The Visitor at the Door

The Visitor at the Door

Ten days passed like fleeting shadows beneath the whispering pines.

In these ten days, Tae carved a new rhythm of life—raw, simple, but strangely grounding. At dawn, she and Jimin hunted rabbits, wild chickens, and whatever small game they could find.

By afternoon, they dried herbs, practiced with their wooden swords, and strengthened their bodies bit by bit. Their cheeks grew less pale, their steps steadier, their laughter a little louder as hunger loosened its grip.

Tae felt her old strength returning.

Not from the gym.

Not from dance training.

But from survival.

She swung the wooden sword one morning, her stance sharp, movements fluid—muscle memory shaped by years of action training for dramas. The air sliced around her with a soft whip, and Jimin watched with starry eyes.

“Mother, you’re amazing…”

the girl breathed.

Tae paused, chest heaving, and smiled.

“Come here. Your turn.”

Jimin’s kicks were sloppy at first, her punches weak, but Tae corrected her with patient hands, guiding her elbows, adjusting her feet.

“No strength will save you if your foundation is weak,”

Tae reminded gently.

“Stand firm. Feel the ground.”

Jimin nodded, determination burning bright.

They trained until the sun rose high and warm, sweat clinging to their skin, their breaths heavy but content.

Strength wasn’t built overnight, but it was building—slow and steady, like the forest growing around them.

That afternoon, mother and daughter walked along the lake, the water shimmering under sunlight like thousands of scattered diamonds.

The air smelled of pine and fresh water, a rare softness in the harsh wilderness.

Tae’s gaze drifted over the water—and something sparkled beneath the surface.

“What is that?"

she murmured.

She rolled up her sleeves and waded in, the cold water biting her skin. She reached down, fingers brushing something smooth and solid. With one strong pull, she lifted it out.

A jade.

Deep green, flawless, glowing as if holding its own light.

Tae’s breath hitched.

In this era, a jade like this was worth more than a million. It could change everything.

“Mother, is it magic?”

Jimin whispered, eyes wide.

Tae shook her head, confused.

“I don’t know how it ended up here… but it’s valuable. We must hide it.”

She searched the lake again, heart racing with hope—but found nothing else of worth. Just smooth pebbles and colorful stones.

Jimin, enchanted by the bright red and pink ones, happily gathered them in her skirt, giggling as she compared their colors.

Tae watched her with soft eyes.

For Jimin, even useless stones could become little treasures.

In a world that had given her so little, small joys mattered.

Before leaving, they caught a fish from the lake, its scales shimmering silver as it thrashed.

They walked home hungry and content, the scent of fresh fish promising a warm meal.

But when they reached their door…

Tae froze.

A man—young, unconscious, drenched in sweat and blood—lay collapsed at their doorstep.

“Mother!”

Jimin gasped in fear.

Tae dropped the fish and rushed forward. The man’s breathing was shallow, his forehead burning with fever.

Without hesitation, she lifted his arm over her shoulder, Jimin supporting his other side.

Together, struggling under his weight, they dragged him inside and laid him gently on the straw bed.

Tae worked quickly—cleaning wounds, washing away dried blood, applying crushed herbs.

As she leaned close under the dim light, her hands paused.

His face…

Those sharp features, the straight nose, the unmistakable eyes—even closed—they reminded her of someone.

The original owner’s memories flickered in her mind like a candle catching flame.

He resembles… the second son.

Her heart thudded, but she forced her hands to stay steady.

She did not know why he was here.

She did not know if he was friend or foe.

But saving him was the right choice—for now.

By morning, the fever had broken.

His fingers twitched. His lashes fluttered. Finally his eyes opened—dark, clear, searching.

They locked onto Tae instantly, surprise flickering in them.

“You…”

he whispered, voice hoarse.

Recognition.

His gaze softened. Almost… pained.

He tried to speak again, but nothing came out. Tae simply handed him a bowl of porridge, and he accepted it silently, eating with slow, measured movements.

His silence said more than words ever could.

After resting a few hours, the young man rose. His injuries weren’t fully healed, but he carried himself with quiet strength. He walked to the door, paused, and turned back.

His eyes met Tae’s.

“Do you want to come back?”

he asked, voice low, almost fragile.

The question hung in the air—heavy, trembling, filled with unspoken meanings.

Tae did not answer.

She simply stared… and a single tear slipped down her cheek.

The young man’s jaw tightened. For a moment, emotion flickered across his face—something sharp, something deep, something he quickly hid. Then he turned away and left without another word.

Tae watched his silhouette disappear into the forest, her heart pounding with a storm of emotions she could not yet name.

Whatever path she was carving…

it had just become far more complicated.

see you soon

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