One Step Back
Generational strife. When a sage ruler brings prosperity to the realm, his son squanders the wealth. When a brilliant chancellor reforms the bureaucracy, his successors find ways to exploit the new system. When a wandering hero slays a villain and is acclaimed by the people, fifty years later his descendants have become the very villains he once fought. Such is the way of the world.
When describing history's footsteps, people often borrow Sun Tzu's words and say one retreats a step to advance two. But has it ever truly advanced two steps? At least not in all the time Gi Ya-rin had lived—and she considered herself to have lived quite long enough. Looking back over the past fifty years, some things had improved and others worsened, making it hard to judge. Yet when she searched the histories a hundred or two hundred years prior, she saw that paper and lamp oil had grown cheaper, and roads had become more convenient. There were clear signs of progress. They say ten years can change a landscape, but to truly know whether the world has improved, one must wait a hundred. After retreating one step, one might advance roughly one step and half a chi. Some accept this as history's natural course. Others praise the beautiful will of those who refuse to give up and keep pushing history forward despite every hardship and absurdity.
But how could any human being say such things? Human life is short, and progress is far too slow. While history inches forward naturally and beautifully over centuries, countless tears and corpses pile up until they could fill an ocean. Only some half-immortal who has escaped the mortal coil could speak so lightly. Watching ants laboriously build their nests in dry earth, one might find it endearing and murmur, "How natural. How beautiful." But a person must not think that way. To turn one's eyes from the screams of parents, friends, children, and one's own self being crushed beneath the weight of time—that, no matter how one dresses it up, is nothing but cowardice.
She would not allow history to retreat naturally. She would not grant it the chance to become beautiful. True crises and true heroes would remain only in stories. In a manner so artificial, grotesque, and unremarkable that it was almost terrifying, she would force the world forward and save even one more person. Gi Ya-rin opened her eyes.
An old man, gracefully aged, was walking toward her from afar with the moon at his back.
"You're early. Sorry to have kept you waiting."
"How did it go?"
"How do you think it went? Nothing could possibly go wrong. Everything went smoothly. Of course..." The old man smiled warmly. "Provided we deal with that Ghost Immortal exactly as planned."
Gi Ya-rin gazed steadily at the old man's face. She had long since abandoned any concern for methods. Any power that could be used, regardless of its original owner, had to be used. Even so, she found it difficult to hide her expression whenever she met him. It was because her resolve was still insufficient.
The old man spoke, his smile unchanged. "It's nothing new, but I rather like your plan. I have no intention of interfering, of course. In fact, I'm helping you like this right now, aren't I?"
"Then why not do it yourself? Why keep troubling me after all this time?"
Gi Ya-rin could not know exactly how long the old man had lived, but from various clues she could guess he had lived at least six or seven gapja—well over three hundred years. Had he ever tried to reshape the world himself, either he or the world would have come to ruin three centuries ago. The fact that both he and the world still existed could only be due to his obsession with self-preservation. Gi Ya-rin despised that more than anything.
"What can I do if I lack confidence? Instead, I'm giving you this opportunity. Make good use of it."
"How considerate of you."
The old man took from his robes a single book whose cover was adorned with fine silk and held it out. Gi Ya-rin extended a hand and received it. Gilded, elegant characters gleamed.
Relying on Death to Ascend to Immortality Qigong.
"Practice it a few times and it will settle naturally. After that, simply cut open his chest and take the heart. You understand?"
"Are you certain? What if he tampered with it?"
"Of course he did. But was his goodwill ever truly goodwill? I don't know for certain, but this version is likely more complete than whatever original he hid away."
"...Understood."
"Good. Ah, what a relief."
"What is?" Gi Ya-rin asked without thinking.
The old man answered, "If it weren't you, all those lives lost creating the Relying on Death to Ascend to Immortality Qigong, and all those the Ghost Immortal drained of blood, would have died for nothing. But now that someone as capable and principled as you has appeared to inherit it, depending on how you use it, their deaths might actually be worth something."
"..."
It was true. Or rather, it had to be true. The lives the Ghost Immortal had taken were already dead, and he was an irredeemable villain. Killing him and using his immortality to improve the world—what could possibly be wrong with that? Even so, the realization that the immortality she now reached for had been built upon thousands of innocent lives was not a pleasant one. Of course, she could not afford to discard such an opportunity over mere sentiment. If the wise never aged and died, the world's progress would accelerate twofold. She had already abandoned any concern for methods.
As if to reaffirm her resolve, she closed her eyes and gripped the book tightly. The old man's voice reached her.
