Plum Blossom Sword Saint? Not Me (3)
“Huh?”
For a moment, Tang Gun-ak tilted his head in bewilderment, then shouted at the top of his lungs.
“Pae! Tang Pae, are you there?”
“Yes, Father!”
Tang Pae hurriedly opened the door and came into the family lord’s chamber.
“You called for me?”
“Did anyone come to the family lord’s chamber while I was away?”
“Pardon? Why do you ask…?”
Tang Gun-ak asked with a face full of unease.
“Where did the Purple Crow Iron that was here go?”
“Well, I….”
Frowning, Tang Pae thought for a moment, then suddenly his eyes went wide and he sucked in a sharp breath.
“Huh? Th-then that…?”
“Hmm?”
The way his mouth kept opening and closing suggested he had grasped something.
“I-I did see Grand-Uncle carrying a whole bundle of something toward the workshop this morning… But, uh, it was definitely around here….”
Tang Gun-ak’s pupils trembled like a violent earthquake.
“Don’t tell me?”
He quickly scanned the room.
Come to think of it, the black iron ornament that had been displayed on the left side of the lord’s chamber was gone as well. Several other precious metals had vanished too.
The Sichuan Tang Family’s lord’s chamber sat at the very center of the Tang compound. They never bothered locking it down because they trusted in the authority of the Tang family lord—and because it was their way of showing confidence that no outsider could ever slip inside.
And yet….
“An enemy inside the house….”
Pale as a sheet, Tang Gun-ak tore off at once toward the workshop.
“G-Graaaand-Uncleeeeee!”
Arriving at the workshop, he shoved the door open without warning and lunged inside. Then he yanked open the inner partition door as if to smash it apart, drew in a breath to bellow, and—
“Hup!”
He swallowed the breath whole and failed to utter a single word.
Kaaang!
The clear, ringing sound of a hammer.
It was a sound filled with such soul that it seemed to shake even Tang Gun-ak’s spirit, a man who had listened to the hammer as a lifelong song.
Kaaang!
Flames danced.
The surging heat, the trembling air, the sparks scattering like embers—all of it stirred emotions that were impossible to put into words.
Tang Gun-ak was the family lord of the Sichuan Tang Family.
He had never walked the artisan’s path, but he was a man who could understand the life of an artisan. So for this one moment, he could say nothing at all.
Kaaaanng!
The Tang Family’s greatest artisan, who had spent his entire life silently before the forge with a hammer in hand, was now pouring his very soul into the work.
Tang Gun-ak’s gaze moved from Tang Jo-pyeong to Chung Myung, who stood behind him. Chung Myung, too, was silently watching Tang Jo-pyeong’s every movement.
Then Tang Jo-pyeong, who had been tightly silent, finally opened his mouth.
“Lord, come here as well.”
Kaaang!
Even without turning around, it seemed he knew Tang Gun-ak had arrived.
Almost spellbound, Tang Gun-ak approached and took his place behind him.
Kaaang!
The hammer struck the stretched iron with fierce precision.
Reaching out, Tang Jo-pyeong drew the heat up from the brazier and, with a careless motion, shoved the iron into the coals.
Then he fixed his lowered eyes on the furnace. In the brief lull when the hammering paused, Tang Gun-ak spoke.
“Grand-Uncle, this is….”
“Be quiet.”
“……”
Tang Jo-pyeong continued to stare wordlessly at the iron in the furnace, then used the tongs to lift out the glowing metal and set it on the anvil.
Kaaaanng!
His hammer began dancing again without hesitation.
“I have lived my whole life in the Tang Family.”
“……”
“At times I made swords, at times I made needles, and at times I made things that should never have been made.”
Though the sound of hammering filled the air, for some reason Tang Gun-ak felt himself being drawn into Tang Jo-pyeong’s words.
“I made and made and made. I never especially thought I’d become some great artisan. I simply made what was fitting for a man of my age. And before I knew it, I was leading the Tang Family’s artisans.”
The old man’s voice, as he reflected on his life, remained utterly calm.
“Yet now that I’m this old and have looked back on my life, a thought came to me all of a sudden. What, exactly, have I made?”
“...Grand-Uncle.”
Tang Jo-pyeong kept his eyes fixed on the anvil alone as he continued.
“Look closely, Lord. I’m no martial artist, so there’s nothing I can give you. Even if there were something to pass on, I lack the gift of speech and cannot put it into words. What I can show you is only this.”
Tang Gun-ak held his breath.
There was no trace left of the confused, half-senile old man he’d seen before.
