A Desert Torn by Sunset
Surrounded by the heavy silence of the underground village, the young girl walked forward, her eyes fixed straight ahead.
Past crumbling passages and ruined stone, she never looked to the left or right. Even when her feet carried her into the open square, she maintained her dazed, unyielding stride—until the sole of her shoe sank into something soft and squishy that she had never felt beneath her feet before.
She froze, then cautiously cast her gaze downward.
The soft thing was a human hand.
Horror surged through her as she realized she was treading upon someone’s fingers. She scrambled backward to tear herself away from the severed limb, but within a few frantic paces her heels caught on something, and she tumbled hard to the stone floor.
When she looked back, she saw what had tripped her: a villager lying flat on the ground.
It was a man who had exchanged cheerful morning greetings with her only hours before. Now, a long, brutal slash cleaved through his garments, and not a trace of life stirred within his motionless frame.
Only then did the full panorama of the square crash into her senses.
Her face drained of color, twisted in pure terror, and she cried out in a foreign tongue, calling for anyone, someone.
No one answered. The foreign syllables of her voice merely echoed off the stone walls of the cavern, bouncing back and forth before withering into nothingness. Again and again she shouted into the hollow expanse, but as the silence lingered without a hint of reply, tears spilled over her lashes.
Weeping quickly dissolved into ragged wails, amplified by the raw despair tearing through her throat. Like the scattered pleas she had uttered while searching for living souls, her sobs stacked atop one another like heavy bricks, weaving an eerie, mournful dirge. It was as though the entire settlement had been turned into a mass grave.
Yet not a single person remained to comfort her.
As she knelt there weeping, a sliver of radiance caught the corner of her swollen eyes. Far across the square, light was pouring through the mouth of the cavern entrance.
A piercing, blood-crimson light.
She stared at the crimson glow for a long time before slowly pushing herself up from the cold ground.
With numb, mechanical steps, she shuffled toward the exit, following the very path shown to her by the woman who had pulled her into a cellar and hidden her away.
Past the square, through the narrow alleys, she moved toward the entrance.
One step.
Two steps.
As she drew nearer to the opening, the brilliance flared so violently that she had to squint against the glare to keep moving. When she finally stepped beyond the threshold of the subterranean village, the outer world laid itself bare before her, drenched in the deep red of dusk.
The sunset was so ferocious it seemed to tear the very sky and earth to shreds. It created the uncanny illusion that red was the true, primordial color of existence, and the desert's jagged contours had merely been painted over it.
Overwhelmed by the blinding radiance, she had to blink several times before her eyes could pierce the crimson haze and discern the desert hidden within. The vast horizon she had looked upon that morning stretched out once more in the distance, faint and wavering.
She set out toward that horizon, her feet trudging through the shifting sand.
How far did she walk?
The fiery glow, now waning from its peak, cast long, heavy shadows that bled out from the dunes. Where the chilling evening air met the heat radiating from the desert sand, rising mirages began to distort her vision into wavering, rippling shapes.
Then, suddenly.
She spotted the figure of a man standing before her, his hands clasped together in solemn prayer as he faced the setting sun.
He was a colossal figure, built like an immovable boulder. Assuming he was merely another mirage born of heat and exhaustion, she did not break her stride. Yet as she drew closer, his form did not blur or dissolve into the haze; instead, it grew sharper, sturdier, and more real. When she made out the circle of eagles wheeling high above his head, she finally understood that he was flesh and blood.
Creeping up just behind him, she caught the faint murmur drifting from his lips.
"Sentient beings born into a world of chaos... May you all find deliverance and attain rebirth in the Pure Land."
As she stood staring blankly at his broad back, her gaze slipped toward the sand in front of him, and a gasp caught in her throat. Piercing the dunes before the man were countless discarded weapons and tattered battle standards, planted like a forest of graves.
Sensing her presence, the man turned around to look at her.
"Greetings, surviving young lady."
His features were drowned out by the harsh backlight of the dying sun, leaving only his silhouette. But within his deep voice, there was no hostility—only the gentle warmth of glad tidings.