"By the way, there's something I've been curious about."
"What is it?"
Gi Ya-rin lifted her head and met the old man's gaze.
"If, after stirring up such a grand affair, something were to go wrong, how do you intend to bear the guilt?"
The question was so absurd that Gi Ya-rin let out a short laugh before answering.
"People are creatures that live by committing sins. If something goes wrong while trying, then it simply goes wrong. What more is there to take responsibility for? And if one does nothing out of fear of future sins, then one would also be unable to bear the sin of failing to achieve what one could have achieved simply because of that fear. Either way, there is no path forward."
The old man was silent for a moment, then spoke.
"Do you know something?"
"What now?"
"You may dislike me, but I find you quite to my liking. I think I should remember those words and pass them on to someone."
"...Do as you please."
She gave a perfunctory reply, then tried circulating the qigong according to the manual. By the time she finished, the old man was already gone.
She rose, brushing off her clothes, and turned her head eastward. Hangu Pass spat out the sun between steep rocky mountains.
* * *
"So it's the Eight Immortals again?"
The white-robed youth asked. The old man, who had been humming a cheerful tune, replied,
"First, things must be wrapped up properly."
"About that part. Are you sure it's all right?"
The youth asked casually while stirring his tea with one hand.
"Even a rough estimate suggests that if he's consumed that many, he'd be roughly ten times stronger than an average Absolute Master. And he's not alone—he's raised plenty of subordinates too."
"My dear boy, your fundamental attitude of trying to measure everything by quantity is mistaken. I'm no martial artist myself, but I once heard from Master Yu that a martial artist's fight isn't about comparing strength—it's about finding the right method. Come to think of it, isn't that true of everything in this world? If one of your disciples suddenly grew twenty extra arms and eyes, would you personally perform the surgery in their place?"
"Well... no."
"Exactly. What could that fellow possibly do against Master Yu just because he's gotten a little stronger?"
"Ah, you should have led with that. If it's Master Yu, then I can believe it."
The youth nodded. The Ghost Immortal—Gu-rap-ga-jon, if one insisted on adding the honorific "Master"—might have become several times stronger, but the idea that he could defeat Master Yu was unthinkable. The word "strong" did not suit Master Yu. Of course he possessed more power than the white-robed youth, a mere scholar, but "well-tempered" was the more fitting description. "Strong" felt awkward. The crushing sense of pressure and ferocity was closer to the Ghost Immortal. In this matter as well, if one spoke purely of strength, the Ghost Immortal was stronger, and his so-called army even more so. Yet even so, when it came to Master Yu, the youth somehow could not imagine him losing. But since that was ultimately just an indescribable feeling, the youth asked,
"So this time, we're relying solely on Master Yu?"
"Of course not. If things go wrong, I've already arranged matters with the imperial palace so we can clean up afterward. Even if something goes awry, the Northwest Marshal's Office will bury the entire city. Of course, that would mean our friend's ascension and everything else goes up in smoke, so we'd best hope it succeeds."
"Arranged matters" likely meant reporting treason. The youth sipped his coffee and thought. The youth himself had no particular talents beyond his heavenly vocation, but the old man was truly erudite and versatile, with connections everywhere. He had even gone so far as to raise subordinates himself, so obtaining evidence would not have been difficult. Indeed, if the Northwest Marshal's Office moved, no matter how many tricks the Ghost Immortal employed, he would be fortunate merely to escape with his own life. Even if he had devoured several thousand people, that was still only several thousand. How many people lived in this country? The Northwest Marshal's Office was one of only four marshal armies in the entire realm.
"Well, it's Master Yu we're talking about. It'll work out. But the way you're speaking, it seems you rather like that fellow?"
"I do. What do you think?"
The old man asked with a faint smile. The youth scratched his head.
"Honestly, I find him a bit much. He seems far too radical. Overturning the entire world isn't exactly easy, is it? His intentions are good, but a lot of people will die along the way. I can't help worrying about that. Though I suppose I don't know enough to say."
"You really are too cold-hearted. Not that it's necessarily a bad thing, but when you're young, you ought to run wild with that kind of passion at least once. Especially when you're not even two hundred yet."
The old man said this while lightly patting the youth's shoulder. The youth frowned slightly as he looked at the old man.
"So... you're saying it's just youthful vigor?"
"I wouldn't go that far. I simply mean that after running into reality a few times, he'll become a little more moderate and gain some experience. That's all. When I was just over a hundred, I was much the same. Watching him brings back memories."
The old man gazed at the ceiling with a wistful look. The youth rolled his eyes and muttered,
"Ah, I see..."