A Chill Like Autumn in the Fifth Month

Around noon, we made it to the building where the assembly was held without anything worth calling a problem.

But I was about to learn, quite thoroughly, that an uneventful road guarantees nothing about the place at the end of it.

The moment we stepped inside, the reason became plain: the crowd gathered there was giving off an atmosphere entirely unlike its usual self.

Just as I was about to work out what was going on, Ha-chu came limping over to me.

"O-Gong, little brother. So you've come."

"Brother Ha, why's the mood in here so strange? There's a different sort of hubbub than usual."

At my question, Ha-chu's face darkened.

"Well, see... the Leader's gone missing."

Ah.

He'd bolted.

In my mind's eye, unbidden, floated the image of the Baek Seogeumwang riding off on a donkey in his little shorts, abandoning the farmhouse where he'd been lying low and vanishing from sight — but I played dumb and asked Ha-chu, "Did something happen, then?"

"Little brother, you remember the small commotion among the believers two days back?"

I nodded. "I remember. But aren't disturbances on that scale an everyday affair here?"

"They are. But that ruckus two days ago was apparently a different beast. Word going around says the Leader's color turned poor from that day on — and then today, all of a sudden, he vanished."

Then—

BANG!

The door of the room where Baek Seogeumwang had been staying flew open with a tremendous crash, and every gaze in the hall snapped toward it.

From within, Bokmyeong emerged slowly, ringing staff in hand. At the sight of him, the believers swarmed forward and folded themselves into a semicircle around him.

"Bishop! Where has the Leader gone?"

"Has the Leader abandoned us?"

"Where in the world has the dream of Radiant Clarity gone?"

The flood of questions had taken the shape of an inquisition, and Bokmyeong simply watched it all in silence.

It was only natural that the believers felt fear and confusion at the Baek Seogeumwang's absence. With the honeyed tongue that had earned him his living as a storyteller, he had led them into a fantasy of his own devising — a cunning blend of utopia, painted hells, and cold reality. The believers folded into that dream, though their bodies remained here, must have left their souls lingering at every assembly in the sweet Peach Blossom Spring each of them pictured. And now, without warning, the Leader who bridged those two worlds had simply vanished. Small wonder they were thrown into disarray.

Bokmyeong raised a hand as if to hush them all, but the uproar showed no sign of dying down. And as the scene dragged on, his expression abruptly crumpled into something monstrous. So savage was that face that the believers in the very front row clapped their mouths shut with a strangled gasp.

The moment the front row sealed itself, the row behind found it strange, looked at Bokmyeong's face, and shut their own; the row behind them followed suit, and again after that, the silence rolling ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠backward wave upon wave until the whole building had gone quiet.

...Hm. I have definitely seen that sight somewhere before. Plenty of times, actually.

I turned my head toward Eun Ae-hyang and spoke through voice transmission.

"That face of his looks awfully familiar, but I can't place it for the life of me. Think you know who he is?"

"Do I, now?"

Eun Ae-hyang studied Bokmyeong for a long moment before answering.

"...My. That face puts me in mind of a statue from the White Lotus Palace."

The White Lotus Palace had been the Demonic Cult's stronghold, perched near the summit of the Shiwan Mountains in the far northwest.

Come to think of it, among the statues there had been one with the face of a Cloth-Bag Monk gone somehow askew, hadn't there.

...Ah.

Just as Eun Ae-hyang had said, a particular statue surfaced in ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠my memory: the Great Wheel Wisdom King, once called the transformed embodiment of Maitreya Buddha.

A face that did, indeed, resemble the Cloth-Bag Monk — Maitreya's incarnate form. But even setting the resemblance aside, the man felt familiar. Hmm... and now that I considered it, that voice, too, had the feel of something deliberately warped.

The fact that nothing to do with the Demonic Cult felt foreign to me was not a good thing to let show in front of these people. So I sidled over to Ha-chu and remarked, as if in passing,

"Brother Ha, something about this feels off. What do you say we step outside for now?"

Ha-chu gave Bokmyeong a long, careful look, then turned back to me.

"And what will you do, little brother?"

"Don't you worry about me — just head on out. Call it my thanks for putting up with me these past few days."

"Then what about your wife and daught—"

"They're fine. Go."

Cut off mid-sentence, he stared at me blankly for a moment — then finally, leaning on his crutch, limped out of the building. He wasn't the only one; others who sensed that things were not as they should be began slipping outside as well, one by one.

