Jang Hon stood before the gates of Jeong-du, his eyes fixed on the road leading into the city, but he didn't move. The city looked like it didn't belong to his world, like it was a different place altogether—full of endless noise and pressure.
He turned to the two children behind him, their eyes locked on him… waiting for what he'd say or do. There was something in their gaze—a mix of anticipation and fear, as if they pinned all their hope on him, even though they understood well that this world spared no one.
He asked in a low voice, "And then what?" Silence.
Then he continued, this time looking at Bai Su: "Do you have any family? Anyone waiting for you?"
The boy shook his head slowly. "No one."
"Friends? Somewhere to go?"
"We were with our parents in a small village… then they came."
Jang Hon didn't need to ask who "they" were.
"Everything burned… then we found you."
Silence. The words were heavy, as if they summed up how far they had fallen—victims of endless wars that had nothing to do with them, yet they were still part of it. Just numbers scribbled into the dark pages of memory.
Then he said without looking at them, "Stay with me… until we find another way."
Bai An whispered, as if the question had been stuck in his throat, "Is there… another way?"
He didn't answer. The answer was in his eyes—but even he didn't know if such a path existed.
**
They stepped through the gate. With every step, their feet moved farther from a past they could never outrun. The city was more complicated, more brutal. But what else had they expected?
Jeong-du… A crowded, tense city, choked by shouting and suspicion. Everything here made you feel like a ghost, like life had vanished long ago and only the hollow shell of the city remained.
They saw:
– A man slapped by a merchant for not paying for vegetables.
– A woman dragged by her hair over an old debt.
– Children chased by guards… not for a crime, just for running.
A group of men passed by them, joking about "clashes between sects in the eastern market," laughing as if it were a joke. Those laughs cut into Jang Hon's heart like a cold knife, because he knew everything here was a cruel farce.
Everything looked gray. Without mercy.
One guard glanced at Jang Hon with disdain, then at the children. "No begging. Take your mutts and leave."
Jang Hon ignored the guard and walked on. He had something bigger than idle insults to worry about. He walked the path that reality forced on him—not for any grand reason, but to find a place where he could gamble on even a temporary survival.
**
He moved away from the market's noise, leading the children through alleyways until he stopped in a narrow corner between two buildings. It was a little dark, but safe—or at least, far from the eyes of the guards. In those shadowed corners, they could find a kind of safety, even if fleeting.
He said in a low voice, scanning the place: "Wait here… I won't be long."
The boys sat on the ground, close to each other. Bai Su looked at him with concern: "Where are you going?"
He answered with a rare, faint smile—one that held warmth not often found in his voice: "To get us some food… and maybe something that resembles hope."
He added nothing more. Turned and walked steadily, as if each step carried him farther from everything he once knew.
**
The streets of Jeong-du bustled with life… but not the comforting kind. The vendors' voices clashed with the cries of children. Everything was charged with conflicting emotions of survival, as if the city itself didn't know how to be alive.
He passed a stall selling dumplings, then another with dried herbs, until he stopped before an old man sorting vegetables beside a modest shop. The man worked silently, like someone who no longer cared about the world around him. Every movement, every look, expressed a quiet despair.
Jang Hon hesitated, then bent down and asked, "Need a hand?"
The old man looked up… studied him for a few seconds, then shook his head gently. "I have enough."
Jang Hon nodded. He didn't look angry or disappointed. He simply turned and walked on. In this place, he knew that nothing came for free. You always had to pay a price—whether in effort or soul.
**
At the end of a side alley stood a tiny kitchen, barely big enough for its owner and a few pots. The young man running it was hauling a large garbage sack, grumbling. He looked like a prisoner in that kitchen, trapped in endless labor just to survive.
Jang Hon approached and said simply, "Need help?"
The man raised an eyebrow. "For what?"
"One meal."
He eyed him for a second, then nodded toward the back. "There's a small yard. Clean it, and I'll give you something to eat."
**
He finished the work without a word. His hands steady despite the cold, his face asking for nothing. He knew this was the only way to survive—because everyone here played by the same rules: work to survive, silence for inner peace.
The man gave him a piece of bread and a serving of stewed potatoes. He didn't ask for his name, nor answer any questions. It was as if the two silently agreed not to ask anything—as if each of them was feeding a different kind of hunger.
**
Jang Hon returned to the alley, carrying a small bag of food.
He found the children asleep, their heads close together, as if exhaustion had overcome fear. Their eyes shut, lost in a world of fleeting safety.
He sat beside them, divided the food quietly, then took out the piece of potato and began to eat. The only sound was the soft chewing—like the world had frozen for a moment.
As he ate, he heard a faint voice:
"Will we… die like Mom and Dad?"
It was Bai An. His voice didn't carry outright fear, but a simple question… as if death had become part of his tiny world—not something to fight, just something to wait for.
Jang Hon froze—not because he didn't know the answer, but because he didn't want to say it.
He reached out silently, placed his hand on the boy's shoulder, and patted it gently. Once.
He said nothing.
But Bai An closed his eyes afterward, as if that silence was enough. As if one word could have ended their shattered world.
**
Jang Hon looked up at the gray sky and thought to himself:
> "I don't know if this is enough… but I'm still here. And they're still with me."