The Meaning of Existence
In a shabby detached palace where the darkness hung thick and heavy, figures wrapped entirely in black gathered without a sound. Even the palace servants knew nothing of this place; no one ever came looking for it.
A suffocating weight pressed down on the air inside the room. The stench of bitter medicinal herbs mingled with the coppery reek of blood, sharp enough to sting the nose.
Empress Ga Hwiryung, draped in golden silk robes, looked down with pitying eyes at her firstborn son, who lay upon the bed in the center of the chamber.
"To summon us—whom the entire realm has branded public enemies—all the way into the Imperial Palace… I can feel the depth of Her Majesty’s maternal love for the Crown Prince. It moves me deeply."
The voice was oily and sinister, like a snake slithering across stone. A black-clad figure, hood pulled low, bared pale teeth in a thin smile.
Though face and body were swathed in pitch-black cloth, a pair of eyes that flickered red still glowed vividly even within the shadows.
"…Hmph."
The Empress furrowed her brow but did not show her displeasure too plainly.
From the moment she had called upon the Blood Sect, she and her entire house had been walking a razor’s edge—just as the greasy man had said.
"Perform that blood art you boasted of so proudly, Right Dharma Protector Nachal-gang."
If the results fell short of what he had promised, she would not let the matter rest. Those unspoken words remained locked behind her teeth as she gave the command.
"Having made so difficult a decision, I shall devote my utmost effort to restoring the Crown Prince."
The black-clad man bowed his head, urging her to place her trust in them alone. At his signal the Blood Sect disciples he had brought began to move with practiced speed, surrounding the Crown Prince.
Just as the imperial physicians’ abandoned treatment was about to give way to this new method—
"M-Mother… no matter how I think on it, trusting the Blood Sect cannot be right. Even now, if we reconsider…"
The Second Prince, who had been watching in silence, could bear it no longer. He caught at his mother’s sleeve and spoke.
She shook him off coldly and answered with a face utterly devoid of feeling.
"Be silent, Ju Gachi. Would you have me stand by and watch the son and daughter of that harlot the Noble Consort ascend the throne?"
"…"
It was the same icy, merciless gaze he had seen so often while the Crown Prince still lived in health. The Second Prince’s confidence crumbled at once; his head drooped.
"Tsk, tsk."
Even that dejected posture earned a short click of the Empress’s tongue, as if she found it pathetic.
Meanwhile the Blood Sect disciples began to draw aside the veil of a forbidden art.
"Blood Star Guiding… blood is the bridge of the soul… Asura Blood Offering… may the boundary of life and death blur…"
Thud! Thud!
They drove knives into the chests of innocent commoners they had seized outside the palace. When fresh blood had soaked the floor thoroughly enough, they employed their blood art and began gathering the crimson pools together—directing them into the body of the Crown Prince, who stood upon the threshold between life and death.
"Ah… ah…"
A forbidden rite, unfolding in the very heart of the Imperial Palace. Had they finally crossed the last line? Second Prince Ju Gachi squeezed his eyes shut, then forced them open again.
His elder brother, rising again by drinking the blood of the people they had murdered… What future, what fate, awaited the Central Plains after this?
Sssss—
As the vivid scarlet seeped into every pore, the Crown Prince’s peeling skin began to regenerate and color returned to his deathly pale face.
"Ah… my son…"
The Empress’s voice trembled on a quiet breath. She approached the bed still slick with fresh blood and tightly clasped the hand of her firstborn as new flesh continued to form.
Fierce relief and joy shone together upon her features.
"My son, Ju U-gi. You cannot know how long this mother has waited for this very moment."
Empress Ga Hwiryung laid a gentle hand upon the Crown Prince’s brow. Warmth and affection filled her voice—tones the Second Prince had never once heard directed at himself.
Watching his brother slowly recover and his mother rejoice, Ju Gachi felt an inexplicable tightness seize his chest.
He had always believed his mother’s love and attention were cold and calculating… yet for his elder brother alone she made an exception.
Realizing it anew after years, he bit his lip until he tasted blood.
"Mother, there is something I wish to say…"
He forced the words out past his timidity, but the Empress—whose attention remained fixed on the Crown Prince—merely glanced at him with indifferent eyes and issued a command.
"Why are you still here? Go out at once and keep watch on the Noble Consort’s movements."
The message was clear: matters here were progressing well, so he should leave and do his own work. To Ju Gachi it sounded far more like, Your brother is recovering, so make yourself useful like a tool, you worthless thing.
