#030. Side Story 01. Do Those Left Behind Feel the Same?
That day was rare—a day when the skies were clear and the air was refreshingly cool. Perhaps it was the bright weather, but even the atmosphere surrounding the house felt lighter. Breathing in the crisp air deeply, Lee Yoo-hyun, daughter of Yi Baek-ryeon, felt a little more refreshed.
Of course, Yoo-hyun knew that the gloomy aura hanging over the household had nothing to do with the weather and everything to do with the ongoing political purges sweeping through the court. Still, people are emotional creatures. When the sun is shining and the skies are blue, even the heart tends to lighten.
So maybe today, just maybe, her mother might eat something. And if not—if she still refused—Yoo-hyun thought she might even cling to her knees like a child.
Her mother was strict, yes, but surprisingly soft when it came to her youngest daughter’s whining. If she acted childish enough, her mother might sigh deeply and give in.
Yoo-hyun consciously tried to think positively. She had to—otherwise, she wouldn’t survive.
It had been almost four months since Yoo-hyun’s mother, Baek-ryeon, had been dismissed from office and placed under house arrest.
As someone who had spent half her life on the battlefield, Baek-ryeon held out firmly at first. But after a hundred days and a string of scathing rebukes from His Majesty the Emperor, she had begun to waver.
For the first two weeks, she barely managed to swallow thin rice gruel. And for the past three days, she had refused even that.
“I hope her body can hold out…”
People whispered that Yi Baek-ryeon’s long reign of power had finally come to an end. But Yoo-hyun thought otherwise.
Her mother wasn’t someone who would fall like this. Eventually, His Majesty would recognize her sincerity and reinstate her. But to be summoned back, her mother needed to survive until then.
Maybe because she had been a warrior for so long, or maybe it was just her inner strength, Baek-ryeon was still quite vigorous for her age. Even after eating only gruel, her eyes had remained sharp.
But that was only when she was eating something. If she continued like this, not eating anything, she wouldn’t last a week. She wouldn’t survive long enough for this storm to pass.
Yes. Yoo-hyun would talk to her. Beg her to eat at least a few spoonfuls—for the Emperor’s sake, or at least for her daughter’s. She didn’t need to eat a full banquet. Just enough to survive.
If she could just stay alive… eventually, better days would come again. And even if, as others whispered, the Emperor truly abandoned her mother, then so be it. Would it be so bad for just the two of them to live a quiet life together?
Her mother could write. She could devote herself to her studies. They could sell this large mansion and move to the countryside. That didn’t sound so bad.
With that thought, Yoo-hyun quickened her steps and soon arrived at her mother’s room. She gently announced her presence before entering.
“Mother, it’s me. I’m coming in.”
The first thing that greeted her when she opened the door was a flood of sunlight. Had her mother opened the window because the weather was nice? That thought passed by quickly—because the next thing she saw was…
“…Mother?”
Baek-ryeon was lying on the floor. She was on her side, her head tilted slightly.
“Mother?”
Yoo-hyun had never been called slow or dim-witted, but in that moment, she couldn’t comprehend what she was seeing.
What… exactly… was she looking at?
As if in a trance, she stepped forward. What had been hidden from view behind the tilted head became clear from the side.
The silk wrapped around her mother’s neck. The ink-written characters on it. Her darkened face. The hands folded neatly on her chest.
The immaculate posture in stark contrast to the one detail that seemed out of place—a rare wrinkle in her clothes.
“…Mother.”
Her whispered voice received no reply. Silently, Yoo-hyun knelt beside her mother and gently took the hands resting on her chest.
They were cold.
The sun was shining warmly, yet the sunlight touching Baek-ryeon’s hands was cold. As if she wasn’t alive. As if she were a corpse…
“…Shall I bring the meal, young lady?”
A voice interrupted her impending scream—or tears, or both. A servant’s voice came from just beyond the door. If he stepped in any further, he would see everything inside.
Yoo-hyun quickly shouted.
“No. That won’t be necessary. Tell everyone to stay in their positions and not come near until I call for them.”
Ordinarily, it should have been the opposite. She should have summoned people to inform them of the death and to begin preparations to handle the body.
But Yoo-hyun couldn’t bring herself to do that. She couldn’t let others see her mother like this. She didn’t want them to.
She couldn’t let anyone see this—the most fragile side of her mother.
“Yes, understood.”
Perhaps because of the gravity of the situation, the servant retreated without question, despite the strange order not to approach.