"After that, with the help of that man, I made my way to the Central Plains."
With those words, Baekseo Geumwang brought her story to a close. I waited for what came next, but her lips remained sealed.
Wait. That's it?
I stole a sidelong glance at her. She seemed utterly submerged in the depths of her memories, gazing blankly into the empty air.
Just as the silence threatened to stretch uncomfortably long, the snort of a donkey outside shattered the stillness.
Look at that, the creature actually makes noise.
When Baekseo Geumwang slid the door open, the donkey was standing right outside, staring in at us. The passage of time had carried the night away; from the direction of the distant village, the faint crow of a rooster signaled the dawn.
Twitching its ears this way and that, the donkey no longer basked in starlight. Instead, it drank in the cool azure glow of the morning mist, radiating an almost ethereal sheen. Watching the beast, I spoke up.
"What kind of fate bound you to that donkey?"
"Jeom-ryeo was the donkey that man kept by his side."
When she beckoned gently, the donkey nuzzled its snout forward, leaning into her caress.
"As we were about to leave the desert behind, he pressed the reins into my hands and said, 'So long as this little fellow is with you, you will never lose your way.' Then he vanished into thin air. Ever since that day, Jeom-ryeo has remained by my side."
"Who was that man? And who or what destroyed your village? What was their objective?"
Baekseo Geumwang shook her head faintly.
"I cannot recall. Not the face of the man I saw that day, nor the words inscribed on the banners fluttering before him."
Her expression as she spoke held no trace of deceit. Yet I still could not tell whether she truly had no memory of it or was deliberately guarding the secret.
For a brief moment, I considered resorting to intimidation to wring out the truth, but I quickly discarded the thought. Despite possessing not a single thread of martial arts, her unruffled demeanor before me was far from ordinary.
It reminded me of the Emperor whom I had once escorted to Mount Wudang back when I was a courier. Even when I had slipped into his private bedchamber unannounced, and when I had to convince him that he needed to be taken to Mount Wudang, he had worn that very same composure.
For a woman who commanded only a modest gathering to exude the same aura as one who held the entire world beneath his feet—either the Emperor's stature was no greater than hers, or Baekseo Geumwang possessed a vessel of astonishing, unfathomable proportions.
One thing, however, was crystal clear: this conversation had left a lingering, unpleasant aftertaste.
Crucial questions remained unanswered. Why had she chosen the Demonic Cult—an entity that turned the entire martial world into its enemy—as the banner to rally her followers? And what was her true relationship with Bishop Bok Myeong?
I pressed on with my next question.
"Why did you become a figurehead for the Demonic Cult, a faction that was wiped out long ago?"
Baekseo Geumwang answered without hesitation.
"After leaving the sands behind, I scraped together a living as a wandering storyteller. That was when I met Bok Myeong."
Her response struck straight to the heart of my inquiry. Her knack for reading and handling people was nothing short of extraordinary. Had she sat for the imperial civil service exams, passing them would have been child's play. While the top honors would undoubtedly go to Eun Ae-hyang, this woman's insight was formidable all the same.
"What is his true identity?"
"Who can say? He never revealed his full background to me, either."
I narrowed my eyes and peered at her. Following a complete stranger into the unknown? Your family must be worried sick. Ah, right. She has no family.
Oblivious to my inner grumbling—or perhaps simply amused by the sour look on my face—she let out a soft chuckle before continuing.
"He did, however, possess an eye for talent. It seemed he thought highly of my skills as a storyteller. One day, he came to recruit me."
Recruit? Does that mean...?
As my eyes rounded in surprise, she gave a slow nod.
"To someone like me, who still harbored deep resentment toward the world after watching my home perish, the doctrines of the Demonic Cult sounded remarkably seductive. And so, I took his hand without a second thought."
She paused for a beat, letting the weight of her words settle before adding, "I agreed to take part in the resurrection of the Demonic Cult he so desperately desired."