"…Yes. I understand."
He bowed and walked out of the chamber where the twisted, heaven-defying art was being performed. And in the moment he turned to close the door, the Empress failed to notice the Crown Prince’s eyes flash crimson within the blood-mist.
Hwang Geolgae—the old man who styled himself Divine Wind Daoist—behaved exactly like a stray cat in the streets.
Whenever the Beggar Sect disciples drew too near, my master vanished in an instant with footwork that would make even a ghost weep. No matter how they tried to catch him, no matter how carefully they laid a cordon, none of them could withstand that mystical Whirlwind Steps. The beggars were driven half out of their minds with frustration.
Only a select few were permitted to approach him. One of those few was me—his principal object of interest (or surveillance) and the disciple he had acknowledged.
"Hss… You little brat. Why must you drag a Beggar Sect disciple in front of this old man and make a nuisance of yourself?"
He stroked the half-grown beard he kept in a half-hearted imitation of the sun-and-moon style and grumbled. Sleeping on stone floors again had left a clear imprint on his cheek, and empty wine bottles and scraps of side dishes lay scattered around him.
To think the man who still bore the title Dragon Head Sect Leader looked like this—no wonder the beggars sighed.
"Well… because you’re the Dragon Head Sect Leader, Master."
I shot him a sideways look of pure incredulity. Hearing my answer, Hwang Geolgae glanced back and forth between me and Pak Chil with a sour face that clearly asked, What are you plotting now?
"Master, please—just listen to Uncle Pak Chil for a moment."
I let out a long sigh and pressed on.
"As you know, it looks like the Blood Sect has already infiltrated the capital, and over in Sipmandaesan the Demonic Cult bastards are sharpening their blades for revenge."
The news I had heard from Pak Chil on the way was worse than I had expected. Leave things as they were and another blood calamity might sweep the entire Central Plains—just as a great upheaval had already struck the Murim Alliance Headquarters in Shaanxi. It was a grave warning that the old Orthodox–Demonic Great War might erupt all over again.
"Tsk, tsk. You ought to take that to the head of the Beggar Sect. What good does it do to tell this Divine Wind Daoist who wanders the whole Central Plains?"
I stared flatly at the actual head of the Beggar Sect while he spouted nonsense that failed to impress even a child. Pak Chil made a troubled "Ugh" and shot me a look that begged me to do something.
"Elder Ilhogae asks for your help. The world is in chaos, he says—please point the Beggar Sect toward the path it should take."
They were not even asking him to return. They only wanted the insight of the Dragon Head Sect Leader.
Hwang Geolgae raised an eyebrow and let out a hollow laugh.
"Ilhogae? Hah. You lot still haven’t chosen a new Dragon Head?"
At the news that an elder was merely filling in as temporary leader, he shook his head in disbelief and kicked an empty bottle aside. Pak Chil and I exchanged speechless glances. Why would the Beggar Sect elders not elevate a new Dragon Head?
Because the genuine article—possessed of peerless martial arts and the absolute respect of every beggar—was still very much alive and walking about. His whereabouts were known, he strolled around without the slightest trouble… who would dare elect a successor right under his nose?
I sent Hwang Geolgae a meaningful look loaded with just a tiny bit of silent cursing.
"Don’t curse me with your eyes, you unfilial disciple."
"…That’s a misunderstanding."
At times like this I almost believed he really did possess some sort of divine sense.
"Hmm. The Blood Sect and the Demonic Cult, is it…"
Hwang Geolgae scratched his chin where a scrap of jerky still clung. His eyes deepened for a moment, then he shook his head.
"In this old man’s eyes right now, only the scenery beyond the wall is visible. If I set foot in worldly affairs in this state, I might lose this slender thread forever."
The usual lightness had vanished from his troubled voice; deep anguish had taken its place.
He had always said that in the moment of heart-demon when he nearly lost everything, only by abandoning everything had he survived. Only after practicing non-possession had the scenery beyond the wall begun to appear—and he would not let go of that thread.
"Dragon Head Sect Leader, we are not asking you to return to the Beggar Sect."
Pak Chil carefully took a step closer. Earnestness filled his voice as well.
"We only ask you to show us the direction the Beggar Sect should take."
A dark cloud called the Demonic Cult seemed to be gathering. Should they stake the Beggar Sect’s fate and march out to meet it? That was the insight they sought.
"Exactly. They call it the wisdom of the old horse. Whether to avoid the Orthodox–Demonic Great War or to face it—let’s borrow the wisdom of an experienced old man."