Only the figure of a craftsman who had devoted an entire lifetime to fire and steel remained.
Kaaaanng!
The hammer struck the iron block again.
Swordsmen wield their swords countless times and seek the Dao in the tip of the blade.
Then how could there be no Dao in the head of a hammer, when a craftsman has swung it countless times as well?
The technique he had built up over a lifetime.
The conviction that had sustained him over a lifetime.
All of it merged together and hammered the iron again and again.
Tang Jo-pyeong lifted the Thousand-Year Cold Iron with his tongs and plunged it into the water basin.
Ssssssssshhhh!
White smoke billowed up like clouds.
“Steel is something that….”
Tang Jo-pyeong’s low voice resonated through the space, now hazy with vapor.
“You heat it in fire, cool it with water, then strike it and strike it again.”
His voice was like the path he himself had walked.
“Looking back, the life I’ve lived wasn’t so different. At times it was joyful, at times it was hard, and yet I kept walking, and walking, and walking.”
Kaaang!
Once more, sparks burst from the anvil.
“Elder Plum Blossom Sword Saint, do you remember?”
“...Hm?”
“I did not want to become an artisan. I wanted to be a Tang Family martial artist who used poison and hidden weapons. Yes, just like my grandfather.”
“……”
“When you saw me crying that I did not want to handle things like steel, you said….”
- Hey, you brat! What’s so great about swinging a blade that you’re dying to do it? The worst scum in this world are the ones who live with blood on their hands. And if there’s no one to make swords, should I go fight with a walking stick? Whatever it is, all you have to do is do your best on your own path. That’s enough.
A smile formed at the corners of Tang Jo-pyeong’s mouth.
“I never imagined the world’s greatest swordsman would say something like that. Thanks to you, I was able to steady my heart and walk my own path.”
Chung Myung, listening quietly, slowly closed his eyes.
“Only now have I been able to repay the words you gave me back then. I think even Grandfather would say I’ve done well.”
Hesitating, Tang Jo-pyeong finally managed to speak, and Chung Myung’s lips trembled slightly.
“Elder… I….”
“It doesn’t matter.”
Kaaang!
Whatever Chung Myung had been about to say was swallowed by the clear strike of the hammer.
“Whether the one who wields this sword is the Plum Blossom Sword Saint…”
Kaaang!
“Or some young swordsman of Mount Hua who will lead the sect again…”
Kaaang!
“What difference would it make? If the Sword Saint had used this blade, it would have been passed down to Mount Hua in the end anyway. The Sword Saint’s sword is Mount Hua’s sword. So if this blade is placed in the hands of a Mount Hua disciple, then this blade is the Sword Saint’s sword.”
Kaaang!
Steel and steel fused together, then spread apart again.
It was heated, cooled, and heated again.
With every movement of the hammer in hands lined by the marks of time, memories of the distant past and the living present melted together.
The small, white hands had long since darkened, becoming knotted and rough with wrinkles and scars. The jet-black hair had also faded completely to white.
Had he achieved anything in all those long years?
Tang Jo-pyeong, who had been hammering in silence for a long time, shook his head.
No. Such things no longer mattered.
The hammer fell straight down onto the steel.
One day passed, and then two.
Three days and nights went by, and not until the ninth day was reached did the hammering cease even once.
The sword blade was utterly transparent.
So clear it seemed almost white, surpassing silver itself.
The blade was about twice as thin as an ordinary sword, and at first glance it looked light—but the longer one looked, the more it seemed to carry a heaviness beyond words.
Along the lower portion of the blade surface, where it met the hilt, a vivid plum blossom had been engraved with exquisite precision, so lifelike it seemed to breathe. At the end of the hilt, wrapped in fine leather, a green tassel in the color of the Tang Family hung in a neat and dignified fall.
“Try it.”
Tang Jo-pyeong, looking as though he had aged several more years in the meantime, offered the sword. Chung Myung quietly reached out and took it.
Then he closed his eyes for a moment at some indescribable sensation.
The sword felt as though it clung to his hand. As if it had been part of him from the very beginning.
When he lightly tapped the blade with his fingertip, the slender steel bent softly, then snapped back into place in an instant.
It was as supple as a soft sword, yet as sturdy as a hard blade. As for the sharpness sleeping within its edge, there was no need even to speak of it.
“Here.”
Tang Jo-pyeong handed Chung Myung the scabbard.
The black scabbard was carved with red plum blossoms. It was like looking at plum blossoms blooming out of the darkness itself.
Slowly, Chung Myung slid the sword into the scabbard.
