The Jianghu You Dream Of, I Go Toward It (2)
Bang Chunghyun’s retreat unfolded in silence.
A group of masked figures circled him like a personal guard, and even though more than ten men were walking through the forest, not so much as a leaf-crunch disturbed the night.
Their steps did not come to a halt until they reached the edge of Mureung County.
Bang Chunghyun had stopped there, standing motionless as he took in the sight of the sleeping town.
The moon hung dead center in the night sky, spilling down a cold blue light, and beneath it the peaceful village slumbered under its silver glow.
For a moment, Bang Chunghyun’s dark blue eyes rested on the moon before sliding back to the shabby cluster of thatched-roof houses.
“Your Majesty.”
One of the masked men stepped forward, bowed respectfully, and removed his mask.
He was the most experienced of Bang Chunghyun’s subordinates, the man who had served him the longest.
When the mask came off, a corpse-pale face and a web of deeply etched wrinkles were revealed.
Even back when Bang Chunghyun still held office, the old man had served his master faithfully; and though Bang Chunghyun had long ago mastered Shura Arts to such a degree that he could read sound without hearing it, the old man had grown used to taking off his mask in front of him out of consideration for a master who no longer possessed his hearing.
The old man’s cracked lips parted, and a respectful voice emerged.
“Might this one be so bold as to speak?”
Bang Chunghyun nodded.
The old man bowed deeply and continued, “Mureung County lies so near Zhangjiajie. I fear they may discover the trouble and become a future nuisance.”
What followed was flat in tone, but the contents were chilling.
“Would it not be better to kill them all and silence them?”
Kill to bury the secret.
The dead tell no tales, so slaughter them all and erase any future trouble.
Even though they were discussing the extermination of an entire village, the atmosphere remained strangely calm.
For them, massacre was no more significant than discussing what to eat tomorrow morning.
Bang Chunghyun studied the sleeping village for a moment before speaking at last, slowly.
“We will not do that.”
At his words, the old man lowered his head even further, as though inviting a blade to his neck if he had displeased him.
“This one is too dull to fathom Your Majesty’s intent. I beg you, please enlighten me.”
But Bang Chunghyun’s gaze was not on the old man’s throat.
His eyes still lingered on the dilapidated thatched roofs of Mureung County.
“That man has died, and his son has taken the throne. The court will naturally halt the northern campaign and turn inward to domestic affairs. In such a situation, there is no need for the White Lotus Cult to provoke the imperial house unnecessarily.”
“On the contrary, because the situation is so chaotic, surely the court will have no spare attention for the disappearance of a village this small.”
Bang Chunghyun’s eyes shifted to the old man.
“The one they call Good Emperor is gentle unlike his father. While his father marched north and left the throne empty, he took over state affairs in his place. The uproar over the emperor’s death will die down soon enough. But the man is chronically overworked, frail by nature, and dislikes movement so much he’s only grown fat and sluggish. He won’t last long. A year at most?”
Then he began to walk again, slowly.
“The White Lotus Cult must grow stronger in the dark until the most certain moment arrives. Erasing a village would only draw the eyes not just of the court, but of the righteous sects of the jianghu as well.”
Even after Bang Chunghyun finished speaking, the old man did not straighten his back.
From his parched mouth came another question.
“Then was not this attack itself enough to draw the attention of the righteous sects? Mukjeok may have retired, but she was once a famed hero among the righteous. So, would it not be prudent to eliminate the variable that could testify against us…?”
“Ha ha ha…”
At the old man’s words, Bang Chunghyun let out a low chuckle, as though he had heard a rather amusing joke.
“What you fear, then, is that by attacking Zhangjiajie at all, we have provoked the righteous sects, and that their blades may turn toward the White Lotus Cult?”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
“They will not take any action.”
“And why not?”
“If we had wiped out the village wholesale, they would have formed a coalition as they did when the Blood Archfiend stirred and moved to contain the White Lotus Cult. But because only a retired wanderer of the martial world was slain by the demonic cult, do you really think they will bother to move those heavy asses of theirs?”
There was laughter in Bang Chunghyun’s voice, yes, but something else as well.
Contempt. Mockery. Disdain.
All of it was aimed at the righteous sects of the jianghu.
“Besides, Mukjeok was not a member of any righteous sect. She was one who followed the principles of the Mohist school, was she not? And what is the Mohist school? A pack of madmen rummaging through the bamboo slips of dead learning long reduced to ashes by Qin Shi Huang, clinging like ghosts to the words of a school that died long ago. Do you honestly think those hypocrites would spare even a thought for the death of one such person?”
The old man lowered his head without answering.
Bang Chunghyun was not finished.
“The sects that truly upheld chivalry were the same ones who led the charge in the war against the Blood Archfiend seventeen years ago under the banner of righteousness. Their wounds from that time have not yet healed, so they will not be in any hurry to draw blades against our Cult. As for the hypocrites who only fatten their own purses while hiding behind the name of orthodoxy, there is no need to mention them at all. They will sit on their hands, count their beads, and in the end close their mouths with the excuse that this was never our responsibility.”
With that, Bang Chunghyun fell silent.
