Why Was It Allowed Only to Him?
Yeo Hwi had posed that question to the light countless times. Finally, a faint inkling of the radiant glow's intent reached him.
'I still have unfinished business here.'
The will conveyed by the light brimming with auspicious energy finally calmed the storm raging in his chest. There was no way to save Mu Lun right now. This was the moment to bid farewell to a friend he might never see again.
The faint smile he'd forced onto his lips made Yeo Hwi's mouth tremble.
"For now... I'll stay here."
A serene smile also graced Mu Lun's lips as he was drawn into the light.
'Yes, that's where you belong.'
"But I'll come find you. Somehow!"
Mu Lun's eyebrows rose slightly. Though no voice reached him, he knew what Yeo Hwi's eyes were saying.
'You fool, I know you! How much longer are you going to live anyway...? You can watch from heaven. That's all it takes.'
As a wistful haze deepened in Yeo Hwi's eyes, Mu Lun's form, shrouded in light, grew even blurrier. Yeo Hwi's vision blurred in tandem, tears welling up.
There was only one thing he wished for now.
'Just a little...! Just a bit longer!'
To etch the image of his vanishing friend into his eyes for as long as possible—that was the best he could do.
Before long, Mu Lun had faded to the point where he seemed to merge with the distant mountain peak behind him. The very peak where they'd sent off their other friend, Yeo Dan.
In that instant, Yeo Hwi's eyes flew wide open. A sudden realization struck.
'That's it!'
He urgently channeled his inner energy, projecting a resonant voice beyond the light.
"Mang-san Cave! You know our hideout, right? Go there, no matter what. Don't forget. You must!"
No matter if it was a thousand years from now, if it was a place only they knew, he could leave something there for his abruptly departed friend.
But to Mu Lun, Yeo Hwi's frantic figure and voice were neither visible nor audible. He could only guess it was a plea to survive at all costs.
Yeo Hwi's world spun dizzily. Mu Lun's expression told him everything.
'I didn't hear.'
Mu Lun knew his time was nearly up. He could barely send a final glance through the hazy light. Now was the moment to convey the words he'd saved for his last breath—words he'd cherished deep in his heart through the flowing years.
'Thank you... for being my friend.'
How could Yeo Hwi not understand the meaning in Mu Lun's eyes? They shared emotions that needed no words.
But right now, Yeo Hwi had to voice it. As he watched Mu Lun's aged body crumble and his soul seek a new path, he had to.
He poured out the surging emotion choking him.
"You idiot! That's my line!"
In that instant, an immense radiance erupted, and the curtain of light vanished—like it had burned itself to the last speck, gone in a flash.
Shaaaa!
His friend was gone too.
One month later, at Dae Yu Hag-gwan in the Henan region of the Central Plains. A place established a few years prior by Jung Yu, hailed as the greatest sage of this era.
"How can words I leave behind endure for a thousand years?"
"...?"
The deep wrinkles etched into the sage Jung Yu's face deepened further. An uninvited guest had slipped soundlessly into his study, where every door was sealed shut. Yet the profound depth in his eyes and the aura permeating his body marked him as no ordinary man. This wasn't a jest flung with malicious intent.
'A thousand years!'
Yeo Hwi knew only that Mu Lun had found a new life; he had no clue who or where that person might be. But the light's will had surely preserved Mu Lun's memories. For such a friend, he needed a way to convey his words, no matter what. Only then could he pass on what he had to leave behind.
That was the purpose of his visit.
Jung Yu's eyes grew profound. He, who had mastered all the Hundred Schools—from Confucius's teachings spread across the world two hundred years ago to Laozi's philosophy naming the universe's truth as the Dao—was called the sage of this age. Yet even he couldn't answer lightly.
'There must be a story behind this.'
Jung Yu decided to unravel it step by step.
"To whom do you wish to convey these words?"
"To someone everyone a thousand years from now must know."
Jung Yu let a faint smile bloom.
"If you've sought me out, I must be quite renowned in the Central Plains. Yet even my writings might not last a hundred years. A thousand? Without narrowing the audience, it's a hard question to answer."
No matter what life Mu Lun lived, there was a path he would surely tread.
"A murim man."
"You mean the martial world?"
"Yes."
After a brief silence, Jung Yu posed a koan.
He needed to know this to give an answer.
"What manner of man are you in the jianghu?"
"There is none above me. Not now, nor before."
Jung Yu's surprised eyes went momentarily blank. Even a mere scholar like him had heard of such a one.
'Heaven above and earth below, I alone am supreme!'
A spark of curiosity lit his eyes. This was a man from a world apart.
"And in the future?"
"For a while, yes."
An odd competitive spirit welled in Jung Yu. He'd said a hundred years earlier, but his own words could last three or four.
"How long?"
In that moment, a soft glow flickered faintly behind Yeo Hwi.
To prove his words, this much had to be revealed.
Shaaaa!
"About a thousand years."
"...!"
Though ignorant of the jianghu, Jung Yu nodded instinctively. The majestic radiance emanating toward him was enough to inspire such conviction.
Soon after, Jung Yu's grave expression softened into a gentle smile. For such a man, the answer was simple.
"Among Confucius's words, the four virtues of benevolence, righteousness, propriety, and wisdom—or the Buddha's true mantra from the west, 'Namah Amitabha'—even after a thousand years, most folk will know them. Does that suffice?"
[Namah Amitabha]—the Sanskrit for Namu Amitabul, in an era with scarce translated sutras.
The corner of Yeo Hwi's mouth curved upward naturally. He now had a sense of how to leave words that Mu Lun could hear a thousand years hence. Something every murim man dreamed of—that was the vessel. But the true meaning within must be grasped only by Mu Lun for it to reach him safely.
"Simple enough."
"For one like you!"
"Thanks."
