When the Flowering Spring Comes – 2

The funeral began the day after her master died.

The dazed maid had been sitting blankly by the bed where her master had passed away, weeping all day long.

If the son of the general store owner, who had sensed something strange from the screams erupting from the mansion, hadn’t called people to force the door open, the maid would probably have wept beside him until she died.

The people of the village sincerely mourned the death of the once-famous writer.

His family had fallen on hard times, and his departure was terribly lonely, but they remembered the warmth of his writing.

Everyone pitched in to prepare for the funeral.

His name was listed in the obituary section of the daily newspaper.

His body went to the undertaker, who carefully cleansed the writer’s body, now devoid of its soul.

Only after his favorite clothes and his pen and notebook, his very identity, were placed in the coffin did the actual funeral begin.

Only the villagers and his maid attended his funeral.

One by one, the mourners who visited placed flowers before the coffin.

As the season dictated, most of the flowers were winter blooms.

Some wiped away tears, remembering him as gentle as a spring breeze,

while others bit their lower lips in regret and went to a distant corner to light their tobacco pipes.

Three days passed, and the coffin was buried in the cemetery.

As earth fell onto the grave, solemn songs flowed.

The funeral proceeded quietly and solemnly.

And throughout this entire process, the maid stayed by her master’s side, saying nothing.

“……”

People returned to their homes.

Kang In-ho’s maid, Emma, stared blankly at the coffin in which her master was buried.

She stood there for hours.

There was no tremor, no fleeting sound in her stillness.

Silence, only silence.

It was when the sun was setting that she staggered back to the house.

Emma opened the tightly locked iron gate and dragged her feet into the mansion.

-Creak, creak.

The sound from the wooden stairs was mournful.

-Knock, knock.

Having climbed to the second floor, Emma habitually knocked on her master’s door.

“Ah….”

And then it hit her.

What she had come to let go of.

“Ah….”

Sliding to the floor, she burst into tears, sobbing uncontrollably.

Her voice, already hoarse, could only manage the sound of air leaking out; no proper sound came out.

She dug her fingernails into the bedroom door.

Her fingernails scraped down the wood grain, making an unpleasant noise.

It should have opened by now, but the door remained firmly shut.

“Ugh….”

Emma pounded her chest.

The lump of sorrow stuck firmly in her throat, unable to escape, tormented her more than the pain of her own fists.

She felt breathless and afraid at the thought of being left alone in this vast mansion.

She grabbed the doorknob and barely managed to pull herself up.

Then, staggering again, she went downstairs. Her destination was the kitchen.

She looked for a knife that was easy to grip and had a sharp edge.

Grasping it tightly in both hands, Emma glared and pointed the blade at her neck.

Whether it was the fear of dying soon or the hope of seeing her master again, the hand holding the knife wavered wildly.

“Hoo….”

Taking a deep breath, she steeled her resolve and was about to stab herself when—

-Ding-dong!

The bell rang suddenly.

“……”

Emma hesitated.

Whether to plunge the knife she was holding into her neck without hesitation, or to greet the person who had come to the mansion this night.

Perhaps it was an old friend of her master’s who had heard the news of his death late.

She put the knife back in its place and straightened her clothes.

Even though Inho was dead, she was still his maid.

Showing a disheveled appearance to others would dishonor her master.

The visitor was Ricardo from the Lohid Vissen Weekly, whom Emma had met a few times.

Emma greeted him with a somber face, and Ricardo, guided by Emma, went to the drawing room.

“This letter, Emma, you sent it, right?”

He took out a letter from his pocket and showed it.

It was the letter that the master had asked her to send before he died.

“Yes. It’s probably my master’s letter about his new work.”

Though the new work could no longer be serialized.

“The writing was so messy, and there were a few grammatical errors, so I was half-doubtful.”

Ricardo nodded at her words.

“Is that so? But what brings you here….”

“Ah, well, according to the letter, there’s a work by Inho-sensei.”

“Yes, but that manuscript….”

“It’s written in unreadable characters, isn’t it?”

“How did you know that?”

“Look at this letter.”

Ricardo handed the letter to Emma.

With trembling hands, Emma examined the last trace her master had left behind.

The content of the letter was simple, but bizarre.

After Emma finished reading the letter and looked at him, Ricardo opened his mouth.

“Inho-sensei said that you would be able to decipher it.”

Emma recalled the note Inho had given her, but remained silent.

“Actually, I don’t care whether the last work Sensei left behind is a masterpiece or a flop. I just want to serialize that work as a final courtesy to the deceased.”

“Sensei’s last work… can you decipher it?”

“But I haven’t heard anything properly.”

She avoided his gaze, as if lacking confidence.

Ricardo, looking sympathetic at her hoarse voice, said,

“I’m not asking for it right away. Inho-sensei also said it would take time. Here’s the next page of the letter.”

Ricardo took out another sheet of paper from his pocket and handed it to her.

It was a paper filled with various places.

“What’s this?”

“Well… he said it’s where he went to learn those characters. Maybe there’s a clue there.”

“……”

Emma silently stroked the paper with her palm.

“Oh dear, look at the time.”

Ricardo pretended to look at his watch and stood up.

Putting on his coat, he left the mansion and emphasized to Emma once more.

“As I said, it doesn’t matter how long it takes. Please decipher Sensei’s work. For Sensei’s honor.”

“…I’ll try.”

It was a matter of her master’s honor. Emma had no reason to refuse.

“Oh, and he wrote that you can use as much as you need to go to the areas listed there. Don’t try to save on expenses unnecessarily.”

Ricardo left the mansion as he was, and Emma, unable to even think of seeing him off, fell into thought.

She put her hand in her pocket and took out the scrap of paper.

The unknown characters written by her master.

And.

Her own writing that said, [When the flowers bloom in spring.]

She looked again at the letter she had received from Ricardo.

The names of various regions and the names of accommodations.

She didn’t know what this meant, but what Emma had to do was clear.

“Master, I will bring your work to the world.”

The next day, the mansion’s door was tightly closed, and the mansion’s maid disappeared somewhere without a trace.