The old man bent low in a bow and then retreated to stand behind him once more.
“Listening to Your Majesty’s wise words, this foolish servant feels as though his dull eyes have been opened.”
Bang Chunghyun gave the old minister a slight nod and, for a moment, looked toward Zhangjiajie.
Mukjeok.
He remembered the face of the comrade who had risked her life to save him the day the Fang family was exterminated to the last child.
The chivalry of that time must have since curdled into regret and hatred, leaving a deep heart demon in its wake.
If Mukjeok cursed him as an inhuman, ungrateful bastard, Bang Chunghyun was perfectly willing to listen.
He had, in truth, become exactly that.
And today, Bang Chunghyun had extinguished the final spark of that hatred and heart demon with his own hands.
Gratitude and enmity alike. All of it had turned to ash and scattered into the sky.
Then Bang Chunghyun thought of Mukjeok and her young disciple.
It was rather surprising that the proud, solitary Mukjeok had taken in a disciple at all.
And that she would cast aside her own burdens and obligations for that disciple was something he had never imagined.
The corner of his mouth twisted upward.
It was not the smile of contempt, but one born of pure amusement and interest.
Why had he felt pleased?
Bang Chunghyun could not say for certain.
Perhaps it was the faint residue of humanity he had never fully stripped away, or perhaps it was a lingering attachment to an old friend who, at the very end, had finally bent her stubborn pride.
But even those positive feelings were quickly dragged down into the abyss.
He could say with confidence that the two of them would die today.
But if by some miracle they survived and came seeking revenge with blades drawn…
Would that not be amusing as well?
In this empty, revolting life of his, they would make for one of the few entertainments left to him.
Bang Chunghyun’s stride remained slow, but he was already leaving Mureung County behind at speed.
As when they had come, they departed in silence.
***
I staggered out of the stone tomb.
The Zhangjiajie forest had been swallowed by darkness, and silence lay over it like a lid.
That silence pressed down on me.
The road back to the hut was long and treacherous.
On any other day, it would have been a distance I could cover in a breath, yet now it felt like a thousand-li road.
The hut washed in moonlight looked especially bleak and desolate tonight.
Like a ruin abandoned by people long ago.
My hand trembled faintly on the door latch.
Creak.
The old hinge screamed in protest. When I opened the door and stepped inside, an empty stretch of air met me.
The familiar smell rushed out at once as I entered.
Old wood, tea leaves, and the faint scent of ink.
The chair where Master used to sit, the teacup she liked to drink from, the wooden goose standing upright in the corner of the room.
Everything was exactly as it always had been.
And yet the most important person was gone.
An emptiness as though a hole had been punched straight through my chest.
And into that hole came a heavy, suffocating despair, as if trying to fill it.
What was I doing?
I collapsed into the chair.
My hands shook.
Pathetic.
The fact that I had been left alone in this space was a brutal testament to my own incompetence.
Without thinking, I dropped into the chair before the desk.
Then I picked up the wooden block and chisel lying on top of it.
Just as I had done inside the heart demon.
Scrape, scrape.
The sound of carving split the stillness.
Where the blade passed, the wood’s pale flesh was laid bare. Sawdust fell to the floor like snow.
I clung to the simple act of guiding the blade along the grain, of shaving away the unnecessary parts.
I prayed that, like the pieces of wood falling away, the thoughts crowding my mind might also be shaved loose and dropped away.
Scrape, scrape.
Master had cast away everything she had in order to save me.
She threw away a family legacy and treasures guarded for more than a thousand years, and even burned through her own life force to keep me alive.
And what had I done for Master?
What could I do for her?
In the end, the nest had collapsed, and the bird could only drift through the void with nowhere to go.
Scrape, scrape.
Kreeeek.
My hands sped up as I carved.
I fitted the gears, aligned the joints, and refined the wings.
The swallow I had fashioned in the heart demon was gradually taking shape in the real world.
Before long, the sky outside the window had begun to brighten with a pale blue dawn.
With trembling fingers, I opened the back of the swallow.
Then I squeezed out the last scraps of inner force I had left, the residue of energy Master had left behind, and poured it into the bird’s body.
Rrrr, whirr.
The swallow opened its eyes.
Beating its tiny wings, it kicked off my palm and rose into the air.
“Peep.”
That was the moment the wooden swallow I had carved all night was finally complete.
The bird flew once around the hut, then came to rest atop the table, where sawdust and wood shavings had piled up thickly.
Over the scattered scraps of wood, the jade bottle resting on the table gleamed coldly.
How stale and futile the distinction between righteous and evil truly is.
Even if the corpse worms inside this pill are a product of the demonic cult, if it is used as medicine to save a dying person, how could it be called wicked?
In the end, what matters is only the intention of the one who wields it.
The masked man’s words echoed in my ears.
The wooden swallow took flight again, circling the cramped hut.
Like a living bird.
Then it descended slowly and settled lightly back onto my palm.
I stared at it in a daze.
Wolyeon.
Go. Go toward the jianghu you dream of.
Master’s voice passed vividly through my ears.
The wooden swallow looked back at me with bright, shining eyes, as though it truly were a real bird.
