they would be eaten by the monster, vanish after following it, or suffer something terrible at its hands. The precocious and intelligent Cheon-oh was fully aware that all the various folktales told to children possessed their own underlying intentions.

And, predictably, this specific story seemed to be an easily understandable, child-friendly translation of the warning: ‘Do not open the door for strangers when you are home alone.’

That was definitely what it meant, but…

Why… am I thinking about this right now?

Cheon-oh swallowed dryly. For some inexplicable reason, this moment felt agonizingly long.

Just then, a sudden gust of wind violently battered the outside, causing the sliding doors to rattle simultaneously with a sharp whistling sound. It could have simply been a bird or the wind, but having just been deeply engrossed in thoughts of monsters, Cheon-oh was startled out of his wits and abruptly sprang up from his bedding.

The wildly swaying shadows of the branches looked like reaching hands, and the fluttering leaves felt like tiny, sentient monsters flying about with malicious intent.

Cheon-oh’s hands gripping the quilt tightened with blinding force.

***

…Is this really okay?

Standing before the door, which was brightly illuminated by a lamp from within, Cheon-oh agonized for a moment. Suddenly, the armful of blankets and pillows he was clutching began to slip from his grasp, forcing him to frantically adjust his hold. Standing there like this, he genuinely questioned whether he was doing the right thing.

Won’t Master start viewing me as too much of… a child?

Well, he was a child. But if it was discovered that a disciple he had raised for four years couldn’t even sleep alone, wouldn’t his master think he was pathetic?

Well, he could sleep alone. It was just that… he couldn’t quite endure the slight awkwardness.

Even so, showing up at his master’s door clutching his bedding left absolutely no room for excuses…

“It is cold out; what are you doing standing at the door? Come inside quickly.”

“Pardon? Yes.”

Just as Cheon-oh’s thoughts began to burrow deep into the ground, thankfully (or perhaps unfortunately for Cheon-oh), his master’s calm voice drifted from inside the room. Considering his master could detect the life force of an entire mountain, there was no way he wouldn’t hear Cheon-oh’s clumsy presence.

Belatedly realizing this fact, the tips of Cheon-oh’s ears burned bright red as he clamped his mouth shut and stepped inside. With his arms completely full, he even struggled to close the door behind him.

Barely managing to pull the handle shut, Cheon-oh hoisted his bedding higher and awkwardly shuffled over to his master. Consumed by the thought that he had committed a profoundly embarrassing act, his shoulders slumped in despondency and his head hung low in gloom.

Unable to even set down the bedding he was carrying, he stood before his master, staring exclusively at the floor, when a fascinating sight suddenly entered his vision.

“…?”

Before his master—who was sitting with immaculate posture as always—sat a small dining table. Since this was usually the time he transcribed his herbal knowledge into texts, having the table out wasn’t strange, but today, something entirely different replaced the usual books and inkstone.

It was a white ceramic bottle and a small dish containing pickled vegetables.

“Were you… partaking in medicinal liquor?”

“Yes.”

Having lived together for four years without ever once seeing his master touch alcohol, the question tumbled out first, driven purely by sheer fascination. Setting the delicate teacup he was holding down onto the table, his master spoke.

“The wind is blowing fiercely tonight. It would be better if we slept together for the time being. Prepare your bed.”

“Ah, yes.”

Abruptly remembering that he had shown up at his master’s room in the middle of the night clutching his bedding, Cheon-oh began awkwardly laying out his blankets in his usual spot. He felt both deeply grateful and intensely embarrassed by his master’s profoundly considerate words.

Just then, his master lifted the small table, preparing to move it aside. Cheon-oh frantically scrambled forward on his knees and spoke up.

“I-If you are moving that because of me, you do not need to put it away, Master.”

“Hmm?”

“I will not whine and beg for some, nor will I bother you. I simply do not want to become a disciple who interrupts my master’s private time.”

“…”

Staring quietly at Cheon-oh, Cho Yoon set the table back down before lifting the ceramic bottle to refill his empty cup. As the clear liquid trickled out, a fragrant, herbal scent strongly wafted through the air.

“The night is late. You should sleep now.”

“The wind has completely awakened me. If you permit it, I would like to offer myself as a humble conversation partner.”

“…Just for a little while.”

He had no idea where this sudden surge of courage came from.

Unconsciously delivering a bold assertion, Cheon-oh neatly adjusted his sitting posture. Perhaps because it was his first time facing a master who exuded a slightly different atmosphere from his usual perfectly immaculate and upright self, his heart began to pound just a little.

[Conclusion of Drunken Stupor]