I Dug My Own Grave (2)
"You mean he still hasn't come out of his room today?"
"Yes. That's right, Guild Young Master."
Hwang Jong-ui's eyes narrowed.
"And how's he eating?"
"He tells us to leave the meal tray at the door. He brings the empty tray out himself, so…"
"Hmm."
He turned his head slightly and looked toward the room where Chung Myung had shut himself away.
"What on earth is he doing in there…?"
"We can't get inside, so we have no idea."
"Good grief."
The door remained tightly shut, showing no sign it would open anytime soon. And Chung Myung had not taken a single step outside for three days now.
Even if he's the kind of master the martial world recognizes, and I suppose bodily functions are easy enough to handle… still, he's a person, isn't he? Doesn't he feel even a little stifled?
It looked like he was doing something important, so it was awkward to just go peeking in.
"Then…"
Just as he was about to say something—
"Aaaaaaaaaaargh! This is driving me insane, damn it!"
"…."
Hwang Jong-ui quietly closed his mouth.
Even after the enormous shout burst out from inside the room, Hwang Jong-ui didn't flinch at all. The merchant standing before him, answering his questions, wore the same resigned expression.
And that was only natural…
"That's been going on for three days too."
"Yes, Guild Young Master. He's been like that for all three days."
"Goodness…"
In the end, Hwang Jong-ui shook his head.
Geniuses were said to be eccentric, so a man as gifted as Chung Myung being strange was something he could understand. But actually watching those bizarre antics up close made it hard to hide his bewilderment.
"Anyway, make sure he doesn't lack for food."
"Yes! Guild Young Master."
"And… make sure he gets plenty of alcohol too."
"Yes."
In the end, he turned away without learning a thing.
For ordinary people like me, he's simply not someone I can keep up with.
Still, one thing was certain.
Every time that Chung Myung moved, Mount Hua had reaped enormous benefits. Probably this time would be no different.
He brings wind and storm wherever he goes. He truly deserves to be called a dragon.
"Aaaaaaaaaaaagh! Why can't I remember this?!"
Chung Myung rolled around on the papers spread haphazardly across the floor and thumped himself on the head over and over.
If Hwang Jong-ui had seen that pathetic sight, he would have slapped himself for ever praising him as a dragon and then spat on the ground.
But Chung Myung, right now, had no leisure to think about how miserable he looked.
"Did I punch a hole in my brain or something?"
Why couldn't he remember the oral formula?
"Grrrgh. I should've listened when Sect Leader Senior Brother nagged me to study."
Chung Myung was reliving the regret that half the world had at some point in their lives—only after being reborn.
But this wasn't really Chung Myung's fault.
Memorizing the oral formulas of martial arts was never easy. Especially with high-level techniques, where the formulas alone could fill an entire thick volume. It was impossible to remember all of that perfectly.
If a human being could truly memorize a formula flawlessly by sheer ability, why would manuals even be necessary?
So this was maddening.
Normally, one supplemented an imperfect memory with a manual. Right now, though, he was trying to compensate for an incomplete manual with his memory, so everything was completely upside down.
"No, not like that! More like this—huh? Here, then like this!"
How bizarre.
He could execute the martial art, but he couldn't remember the oral formula.
It was like having built a perfect house but losing the blueprint. So now he had to take the house apart piece by piece to recreate the blueprint.
"Why can't I remember, damn it? Why is this idiot's head so bad? My past life self wasn't like this!"
Unable to contain his frustration, Chung Myung kept slapping himself on the head. Then, all of a sudden, he froze and his eyes lit up.
"Oh? I remember it!"
How strange indeed.
Shouldn't getting hit make your head worse? Why was it making him remember the formula instead?
At this rate, his skull would be cracked open before he even finished making the manuals.
"Argh!"
He hurried to the desk, grabbed brush, ink, and paper, and began scribbling down the formula he had just recalled like a madman.
"Yes! That's it!"
Once a blockage broke open, everything he'd been agonizing over came pouring out as if it had been a lie. Then when it clogged again, he would roll around, hit himself, and go into a frenzy.
He had been doing this for three days already.
Thanks to that, several dozen completed manuals were already piled up in one corner of the room.
Bamboo Leaf Hand.
Great Void Palm.
Plum Blossom Dispersing Hand.
Supreme One Finger.
Falling Blossom Steps.
And so on.
Since he was worried that if he only included techniques Mount Hua didn't already have, people might become suspicious, he had even rewritten the techniques that were currently in Mount Hua's possession.
"Done!"
Chung Myung lifted the completed manual high into the air.
Dark Fragrance Drift.
There were so many of them.
"Tsk."