Yoo-hyun waited until all signs of his presence faded, gritting her teeth. If she let her guard down even a little, she’d break down in tears. All she wanted was to collapse and mourn her mother like a child.
But she couldn’t.
In a political climate like this—a stormy sea—even showing grief for one’s parent could be grounds for being purged.
Someone had already been imprisoned for merely exchanging letters with her mother. Another relative had been tortured and left with permanent injuries.
Given the circumstances, it was entirely possible that the Emperor would interpret Baek-ryeon’s suicide as a traitorous act—a sign of rebellion born from resentment.
If that happened, the family that her mother had barely managed to preserve would crumble in an instant.
Yoo-hyun couldn’t allow that. If she had failed to protect her mother, then at least she would protect what her mother had tried to save.
So instead of collapsing in sobs, Yoo-hyun began to think.
Why had her mother taken her own life? Was it simply despair? A fleeting emotion? Or had there been a reason?
Why was there no suicide note? Surely, as her successor, there were things Yoo-hyun should have been told.
Why had her mother used silk? And not just any silk—but the very letter of reprimand from His Majesty? Was it an expression of resentment? Or just the most convenient option?
Had her mother truly not cared about what would come after? Or had she believed Yoo-hyun would understand everything without needing to be told?
A tangled web of questions, fears, and logic tied itself into knots inside Yoo-hyun’s head, unraveling and tangling again. The sun rose to its peak and began to set. The moon took its place and then disappeared.
As the morning star appeared in the sky, Yoo-hyun finally understood everything—why her mother had taken her life, what her intentions were, and what she herself must do now.
She understood even the silence.
Her mother had believed in her. Believed that Yoo-hyun would understand everything without a word. That she didn’t need to leave a message.
“…Even so, you should have at least said goodbye.”
Understanding didn’t mean acceptance. Yoo-hyun felt sorrow and resentment.
She had never needed wealth or glory. Even if she lost her official path and had to live in the countryside, she wouldn’t have minded.
What she really wanted was for her mother to live. If she had been given a choice, she would’ve told her mother just that. Held her dry hands tightly and said, Forget what others think. Let’s just live happily together, the two of us.
But her mother never gave her that choice. Never even hinted at her plan. Just like always.
Was it because she had lived so long under the strict military command structure? Or was it because she was such a genius?
Her mother had always been terrible at explaining things.
If you asked, she would explain—but with a look that said, Do you really need this spelled out for you? And eventually, you’d give up asking.
Her predictions had never been wrong. And even without understanding, as long as you followed her lead, things always worked out.
So Yoo-hyun had become conditioned. To follow orders without question. To accept actions without explanations.
“That… was a mistake.”
She should have acted more spoiled. Made her mother want to leave a final message.
She should have played dumb. Made her mother sit her down and explain everything.
She should have been more rebellious. Made her mother afraid that if she didn’t explain, her plan would fall apart—and thus, unable to go through with her suicide.
If she couldn’t be more competent than her mother and stop her, then she should’ve at least been a daughter her mother couldn’t leave behind so easily.
Then… maybe this wouldn’t have happened.
Yoo-hyun regretted it deeply. She couldn’t turn back time. She couldn’t bring back the dead.
But she did not cry.
An ordinary soldier might. But a commander could not afford to mourn fallen comrades in the middle of war.
That was what it meant to be Yi Baek-ryeon’s daughter.
She inherited her mother’s death as her legacy—and in doing so, she realized it fully. Even in daily life, her mother had acted as though commanding an army.
And so, when dawn broke once more, Yoo-hyun rose to her feet—leaving behind her regrets, sorrow, and unshed tears beside the body.
There were no tears on her face, but her expression was solemn.
She looked not like a daughter who had found her mother’s body after suicide, but like one who had simply witnessed the natural death of an ailing parent.
She removed the silk from her mother’s neck and mixed it in with other correspondence. She covered her mother’s face with cloth so that not even the servants would see the marks.
Only then did she call for help.
“My mother has passed away. Bring paper and ink—I must write the obituary letters.”
She personally prepared her mother’s body, claiming she didn’t want others to see her in her final, withered state after refusing food.
It was improper for a child to handle the body themselves, especially when there was money and staff to afford a proper mortician. But given the circumstances, no one questioned it.
And so, Yi Baek-ryeon was remembered as a “loyal subject who, overwhelmed by grief after being cast aside for her earnest remonstrance, quietly wasted away and passed on.”
The truth of the incident remained only within Lee Yoo-hyun.
