The Goblin’s Bride - Chapter 1.2

When they reached the forest’s edge, Dongyi had grown quieter. Her grip on his shoulders loosened, and soon the rhythmic rise and fall of her soft breathing told him she had fallen asleep.
Earlier, she had described her home: [“It’s the house with the big chestnut tree. It doesn’t grow any chestnuts, but the tree is really big. And the fence is full of colorful lantern-flowers.”]

Following her description, the man soon came upon the house. The large chestnut tree loomed over the modest thatched-roof home, and the vibrant lantern-flowers dotted the fence just as she’d said.

But the house was dark and silent.

No one is here.

He pushed open the creaking gate and carried the sleeping child inside. The house was empty, devoid of life. Her father was gone, and there were no siblings. Her mother had abandoned her.
Carefully, he found a corner in the small home and laid her on a soft blanket. For a moment, he simply stood there, gazing at her peaceful, tear-streaked face.

She had escaped the tiger tonight, but what of tomorrow? What of the famine that loomed over the land? Could this fragile child survive the bitter winter that would soon arrive?

As he stood there, the faint bitterness of the acorn lingered on his tongue, a reminder of the fragile gift she had given him.
The goblin chewed the acorn raw, swallowing it down despite its bitterness.

In truth, he didn’t like acorns, nor did he care for acorn jelly. And the girl was mistaken—while humans gossiped that goblins loved acorn jelly, the rumor wasn’t even accurate. Supposedly, goblins preferred buckwheat jelly, though that, too, was false. He didn’t like either.

He didn’t fear horse blood as humans believed, nor had he ever wrestled with humans or wielded a mythical club. He bore no horns on his head.

In reality, he didn’t know where he came from. He was simply the lone goblin of the forest. Both humans and the animals of the forest called him a goblin, so he had accepted the title as his own.

He had long since lost count of how many years he had lived. Perhaps a thousand years by human reckoning, though he never bothered to keep track. Time had faded his memories, like ink washed away by countless rains. Perhaps he once knew who or what he was, where he had come from.

But it didn’t matter anymore. He had let those memories go.
For the goblin, a thousand years was no more than the passage of a thousand seasons. He had existed in that steady rhythm, like the reflection of the moon on still water—silent, unchanging, and alone.

Until this child, this small human, fell into his stagnant existence, as unexpectedly as an acorn dropping from a tree.
She was like an acorn herself—small and fragile. Acorns, after all, only grow into great oak trees after enduring countless seasons. Who would care for this little acorn of a girl until she grew strong enough to stand on her own?

As the gentle breeze stirred the branches of the chestnut tree, rustling its leaves, the goblin reached out and wiped the dried tearstains from the sleeping child’s cheek with his fingertip.
Human children grew quickly, after all. Staying by her side until she was strong enough to face the winters and famines of her world alone might not be so bad. After all, a goblin’s time was long, and his days endlessly dull.

“Mm…”

Dongyi stirred, rubbing her eyes as she slowly woke up.

“Mom?”

Her gaze wandered around the small room, landing on a tray of food set out near the warmest part of the floor.

“Mom, is that you?”

Ignoring the food, she leapt to her feet and rushed to the door, flinging it open to peer outside.

“Mom! Last night, there was a goblin—”

But the figure entering through the gate wasn’t her mother. It was a man she didn’t recognize.

“Who are you?” she asked, tilting her head.

“You’re awake,” the man said with a smile.

Though she didn’t know him, his face felt strangely familiar.

“Where’s my mom?”

“She asked me to look after you for a while,” he replied.

“Where did she go?”

“She said she was going to earn a lot of money. Until she comes back, she asked me to take good care of you.”

“Who are you?”

“I’m…” He hesitated, then set down the pack he carried on his back and approached her. Sitting on the edge of the wooden veranda, he gently smoothed her messy hair with his hand.

“I’m your distant relative,” he said.

“Relative?”

“Yes. A very distant one. Have you eaten yet?”

“No.”

“Then let’s eat together.”

“When will my mom come back?”

