A Wish Beneath Winter Fireworks
In some nameless fortress-city of the north—
White snow lay thick atop the red lanterns.
Against the curved tiles of Zhongyuan-style traditional roofs, the piled white snow made the brilliant reds of the lanterns blaze all the brighter, flooding the streets with the full spirit of a winter festival.
The lively strains of festive music and the clear notes of a vertical flute rang cheerfully down the avenues. Children's laughter, the warm buzz of conversation, and the cries of merchants hawking food and ornaments clashed and mingled in a cheerful din. The lowing of cattle and the squealing of pigs bounced off alley walls and came echoing back.
Ropes strung back and forth across the streets creaked in a steady rhythm whenever the winter wind caught them, and along those silk threads, icicles clung thick and dense—melted and refrozen again and again.
Crack-crack-crack…
Those icicles were fracturing, ever so finely, from their tips.
"Ah—cold."
One man among the dense crowd packing the alleyway rubbed at his head.
"What was that?"
He lifted his face and looked up.
Creak… creak…
Above him there was only the black sky, the slender silk threads heavy with thick icicles, and the glow of the red lanterns.
"Sleet, maybe?"
The man tilted his head and turned his attention back to the festival.
"It's so good."
Beneath a red lantern, a sniffling little child licked the sugar from a stick of tanghulu, smiling in pure happiness. The tip of an icicle hanging from the silk thread above nearly brushed the crown of his head.
Crack-crack…!
Something silver flashed across that silk thread overhead.
The child's mother spoke to him.
"Is it tasty?"
"Yes! Buy me another one next time."
"Of course. We'll come to the festival again."
The boy bounced with excitement. Mother and child went on enjoying the festival as if nothing at all had happened.
Whoosh! Swish!
A silver phantom tightrope-walked the silk threads that barely held the paper lanterns aloft. The moment the stretch of lanterns ended, it seized without the slightest hesitation a clothesline strung between buildings.
Whip! Snap!
The line went taut; a few pieces of laundry fluttered free and fell. Using that spring, the phantom leapt upward like a winter fox bounding across a snowfield and landed lightly on a rooftop.
At once it broke into a full sprint along the roofs.
Crash!
Tiles shattered as it soared up light as a feather.
Crash! Crash! Crash!
A second roof, a third—smashing tiles and launching skyward, cutting the shortest path straight across the city. On a slanted roof it jammed its fingers into a crack in the wall to keep from falling, then ran along the vertical face itself. At the edge it kicked off, transferred to the neighboring building, kept wall-running, and settled onto the opposite roof, advancing as smoothly as flowing water.
It was as relentless as a stone skipping across a pond.
Screee!
At a sound that tore at the eardrums, silver eyes snapped toward the source of the noise.
BOOM!!
A burst of flame the size of the city's central square exploded in the middle of the sky.
"Waaaaah!!"
The crowd erupted in cheers.
That single greatest bloom became the signal, and dozens of fireworks began to flower one after another.
Boom! Bang! Boom-boom!
The night sky lit up as bright as day.
The grand finale of the winter festival—the fireworks—had begun. The city roared with the people's delight.
"Wow! It's beautiful!"
Breath misting white in the cold, people cried out in wonder at the dazzling spectacle embroidering the winter night sky. Couples stood hand in hand watching. Lovers linked arms and gazed upward. Families smiled in quiet happiness. A child clutching a little fluffy puppy stared open-mouthed, utterly lost in the fireworks, even as the dog panted and the child's own nose ran.
Tap.
The silver phantom that had been racing without pause came to a halt on the roof of some empty, dust-choked building where no one lived.
"…"
It stared blankly at the fireworks. At the brilliant, multicolored blooms filling the sky.
She pulled down the thick hood that had covered the lower half of her face. Silver hair spilled free with a soft shimmer. She looked up at the heavens.
"…How long has it been."
White breath drifted from her lips.
"The first time since then, isn't it."
And then the words that left her mouth were ordinary ones no one else in this world would ever hear.
"…I wish I could see them every day."
Boom.
As another firework shattered across the winter sky, she blinked her silver eyes and whispered,
"…I have to make the wish come true. No matter what it costs."
With that, she drew the hood back into place. Those clear eyes, briefly visible, froze over once more like a winter lake in the depths of a killing frost.
BOOM!
And again she kicked off with everything she had.
The end of that path lay due south.
— Cheonsubaekryeonsa, immediately after Moyong Bi departed on his formal trial
"Damn it, damn it… Hey. You guys all right?"
Ho Seo-a spoke back over his shoulder to the three Zhongnan Sect disciples trailing him. He worked a mouth that could barely form the words. His right arm wouldn't lift—the collarbone was broken. His knee wouldn't bend or straighten properly; the thigh had been torn open.
"Don't even start, Ho Seo-a. Hell. My legs won't close."
"You only got the legs? That lunatic backed me into a wall and drove his knee into me like a man possessed. I still can't breathe right."
"What even is that guy? One way you look at it, he's some peak master with water so deep it feels possessed. Another way, he's just some street thug who hits with nothing but pure feeling."
Ho Seo-a groaned through gritted teeth.
"One thing's certain. He's a rabid dog."
The others all nodded at that. Ho Seo-a's jaw worked. He glanced behind them.
"Hey. Are we just going to take this lying down?"
"Huh? Ho Seo-a. What are you talking about?"
Ho Seo-a's eyes glittered.