He tossed the book in his hand onto the pile of manuals, then looked at the heap with fresh eyes.
Yes.
Mount Hua's martial arts were this varied and diverse.
Just thinking about it gives me chills.
The thought that all of this martial knowledge would have vanished into obscurity if he hadn't been reborn sent a shiver down his spine.
"Thinking about it makes me furious, you bastards."
He was angry at the Demonic Sect for invading, and angry at the members of the Nine Great Sects who had failed to help repel them.
"You think I'll forget this grudge?"
I'm Chung Myung, you bastards.
I've been too busy until now to bother with you, but don't think I've forgotten. I'll break every one of your damn heads, one by one.
Shivering with rage, Chung Myung let out a long sigh.
All right. Everything else is more or less done.
His eyes fell on the twenty-four neatly stacked booklets in front of him.
"Ha… this is the problem."
When he first came in here, he had intended to begin with the Twenty-Four Plum Blossom Sword Art. But for one reason or another, he had postponed it until the very end.
And now, even putting it off had reached its limit. There was nowhere left to run.
"What do I do?"
Chung Myung groaned and sat down with his arms folded.
Was he stuck?
Of course not.
He could forget all the other martial arts if he wanted, but not the Twenty-Four Plum Blossom Sword Art. This sword was the foundation of Mount Hua and the foundation of Chung Myung himself. Not only could he recite every line of the oral formula from memory where he sat, he could also draw all twenty-four illustrated volumes without missing a single stroke.
And yet there was only one reason he still couldn't begin.
"What am I supposed to give them?"
Of course, what needed to be given was the Twenty-Four Plum Blossom Sword Art.
The problem was that the Twenty-Four Plum Blossom Sword Art Chung Myung knew came in two forms.
One was the original version passed down through Mount Hua for generations.
And the other was the modified Twenty-Four Plum Blossom Sword Art Chung Myung himself had created.
This wasn't anything particularly unusual.
Once a swordsman reached the higher realms, they would reinterpret the existing sword form and discover the direction that suited them best. Chung Myung had already transformed the Twenty-Four Plum Blossom Sword Art before he had even reached middle age, and during the war with the Demonic Sect, he had nearly completed his own sword.
Something a little more practical, a little more brutal—better suited to the man known as the Plum Blossom Sword Saint, Chung Myung.
"Grrrgh."
Chung Myung scratched his head vigorously.
"No matter how I think about it, my version of the Twenty-Four Plum Blossom Sword Art fits Mount Hua better right now."
First of all, it would be easier for him to teach. And the disciples would learn it much faster than the original version.
More importantly, because it was more practical, it would be far more effective when going up against other sects.
Fast and efficient. Just like Chung Myung himself. If Mount Hua wanted results now, there was nothing better suited than that sword.
Even so, he couldn't help hesitating.
Because passing on the modified Twenty-Four Plum Blossom Sword Art would shake the very foundation of Mount Hua.
If it were any other sword art, he wouldn't even think about it. He would teach the one he believed was right without hesitation. But not the Twenty-Four Plum Blossom Sword Art.
It was almost as if, if he changed this, Mount Hua would no longer be Mount Hua.
In a sword sect, sword arts were not merely tools for killing enemies. Of course, he had no intention of spouting nonsense about how one cultivated the Dao through the sword and all that crap, but…
It does contain a spirit.
The blooming that Mount Hua's sword pursued. The Twenty-Four Plum Blossom Sword Art was the sword technique that most perfectly embodied that spirit.
If he carelessly altered it, he might even blur the very soul of Mount Hua's sword.
"Grrrrrgh."
Chung Myung scratched at his head so hard it was almost bleeding, then finally let his hand drop and exhaled heavily.
"What do I do?"
Should he follow the roots?
Or move forward anew?
After agonizing over it, he flopped flat onto the floor.
"Senior Brother. Sect Leader Senior Brother. What do you think I should do?"
He asked the empty air, and for a moment it felt as though Chung Mun's voice answered him from somewhere far away.
- Why are you worrying about something so useless? That isn't like you.
"If I had a senior brother, I wouldn't even be thinking about it. I'm worrying because I'm doing this alone, aren't I? I'm worried I'll get nagged about it later!"
Bastard of a man.
They should've come along and helped, if anything. They sent one person off to do everything alone. Hah.
- What exactly troubles you?
"I'm wondering whether it's right to alter the sword art our ancestors handed down."
- Then give them both.
"Don't play dumb when you know exactly what I mean. If I give them both, they'll just be caught between the two and bounce back and forth. In a hundred years, they'll split into factions over which one they should learn."
That's just how people were.