...Somehow, watching Ha-chu go lifted a little weight off my chest. I supposed that much was a friend's duty.

Bokmyeong made as if to stop the leavers, then seemed to think better of it and let them be. The uproar surged once more — and died away as quickly as the crowd had thinned. A short while later, satisfied that all was silent, Bokmyeong opened his mouth.

"Calm yourselves, all of you."

The voice that filled the building was, for a man of his bulk, best described as thin and weedy.

So that's what the Cloth-Bag Monk sounds like...

Bokmyeong continued.

"The Leader has not abandoned you. He will return before long and guide you into the world of Radiant Clarity."

Uh, no. He is completely gone.

Then Yeong Yeong, still playing the blind girl, murmured to me, just loud enough for me alone.

"That sounds like a lie. His voice is strong on the surface, but I can hear it trembling. Just barely."

"You can hear that much...?"

At this rate, I'd never manage to lie to her again without monumental resolve.

Just then, one of the believers spoke up again.

"Bishop! Please — grant us certainty that the Leader has not abandoned us!"

Bokmyeong fixed the man who had spoken with a steady gaze and beckoned him closer. The believer shuffled forward, and Bokmyeong seized his shoulder without a shred of preamble.

"Foolish believer — I shall show you that the merciful hand of Maitreya forsakes not even a dullard such as you."

Having said his piece, Bokmyeong steadied his breathing and began to radiate his internal power. The face of the believer in his grip slowly started to crumple.

Yes — one look was enough. That power was, without a doubt, demonic qi.

With the terror-stricken believer at its head, one after another, every believer in the building sank to their knees before Bokmyeong. At the sight of it, he snorted through his nose, looking thoroughly pleased with himself.

We knelt a little apart from Bokmyeong, exactly like the rest of the believers, and watched. No matter how I turned it over in my head, there had been no such man among the Demonic Cult's bishops.

I was still failing to dredge up any cult figure who might have owned that face when I felt something plucking insistently at my sleeve. I followed the pull and found Yeong Yeong gesturing for me to bring my ear down to her.

The instant I leaned in, she whispered,

"Big Brother, do you happen to know anything about the Baek Seogeumwang's disappearance?"

This kid. What would I possibly know? I'd been about to answer, without a second thought, that I hadn't a clue — when I remembered how cleanly she'd seen through Bokmyeong's lie. I shut my mouth, gave her a brief look, and opened it again, slowly.

"...I can't say for certain, but I think I know how we might find him."

At my answer, Yeong Yeong broke into a radiant smile. So she had verified that it wasn't a lie.

And what, exactly, would have happened if it had been?

Not Demonic Cult sorcery, granted — but I preferred not to put it to the test.

Yeong Yeong explained why she'd asked.

"In that case, Big Brother, let's start by subduing Bokmyeong in front of the believers and pressing him for answers. If Bokmyeong killed him, we drag that into the open and expose the Demonic Cult remnant for what it really is. If he truly doesn't know where the Leader's gone — well, then we can start searching."

Huh. That was actually a solid plan.

So why was "he killed him" the very first scenario she reached for?

At that chilling hypothesis I narrowed my eyes and stared at her — and she gazed back with perfect composure, wearing an expression that said, Is there a problem?

...Um. Your eyes are supposed to be closed, right?

"Fine — we'll do it your way. Subduing that man comes first."

"Yes, Big Brother!"

And yet, somehow, the surroundings had gone terribly quiet. Quiet enough that our little whispered conference would have carried, word for word.

So thinking, I stole a glance toward Bokmyeong — and found him staring at us. No. At me, boring holes straight through me.

Li Bai, the Poet Immortal, once composed his Song of the Liang Garden here in Luoyang, and in it appears this line:

It was the same late-spring Luoyang, yet the scene before my eyes and the one Li Bai had beheld were surely two different things — and still, somehow, I suspected what we had each felt was remarkably alike.

Bokmyeong opened his mouth.

"You... you were the one with the Leader back the—"

"...O-Gong, believer of the White Lotus, paying his respects."

But Bokmyeong did not appear remotely glad of my greeting. The air stayed as chill as ever.

A moment later, he snarled down at me, his voice so drenched in fury that even I — and not just Yeong Yeong — could feel it.

A voice truly worthy of a Wisdom King's face.

"You... ever since he spoke with you, A-yi-sha's behavior turned strange."