The jianghu I dreamed of.
Those words clung to my mind like an iron seal.
If I was talking about the jianghu I had once dreamed of…
I wanted to be a great hero like the ones others talked about in admiration.
Like the figures I had seen in novels and games, the kind of great swordsman people praised with shining eyes.
Since I had been thrust into a wuxia world, I had wanted to roam it boldly and freely, just like everyone else.
But now…
Heroes, glory, honor — none of that mattered much anymore.
“Peep?”
The swallow twitched on my palm and tilted its head.
I wrapped my hand around it and stood up.
If the nest collapses, build it again.
If the wings break, crawl if you must.
What matters is surviving.
Living long enough to fly again.
Whether for revenge or repentance, or whatever else.
If the nest has been broken, then I can fix it again, can’t I?
And the last chance to repair it was in my hands.
I tucked the wooden swallow into my robes and stood.
Dawn was breaking.
The light of morning painted the peaks of Zhangjiajie a burning red.
I ran back toward the stone tomb.
This time, my steps were no longer heavy.
There was no hesitation.
When I reached the tomb, the masked man was still sitting exactly as before, pouring his inner force into Master’s back.
Though he must have spent his true energy through the whole night, he did not stir from his cross-legged posture and kept his eyes closed.
When I entered, he slowly opened them.
“Have you made your decision?”
I nodded without a word.
Then I took the jade bottle from my robes.
[I will feed it to her.]
When the masked man saw my writing on the ground, he said, “And you won’t regret it?”
How could I not regret it?
His brows seemed to lift slightly behind the mask.
I continued writing.
[I spent the entire night regretting the past. And I will spend another thousand nights regretting it in the future. But it doesn’t matter.]
The masked man studied the words I had written, as if chewing over their meaning.
[If Master can open her eyes again, this junior would not hesitate even to step into hellfire.]
The masked man nodded.
“Not bad.”
Then he turned his focus back to channeling his energy.
“Good. Hurry. Before my inner force runs dry.”
I carefully pried Master’s mouth open.
The dark red Three Corpses Brain-Devouring Pill slid between her lips.
Gulp.
The instant I heard her swallow, my heart sank with a heavy thud.
The inner force pouring from the masked man’s hands abruptly turned rough.
The medicine had begun to take effect.
Black energy rose slowly from her dantian and spread through her entire body.
A bead of cold sweat ran down the masked man’s temple.
“The medicine is taking hold. I’ll suppress it so her meridians don’t twist. You step back.”
At his words, I stumbled back a few paces.
Master’s body began to tremble faintly.
A strange dark-red flush crept over her pale skin, only to fade once more to white.
About the time it takes to drink a cup of tea, Master’s breathing began to steady.
The body that had been quivering just moments ago no longer moved so much as a hair’s breadth.
As though the corpse worms had already taken root.
Only then did the masked man withdraw his hands and exhale roughly.
“Done.”
He rose unsteadily to his feet.
“The corpse worms have settled into her brain and dantian. She will not die. But…”
He paused for a moment.
“If you cannot restore the shattered dantian and replenish the inner force she has lost, then your master will remain like this forever. Neither dead nor alive. A living corpse, in the literal sense.”
Those words made my chest feel even heavier.
It was as if the responsibility of my choice, and the reality of it, had settled over me like shackles and a weight stone.
There was no turning back now.
I had to either repair Master or let her remain in this eternal state.
And I could never accept the latter.
Having finished speaking, the masked man stood.
“Refilling a dantian that has been completely severed, and an inner force that has scattered to the winds, will not be easy. It will be much the same as pouring water into a dried-up West Lake with a ladle.”
He began to make his way toward the entrance of the stone tomb, his steps unsteady.
[Where are you going?]
I hurried to block his path and wrote the words in front of him.
I still had many things to ask.
Who he was. Why he had helped us.
But the masked man raised a hand.
“Wrong again.”
Smack!
“!”
Just as when we first met, he struck my head with the scabbard.
“Did I not tell you? If I intended to reveal my identity, why would I have gone to the trouble of showing up wearing a mask?”
[Please stop for a moment. This junior still has questions.]
“Questions about how to repair your master’s dantian and how to replenish her inner force, is that it?”
He had hit the mark exactly.
My hand, which had been moving in such a panic, came to a stop, and the masked man clicked his tongue lightly before continuing.
“I’m no physician, so I don’t know. And you were the one who administered the liquor, weren’t you? Then surely it should be you who sees it through to the end.”
When he finished speaking, he gave my shoulder a brief, light pat as he passed by.
“Now then, do your best.”
With that, he disappeared into the morning mist.
As though he had never been there at all.
Inside the stone tomb, only Master and I remained.
Master was still kneeling with a faint smile on her face, frozen in place like stone.
She was alive.
Even if that life had been obtained through the poison of the demonic cult.
Carefully, I took the wooden swallow from my robes.
Then I placed it in Master’s hand.
I knelt reverently before her and, this time, took out the old writing materials from my sleeves.
I bowed my head three times to Master as I knelt there.
Then I moved my hand carefully and began to write.