"I found his weak point, that's what. His movement is ridiculous, no question. He handles internal energy well too. The way he blocked my saber, his protective qi was smooth—he's clearly got real combat experience. I've sparred plenty with my uncle, so I know what I'm looking at. But he had one vulnerability."
"Vulnerability?"
The other three locked onto his words. Ho Seo-a's eyes shone.
"That bastard. His internal energy reserves are so thin it's a miracle he even passed the entrance exam. And what little he has, he burns through at an insane rate."
"…! You're right—now that you mention it!"
One disciple, both eyes swollen purple, smacked a fist into his open palm.
"The protective qi on his hand-blade—even in that short time he was thrashing the four of us, I could see it thinning. He couldn't hold the full density."
Ho Seo-a nodded.
"Round up the others. We butter him up a little, draw him into a corner, then grind him down with numbers in a long fight. The opening will come. So? Are we just going to keep getting pushed around?"
"…I don't know. We're still orthodox sect disciples. If we stoop to methods like that, how are we any different from common thugs…"
One of the group hung back, hesitant. Ho Seo-a had no such doubts.
"That dog bastard. Who does he think he is, calling someone a slave? I played along and took it in the moment, but just you watch. This humiliation—I'll find a way to—"
A cold voice cut in from behind them.
"That 'dog bastard' you're talking about sounds an awful lot like the Ha-mu-gwan student I've been looking for."
"What?!"
Still raw from the thrashing Moyong Bi had given them, Ho Seo-a's pack whipped around like lightning.
"Dog bastard. Rabid dog. Lunatic. As far as I can tell, there's only one man in all the jianghu those compliments fit—and since it seems to involve a man I know, I can't exactly walk past and pretend I didn't hear."
He was nearly as tall as Ho Seo-a, the biggest of the four. His shoulders were leaner than Ho Seo-a's thick, rounded build, which only made them look broader.
The man strode forward without hesitation, still talking.
"Doesn't look like he's with the likes of you. Don't tell me he's gone again. That damn bastard. Where does he keep running off to every single time…"
"Uh—well—so—"
Thick Wudang martial robes wrapped his entire frame. Above them sat a cool, blade-sharp handsomeness pale enough to cut.
Ho Seo-a frowned.
"Who are you? Face I don't recognize."
"You wouldn't. I'm not a Ha-mu-gwan student, so of course you haven't seen me. So. Where is he?"
Ho Seo-a lifted his head with a look of dawning realization.
"A Taoist in Wudang robes with skin that deathly pale…"
Ho Seo-a pointed a finger at the man.
"You're that foul-tempered Wudang disciple from Chu-mu-gwan. Jin Muje."
"…Well. Not wrong. Even our sect leader's given up on me."
Jin Muje closed his hand around the finger pointing at him.
"Aaaagh!"
Ho Seo-a screamed and dangled from Jin Muje's grip. The muscles of Jin Muje's forearm flexed. Ho Seo-a's heavy body lifted clean off the ground in one hand. Jin Muje regarded the man he held aloft and murmured, perfectly calm,
"I know I've got a thug's streak in me. But here's the thing."
An expression surfaced on that icy face. It was fury frozen solid.
"In Cheonsubaekryeonsa—where the future of the orthodox path is supposed to be gathered—is it perfectly fine for you people to round up a mob and scheme to jump one man as a pack?"
Crushed by the pressure rolling off Jin Muje's body, Ho Seo-a thrashed and shouted,
"Doesn't the Wudang Sect have any discipline, you violent thug?!"
Jin Muje's movement stopped dead.
"Discipline?"
"That's right!"
"Funny you should mention discipline. Every year at Wudang, the standard for that discipline is set by the Sword of Wudang toward the jianghu—by the First Sword of Wudang, standing at the center."
"…Huh? Why are you suddenly—"
Jin Muje kept going.
"And the selection that comes around every five years was held this year. And—"
He looked down at Ho Seo-a, voice cold as steel.
"Unfortunately for you, this year's First Sword of Wudang is me."
"…What?"
Jin Muje drove the nail in once more.
"So I'm sorry—but I am Wudang's discipline."
In a shaking voice, Ho Seo-a pointed at him.
"B-but I heard you were still a Chu-mu-gwan student until recently."
Jin Muje nodded.
"And I'm sorry, but I'm Dong-mu-gwan now. Not that the halls ever meant anything to me, even from the day I entered."
Ho Seo-a suddenly felt it—an aura from the man before him that no one could approach. And he understood, all over again.
That every person he had ever met and called a genius did not even belong in the same conversation.
Thud.
Ho Seo-a sank to the ground.
When a person truly meets the sky, they split into two kinds. Those who marvel at that sky and somehow set themselves against it, striving to grow. And those who break beneath it and lose their path forever.
Here, Ho Seo-a chose the latter. His pupils went hollow. He had believed himself gifted in this field—in body, in talent. He had believed that if he worked hard enough, he could at least succeed past the middle ranks. But once he knew that even the middle was nearly out of reach, the meaning drained out of every martial practice he had ever done.
Jin Muje sighed and looked down at the collapsed Ho Seo-a and the rest of his hangers-on.
He could feel it already. Moyong Bi had already gone somewhere far away. It seemed this meeting was not meant to be.
He touched the place near his dantian where a round pattern had been newly engraved with his selection as the First Sword of Wudang, and muttered,
"Mm. I really wanted to find him quickly and tell him. I suppose I'll just have to say it whenever we meet next."