"...Which means Bok Myeong is the only one among you who actually holds direct ties to the real Demonic Cult?"
"That is the gist of it."
The answer drained every drop of tension from my shoulders. I tilted my head back and stared blankly at the ceiling.
...How completely anticlimactic.
To think that the supreme leader of an organization that had the Shaolin Monastery on high alert was merely an ordinary woman who knew no martial arts and had never even laid eyes on the Heavenly Demon. It was deflating, yet a wave of relief washed over me at the same time.
If all I had to do was persuade this woman to abandon the gathering and eliminate Bok Myeong, my mission would be cleanly wrapped up.
As I mentally calculated the remaining steps, Baekseo Geumwang addressed me once more.
"Now that I have told you everything, will you hear my request?"
Ah, right. She did mention wanting to ask a favor earlier.
"What is it?"
The request that spilled from her lips, however, caught me entirely off guard.
"Please, subdue Bishop Bok Myeong and disband the gathering."
"...What?"
Her circumstances, as she explained them, were straightforward enough.
When she had first assumed the mantle of Cult Leader under his direction, she had genuinely believed in sharing those doctrines with the followers, hoping to bring about an ideal realm where the Maitreya would descend. But somewhere along the line, Bok Myeong's focus had drifted from that promised paradise toward raw greed, his eyes fixed entirely on the treasures and wealth offered by the faithful.
I see. That explains the 'martial artist who does not exist.'
The guide who had pointed her toward the world she longed for had turned out to be nothing more than a vulgar, grasping worldly creature.
Having digested her tale, I arched an eyebrow.
"If all you want is to deal with Bok Myeong, taking him down would suffice. Why ask to disband the entire assembly?"
She fixed her gaze on me.
"First, the resentment I harbored toward the world has dissolved."
"I figured as much."
Surprised by my lukewarm reaction, she tilted her head.
"You do not seem particularly astonished."
"I may not look it, but I have crossed paths with quite a few people in my time."
Indeed. That was simply the nature of human beings. A single turn of events, a fleeting catalyst, could completely overturn convictions held for an entire lifetime. Which meant the second reason was the real meat of the matter.
"And what was the catalyst that washed away that resentment?"
Instead of answering immediately, she offered a mysterious, knowing smile. She studied me in silence for a long moment before she finally spoke.
"It happened after I first laid eyes on you, Sir Gongseo."
Huh? Me?
When I pointed a finger back at my own chest, she gave a gentle nod.
"After seeing you for the first time, I began to dream again."
"A dream?"
"Yes. A dream I carried all the way from my lost village in the Tarim Basin—one that had long slipped out of sight."
"...I'll have you know, I am very much a martial artist who exists."
I exist as myself, and I exist through the Taiji; therefore, I exist. Furthermore, I am a Daoist who has attained the absolute Dao through the martial arts—who could possibly be more worthy of being called an 'existing martial artist' than me?
My retort drew a quiet laugh from her lips.
"Hehehe."
"And what does that dream of yours have to do with disbanding the gathering?"
Baekseo Geumwang offered no further explanation. Realizing that taking down Bok Myeong was all that stood between me and closing the ledger on this affair, I had no desire to pry any deeper either.
In the end, I agreed to grant her request and turned my steps back toward the White Horse Inn.
Completely unaware, of course, that the moment I walked through the door, Yeong Yeong's sharp nose would catch the scent of a donkey and an unfamiliar house on my clothes, and she would subject me to a chilling interrogation over where on earth I had been wandering.
There had been many such days.
Days when the young girl would sit and gaze out upon the vast desert.
Days when someone would call her name, and she would wander without a care toward the center of the village.
Days when adults and children alike waited with breathless anticipation for the stories that would spill from her lips.
Days when mundane trinkets that the villagers had walked past a thousand times took on miraculous, wondrous new lives through her words.
Days when the end of a single tale was met with a thunderous cascade of applause from the village elders.
And days when the girl would secretly wonder to herself whether having days like this continue forever might just be the closest thing to happiness in this world.