Of course Chung Myung trusted the disciples of Mount Hua now. But the disciples who would enter Mount Hua after his death were beyond his control.
To guide even them, splitting the sword into two versions was not a good choice.
- Then what is it that's troubling you?
"Ah, damn it! The ancestors…"
- Aren't you the ancestor?
"…Pardon?"
Chung Myung tilted his head.
What was that supposed to mean?
- Is there some other ancestor? Whoever entered first and learned first is the ancestor. To them, aren't you the ancestor?
"…."
Huh?
Wait. Was it really like that?
- There's nothing to worry about. Your will is the will of the ancestors, and your resolve is the resolve of the ancestors. No, your will is the will of Mount Hua, and your resolve is the resolve of Mount Hua. Do as you wish.
"No, but still…"
- Is that not the Dao?
Chung Myung frowned.
"You're saying it's really okay?"
- The world flows on and on. It changes, transforms, and continues to flow. That is the world. And…
It felt as if Chung Mun was smiling gently.
- In the Mount Hua of now, aren't you the one who is flowing through it? Just as Mount Hua flows within you, you flow within Mount Hua. Walk the path you desire. That is the most natural Mount Hua there is.
Then the voice faded farther and farther away.
"Tsk."
Chung Myung sprang to his feet and grabbed the brush.
He knew, of course, that the voice wasn't really Chung Mun's. It was his own heart speaking in Chung Mun's name.
"Yeah, that's right. I am the ancestor! What ancestor is there besides me?"
Of course, if he later climbed to the immortal realm, maybe the founder of the sect would drag him off by the ear and beat him with a switch…
"Then I'll just not go to the immortal realm!"
At last, Chung Myung's eyes flashed as he opened a blank book.
He would leave behind his insights here.
The sword of Mount Hua and the sword of Chung Myung.
At the same time, this would be another chance to reestablish his martial arts from the ground up.
His eyes sank deep and still.
"…."
Chung Myung quietly stared at the stack of booklets before him.
How much time has passed?
Well. He had no idea.
Ever since he started writing out the Twenty-Four Plum Blossom Sword Art, he had practically forgotten time altogether.
He clicked his tongue at the piled-up manuals.
It's not perfect, but…
This was enough. Whatever was lacking, future generations would complete.
Wasn't that what progress was—advancing a martial art one had once thought perfect, finding hidden flaws and filling them in, then improving it further?
Creating everything perfectly from the start was not necessarily a good thing.
So there was no need to cling to regret.
More importantly…
"How am I supposed to carry all this?"
If he hauled this much stuff out, he'd definitely look suspicious, wouldn't he?
"Hmm."
Was that the only way after all?
Chung Myung stood up.
* * *
"Hmm."
Hwang Jong-ui walked slowly.
The moon was a mere crescent, so the night was dark as pitch, but taking a slow lap around the Hwaeum branch before bed had long been one of his habits.
The Hwaeum branch really has grown a great deal.
At first he had thought it a somewhat reckless undertaking, but now he found himself admiring the foresight of the father who had established the branch.
Besides, if they could take part in the tea trade being conducted from Mount Hua this time, the Hwaeum branch might even grow larger than the main headquarters of the Eunha Merchant Guild.
So our relationship with Mount Hua… huh?
Lost in thought, Hwang Jong-ui's eyes suddenly widened.
He had just seen the door to Chung Myung's room, which had remained tightly shut for seven days and nights, slowly opening at last.
"At long las— huh?"
The smile that had just begun to form on his face stiffened horrifyingly.
Someone was shuffling out through the open door.
Black night clothing.
A black hood covering the face.
And a huge bundle strapped to his back…
A thief?
No, why was a thief coming out from there? Even if a thief's grandfather came, he wouldn't survive that place.
As Hwang Jong-ui stood there dumbfounded, wondering if he should shout, the thief who had spotted him waved a hand.
"Long time no see."
"W-wait… no way… C-Chung Myung, Daoist?"
"Yep."
"W-what are you wearing?"
"Huh?"
Chung Myung glanced down at his clothes, then waved a hand dismissively as if it were nothing.
"Don't worry about it. More importantly, I'm heading out for a bit."
Where?
Hey, you crazy bastard! Dressed like that, where in the world are you going?
"Wh-where are you going at this hour?"
"I'm just making a quick trip to Mount Hua, so don't worry about it. Ah—make sure to put out breakfast. I'll be back before then. See ya!"
Chung Myung waved cheerfully and shot into the air.
His body streaked straight toward Mount Hua, and Hwang Jong-ui broke into a serene smile.
Let's forget this.
Let's just think of it as a dream.
That seemed like it would be healthier for his mind.
…That crazy bastard.