In a Dream
The room was thick with the stifling, bitter scent of medicinal herbs.
Dang Hyeongeuk carefully set silver needles into Seomun Hwi’s body, holding his breath as though even breathing might make his hand tremble.
The needles that had first been placed near his dantian were now filling nearly every part of his body, yet there was not a single one around either hand.
As a result of forcibly surging his zhenyuan qi, most of the blood vessels and meridians that connected his wrists to the tips of his fingers had been brutally severed.
Thankfully, his dantian did not seem to have shattered, but if he could no longer channel inner power into both hands, he would never be able to wield a sword as he once had.
The dragon famed as the finest among the younger generation had lost his pearl.
And it had happened in the skies above the Sichuan Tang Clan, at the hands of the Namgung Clan’s lord.
How, exactly, was he supposed to explain this to the Seomun Clan?
Just then, sweat poured down his face like rain, blurring his vision for a moment.
Seomun Hwi suddenly convulsed and vomited blood from the corner of his mouth.
“Hwi!”
Cheongwol, who had been standing watch nearby, cried out, her face draining of color, but Dang Hyeongeuk sternly cut her off in a quiet voice.
“It’s only blood from the damaged vessels. If you mean to keep making such a fuss, then you’ll only get in the way of the acupuncture. Go outside.”
Cheongwol barely managed to swallow back her tears and answered only by lowering her head.
Seeing that, Dang Hyeongeuk’s already heavy heart grew even more complicated.
Seomun Hwi had suddenly drawn his sword against Namgung Cheon.
Cheongwol had thrown herself over the man after he collapsed and wailed over him.
If the two of them were lovers, then everything that had happened would be easy enough to understand.
...This couldn’t get any worse.
In truth, there had been no need to examine her further with the jade pendant Dang Gangjin had given him.
The instant he had seen Cheongwol’s face, he had thought Dang Garyeong—smiling sweetly before him—had somehow returned.
So from this moment on, he ought to fill in the twenty-some years of absence as best he could.
Dang Hyeongeuk glanced at Namgung Cheon, who had retreated a step away and stood there watching.
There was unmistakable anxiety in the man’s eyes.
What must it have been like, to have your lost child standing before you and still be forced to watch from the sidelines? No ordinary person could possibly endure that much restraint.
And yet, what could be done?
However much of an misunderstanding there had been, he had just turned that child’s beloved into a cripple before his very eyes.
He exhaled a thin sigh and withdrew his busy hands.
At last, when it seemed to be over, Cheongwol asked in a trembling voice, “Tell me honestly. Is Hwi all right?”
Dang Hyeongeuk gathered the remaining needles and took a moment to steady his breathing.
“If you’re asking whether his life is in danger, I can’t promise anything. There are no obvious external wounds, but the damage inside is severe.”
Cheongwol’s face went deathly pale, but Dang Hyeongeuk continued in a low voice.
“Not only are the meridians linking the eight extraordinary vessels hanging by a thread, even the dantian is barely holding its shape. As for the meridians in his hands... not even the Great Bodhisattva could restore them to what they were. In short...”
He turned his gaze away, unable to meet her eyes as he spoke.
“It seems he won’t be able to hold a sword anymore.”
The words struck like a blow, and the world spun dizzyingly before her eyes.
She swayed as if she might collapse, and Namgung Cheon hurried to catch her arm.
“Child, are you all right?”
His voice was full of concern, but the answer that came back was as cold as ice.
“...Let go of me.”
Cheongwol clenched her teeth, forced herself upright again, and spoke without turning back.
“Don’t ever touch me again without my permission. If you truly mean me no harm.”
Seeing the father and daughter so painfully out of step with each other, even Dang Hyeongeuk wore a bitter expression.
“For now, let’s leave. If we keep standing around like this, the Seomun Clan’s young clan leader won’t be able to rest in peace either.”
Having said that, he turned to leave, but after a few steps he could not help looking back.
How could he not understand the feeling of thinking of someone precious to you?
So as he stepped through the door, Dang Hyeongeuk left them with a quiet parting remark.
“...Don’t stay too long. When the young clan leader comes to, shouldn’t you be by his side?”
After Namgung Cheon and Dang Hyeongeuk left the room, Cheongwol, now alone, felt her eyes grow hot again.
Stupid man.
She had told him not to come any closer, and yet he had forced his way past the line anyway—what in the world was this, if not a disaster?
As she looked at Seomun Hwi’s bloodless face, the tears she had been holding back finally spilled down her cheeks.
He had lived his entire life carrying the burden of being the Seomun Clan’s young clan leader on his shoulders.
And now they were saying he would never hold a sword again because every meridian in his hands had been severed.
That it had happened because of her—because of no one else but her—made the ache in Cheongwol’s chest even sharper.
If only she had left the Tang Clan with Hong Chilsong sooner.
