“Wow — so many again today? Truly, one load of wood is something else!”

The villager who had taken the firewood held out his shoulder bag with a satisfied expression.

“Do a good job next time too! Thanks to you, miss, we’ll be fine this winter! Ha ha ha!”

Namgoong Seolhwa bowed her head in greeting, picked up the rope she had bound the wood with, and turned to go.

A passerby who saw her called out.

“Hey! Remember it’s our turn next time, okay?”

Namgoong Seolhwa looked at him and nodded.

“Don’t overdo it. Take care — and bring plenty, please.”

She smiled faintly and moved on.

“Long time no see! You doing all right these days?”

“Are you eating properly?”

“Is the place you’re staying comfortable?”

Those she met in the village greeted her warmly, each in their own way.

Adults and children alike welcomed her.

Namgoong Seolhwa bowed to each of them, then crossed the village.

She was headed for the small village inn on the outskirts — the place run by the old woman famed for making the prettiest dumplings in the village.

The dumplings were beautifully shaped, but the old woman’s temper was notorious.

That old woman had been the first to find Namgoong Seolhwa drifting down the river and had gathered the villagers.

“Been a while.”

The elderly woman, who had been sitting on the high step before the inn, rose when she recognized Namgoong Seolhwa.

“You want the same thing as always?”

Namgoong Seolhwa nodded.

“Wait a moment. Come in and sit down.”

The old woman pushed into the inn, and Namgoong Seolhwa crouched on the step where the woman had just been sitting instead of going inside.

Laughter of children echoed from a short distance.

Namgoong Seolhwa looked toward the sound, then tilted her gaze to the blue sky.

...

White clouds drifted across the clear sky and were reflected in her pale eyes.

Silently watching the slow passage of the clouds, she closed her eyes and felt the breeze.

A faint scent of greenery rode the wind from beyond the village.

Even though no memories returned, feeling the sky and the wind soothed her for some reason.

It felt as if she were in a place she longed for, a place where she rightfully belonged.

Pat-pat. Pat-pat.

Small footsteps approached.

Namgoong Seolhwa opened her eyes and slowly lowered her gaze.

A stick threaded with fruit was held out before her.

...?

She looked past the fruit to the child.

A little girl, so small her clenched fist could bite into a whole piece in one mouthful.

The fruit slid on the stick from its weight and touched the child’s fist.

“Here!”

The girl cried out with an almost boastful air.

Namgoong Seolhwa took the fruit the child offered — something in the girl’s manner suggested she would hold it out forever if it was not accepted.

?

The fruit’s pattern was oddly like the picture the black snake had drawn in the dirt that morning.

What was this?

The girl sniffed, then cried out.

“Tanghuru!”

Tanghuru.

‘It can’t be that exactly.’

In any case, was it to be eaten?

Could she eat it?

She peered at the child; the girl watched her earnestly, brimming with expectation as if awaiting some reaction.

Namgoong Seolhwa hesitated, plucked one of the fruits, and put it into her mouth.

!

She chewed, then looked at it again.

It was delicious.

Sticky, but wrapped in a sweet glaze that unfurled sugary flavor the moment it hit her tongue.

Juice followed, and the taste was excellent.

“Hee hee!”

Satisfied, the child ran back to the other children chattering nearby.

Namgoong Seolhwa watched the receding child, then, almost entranced, put another piece into her mouth.

“Yu’s making the kids candied hawthorn today, I see. So that’s what it is.”

The old woman came out of the inn and handed Namgoong Seolhwa a large bundle.

It was full of uncooked dumplings and noodles.

Namgoong Seolhwa accepted ❖ Nоvеl𝚒ght ❖ (Exclusive on Nоvеl𝚒ght) the bundle and paid a few coins.

The old woman counted the coins without comment and took them.

“Why not decide on a name at last?” she said.

Namgoong Seolhwa stared at her.

“You can’t keep calling someone ‘that kid,’ ‘miss,’ or ‘you’ every time. You need a name to call them by, don’t you?”

Namgoong Seolhwa scratched her cheek.

Was that so?

Perhaps because the names people used weren’t really hers she didn’t feel uncomfortable — or perhaps she simply hadn’t noticed.

“Name....”

