Chapter 32

Bukgung Cheon’s question made his sons flinch in surprise.

Had their father ever asked the youngest anything in front of the family?

As far as they could remember, never.

But none would be as shocked as Bukgung Yoon.

“Yes?”

“I asked if you had nothing to tell me.”

Bukgung Yoon frowned.

Why is he asking all of a sudden?

Their father had never shown interest in her or in Flying Swallow Manor’s affairs.

It had been the same when Bukgung Yoon was stripped of power and reduced to a puppet manor lord, or when she lived secluded and endured people’s pointing fingers.

Thorough indifference—that was Bukgung Cheon’s way, and Bukgung Yoon had come to expect it.

Wherever her father’s gaze fell, she felt as if bugs crawled along her skin.

She swallowed the prickling and fell briefly silent.

Bukgung Yoon picked up her teacup and sipped slowly. The steaming tea did not cool her; something inside her chest burned hotter.

As the silence stretched, she felt her brothers’ looks—impatient, judgmental. Can’t you answer him quickly? How presumptuous for the youngest. Father is waiting, isn’t he?

Clack.

Bukgung Yoon set the teacup down and forced a faint smile that she found repulsive.

“There is no notable news to report from me.”

“Yoon, everyone here knows Flying Swallow Manor has been noisy. Don’t think of hiding it from your father—tell him straight,” said Fourth Young Master Bukgung Yun-ram.

Her brothers were of no help.

Bukgung Cheon sat quietly, waiting for Bukgung Yoon’s answer.

It wasn’t that he didn’t know the manor’s affairs—Bukgung Cheon could hear news from the far side of the Central Plains while seated. He simply wanted it confirmed by her voice—through his daughter, his beloved and bane, his thorn.

A flash of flame lit in Bukgung Yoon’s eyes.

If you cannot avoid it, you must confront it.

“Recently the Flying Swallow Manor underwent a major reorganization.”

“What kind of reorganization?”

Her brothers frowned at the question—this was not how their father usually spoke to them.

“We did a sort of winnowing.”

“…Winnowing?”

“The manor had grains and chaff mixed together—stones and sand among them. Some of the chaff was my fault, but I used this chance to blow it away: husks, stones, sand, leaves, weeds—everything unnecessary—leaving only the true kernels.”

“What do you mean by ‘true kernels’?” Bukgung Cheon asked.

“They are my people,” Bukgung Yoon answered. “People I can trust even when I’m cornered, who will stay united and move forward together regardless of the manor’s rise or fall.”

She let her gaze pass over her brothers one by one.

“Flying Swallow Manor is very small compared to the Bukgung name. We don’t have much gold, overflowing treasures, great secret manuals, or miraculous elixirs. We lack exceptional talents, outstanding scholarship, and hidden transmissions. But I learned one thing: we must start from here.”

She had truly learned that—hoping everything would be fine in others’ hands was wishful thinking. To move forward she had to stand on her own strength.

“…”

Bukgung Yoon and Bukgung Cheon’s eyes met.

“What do you mean by that? Aren’t you just saying at length that you haven’t done much?” Sixth Young Master Bukgung Bi-beom sneered and stepped forward. “You spoke so seriously I thought it must be something great. Little sister, running a manor isn’t accomplished by attitude alone. When will you grow into a respectable manor lord like us brothers?”

He subtly ranked himself equal to the others, but no one answered. Embarrassed, Bukgung Bi-beom cleared his throat and fell silent.

After a brief pause, Bukgung Cheon called, “Flying Swallow Manor’s lord Bukgung Yoon. Do not trust people.”

The words startled everyone—why direct that only at Yoon?

“Remember who you are. Bearing the Bukgung name will draw those who sweeten their tongues and hide daggers behind their backs. Even if they seem loyal at first, in time they’ll covet what is yours. Do not trust them—think only of using them. There are countless people who would wait decades for a chance to betray to gain the Bukgung name.”

Bukgung Yoon recoiled; it was true. Bukgung Cheon trusted no one, and in that way he could never be betrayed.

Her mother had been abandoned. A man who could not trust his own wife—this was her father.

Her brothers looked at her with eyes that said: Are you still clinging to outdated notions like faith, Yoon? Surely you’re not still trapped by old wounds? That’s why you can’t do it. That’s why you’ll always be a loser.

They mocked, ridiculed, and looked down on her.

Neither father nor brothers offered a place to rest her heart, and a loneliness settled over Bukgung Yoon.

She stared at the teacup cooling to lukewarm and noticed her hand had gone pale.

Sometimes family is worse than strangers.

She had known that truth too well.

At last she lifted her head and spoke, “I will remember, family lord.”

When Bukgung Yoon returned to Flying Swallow Manor, the sun hung low on the western ridge.

Every retainer she passed greeted her: martial men gave crisp salutes, servants bowed respectfully, and the newly appointed eunuchs averted their eyes in fear.

Bukgung Yoon offered no response; her face was cold. Something inside her creaked—bitter, hateful, and oddly peaceful.

Seeing her family had dampened her mood. She felt split in two: the Bukgung Yoon who received respect and love as the manor lord, and the Bukgung Yoon who endured contempt and sarcasm from her family. She wanted to be the former, but someone always pushed her into the latter.

“Damn it,” she muttered under her breath.

Then, from the far side of the manor, shouted voices rose.