I added my support from the side, affirming Pak Chil’s point.
"Please, at least listen to the information on the Central Plains Murim that we have gathered and organized, Dragon Head Sect Leader."
"That’s right, that’s right. Is even listening too much trouble? I never took you for such a hard-hearted man."
As I kept needling him with deliberately annoying remarks, a thick vein bulged on Hwang Geolgae’s forehead. The sharp glint in his eyes seemed ready to pierce straight through me.
"Enough. This is none of your business—you who haven’t even become a proper successor yet."
And whose fault was that? Only because he refused to return formally and announce himself. The more I thought about it, the clearer it became that this old man belonged back in the bosom of the Beggar Sect.
If that happened I could work in Beijing without constant interference, get hit less often—everyone would win. Well, my sworn sister might feel a little sad when reliable house-guest Old Man Hwang disappeared…
"A disciple who spends every waking hour scraping his master’s nerves—how am I supposed to cast off the shell of a human being with any peace of mind?"
Don’t raise ripples on the mirror-still surface of his heart, he meant. These days the mere sight of my face was enough to throw him into turmoil.
"The mere sight of my face throws you into turmoil?"
I narrowed my eyes and asked again.
"Yes. Complete turmoil. The face that causes nothing but accidents the moment I look away."
Look at this—bringing Pak Chil again, he said. It interfered with his training toward the Profound Realm.
"Uncle Pak Chil says he feels reassured every time he sees my face."
"But this old man feels turmoil, so stop interfering with my training and get lost."
Hwang Geolgae pulled another wine bottle from his waist and waved me away with both hands. It was the stubborn insistence of a man who believed that only by cutting every worldly bond that bound him, achieving true non-possession and true freedom, could he reach the next realm.
In a certain sense it looked like a thoroughly beggar-like way of life… and in another sense it looked exactly like a man running from responsibility.
"We look at the same face of mine. One person finds calm, yet Master finds turmoil… so isn’t the problem not my face, but Master’s own heart?"
"…"
At my words Hwang Geolgae’s hand froze halfway to lifting the gourd. A strange light flickered in his eyes for an instant.
"As I see it, a person who is going to awaken to a higher realm will awaken anywhere. What matters when realizing something is not the environment—it’s the state of mind."
Shunning the secular world while ignoring the guilt that rose in the process was itself a way of scattering the heart, was it not?
When I pointed it out, his eyes narrowed to needle-points.
"You little… you’ve learned to spout fairly plausible nonsense."
"Whose disciple do you think I am? Of course I have."
They say even a village school dog can recite poetry after three years. After being rolled around this long under a madman who called himself a Daoist, I could manage similar talk myself.
"So at least listen to what they have to say. Then the turmoil in your heart that you’ve been forcing yourself to ignore might settle a little, don’t you think?"
I asked him only to listen. After a moment’s hesitation he tucked the bottle away and nodded.
"Fine. I can listen to a story."
"I’m glad you understand, Master."
I grinned as I answered—and he abruptly smacked the back of my head.
"Ow! Damn it—why’d you hit me all of a sudden?"
I clutched my head and protested.
"Hmph. Even when you say something right it somehow still gets under my skin. That’s exactly what you are."
This damned old man, honestly.
"Ah! Dragon Head Sect Leader! There are so many stories that have piled up while you were gone!"
The moment I somehow wrung permission out of him, Pak Chil sprang to his feet, beaming with delight.
"Hss. Keep it short and stick to the point. My ears already hurt."
Hwang Geolgae dug at his ear with an expression of pure annoyance, yet his face was already turning serious.
In any case, it seemed I had successfully completed this mediation request as well. I decided to watch the conversation between Hwang Geolgae and the Beggar Sect disciple in silence.
I had listened from the side to the conversation between Hwang Geolgae and Pak Chil.
Hearing it all, it was clear the Central Plains was entering an unusually turbulent age. An era in which the Blood Sect and the Demonic Cult stirred at the same time—such a thing was rare indeed, from what I had been told.
"Why has the world grown so chaotic these days?"
It felt as though evil itself were strutting freely across the land.
Jo Harang, who had been listening quietly, tossed out a single remark as if she knew exactly why.
"It’s all because the Heavenly Killing Star hasn’t appeared yet."
The agent of divine punishment said to descend in Heaven’s stead when the earth is steeped in evil—the Purple Micro Star was speaking of the Heavenly Killing Star.