The lifelong friend he'd sent away due to a momentary lapse. Grasping the light's intent dimly, Yeo Hwi pondered deeply what to do for Mu Lun. Martial arts were unnecessary first off. Even his Sin-gi Sim-ui Gong had been created alongside Mu Lun from the start. Mu Lun had laid the foundations after Yeo Hwi tested them. He'd reached the fourth stage too, held back only by his injuries. Besides, it was a personal path; once begun, one walked alone. No incantations or elixirs could aid further. And other arts? Mu Lun knew more than he did.
Surprisingly, the answer was straightforward. Give his friend what he desired most. Even across a millennium.
'Just be by his side. That's the greatest gift—and my duty.'
One thing sprang to mind immediately. Copy rare books Mu Lun cherished, and he'd recall Yeo Hwi each time he read them. That was the way to stay closest, longest.
He wanted to do everything possible, but he couldn't. The light's will wasn't for that, and Mu Lun preferred solving things himself anyway—no need to expect more. Cheer from the sidelines, without meddling. A life that was Mu Lun's, not his own. That would suffice.
One concern lingered, though.
'Money?'
There was someone who could provide that answer.
A few days later, in Qinghai bordering Sin-gang. The source of both the Yellow River and Yangtze.
"Money will still be needed a thousand years from now, right?"
The smile of Tap Sa-rok, former leader of the Jadal-mok merchant alliance, this region's top firm, deepened. A question from his old friend, lord of Sin-gang and Qinghai.
The aged merchant's keen insight gleamed.
"A world can't survive without money."
"Then merchants like you will be kings."
"Heh heh! Even emperors dance to our tune from the shadows. By then, all warriors will bow to merchants."
Yeo Hwi's eyes widened slightly.
"That much?"
"Power gathers money now. But soon, money will draw money. Even this harsh Qinghai—and the Central Plains all the more."
"A thousand years from now, even I'll be under your heel?"
"Ha ha! An absolute warrior's the exception. Money won't make or command one then either."
"Money more vital than ever... Not my taste."
"Not mine either. But that's the world's flow."
Yeo Hwi broached the burning question indirectly.
"Say, would Mu Lun like such a world?"
A wry smile crossed Tap Sa-rok's lips. The image was obvious, no thought needed.
"Ha ha! He'd rage. Detachment from possessions is his life's theme, with justice, pride, and equality as supreme values. Even now, and then, he'd strive to change the world."
Yeo Hwi's eyes deepened.
"That'd require heaps of money."
"If he sets his will, yes. But starting rich might change him. If you two had grown up wealthy, would you be as you are? I doubt it."
Enlightenment sparked in Yeo Hwi's eyes like flames.
"Money he can spend if he wants, but truly wouldn't want to—that's the key."
"...?"
Such a thing existed to convey it. Immense wealth, yet something Mu Lun wouldn't squander lightly: Cheon-seol Cheong-ok.
Now, just things to make Mu Lun reminisce joyfully sufficed. What he loved: sutras, Daoist classics, herbals. A few extras for amusement. Like absolute arts from elsewhere. He'd ignore them, having forged his own path, but good for passing time.
One month later, in Guangdong to the south of the Central Plains.
"What endures unchanged even after a thousand years?"
Ban Gak, former head of Yeongheung-sa—the Central Plains' greatest temple—and supreme monk of Buddhism, blinked in surprise. This sudden visitor posed a Zen question.
No high monk from another temple, famed scholar, or hidden eccentric. Yet he dared question the one called Heaven above and earth below, I alone am supreme. Absent from Cheon-san for over a decade, his abrupt query couldn't be a prank.
Though Ban Gak had reached the Hyeon-gyeong realm, he sensed no energy from the man. Yet an intangible pressure crushed resistance.
A deep sigh escaped involuntarily.
'Ha ha! Already reached there? The Saeng-sa-gyeong...'
His heart etched with the Buddha's words over long years, yet as a warrior, envy and awe were inevitable. He couldn't answer such a one's query lightly. A Zen exchange to grasp the intent unfolded.
First, motive.
"Seeking to obtain? Or to know?"
"Either. Something usable a thousand years hence."
After deep thought, Ban Gak spoke calmly.
"From this monk's view, the Buddha's words come first."
The answer Yeo Hwi had anticipated. From Cheon-san bordering the west, Mu Lun had devoured most Sanskrit sutras. But Guangdong, by sea, might have transmissions from afar.
"Anything come across the ocean? Show me."
The high monk's puzzled gaze turned to Yeo Hwi. Thirty years ago, this man had single-handedly crushed the temple's warrior-monks and nearly burned the sutras. Only desperate pleas had stopped him.
Impossible, yet he asked.
"For you to see? Or...?"
"Why would I touch that smelly stuff?"
"Then?"
"For my friend."
The one he called friend was singular in this world.
'Mu Lun!'
The sutras' survival then was thanks to Mu Lun reining him in. Yeo Hwi heeded no one else as fully.
Ban Gak knew well. Had Mu Lun's views differed, the Central Plains murim might have vanished. Indeed, it would have. Yeo Hwi reigned but never ruled; Mu Lun ensured the lineages endured, reviving prosperity. Not to mention decades without bloodshed in the jianghu—all Mu Lun's doing.
His recent absence had worried Ban Gak greatly.
'Alive—relief.'
For that reason, no sutra was too precious. Copies sufficed.
"The Strategist has seen most, so I'll select fitting ones."
"They must endure a thousand years undecayed. Possible?"
Ban Gak blinked.
"A thousand? Why?"
"He'll live long, I reckon."
"...?"
A meaningful smile played on Yeo Hwi's lips. The face of the man who'd roar with laughter at Yeo Hwi—the sutra-hater—stooping to this was vivid.
My Friend Called Cheonma