“Do you like it?”
“……”
At Tang Jo-pyeong’s question, Chung Myung hesitated for a moment.
What was he supposed to say?
Chung Myung glanced at Tang Gun-ak.
Tang Gun-ak smiled and nodded as if to say it was fine.
“Mm… I mean….”
Scratching his head, Chung Myung began cautiously.
“I don’t really feel like I’m qualified to judge a sword like this, but….”
“Do you like it?”
Chung Myung nodded.
“More than anything.”
A bright smile spread across Tang Jo-pyeong’s face.
That single answer felt like it had repaid all the hardship he had endured.
“Then please give it a name.”
“...A name?”
“A sword that has found its master should be given a name. Please, give it a fitting one.”
A name….
A name, huh.
Chung Myung quietly stared at the sword, then tightened his grip on the hilt once more.
With a soft shing, the sword seemed like a plum blossom blooming on a dark night, while the blade revealed from within the scabbard felt like a plum blossom opening under bright daylight.
After looking at it for a long moment, Chung Myung finally gave a small laugh.
The name of this sword had been decided from the very beginning.
“Dark Fragrance Plum Blossom Sword.”
“...Dark Fragrance.”
Tang Jo-pyeong repeated it, then gently closed his eyes.
Tang Gun-ak, seeming to dislike the name, spoke with mild dissatisfaction.
“Wouldn’t another name be better? Of course, I know Mount Hua uses the word ‘dark fragrance’ quite a bit, but it doesn’t seem to capture the sword’s beauty at all. If shortened, it would become Dark Plum Sword, but that feels far too crude, doesn’t it…?”
“Dark….”
But Tang Jo-pyeong, who had been murmuring softly, opened his eyes and smiled.
Smiled brighter than anything. Happier than anything.
And the corners of his eyes were faintly wet.
“It’s a good name. A truly good name.”
Tang Gun-ak shut his mouth.
He could not understand why Tang Jo-pyeong would even shed tears over that name. But if the man who had forged the sword said so, then the matter was settled.
Chung Myung could not tear his eyes away from the sword.
“There’s no other name that could go on a Mount Hua sword made by the Sichuan Tang Family.”
“Indeed. Absolutely indeed.”
Tang Jo-pyeong nodded repeatedly.
Old memories rose hazily in his eyes.
A moonlit night.
Dark Saint Tang Bo and Plum Blossom Sword Saint Chung Myung sitting face-to-face on a wooden platform, raising their cups together.
This sword would become the Plum Blossom Sword Saint’s sword, and at the same time a symbol of the friendship between the Sichuan Tang Family and Mount Hua.
Just as they had been in the past.
“Use it well.”
Chung Myung nodded silently.
Through the hand gripping the hilt, a cold chill from the sword seeped into him.
But it wasn’t cold alone.
Rather, how should he put it?
A little….
- Brother Taoist.
...Yes.
A little warm.
After sliding the sword into place at his waist, Chung Myung stepped closer to Tang Jo-pyeong. Then, with a smile, he gave the old man’s shoulder a light pat.
“Thanks.”
Tang Jo-pyeong only smiled in return instead of answering.
“And….”
Chung Myung seemed about to say something, then turned his head away and cleared his throat several times.
“I should, uh, go see what happened to the other swords. Yeah. Right. I’m gonna head out for a bit.”
With that, he spun around, quickly opened the inner door, and slipped out. Tang Jo-pyeong chuckled softly.
Tang Gun-ak hesitated a little before speaking.
“Grand-Uncle, actually….”
“Gun-ak.”
He fell silent and widened his eyes. When had Tang Jo-pyeong last called him Gun-ak? Had it been decades?
“Yes! Grand-Uncle.”
“I’ve found something I want to make. Prepare my workshop.”
“R-right now? Shouldn’t you rest first?”
“An artisan must never let go of the hammer until the day he dies. I’d forgotten that for far too long.”
Tang Gun-ak quietly studied Tang Jo-pyeong’s face.
The old man, whose face had long lacked any vitality, now wore the most content expression imaginable. Before he knew it, Tang Gun-ak found himself smiling back.
“I’ll take care of it.”
As he hurried outside, Tang Jo-pyeong gazed beyond the doorway with deep, deep eyes.
“The plum blossom fragrance….”
Then he slowly closed his eyes.
“...has not disappeared.”
In the deepest darkness, the fragrance of plum blossoms grows even deeper.
The thick scent of plum blossoms, lingering in old memories, continued all the way to this moment.
Long on. And longer still.