“After about a hundred nights.”

“A hundred nights…” Dongyi began counting on her fingers but quickly gave up, frowning in confusion.

“Are you going to stay here until then?”

“I will.”

“Have you seen the goblin?”

“The goblin?” he asked, feigning ignorance.

“I met a goblin last night!” Dongyi said excitedly.

“You must have been dreaming,” he replied.

“No, it wasn’t a dream! I went to the forest with my mom, but I couldn’t find her. Then a tiger tried to eat me, but the goblin chased it away!”

“Is that so?”

“Yes! And the goblin carried me home on his back.”

“And how do you know it was a goblin?”

“It had teeth like this!” she exclaimed, baring her own teeth and mimicking a bite with her fingers.

“Sharp teeth?”

“Yes! Really sharp.”

“Did it have horns?”

“Horns…” Dongyi paused, deep in thought.

Did it? She couldn’t quite remember.

“Of course, it had horns,” Dongyi declared confidently. She couldn’t quite remember if she’d seen any, but it seemed better to say yes. Otherwise, he might argue that it wasn’t a goblin at all.

“Really? Then did it have a goblin’s club as well?”

“Of course! It had a huge one, about this big!” She spread her arms wide, trying to show the size as if it were the most formidable weapon imaginable.

The man bit back a smile as he watched her animated gestures.
“And what else?” he asked with a hint of amusement.

“Um… oh! I gave it an acorn, and it ate it! It said it liked acorns!”

“Is that so?”

“Yes! It told me it loved acorns!”

“Not buckwheat?” he teased.

“Nope, acorns,” she said firmly, nodding as if there could be no doubt.

The man chuckled quietly. He’d never said any such thing. But seeing the sparkle in her eyes as she recounted her story, he didn’t have the heart to correct her.

He had already resolved to stay with this small, fragile child until she was strong enough to face the world on her own. He couldn’t do so in his goblin form—it would only frighten her and others. Instead, he had taken the guise of a human.

As a “distant relative,” the trusting girl had accepted his presence without question. It was a convenient explanation, even for others who might cross paths with them.

He didn’t know how long he’d stay. Perhaps until she could fend for herself or until her mother returned, though he doubted the latter would happen. Until then, he would wear this human mask, living quietly by her side.

“I didn’t get to thank the goblin,” Dongyi murmured, her small voice tinged with regret.

“The goblin knows,” he said softly, his tone reassuring.

“Really?”

“Of course.”

“Do you think I’ll see it again if I go back to the forest?”

“Hard to say,” he replied, his voice calm. “But it’s better if you don’t go back.”

“Why not?”

“There are tigers,” he said simply.

“Tigers are scary, but…” Dongyi’s gaze shifted nervously, her small face betraying the conflict in her heart—fear of the tiger and gratitude for the goblin wrestling for control.

The man smiled faintly. This child, so small and earnest, was grappling with emotions far too big for her.

“Why don’t you think about it over breakfast?” he said, stepping inside to pull the tray closer.

The man himself didn’t eat human food. Goblins thrived on human vitality, though he never took enough to cause harm. In the forest, he had often lingered unseen around lost travelers, feeding on the faintest traces of their energy before slipping away unnoticed.

But now, he picked up a spoon and began eating, mimicking the habits of humans. The food tasted bland, like chewing on sand, but he would have to get used to it. Pretending to be human meant embracing their ways, no matter how strange or unpleasant they seemed.

Dongyi, on the other hand, dug into her meal with enthusiasm, her cheeks puffing as she chewed. Watching her eat, the man felt a rare warmth spreading through him. He realized he was smiling—a genuine, unguarded smile. It had been so long since he’d last smiled like this, he’d nearly forgotten the feeling.

He paused, his spoon suspended in midair, as he simply watched her, her small face lit with simple joy as she savored her breakfast.

Outside, the chestnut tree in the yard swayed gently, its branches rustling in the morning breeze. The soft sound of the leaves brushing against one another filled the air, a quiet whisper of peace that settled over the little home.