The Ice-Cold Cavern and the Hotpot of Life
Shenryu Gate.
If the place the Crimson Name Society had gone in western Shaanxi and Hanzhong was Manhon Yeon-ok, a recurring dungeon of the Purgatory type, then this time, beneath the northern snow mountains, an ordinary one-time dungeon had opened: Gupcheon Binghyeol, one of the Hyeol-mun.
Hyeol-mun were cleaner than Yeon-ok. Once the core at the center was broken, the dungeon itself vanished.
But that didn’t make them easy. This place called Binghyeol was said to freeze the breath of anyone who entered, to crust even the heart over with frost.
According to the notice posted by the Justice and Defense Headquarters, the cold there had frozen crops to death for dozens of li around, and rotted the hooves of livestock.
In other words, an ice age packed with a brutal cold snap had been unleashed right in the middle of a farming village in the north.
And into that absolute-zero ice cave had plunged three swordsmen of Cheongryumun. Tonight, they had returned.
“Damn it, why won’t this fire catch? What, did all the firewood freeze solid because of that Binghyeol thing?”
Yeonhwa grumbled as she shoved another log deeper into the stove.
The flame in the firebox twitched feebly, trembling as if it had no will left to live, and then, just as patience was about to run out, it finally came alive.
Outside, it was barely the beginning of early summer, but the qi descending from the northern snow mountains had seeped into Xining and left it shivering. That was the curse unleashed by a Hyeol-mun upon the surrounding land—the tainted cold of Binghyeol’s core.
Clack.
The door opened, and a blade-like gust of frost swept in with the three who entered.
They were disciples of Cheongryumun. If sects were the Murim equivalent of guilds, then Cheongryumun was a small one, with only three members. From what she’d heard, they were close enough to look after one another without complaint.
Clinging to one another as they came in, all three were shuddering; the hems of their robes were stiff with white ice, and every step they took sent little chips of frost clattering to the floor and breaking apart.
Their chilled breath bloomed pale even inside the tavern, as if the cold had worked its way all the way to their bones.
It was a cold so biting it made her skin tingle.
“Welcome,” said Jangro Suksu, setting down a cup of warm tea to greet them.
The tall woman—presumably Yu Cheong-ran, the sect leader of Cheongryumun and the Cheongwol Sword Queen—lifted her head.
Fine grains of ice glittered in her brows, and her eyes had gone hazy, as if they could no longer focus.
“Something warm...”
Her voice cracked from the cold.
“Please, something very, very hot.”
Jangro Suksu gave a silent nod.
Rather than making something merely delicious, he set out to restore their body heat and melt the freeze from their blood and qi—he would make a proper remedy, a venerable French Onion Soup.
He immediately set a pot over the flame and laid in a generous amount of butter. Yeonhwa and the other sous-chefs added a mountain of thinly sliced onions.
At first the onions were white and stiff, but once they met the heat, they turned translucent, then slowly surrendered their sweetness, leaving behind a deep brown fond.
Stirring onions was an exercise in patience. Push the heat too hard in haste and they burned; keep it too low and they never gave up their sweetness. It was like cultivating inner energy in the Murim—
The three from Cheongryumun took their seats, but still couldn’t take off their gloves. Their fingers had gone numb, as though frozen through.
“How was Binghyeol?”
Yeonhwa had meant not to ask, but the words came out first. Every time the cold wind outside rushed in, it made her whole body shiver, so it was easy enough to imagine how grueling the mission had been.
The broad-shouldered man—probably Lee Do-cheong, the Cheongdo Great Hero—forced a weary smile.
“It was quiet. So quiet that... I could hear my own heartbeat strike the ice wall and bounce back.”
“If you breathed, your lungs hurt. It felt like inhaling blades instead of air.”
The smaller man added as he worked his cracked lips.
That one was Han Cheong-hyeok, the Cheongpung Swordman, wasn’t he? Probably.
Once the onions had caramelized into a rich dark brown, Sous-Chef Baek poured in stock and added bay leaves to begin the simmer.
As the sweet, deep, hot aroma spread from the kitchen into the tavern, the dead-eyed gazes of the three people slowly drifted toward the pot.
Lee Do-cheong spoke again.
“It was like a place where the fire had gone out. There were signs someone had once lit one there, but even that flame had been frozen inside the ice, alive yet sealed in frost.”
Jangro Suksu ladled the soup into bowls. On top he laid crisp toasted baguette slices and piled on a thick blanket of geon-rak like a waterfall. Then he slid it into the oven.
By the time the cheese was bubbling and beautifully browned, Yeonhwa had carried the dishes over and set them down in front of the three.
“Be careful. It’s very hot.”