“I don’t know what your name was before you lost your memories, but you can’t live a stranger forever. You need somewhere to settle your heart to keep going.”

...

“Think it through. If you don’t pick one, I’ll call you Dumpling, so keep that in mind.”

Namgoong Seolhwa nodded.

“Don’t just nod like that, you fool. Off you go — ”

The old woman tapped her back and went into the inn, groaning as she walked.

Namgoong Seolhwa popped the last of the candied hawthorn on the stick into her mouth, rose, and went on her way.

Name...

Tap-tap. Tap-tap.

The way home felt lighter than the walk there.

A bundle tied with rope was secured to the pack on her back where the wood had been; in her right hand she held the stick left after eating the candied hawthorn.

Name, a name.

She must have had a name before losing her memories.

Was it right to make a new name simply because she did not remember the original?

She walked, thinking such thoughts.

“Save me!! Kyaah!”

!

A sharp scream cut through the air somewhere.

Namgoong Seolhwa’s body moved before she gave it thought.

Thud —

She ran without hesitation toward the scream.

This area’s terrain was rough and few people passed through.

That meant whoever screamed was likely from the village.

‘Those bandits have been rampant lately. This place is too remote; it’s dangerous.’

It seemed the bandits the village woman had warned about had appeared.

Rustle —

Holding her breath, Namgoong Seolhwa crept through the brush and peered at the scene.

Five burly men surrounded a woman carrying a basket of herbs, jeering.

The woman was the village maiden Namgoong Seolhwa often saw — always smiling and asking after her when they met.

“Ha — people live out here? What do you live on?”

“Probably digging up roots and eating them. Look! Going around gathering such weeds!”

The bandits laughed and jabbed at the woman’s herb basket.

She trembled and sobbed with fear.

“P-please... save me... please... sob...”

“Hey, miss. Are there many people where you live?”

One of the bandits knelt and roughly grabbed the maiden’s chin, lifting her face.

His gaze crawled over her.

“Hey, this one’s not bad. How about coming with the big brothers?”

At his jeering the other four erupted in laughter.

The woman could not turn her head; she only shivered and wept.

“Where did you come from... Aah!”

Just then, with a sharp thwack! a pebble the size of a child’s fist flew from somewhere and struck the back of the man’s hand.

“Aah! It hurts! It hurts!!”

He grabbed his hand and rolled on the ground.

The bandits froze in surprise and shouted.

“Who the hell is that?”

Sss — sss —

They drew their weapons and went on alert.

Rustle —

All at once they turned toward the sound.

Then —

thwack!

“Aaaah!”

One bandit grabbed his ankle and went down.

“My leg!! My leg!!”

A pebble rolled nearby.

“What the—! Where from—!”

Before the three remaining men could figure out what was happening.

Thunk! Whump!

“Gah—!”

“Ugh!”

One of them took a stone to the forehead and toppled backward; another was struck in the solar plexus by a fist-sized rock and slumped.

In an instant only one of the five still stood.

“W-what...”

The last man backed away, eyes sweeping the area.

Silence settled.

The sobbing woman pressed a hand to her mouth in shock.

“Where are you! Come out! Come out—!”

With another thwack! the final man’s eyes rolled back and he collapsed forward with a thud.

“Kyaah!”

The woman stepped back from the fallen body at her feet.

A stone tumbled past the back of the toppled man’s head and rolled away.

Rustle.

A figure emerged from the brush beyond the fallen bandits.

“You—you are....”

The woman recognized her and parted her lips.

Namgoong Seolhwa gathered the scattered herbs and returned them to the basket, then approached the woman.

She helped the woman up and flicked the dirt from her clothes.

“Dammit — just a woman after all?”

A voice, edged with irritation, came from three paces away.

The first man — the one who had been struck on the wrist and had initially fallen — was now standing with a drawn sword.

His right hand, swollen and useless from the stone, still held the hilt awkwardly; perhaps left-handed by nature, he managed the sword without seeming ill at ease.

...

Namgoong Seolhwa planted herself between the woman and the man.

“You think you can handle me with that?”

She held only a thin wooden stick.

The stick was the candied hawthorn skewer.

The man sneered, clutching his sword.

“You little rat... nowhere left to hide now...”

His eyes flashed.

“I’ll kill you.”