Wicked Fox (Gumiho #1)(107)

“I’m sorry for so many things that I can’t make up for now.”

“Don’t talk like that. Don’t talk like you’re still dying,” Miyoung demanded. “You’re scaring me.”

“No, nothing can scare my brave daughter.” Yena sighed the words. “Miyoung, who are you?”

Miyoung tried to reply, and it came out a sob. She took a deep, shuddering breath and tried again. “Gu Yena’s daughter.”

“And what does that make you?”

“Smart.”

“And?”

“Beautiful.”

“And?”

“Strong.”

“And loved.”

Miyoung felt when her mother’s life left her body. Yena’s cold hands loosened around hers. Her body let out a final sigh with the relief of letting go.

“No,” Miyoung sobbed. “I saved you. I saved you. I saved you.” She repeated the words again and again. A mantra she couldn’t give up.

Then she did stop. And she wept.

She wept as Yena’s body faded to nothing. Not even leaving dust behind, but becoming air and vapor.





77





AFTER MIYOUNG CRIED herself dry, she left the clearing without a glance at the charred remains that were her father. He could be picked at by the crows. She rushed to the shaman shop. Nara would have to help her—it was only right the shamans undid what they’d created—but it had been emptied. Cleared so completely that not even a speck of dust lay on the worn wooden floor. And Miyoung collapsed in the middle of the empty store to weep out her anger and despair until Jihoon found her.



* * *



? ? ?

They placed a placard for Yena below a maehwa tree. The plum blossoms would flower in winter despite the cold. It was a hardy tree, but beautiful when it bloomed. It reminded Miyoung of Yena, so that was where they laid her to rest.

It was a simple ceremony lit by the waning moon. When Junu arrived, they exchanged no words, but Miyoung had no strength to make him leave.

With nowhere else to go, she stayed with Jihoon. His room became her sanctuary where she waited for her death. Her bead had disappeared with Yena’s body. And without it she expected to soon join her mother. As she lay with the curtains drawn to block out the sun, she didn’t know how many days had passed.

The full moon had marked the ninetieth day, which meant she had ten days of feeling like her grief would consume her. Ten days of mourning before she could go to oblivion.

A fever raged through her like a flash fire sweeping through a forest. She slept through days and wept at night. And every time she woke, Jihoon was there, wiping her sweaty brow or napping beside her.



It was her only comfort, that he’d be with her in the end. Though she felt sorry when she saw the pain in his eyes.

“This has to stop,” Jihoon said one day, stomping to the curtains and flinging them open. “You’re not dying, Miyoung.”

She didn’t reply, didn’t even move to block out the light.

“Miyoung-ah,” Jihoon said, his voice softer. “I don’t know what to do for you. Can’t you tell me?”

She stared at him, resting her cheek against the pillow, still damp from her tears. “When I die—”

“Don’t.”

“When I die,” she continued, “don’t mourn me. Forget me and live the life you should have before I came into it.”

“Miyoung-ah.” Jihoon sat beside her, folding his legs beneath him. “If you die, then I’ll always remember you. That doesn’t mean I won’t live a full life. People leave us and our lives will never be the same, but if we forget them, then what does that say about how we value them?”

“When did you get so wise?” Miyoung asked.

“When the hundredth day passed.”

“What?” Miyoung sat up and the sudden movement made her head spin.

“I didn’t want to say anything. I was worried it would jinx it. But yesterday was the hundredth day,” Jihoon said. “And you’re still here.”

“No.” Miyoung shook her head, trying to calculate the time, but it was all a blur of mourning and sleep. “That can’t be. I don’t have my bead. I should be dead.”

“Is it really that horrible?” Jihoon asked, a smile tilting the corners of his lips. “The idea that you’d have to live a human life with me?”

Miyoung let out the breath she didn’t know had been clogging her lungs. And let herself believe. With it came a lightness as if she’d float away without Jihoon to anchor her to the earth. She laughed and flung her arms around him, hugging him to her.

“I’m alive.” Saying the words made her giddy, and she let out another laughing breath. “I’m alive.”

“You’re alive,” Jihoon said, and she heard the answering joy in his voice. They held each other close.

Then she sobered as the weight of the realization came down on her.

“So now I’ll have to live without her,” Miyoung whispered.

Jihoon squeezed her hands. “We’ll both learn to live without them.”

Miyoung sighed, remembering Halmeoni. Grief wasn’t exclusively hers.