Confessions at the Grave
Morning. As guests began to trickle into the banquet hall, the man who could be called its true host, Sword Saint Moyong Cheon, was heading alone to the deepest part of the household.
A detached annex far from the central estate. Though within the vast compound of one of the Five Great Families, it felt like a small house plucked from some peaceful family home and set down here. The only peculiarity was the formation enveloping it, barring anyone from the household from entering. The family had its share of forbidden zones, but anyone who set foot in this little annex would incur Moyong Cheon's wrath.
This was the place where Moyong Cheon had lived with his late wife, where every trace of her remained. And another noteworthy detail: the annex was spotlessly clean, as if someone came every day to tidy it.
Thud, thud.
Piercing the formation, a man entered the annex.
"I'm here, my lady."
The annex's master, Moyong Cheon, stood in the courtyard holding a bouquet of white flowers.
"You scold me in my dreams every night to stop coming so often, but today I just had to."
He placed the bouquet before the stone tombstone under a towering peach tree beside the courtyard and sat cross-legged facing it.
"Seol is cured."
No reply came. He longed for one, but his interlocutor had departed long ago.
"An incurable disease. The one that had you blaming yourself endlessly for passing it to our daughter, even driving you to self-harm. It's cured."
Moyong Cheon plucked a flower from the bouquet, tore off its petals one by one, and laid them on the tombstone.
"Do you know what I thought when Seol first told me she was cured? That I truly resented you."
His voice, which never wavered before anyone, trembled faintly like petals scattering in the wind.
"Seven years. If only you'd held on for seven more years. Without tormenting yourself over passing a fatal illness to our girl, if you'd just gritted your teeth and endured until today."
Still no answer.
"At the very least, you could have seen our healthy, beautiful Seol today. Seen her smile like spring blossoms, just as you once did."
Only the peach tree's shadow swayed gently over him in the breeze.
"And about today's events... As Seol's parents, I wish I could seek your wisdom for the right judgment."
Moyong Cheon bowed his head deeply.
"I don't know what to do. If swinging my sword could yield an answer, I'd do it a thousand, ten thousand times. But... how could I wield it here?"
With trembling hands, the Sword Saint gripped the tombstone.
"She looks at him with the same gaze you once gave me back then. At the man who saved her life and took her first time."
His hand on the stone shook. A man who could crush rock with the slightest effort trembled, all his inner energy drained, clutching it with mere human strength.
"What would you think of a son-in-law like that? Would you want to kill the man who stole your precious daughter's heart, the apple of your eye? Or would you rejoice at her lifesaver, the one who cured her incurable disease, and call him son-in-law first?"
Whoosh.
The wind blew, scattering the petals from the tombstone into the sky.
"...I know. Yes. The dead don't return. I know I mustn't kill him. How could any man slay his benefactor? So... I'll be honest only before you."
Moyong Cheon let out a deep sigh.
"The moment I saw our daughter naked in that man's room, my rage surged hotter than when I clashed with the Cheonma in a duel to the death. I thought it was demonic possession."
Whoosh.
"I thought I'd reached the realm of no-mind, but I guess I'm still human. It was the first time such fury boiled in me since that Namgung bastard grabbed your wrist— no, even worse. ...Now I finally understand why my father-in-law was so enraged."
Leaves rustled in the wind, sunlight sparkling toward Moyong Cheon.
"Yes. I must cherish him. Embrace him. Just as your father entrusted you to me, I'll regard him as my own son. That's what you would have done."
Moyong Cheon extended his hand, brushing the ground.
Even as soil dirtied his smooth, unlined palm, he kept sweeping before the tombstone.
"You said it as you lay dying. If, just if, a miracle happened."
Scrape.
"...Give this to that child."
Brushing away the dirt revealed a wooden box small enough for one hand. Moyong Cheon carefully lifted it with both hands, unlatched it, and opened the lid.
"......."
A white jade hairpin, like a frozen twig. After gazing at it for a long moment, Moyong Cheon closed the box, tidied the area, and rose slowly, cradling it to his chest.
"I'll come again tomorrow. And perhaps... I won't be able to visit often anymore."
Looking up through the sparkling leaves at the sky, the Sword Saint's face had hardened to its usual stoicism.
"Because the vultures of the Central Plains will dare to target Seol... and him."
Afternoon. While Moyong Seol was briefly preparing for the banquet, I changed clothes and headed to the hall myself.
"That's the guy..."
"Shh. Quiet. No reason to get tangled with a 'failure.'"
Those who recognized me steered clear. I had no reason or leisure to chat with others anyway, so I quietly grabbed a cup and slipped to a corner of the banquet hall, leaning against the wall.
That's the normal gaze.
The look reserved for failures. When someone dies of illness, their family or mourners can't help directing complicated glances at the physician, incurable or not.
No. Hold it in.
I mustn't speak of it. Absolutely not.