“Hey! Why do you always steal mine?!”

“Eek! It’s not me!”

Do-geon and Hye-ran, two apprentices, chased each other noisily.

Irritation flared. Why now of all times? Her mood was already frayed; did the workers think this amusing? Shouldn’t they move quietly? Even the children look down on me?

As her thoughts spiraled, a man fell upside-down from a branch above the two, hanging by his legs with his head poking out—Captain Yeon Mujin.

“You two again?”

“Eek!”

“You startled me!”

Yeon Mujin rapped the children’s heads as he dangled.

“Come here, you lot. I told you not to make a racket and run about the manor.”

Do-geon and Hye-ran rubbed their heads and screamed. The moment Yeon Mujin appeared, the dark cloud over Bukgung Yoon’s heart lifted—odd even to her.

“Is the Flying Swallow Manor yours? Huh? Why are you so excited in here? Who told you to run about like that?”

Bukgung Yoon nodded as he scolded them.

“How dare you disturb my nap? You cheeky brats. Am I that easygoing to you?”

Cancel that—this man was hardly a proper model of decorum.

“What are you fighting about this time?”

“He stole my candied ginger.”

“What? Candied ginger!”

Yeon Mujin dropped from the tree in a clatter.

“I like that too!” he declared, glaring at Do-geon.

Cornered, Do-geon took a step back.

“Come here. You deserve another flick to the forehead.”

“Ow!”

Do-geon grimaced, then giggled and offered his palm. “Hehe, captain. If you like candied ginger, shall I run an errand for you?”

“Why, are you going to skim off the leftover pay?”

“Skim off? What a nasty thing to say. I’ll only take a small fee for the trouble.”

Yeon Mujin snorted, pulled pocket money from his robe, and handed it to Hye-ran instead of Do-geon.

“Ah, captain!”

“I don’t trust you. Hye-ran, you go and buy the candied ginger. Bring enough to fill my room; whatever’s left you two can share.”

“How much?”

“About ten silvers’ worth.”

“Lord, with that you could even buy a ginger field.”

Thrilled by the errand fee, the children left chattering.

Bukgung Yoon approached Yeon Mujin. “It seems the manor’s funds are leaking out here.”

“Manor lord, be careful. Those kids might be spies for other manors.”

“Really?”

“Yes. They’re fierce. The silvers they’ve extorted from me aren’t small change.”

Bukgung Yoon feigned suspicion. “Then what should we do?”

“What do you mean ‘what should we do’?” Yeon Mujin crossed his arms and watched her.

“It’s already been cleaned out by them.”

Bukgung Yoon laughed—he truly looked utterly stripped of funds.

“You play well with the kids.”

“Play with them? They’re thieves, every one of them.”

“Do you like children?”

“No. I dislike them.”

“You seem to like them. Maybe your mental age matches theirs.”

Yeon Mujin glared; Bukgung Yoon glanced away and allowed herself a small laugh at his clowning.

It had rained earlier, but then cleared; the air felt washed. She asked, “Captain Yeon.”

“Yes?”

“Do you still hope that I become the family lord?”

“You ask that again?”

“Yes. I had to ask because I’m suspicious—someone told me to suspect those who sweeten their tongues and hide daggers.”

“So the family lord said that, did he?”

“…”

Good grief. He couldn’t be fooled.

How did this man know everything without speaking?

Yeon Mujin crossed his arms and watched the sunset.

“To be honest, I’m not sure.”

“…You were so confident before; and now this?”

“I have confidence. Confidence that I can make the manor lord into the family lord.”

“Then what is it you don’t know?”

“I don’t know what the manor lord herself wants.”

Bukgung Yoon considered his profile, the indigo sunset washing over his face. He looked flushed and absorbed.

“Making the manor lord the family lord is doable. Do you know what is truly difficult and perhaps impossible?”

“What is it?”

“Making you want it yourself.”

“…”

“You can lead a horse to water, but you can’t force it to drink. Does the manor lord wish to become the family lord?”

Bukgung Yoon fell silent and watched the sunset.

“What if I don’t wish it?”

“Then what can we do about it?” Yeon Mujin held up his empty pockets. “We’re already cleaned out.”

He thought inwardly: What do you mean ‘what do we do’? This regression is a bust too. From the start, Bukgung Yoon had never been the sprout to nurture. There’s no time to invest in someone who lacks even ambition.

Bukgung Yoon’s answer surprised him.

“If that’s the case, you needn’t worry.”

“…?”

She stepped in front of him, the sunset backlighting her so her expression was half-shadowed.

“I have one now too. I plan to become the family lord of the Bukgung Family.”

Originally, Bukgung Yoon had no desire to become family lord.

She hated this family: her father who abandoned her mother, brothers blinded by power and hating one another, the philistines who circled her. Friends, family, love, siblings—she could have none of it. Her life was abundant yet impoverished.

She hated it all and wanted to run away.

But where could she flee to escape the Bukgung name? Even if she ran, could she live an ordinary life? No amount of pondering supplied an answer.

Bukgung Yoon could not escape.

‘I originally…’ she thought. She had no wish to become the family lord because she loathed the Bukgung Family down to her bones.

“So I found a new answer.”

If she could not escape the Bukgung name, then why not ruin it?

A new hope given by her blade—wasn’t there room to try?

Yes. She would become the family lord.

“I want to destroy the Bukgung Family.”