Yu Cheong-ran removed her gloves with trembling hands.
The fingertips she revealed were blue and dead with cold.
Carefully, she lifted the spoon and took a bite. The stringy geon-rak and the onion’s deep sweetness filled her mouth at once.
Her eyes slowly closed. The breath she exhaled this time was no longer white.
“We’re out of Binghyeol,” she murmured.
Han Cheong-hyeok took a spoonful too, then gave a short, hoarse laugh.
“It’s hot... really hot.”
Jangro Suksu prepared a more substantial main dish for them: Beef Bourguignon.
With the same broad hands he used to wield his cleaver, he cut the beef into hefty chunks, seasoned it with salt and pepper, and seared it roughly in the pan.
Once the surface had been sealed to trap in the juices, he poured in a generous amount of rich red wine. The crimson liquid wrapped around the meat as carrots, mushrooms, and onions mingled together and melted into one another inside the pot.
“Yeonhwa. Prepare the gratin too. The path of Cheongryumun is one of flow, after all. We’ll need something lighter alongside it.”
“Yes, sir!”
Meanwhile, Yeonhwa sliced potatoes thin and tucked them into the oven with cream and cheese to make a gratin.
By the time the surface of the gratin had turned golden, color had returned to the three faces in earnest.
“Inside Binghyeol, I kept wanting to sleep. Even though I knew closing my eyes meant the end.”
“So we cut at each other to keep one another awake.”
There were tiny wounds on the backs of their hands—cuts they had made themselves, not from an enemy’s blade, but to keep their companions alive.
Yeonhwa walked to their table and set down the Beef Bourguignon and gratin. The meat was tender, and the thick wine sauce woke the frozen qi in their bodies.
They ate. Not hurriedly, not shoveling it down, but slowly, for a long time, as if each bite were melting away a piece of cold memory.
Just as the Cheongryumun meal neared its end, the spirit stone in the kitchen flashed with light.
Order received: Snow Mountain Outpost Blockade Force — Hot Chocolate 10 cups, large order of butter cookies. Note: payment covered by the Justice and Defense Headquarters. Make it as hot as possible!
“Yeonhwa! Delivery! Looks like the next team heading to clear Binghyeol is waiting!”
At Jangro Suksu’s shout, Yeonhwa thought to herself.
Even while someone is freezing over and thawing again, someone else has to go smash the ice—or melt it. Because they need our food to keep from freezing solid.
She hurriedly filled the insulated delivery containers with hot chocolate, while Jangro Suksu prepared dessert for the three of them at the very end.
Fondant au Chocolat, also called Fondant au Chocolat. It was a cake that looked firm on the outside, but inside, hot chocolate flowed like lava.
“What... is this?”
“Something sweet. Be careful—the inside is very hot.”
When Han Cheong-hyeok pushed in his fork, the shell cracked open and thick chocolate spilled out. His eyes widened after the first bite.
“Warm....”
Yu Cheong-ran and Lee Do-cheong nodded as they savored both the bitterness and sweetness of the chocolate.
“So this is what being alive tasted like...”
Her voice no longer cracked.
“If we come back next time... we’ll come here again.”
Yu Cheong-ran said as she set down payment in silver. Yeonhwa bowed her head in thanks.
“Then I’ll have something ready for you to enjoy even more.”
The door closed, and the tavern fell quiet again.
Yeonhwa tasted a spoonful of the remaining sauce. Rich, deep, full-bodied.
Memories of modern life were growing more and more distant, and yet this world, by contrast, was becoming sharper by the day. It was a cruel place.
So was the Murim. So were disasters called dungeons. In a world like this, what was one supposed to live for?
Seeing Yeonhwa sample the food with a spoon, Jangro Suksu said, “Yeonhwa, hungry? Want me to make you a meal?”
“Jangro Suksu... is the Murim always this painful?”
Before she realized it, the question had slipped out.
“It isn’t painful. It’s simply living. For every place that freezes, for every cut that’s dealt, someone has to make a fire to care for it.”
Yeonhwa pushed another log into the stove.
Cooking... yes. She felt something in him that was different from a mere hobby, different from a job.
Living. Part of what she needed to do to keep going.
“...May I call you Master?” she asked hesitantly, politely, in a very small voice.
“Call me whatever you want. If you’re going to keep working properly.”
Jangro Suksu, or rather her master, had a faint flush on his face.
Yeonhwa thought.
In the Murim, swords flew through the air and the world was full of Yeon-ok and Hyeol-mun, but there were also people who simply lived.
As one of those people who lived, I guess I’m part of this world too.
And then, the next day, a miserable piece of news would arrive as well.
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