Ding, ding, ding─
Music echoed through the hall. Even for one of the Five Great Families, blaring music at a banquet this size was improper—unless the performers were the imperial orchestra.
"Heavens. Court musicians? Did the palace send an orchestra?"
"He's a hero of the martial world, but also of the Central Plains. They say the Emperor ordered it personally."
Those holding cups whispered about the musicians. I'd known they came from the palace, but newcomers to the Moyong household couldn't hide their surprise.
Officials and martial artists don't trespass. They share the land but respect boundaries—except for the Moyong family.
"Thanks to the Sword Saint quelling the rebellion in the Imperial Guard and stopping the Magyo's massacres, it's only natural."
"True. Even though he's Moyong blood, the Emperor wanted him as a son-in-law. Said any princess would do."
"You here this time—hoping for imperial guests?"
"Partly. Why else would a Beggar Clan beggar clean up and wear formal robes?"
"I thought you were just showing basic respect."
"That too."
People I knew. The Wudang sect leader and Beggar Clan chief. Even those usually free in attire—priests and beggars—had dressed solemnly for the banquet and funeral.
So many celebrities.
If anyone was still casual in dress, wearing what they always did...
"Amitabha."
...it might be the Shaolin monk in yellow robes praying to Buddha. More immortal than monk, a living legend of the age.
"What brings Sinseung here?"
"Shaolin owes the Moyong a debt. How could I not come?"
Sinseung. One of the Ten Supremes. The old monk who hadn't left Shaolin's main hall even when Magyo overran Shaanxi and Sichuan had come to the Moyong banquet.
"Our abbot boasted we could surely cure her, only to torment young Lady Moyong instead. This old monk couldn't save her, but I can pray for her rebirth in paradise."
"For one called the Living Bishamon to pray for paradise—surely Lady Moyong rests painlessly in the next world."
Wudang's leader, Shaolin's top master, Beggar Clan's chief—all set aside personal histories to pray for one woman's peace.
Shaolin's debt.
I knew what it was. And right on cue, it came up elsewhere.
"To think this is all we can do for those struck by Blocked Meridian Syndrome. Alliance Leader, must we watch the young die so helplessly?"
"Steward, I understand, but there's no clear solution."
The Murim Alliance Leader and steward—Kunlun sect leader and Namgung family head—exchanged words.
"Not even Shaolin's Daehwan-dan or the world's top physician worked."
"But... then my niece..."
"I'm sorry for your niece. ...Still, funding for Blocked Meridian Syndrome research increases yearly. We can only hope they find a way."
"Sigh. If only—but even the foremost pharmacist couldn't."
I'd been listening quietly when a chill ran down my spine.
"Even that pharmacist's disciple."
A glance my way. The "foremost pharmacist" meant my master Maui Baekmyeon, title for the winner of the physician contest the Alliance Leader arranged for our entry.
"He did his best."
The Leader gave me a complicated look. He knew my background but also how sincerely I'd tried to cure Moyong Seol.
"We can only resent the heavens."
Escaping Magyo alive? My only path. Or so I'd thought until yesterday.
Things are different now.
A path had opened. No—I'd carved it myself. Never imagined it'd lead through Moyong Seol herself.
Once the banquet starts, I'll slip out.
To avoid anyone approaching the failed physician—
"Excuse me."
"...And you are?"
A tall woman with long black hair approached me. The epitome of an ice beauty.
"Soyeonjeok, senior disciple of Jeomchang."
Jeomchang's senior disciple. Direct disciple of the sect leader. And a familiar face.
-What do we do now...? Huh?
-We'll be fine. Don't cry.
Snap.
One of the kids I met at seven, kidnapped in that cave.
-...Can we really survive?
-Thrash till the end. If you can't take it, break your ankle and come here. I'll watch over you while you're bedridden.
-...I'll try not to hurt.
In to kill later-generation disciples, she'd become one of Jeomchang's latent poisons, core to its future. Word was she'd surpassed first-rate, aiming for Peak realm.
"First time meeting. Nice to meet you. I'm Seok Mu Wol."
"Straight to the point. Where will you go after treatment?"
"Who knows."
Truly. Regardless of her being a Magyo spy, I genuinely didn't know.
"Then."
Soyeonjeok steadied her breath and stepped closer.
"Come to Jeomchang?"
"...Pardon?"
"I mean... Jeomchang would... you know...."
She bit her lower lip briefly, refining her words, but—
"Hngh—"
Amid the murmurs, a low laugh made me reach for my waist.
"What exactly are you saying?"
Clack.
Soyeonjeok's instinctive sword-draw was lightning-fast, but the blade slamming back into its sheath was faster.
"Huh?"
Behind Soyeonjeok. A woman lightly pressing the sword hilt—gripped fiercely by Soyeonjeok—with one finger, leaning in with a beaming smile.
"Trying to whisk away my physician?"
The banquet's star—Moyong Seol—in radiant white robes, like burial shrouds for the departed.