"Ah... what?"

A-yi-sha. I remembered it as the name of a Hui woman of the northwest — "Hui" being what the Uyghurs were called in these Ming days — written out the way we Han transcribe such foreign sounds. Spoken in their own tongue, it would have been...

"Aisha," I believed — "a life of abundance."

Hearing a Hui-style name made me think the story the Baek Seogeumwang had told me was more or less true... probably? Though, of course, even that might have been a tale he'd spun out of whole cloth.

But let's not think that far. As ever — the things of back then could be mulled over back then.

"After he spoke with you, A-yi-sha kept wanting to go outside! I even went out of my way to arrange a house for her on the outskirts of the village so she could live alone!"

Oh ho... so that was why she'd been living by herself.

"And all I did was tell her a story."

"Silence."

It was an honest accounting, but Bokmyeong plainly didn't believe a word of it.

...Neither, it seemed, did Eun Ae-hyang and Yeong Yeong.

Yeong Yeong, right beside me, had opened her eyes at some point and was staring straight through me.

"A story, you say? Big Brother... what story did you hear from that woman? And why is it you never told me?"

"Look... I meant to tell you this morning, but you used up the whole time grilling me about a donkey smell."

‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

And despite my fine sophistry, Yeong Yeong began jabbing me in the ribs with her fists — while Eun Ae-hyang, too, had drifted to my side at some point and started kicking my shin, over and over. I curled myself into a ball to weather the two-pronged assault and said,

"Ow! Ow! Um... those attacks of yours actually hurt, you know?"

"That's rather the point."

"Exactly!"

The two of them wore identical expressions as they said it, as if cast from the same mold. Somehow, ever since their sparring match, the pair seemed to be in perfect sync. What on earth had they talked about?

Just then, the fury etched ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠on Bokmyeong's face as he watched us seemed to sharpen another degree. He muttered,

"For the crime of throwing my cash cow's heart into disarray... you deserve death."

"'Cash cow'? What a vulgar turn of phrase. The Lord on High would be wrathful to hear it."

Ah. There I went, saying "the Lord on High." Surely I wouldn't be unmasked over just that much?

But life is always like that.

At those words, Bokmyeong flinched. He closed the distance, bent to examine my face — and his eyes flew wide open.

"You are..."

"Whatever it is you think — I'm not it."

"Yes — I remember now! You're from Cheongun Dojang—!"

...Now this is unfair.

Bokmyeong had begun to mutter.

"Yes — no wonder your way of speaking felt familiar. It's you. How did I fail to recognize you? Aah."

That "aah" was a sigh I would have liked to let out myself.

The man had picked me out after seeing my face all of twice — once in that room, and once just now. Two looks, total. Meanwhile, I could stare at him for days on end and still have no idea who he was.

"...From where I stand, you clearly know who I am. But no matter how hard I look at you, I haven't the faintest idea who you are."

At that, Bokmyeong clamped his mouth shut — then, without warning, seized hold of the skin of his own face. With a skin-crawling sound, the flesh sheathing his features tore away.

The believers ringing him recoiled in open horror, stumbling backward or fleeing the building outright, just as the others had before them.

Ah — a human-skin mask, then. Well, the Cloth-Bag Monk's countenance was never an easy face to conjure.

Sure enough, with the skin peeled away, there was — as advertised — a face underneath.

But...

"Sorry, but I still haven't a clue who you are."

At my words, Bokmyeong flashed a wide grin.

"You've only ever stood before the Leader and the Bishops — naturally you wouldn't know me. I am Yeolgong Dutap."

Dutap. As it happened, that was a word that ordinarily meant a man who did the kitchen work.

...Which would make him the Demonic Cult's head cook, then? No wonder I'd drawn a complete blank. My own face, after all, had been spread far and wide among the Demonic Cult lot — which was how he'd known mine. And the reason his whole air had felt so familiar was probably that the Cult's stronghold had simply been full of men cut from exactly that cloth.

While I was busy arriving at my own private conclusions, Yeolgong Dutap leveled his ringing staff at me and declared,

"Enemy of our church! With this chance, I shall see fulfilled the Leader's wish — his, who would have brought all the world to heel!"

"...Weren't you, by any chance, not even there at the time?"

But Yeolgong Dutap, having apparently said everything he wished to say and declared questions beneath him, vented his power from every inch of his body and came hurtling straight at me.