The Silent Tale

The Duties of a Man

After battling cancer for 12 years my grandma is finally able to rest in peace. I grew up under her care, so she's always been loving influence to me. My family buried her last weekend and this weekend we're finally cleaning out her room. I'm heartbroken, but she always told me that the living has to keep moving on – as she'd done after my grandpa died.

I was left alone in her almost barren room after my parents left to go buy some takeout. The fresh sunny yellow walls remind me of how I used to draw on them when younger only to be scolded by grandma when discovered. And this room tells stories of how she comforted me after receiving scolding from my parents.

My heart weeps for my family's loss, but I'm happy that she's finally able to rest in peace now. Now that I'm finally sitting alone in this tiny room I finally realize how it is to feel really alone. My grandma must have been so lonely after grandpa died.

There are boxes stacked around me and her empty bed is behind me. The sun is shining through the window leaving specks of its shine on the ground through the gaps of the tree leaves outside. It was when I began turning around to look outside that I spotted the wooden box tucked underneath the bed. Curious, I reach out for it.

The cover of the medium sized box is a little dusty and there are beautiful engravings of details on its sides. I've never seen the box before and never knew grandma possessed such treasure. A really old book bounded together by strings comes into sight when I open the lid. It's in such a fragile state that I hesitate to touch it, but upon noticing that the book has been cautiously laminated I finally pick it up.

I can tell the book is old. Its material has been repeatedly replaced over time, I can see it by the little cracks and tears embossed in the paper before it was laminated. An old painted portrait comes into sight when I flip the first page over. I can't tell what era these people are from by the robes they're wearing, but it's obviously from a long time ago.

The calligraphy on the next page is almost hard to read, but after about two minutes of squinting my eyes I can finally make out the words. And a few sentences I realize that it's a book put together by an ancestor, Lee Ji Hyun, whether from my mom or dad's family branch I can't tell – but I can assume that it's written by a family ancestor.

The first page is a little introduction about a very quiet man who lives alone in the outskirts of town. It seems Ji Hyun had a liking toward the man who never spoke. For the first few pages Ji Hyun wrote about how she would hear the man play an old flute by the river day after day for months on end of a sorrowful tune and remain there for hours until he left.

After a few curious questions about who the man was she finally got the story from an old man. And the story finally starts here...

Year 1231...

Chanyeol's heart was racing. He was too much in a hurry that nothing else was on his mind, but the pretty girl he knew of. Just a few days earlier he'd asked her to marry him. His wedding would be tomorrow and he couldn't wait. For once he was taking time off from his duties of a palace soldier.

His footsteps echoed off the pavilion walls and the large fat poles cast long shadows over his figure as he ran down the open hall. The heavy panting of his breath told him he was worn and tired, but he couldn't stop now. For every second would bring him closer to making it to the village to see her before tomorrow.

Namjoo was a peasant girl who lived near the outskirts of the village with her old grandma as the rest of her family had died from an epidemic before she moved away from town. Chanyeol came across her one day when she was being harassed by a group of men. Her leg had gotten injured in the process and he always remembered how she'd looked at him embarrassed when he helped carry her home.