Shadows Run Deep (1)
How long had it been since he last came here?
The memory was hazy. It felt like roughly ten years, though even that was uncertain. Judging by the time when his son’s mustache had begun to darken, it might have been a little more than a decade.
Swish.
He raised his head and looked around. Countless gravestones stood in every direction.
There were also many thick, sturdy trees. Their surfaces, like those of the gravestones, were covered in countless inexplicable scars. ‘It’s different from back then.’ Dang Ho thought. This place was truly dark and gloomy.
His father, Dang Hyeong—one of the Thirteen Sacred Heavens, the strongest in the martial world—had never possessed a dark nature.
The father Dang Ho remembered was strict yet warm, as unyielding as steel yet gentle at the same time. He embodied the ideal of the old-fashioned patriarch.
In truth, he had been far more lenient than most fathers of his kind.
Whenever he returned from meetings with the leaders of other sects, he would always bring back delicious food. When Dang Ho and his elder brother trained late into the night, they would run to their father without hesitation the moment he appeared, burying themselves in his embrace.
In the moonlit garden, the three of them would share a meal and speak of the bright future awaiting their clan.
Of course, they had been far too young to truly discuss the clan’s future. Still, those memories were precious to Dang Ho. Though they had known nothing of the world, the love between parents and siblings had been deep and radiant, leaving behind a joy so vivid it ached in his chest. ‘That’s how it was.’ Dang Ho closed his eyes. ‘There was a time like that.’
The youngest had been too young to share those memories. He had not even been old enough to train late into the night. ‘He’s a proper head of household now, with a family of his own.’ As Dang Ho thought of his younger brother, a sudden question arose. ‘If he had been born before me… or if the age gap had been only a year or two…’
The youngest’s character, talent, and outstanding skill. ‘Would Father still have passed the position of clan head to my elder brother?’
He did not know. It was impossible to say.
What was certain was that, at the very least, there would have been considerable discord regarding the succession.
The youngest’s talent was that extraordinary. If one considered talent alone, he might have been equal to or even greater than Dang Sang-ah, the daughter of the eldest son.
In other words, two of the greatest geniuses in the Tang Family’s history had appeared in the same era. ‘Pointless thoughts.’
Family was family, nothing more.
History had already flowed onward. Time could not be turned back. Bound by its absolute march, they could only focus on the present.
Dang Ho opened his eyes.
Step by step, he walked toward the distant area marked by talismans painted in vermilion and bound by various ropes.
After a while, he stood before a massive cave that looked as though it had been sealed to imprison a ghost. His lips parted.
“Father.”
There was no reply.
Of course there wasn’t. This place only appeared to be a cave. If one walked deep inside, another stone wall would appear. Beyond that wall lay a spacious courtyard and a modest house.
His father lived there.
The interior of the cave was long, and a stone wall blocked the way. A voice whispered from here could never reach inside.
Yet Dang Ho believed his father had already sensed his presence. ‘He might have known even before I entered the area where the gravestones are visible.’
That was what it meant to be one of the Sacred Heavens. For them, nothing was impossible. And among them, the Dark King’s perception was said to rank among the very best.
Standing still and gazing into the cave, Dang Ho spoke again.
“Father……”
“Is that you, Ho?”
For a moment, Dang Ho felt his breath catch.
The voice did not come from within the cave. It reached his ears directly, bypassing space itself—clear and natural, as though the speaker stood right beside him.
A chill ran down his spine.
Sound Transmission.
Even achieving it over such a distance was difficult, though Dang Ho could manage it if he tried. The real issue was the clarity of the voice and the naturalness of its tone.
How vast and profound must one’s inner energy be? How delicate and masterful must one’s control be to produce such a vivid transmission? ‘Terrifying.’ A single Sound Transmission was enough to make him tremble.
Dang Ho lowered his head. Though he could not see his father, he behaved as though the man stood before him.
“Yes. It is Ho.”
“……I see.”
His father’s voice was deep. It carried neither strength nor weakness, neither joy nor displeasure. It was simply endlessly deep—so deep that not even a trace of emotion could be discerned.
“It has been a long time.”
Dang Ho bit his lip.
“I have been remiss in my visits. Please forgive me.”
Silence lingered.
After a moment, the voice spoke again.
“After Gwan became clan head, I confined myself here. Confinement means severance from the world, so you have merely respected my wishes.”
“……”
“Do not dwell on it.”
It was a lie.
Dang Ho knew the truth. His father had spent years teaching his elder brother’s children here. No grandfather could hate his own grandchildren, even if he had grown distant from his sons. His father had been no exception. He had poured all the affection he could no longer give his children onto his grandchildren instead.
Yet that affection had never extended to his own sons. Yeon-seon, the youngest, had not once seen his grandfather’s face properly since childhood.
