Freezing water swirled around my legs as I dropped, waist deep a meter from the shore. I shivered, reversing the munje flow through my feet to heat the water instead. The current pulled me along, but I sent a reserve of zo to my arms and legs to paddle to the other side.

I dragged myself onto the shore with the help of some dangling roots a few meters from the path. I pulled my bag around and leaned against a tree.

“Ahem,” Mae cleared her throat with that tone.

I rolled my eyes. “Yes, I know.”

“You and your mother certainly have one thing in common.”

“What’s that?” I asked before cycling down another breath for en munje. I swirled my fingers around and around like Yuri had shown me and lifted all the water from the contents in my bag, then returned it to the river.

Mae tutted. “Neither one of you listen to me when I warn you of danger.”

I hummed with amusement and made short work of my soaking clothes. My bag and I were dry in under a minute, and we were back on the road home. “The danger of falling into chest-deep water is not the same as the danger of core degradation.”

“What if I break?” She retorted and my gut clenched in worry, then relaxed. I had showered plenty of times with her imbedded in my skin. If something were to happen to her though… I didn’t want to think about it. Not only had Mae become my close friend—too close sometimes—but without her, I feared there would be no way to save my mother from her disease.

I sighed. “I will take your warnings more seriously.”

The rest of the way home was quick, and before I knew it, I was walking into our little cottage to the smell of rich oxtail soup. I closed the door quietly and set my shoes and my pack off to the side. It was dark in the house, but lamplight shone through the back window where I saw the silhouette of my mother.

I washed my hands in the kitchen, then stepped out back. Mother gave a waning smile as I joined her at our living swing chair—something Suyi had crafted from the nearby tree. I situated a cushion on the hardwood seat and plopped down next to her, swinging it harder as I did.

“Good day?” She asked with a rasp.

My brow pulled together in worry. “Is your throat sore? I smelled the soup.”

She shook her head and waved me off. “I’m fine. Just a bit of swelling from the pollen.”

I pulled in a deep breath to start my rant on how the pollen is controlled in the kingdom, and it wouldn’t bother her so much there, but Mae squashed it with a quick warning. “Remember the goal of the conversation.”

I swallowed and then put my hand on mother’s while we swung. “It was a good day. I finished two upgrades and a repair.”

“Did Hana bring you anything for dinner?” she asked, poking for weaknesses in Hana’s character. I hated when she did that.

“She worked today, too, on the other side of the kingdom. There wasn’t time to see one another,” I said with a resigned sigh. I knew what came next.

Mother scowled. “I’m not so sure about this girl, Jiyong.”

Why did she always want to test my nerves? I pulled in an even slower breath than the first had been. “Because she had to work? You’re being too harsh.”

“So, you’re hungry then?” My mother rose from the swing, and I put a gentle hand on her shoulder to pull her back.

She looked at me, puzzled, and I smiled. “I can eat soon. This is nice, and I’d like to sit here with you.”

“I don’t want your energy too low. You need to be able to make munje.” She tried to pull away again.

“Eomma, please sit. I want to talk to you.” I used the childlike moniker for mother, one that Minjee and Daegon used.

Her shoulders tensed. “I know what you want to talk about. I don’t want to talk about it. I’ve made up my mind.”

“Se-hun said he’ll take care of the house and farm, we won’t have to sell it. He’s been wanting a place of his own since his older sister will be taking over his family’s farm.”

“When is she due again?” my mother asked, changing the subject.

I chided her softly. “Eomma, please, focus. This is important. Your health is important.”

“I’m fine. I haven’t had a relapse in over eight months. The ghost’s recommendations are working, I think,” she said, but I could hear the annoyance in her faked positivity.

She did look better. Her skin wasn’t radiant, but it had fewer wrinkles, and her cheeks weren’t so hollow. Some of her silver hairs had faded and were black once more, her fingernails weren’t so brittle, and broken, and she had gained a few kilos. Her red nose was due to that pollen, but otherwise, she was looking much healthier.

“It’s just remission, Jiyong,” Mae reminded me in my head. “The disease will get worse again, and she will continue to decline until death.”

I squeezed my mother’s hand. “Mae is very smart. She knows a lot, and what she knows is helping you right now, but—

“You said it was nice, that you wanted to sit,” she snapped and pulled her hand away. “This isn’t so nice for me anymore.”

My frustration was boiling into anger. “It’s not going to be so nice for Minjee when you die before she’s even thirteen. It won’t be nice for Eun-bi and Suyi to have no mother at their Secondary graduation, or—

Mother stood, tutting away my words as she threw her hands up. “She doesn’t know everything!”

“No, but she knows a lot. The disease is in remission because of your reduced core activity, but it will return when it gets cold again. Your body will automatically respond to the weather and attempt to create zo to protect your muscles and the disease will attack the munje, and your core. It is still in your body, no matter how much better you are right now.”

Mother was silent as she stared across the garden, arms crossed.

I sat back, exhaustion overcoming me. “There are so many natural triggers that can be controlled in the kingdom that will extend your life while we search for a cure. My siblings will be able to attend better Primary schools, they’ll have more apprenticing opportunities, and we’ll all have so much more.”

“And yet still have so little in our souls,” she sneered.

I gritted my teeth. “We’re supposed to let Minjee be a mute forever because father wouldn’t be able to find us if we left? You’d damn everyone else in the family to a lesser life because you’re scared?”

She glowered down at me. “I’m not afraid. This is our home, Jiyong.”

“Our home is where our family is healthy and prosperous,” I retorted, feeling heat in my face.

Mother laughed. “Yes, and with all the money you make from your apprenticeship we can afford much more here. Oxtail! We haven’t had it in six years.”

I contained my growl of impatience, but only just. “We can still have those things in the kingdom. We can have more of them. We can have someone else make the oxtail soup so you can spend time with Minjee, or the boys. Or you can go see a close doctor who knows what they’re doing.”

“Why do I need a doctor when we have Mae? She seems very knowledgeable about what’s going on,” she fired back.

The cyclical hypocrisy was burning through my patience. I stood to face her. “Mae is very smart, but if you’re not with me, how can she work on your problems? If I can’t see you for six months, how can we help you?”

“You’re just making excuses to live closer to Hana.”

The words were worse than a slap across the face. I hated her for a flash, but sent a calming wave of zo down my arms to release the muscles. “Yes, I do want to be closer to Hana, too. She’s all on her own, and most of her family has abandoned her. But this isn’t about her. It was always our plan to move to the kingdom when I got a good apprenticeship.”

“No, it was always your plan!” She screamed, pointing at me with tears in her eyes. “I’ve never had a say in any bit of this plan! I’m your mother!”

“And you’re dying!”

The world fell silent as her lower lip trembled. My heart hammered in my chest as tears blurred my vision. My cheeks were hot, and my throat tight. “You’re dying, eomma.”

She stood up straight, lifting her chin and squaring her shoulders. “Go to bed.”

I turned away but stopped at the door. I swallowed away the searing outrage in my chest, bringing kindness to my voice. “You can’t keep fighting this. One day you’ll be too weak to fight.”

“Is that a threat?” she growled the question through her pollen-sore throat.

“It’s reality,” I whispered sadly, and looked to her over my shoulder. “I love you, mom.”