Translator: Cinder Translations
...
"Alan... Alan... It's time to get up..."
A gentle voice echoed in the boy's ears.
"You lazy bones, the sun is already shining on your butt..."
Twelve-year-old Alan rolled over, murmuring, "Mom, let me sleep a little longer..."
"Sigh! I can't do anything with you. Being so fond of sleeping in, no girl will like you in the future."
"Yeah... I know... Mom, just a little longer..." The boy drowsily drifted back into his dreams.
After a while, he felt his mother gently nudging his body, saying with a slightly stern tone, "You really must get up this time!"
Alan reluctantly bid farewell to his dream, opening his eyes to see his mother standing with hands on her hips, a slightly annoyed expression on her face.
He sat up in bed, yawning, "Ah—" covering his mouth with his right hand.
"I know, I know, I'll get up now."
He started dressing slowly, clearly unwilling.
His mother sighed, complaining, "Really, look at little Tom next door, up helping his mom cook as soon as it's light out. How come you love sleeping in so much... wait, what are those bruises?"
Alan suddenly woke up, hurriedly saying, "It's nothing... I accidentally fell down."
But without a word, his mother grabbed his arm, rolling up his undershirt to reveal several bruises on his body.
Her face quickly changed to one of concern, anxiously asking, "What happened... how did you get like this?"
The boy tried to sound indifferent, "Really, it's nothing, Mom. Yesterday, I accidentally tripped and tumbled downhill, and got these bruises."
But his mother could tell if he was lying. She stared into his eyes and asked seriously, "Did you get into another fight?"
"I didn't..." The boy hastily retorted, but meeting his mother's eyes, his voice quickly faded.
He lowered his head, softly admitting, "I'm sorry... Mom, I won't do it again."
His mother looked at Alan, sadness evident in her eyes, not pressing further on why he fought. She knew the reason.
Alan was not only warm-hearted and kind, but also unusually tolerant for his age, rarely getting into conflicts.
Only one thing had ever provoked him to violence—a situation where someone mocked his only close family, his mother standing before him now.
His father had passed away before Alan was born, making him a posthumous child. His mother chose not to remarry, single-handedly raising him despite the gossip that inevitably spread in their small village.
The adults, mindful of neighborly relations, would only whisper such things behind her back, never saying them in front of Alan's mother.
But children playing together had no such reservations. They often shared the "secrets" they overheard from adults.
Not only in secret-sharing moments, but also when children occasionally clashed, they would come up with all sorts of nicknames for each other. When it happened to Alan, names like "illegitimate child" were among the milder ones.
All of this fueled the young boy's anger.
"Didn't you promise me that next time something like this happens, you'll just ignore it and not let yourself get hurt again?" Her eyes moistened, she pleaded once again with her son.
Her inherently gentle nature refused to let Alan resolve issues with his fists. Her son was now her only close family, and anything that could potentially harm him had to be avoided.
The tears in his mother's eyes tugged at Alan's heart. As he wiped her tears with his sleeve, he said, "Mom, I promise you, this will be the last time."
"Sigh... You always say it's the last time."
"It's all Payne's fault. He was spreading rumors he heard from who knows where, and I got angry and fought with him. We've made up now. Yesterday, you saw us walking home together."
The worry on his mother's face slightly eased then. She hugged him tightly, advising, "If others say things, just ignore them. And no more fighting, okay?"
"Alright, Mom, I promise."
"I hope you really mean it... Anyway, go wash your face and have breakfast."
After a quick wash, Alan sat down to eat the simple breakfast his mother had prepared. Though it was basic fare, for some reason, he found this breakfast especially appetizing.
His mother joined him at the table, and they talked about their livelihood—the salt-making business.
With a hint of concern, his mother mentioned, "Lately, there have been fewer salt merchants coming to our village."
"The salt merchant from Alden next door hasn't come in a long time, and even those from Byerldine aren't as frequent as before."
"We're earning much less money now."
Alan speculated, "I heard some rumors at the blacksmith's shop. It seems Alden has built a new salt field that produces a lot of salt at once."
Changing the subject, he said, "Mom, don't worry. I'll soon become a formal apprentice to the village blacksmith. The blacksmith praised my work, so I'll earn a wage then. Though it's not much for an apprentice, it'll help with household expenses."
His mother smiled, patting his head. He was always so understanding and considerate of her hardships.
"Working as a blacksmith isn't easy. Make sure you learn well from the master."
...
After breakfast, his mother cleaned up and returned to the table.
Alan found it odd; usually, his mother would have been preparing to make salt by now. Today, she seemed unusually free.
He said, "Mom, if there's nothing else, I'll go help at the blacksmith's shop."
As he started to leave, his mother stopped him with a firm grip.
"Alan," she gently called his name.
"In addition to not fighting, don't forget my other advice."
Perplexed by her sudden seriousness, Alan agreed.
Then she continued, "Can you remember what else I've always told you?"
Slightly resigned, the boy began listing them one by one:
"Eat slowly and chew your food well."
"Cover yourself properly when sleeping."
"Don't get into fights with others."
...
"Oh, and wake up early."
After listing them all, his mother nodded and said, "Remember all these things after I'm gone."
Shocked, Alan asked, "Gone? Mom, where are you going?"
What happened next bewildered him—the image of his mother began to fade until she became a transparent ghostly figure.
He reached out to grab her hand, but his hand found only emptiness.
"Alan, I'm sorry. I can't continue walking with you anymore. Please take care of yourself."
With those words, the ghostly image of his mother vanished completely.
Alan stood by the table, tears streaming uncontrollably down his face.
"No—"
...
The boy suddenly opened his eyes, fully awake this time.
...
(End of the Chapter)