Dang Ho understood. After all, his elder brother was the clan head—the representative of the family. The clan head’s children would one day have to represent the next generation. It was only natural to pay them more attention. Dang Ho understood. Or at least, he tried to.
“So then,” the voice continued from beyond the cave, still perfectly steady, “while it is pleasant to hear your voice after so long, what brings you all the way here?”
Was it truly pleasant?
Dang Ho could not tell. Nor did it matter.
He knelt and placed a bundle before him.
“I imagined you would be displeased that I have not shown my face in so long.”
“……”
“Still…… I wished to bring you this.”
His father was not before him. He was far, far away. Yet Dang Ho was certain his father could see both him and the bundle clearly.
“Today is your birthday, Father.”
“……”
“You always enjoyed pork with Jiannanchun.”
“……”
“I made it myself. I often prepare it for Yeon-seon, so the taste should not be too poor.”
“……Yeon-seon.”
Was it his imagination?
His father’s voice seemed to have softened slightly.
“Is Yeon-seon doing well?”
Dang Ho lowered his head.
“He says he has recently taken a liking to a young lady. Though his studies are important, he is already twenty-six. If he has found a suitable match, it might be good to set a date soon.”
“Twenty-six…… Already that old.”
“……”
“You must have had a hard time.”
For a moment, Dang Ho felt a lump rise in his throat.
It was a simple remark. Moreover, his father had no idea what he was currently doing or how busy he was.
Yet those few words struck him with unexpected force.
After coming of age, his father had grown increasingly strict and cold, making it difficult to even speak to him. Now that same father spoke to him with such gentle warmth, acknowledging his hardships.
It was a strange feeling. Emotions surged up from within, one after another.
Dang Ho suppressed them.
“Father.”
“Yes.”
“When…… do you intend to come out?”
Silence returned once more.
Dang Ho waited for his father’s voice.
Time passed.
“I am a relic.”
“……?”
“My existence could shake the clan. That is why I confined myself here.”
A lie!
Dang Ho knew the real reason his father had imprisoned himself.
“Even if I were to act, it would bring no benefit to the clan.”
“Father.”
“I wish to spend the rest of my days here.”
Dang Ho clenched his fists.
It was the answer he had both longed for and dreaded. His father never went back on his word. If he said he would remain here, he would truly live out his remaining years in this place.
It was a relief. It was also heartbreaking.
His heart was in turmoil.
Dang Ho lowered his head again.
“I will visit from time to time.”
“There is no need.”
“It is only natural for a son to visit his parents.”
“Before we are father and son, we are members of the Tang Family. If you truly care for the clan, do not seek me out again.”
“Father.”
“I will enjoy the wine and food you brought.”
Dang Ho closed his eyes.
Tears fell, dampening the ground.
Wiping his eyes, he rose and bowed deeply.
“May you live a long and healthy life.”
“Thank you.”
Dang Ho turned away.
The sorrow and pity in his tear-streaked eyes gradually faded, replaced by a burning mix of rage and ambition. ‘Good.’ Now he was certain.
His father would never concern himself with clan affairs again. Of that, at least, he could be sure.
If so, then all was well. He no longer needed to worry about the previous generation’s scrutiny.
From now on, when carrying out his plans, he could exclude the Tang Family’s strongest warrior and greatest variable. ‘All that remains is to move forward.’
Thus, Dang Ho left Manwolji, the place of the former clan head’s self-imposed exile.
Some time later……
Swish.
No one could have said where he came from. His movement was truly like that of a ghost.
Before the thick bundle, an old man appeared.
His clothes were worn and shabby. Anyone who saw him might have mistaken him for a farmer from the countryside. Yet his neatly tied hair and the long, well-groomed beard reaching his chest told a different story.
His eyes were somewhat sharply slanted, but the wrinkles at their corners, his clear gaze, and his well-defined features gave him a gentle, kind appearance rather than a fierce one.
Of average height and build, with nothing particularly striking about him aside from his hair and beard—that was the true appearance of Dang Hyeong, the former head of the Sichuan Tang Family and the most dangerous among the Sacred Heavens, known as the Dark King.
Dang Hyeong gazed quietly at the bundle.
Or rather, at the traces beside it.
The ground was slightly damp—marks left by tears.
He stared at it for a long while before letting out a soft sigh.
“……Joy, or sorrow?”
The sky was not clear today. The Sichuan sky, lightly veiled with clouds, felt somehow difficult to endure. The wind was cold, and the air was damp.
Dang Hyeong picked up the bundle.
It was heavy. There was only one bottle of Jiannanchun, but the amount of meat far outweighed the wine.
Carrying the bundle, he walked back into the cave.
With one hand rubbing his lower back as he went, he looked nothing like one of the Sacred Heavens, a giant of the martial world.