No—if only she had never met him in the first place.
She knelt beside Seomun Hwi’s ruined body, took his cold hand in hers, and bowed her head.
Why did someone like me have to appear before you?
In the end, I hurt you this badly.
Even with my life, I could never pay back what I owe.
What am I supposed to do now?
She bit down on her lip so hard that fresh blood welled up again, bright red against the split skin.
I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Hwi...
When he opened his eyes, the first thing he saw was a vast blue sky.
A few clouds drifted lazily across it, but the emptiness of the clear heavens oddly pleased him.
Warm sunlight.
A breeze that tickled the bridge of his nose.
Soft blades of grass supporting his body.
What more could he possibly ask for?
Only one thing bothered him: why had he awakened on an endless stretch of open field?
There was certainly something he was supposed to do.
He tried to recall it, then stopped.
He had spent his whole life running until he could hardly breathe, so surely he was allowed a brief moment of rest.
Besides, he felt languid from the start, and even getting up seemed like too much trouble.
Just then, sleep began to creep over him again, so without thinking any further, he closed his eyes.
And so, as though sinking beneath the surface of water, Seomun Hwi drifted deeper into a dream.
“Hooosh!”
A wooden sword cut through the air with a sharp hiss as it struck down from above.
Every muscle in his body screamed, but he lifted his arm again anyway.
How many times had he carved sword paths through empty air like that?
When his shoulders no longer rose as they should, he tossed the wooden sword aside and collapsed onto the floor as well.
He had always trained in the same way, but for some reason today his body and mind felt especially exhausted.
Maybe he should lift his head and look up at the night sky to calm his thoughts a little.
That was when he heard a voice.
“The moon is beautifully bright tonight.”
Startled by the unfamiliar sound, he spun around—and found a child with long, trailing hair walking toward him.
“Who are you? How did you get in here? Only direct members of the Seomun Clan can enter this place. If you’re lost, then...”
The child was someone he had never seen before, so he meant to scare them a little and send them away.
“You’re the one who found me.”
The child said something incomprehensible and pressed right up against his side.
Then, with a beaming smile, they looked up at him with eyes filled with moonlight.
The child’s face was so beautiful it almost took his breath away, and an odd, ticklish warmth stirred in Seomun Hwi’s chest.
“Nonsense. How could I know someone whose face I’ve never even seen and call them here? It’s late. Go back where you belong.”
The child puffed up in visible displeasure and grumbled, “What? I came all the way here, and all you do is tell me to go away.”
“I said I never called you.”
The two of them bickered for a moment, but in the end it was Seomun Hwi who shook his head first.
“You’re the most stubborn brat I’ve ever met.”
“Takes one to know one.”
The child refused to give an inch, but watching that expression, a laugh escaped him before he knew it.
“Then stay as long as you like.”
Even if he drove the child away, he would only be left alone again, so it might be nice to watch the moon together.
“The moon is bright indeed.”
“Mm. Very.”
He had barely finished admiring the lovely moon when Seomun Hwi cast a sideways glance.
There, where his gaze fell, the child was looking back at him with their face buried in their folded knees.
“Hwi.”
When the child spoke his name, Seomun Hwi’s eyes widened.
“Should we just stay here like this?”
“...”
“You know what happens to martial artists who use zhenyuan qi.”
Warmth settled over the back of his hand.
“I’ll stay by your side. You won’t be lonely, and you won’t be in pain. So stay here.”
The heavy burden of being the Seomun Clan’s young clan leader.
The fear of having to face his own ruined body.
Surely they would wrap themselves around his throat with merciless force.
And yet Seomun Hwi slowly pushed himself upright.
His calves felt as though they were being torn apart, and his knees were being crushed under unbearable weight.
His organs seemed twisted out of place; he could barely breathe, but he endured the agony until his teeth felt ready to shatter.
“...It’ll be dreadful. Truly.”
Looking up at him as he finally stood, the child wore a sad expression.
They knew just how hard the days ahead would be for him.
“I know.”
Seomun Hwi looked down at the child with a faint smile.
“It would be a lie to say I’m not afraid.”
Before he knew it, the child had grown taller, transforming into the face of someone he missed dearly.
“Still, I have to go. For your sake, if no one else’s.”
As he groped along the edge of the dream, the cicadas’ cries outside stretched on and on.
His mind was hazy and his body had no strength in it, as if he might slip beneath the surface at any moment.
Suspended between dream and reality, he thought of a summer day long ago, when he had napped with only a thin breeze to keep him company.
He had fallen asleep to the same cicadas then, so he knew this much: if he slept again now, he would be unable to gather his wits for quite some time.
So when he tried to force open his leaden eyelids and gather strength into the tips of his fingers and toes, the cicadas’ noise, which had been growing louder and louder, abruptly stopped.
In that silence, he felt the breathing of Cheongwol, asleep with her face turned toward him.