We Have Returned (2)
Step by step.
His feet, which had been racing ahead as if he’d forgotten what it meant to look back, gradually slowed. Then, at last, Chung Myung came to a complete stop.
When he lifted his head, the beginning of the road leading up Mount Hua came into view.
Carefully lowering the bundle slung over his shoulder, Chung Myung cradled it in his arms and stared up at Mount Hua with a dazed expression.
It looked no different from usual.
Even through all those long years, it had stood there in silence, holding fast against the mountainscape in a way that was almost stubbornly unchanging.
And yet… even so, Chung Myung could not look at it with the same eyes as before, because this ordinary sight must have been something someone else had longed for with a pain that cut to the bone. Even until the moment they closed their eyes for the last time.
He stood there wordlessly, eyes fixed on the mountain, until the Mount Hua disciples who had run after him gathered behind him.
Only after the presence of those behind him had settled in did Chung Myung slowly take a step forward.
Then, with all the rush of his sprinting coming to nothing, he began to climb the mountain—slowly, very slowly.
Flowers blooming along the narrow path up Mount Hua, thick undergrowth, sheer cliffs rising where the forest ended, and pine trees and plum trees stretching out between those cliffs.
To the disciples of Mount Hua, it was all a familiar sight. But today, for some reason, every single part of it seemed to catch the eye.
Even the Five Swords, following in Chung Myung’s wake, kept looking around and taking in the familiar scenery of Mount Hua as though seeing it anew.
When you walked slowly through a place you normally raced past in such a hurry, more things came into view.
Didn’t people say you never knew how precious something was until it was close?
Baek Cheon quietly closed his eyes.
He had heard it over and over again—that none of Mount Hua’s ancestors had returned from the Great Mountain Blood Affair. He had known the fact, but only as knowledge; it had never stirred anything deeper than that.
But the moment he saw the remains Chung Myung was holding against his chest, he understood.
They must have wanted to walk this road.
The wish of those ancestors who had fought Cheon Ma with their lives on the line must have been only one thing: to kill Cheon Ma by any means necessary, to preserve the future of the Jianghu and of Mount Hua…
And to return to Mount Hua by walking this road on their own two feet.
The fact that such a wish, so simple it barely seemed extraordinary, had never come true sat heavily on Baek Cheon’s chest.
He looked around in silence.
Even Yoon Jong, normally so composed; even Yu I-seol, who was always indifferent; even Dang Soso, who still could not fully share Mount Hua’s sorrow in her heart—yes, even Jo Gul, who was usually all noise and mischief—were following after Chung Myung with hard faces and no words. Every one of them looked lost in thought.
Step.
Step.
Chung Myung’s feet were slow, but they did not stop as he climbed Mount Hua.
Calmly passing through the path lined with lush green trees, Chung Myung entered the narrow cliffside trail, barely wide enough to place one foot in front of the other.
A road carved into the edge of a bottomless precipice.
It was the sort of path he’d often cursed and ranted at, asking whether this even counted as a road, but now he walked it in complete silence, without a word of complaint.
The towering rock peak loomed over them with majestic force, as if looking down from the heavens.
All that remained in sight were vast walls of stone.
At first glance, it might have seemed bleak. But not to those who lived on Mount Hua. The far edge of the broad sky stretched above the mountain ridges, and it was slowly beginning to blush red with sunset.
Chung Myung stopped walking and quietly looked at Mount Hua as the sunset began to spill over it.
Isn’t it beautiful?
Beautiful, isn’t it?
What do you mean?
The sunset, of course. Isn’t it Mount Hua’s symbol?
You’re insane. Mount Hua’s symbol is the plum blossom.
Hah. That’s what ignorant fools say. The foundation of martial arts is qi cultivation, isn’t it? Of course Mount Hua’s symbol is not Plum Blossom Sword Art but the Purple Mist Divine Art. What does “purple mist” make you think of? Sunset! Sunset!
That was what Cheong Jin had said with a bright smile, his face tinted red by the sunset too.
Honestly, I just like sunsets, Senior Brother. The sunset as seen from Mount Hua is truly magnificent. When I die, I hope I can do it while looking at this sight.
What nonsense are you spouting?
Just look at it. Isn’t it pretty, Senior Brother?
Enough with the bullshit and go find the books.
…I should just stop talking.
Cheong Jin, muttering under his breath as he turned away, had then glanced back at Chung Myung and said, almost casually:
Just wait. Someday, Senior Brother, you’ll understand too. How beautiful Mount Hua’s sunset really is.
Cheong Jin…
Chung Myung knew that too.
This was only a body left behind. A corpse had no will, no meaning of its own.
So what he was holding now was not any part of Cheong Jin at all, but only the lingering attachment remaining in Chung Myung’s own heart.
Even knowing that…
Chung Myung slowly closed his eyes. His long lashes trembled lightly in the shower of sunset light, tinted gold by the fading sky.
Did you like it?
Not everyone wanted this.
What he had wanted, and what Cheong Jin had wanted, was for everyone to return to Mount Hua together.
To complain about how narrow this path was, laugh and curse over it, and at last reach Mount Hua and noisily grumble about how hard the climb had been.
For Chung Mun, Cheong Jin, and every disciple of the Cheong generation and the generation before them to sit together in the same place and laugh like that—every last one of them.
With his eyes still closed, countless figures rose before Chung Myung’s mind.
The disciples of the Cheong generation, the disciples of the generation before them, all those many people who had left Mount Hua determined to protect the Jianghu.
But only for a moment. One by one, those faces began to vanish.
Some had met their end on the battlefield at the hands of the Demonic Sect.
And others, unable to endure their injuries, had died with only their lips moving soundlessly while they held Chung Myung’s hand.
One, then another. Until finally, they were all gone.
In the empty space left behind, only Chung Myung stood alone, dumbly rooted in place.
I…
He had wanted them to return together.
Here.
Clutching the bundle tightly, Chung Myung opened his eyes.
The reddened sky and clouds surged across his vision.
Yeah. It is pretty, just like you said.
You were right again.
Funny. Why hadn’t he known it then?
Chung Myung’s pupils, too, were dyed with sunset light.
If I had known how beautiful this sunset was back then… would things have been even a little different?
A cold wind blew along the cliff. The cloth wrapping the remains fluttered, lightly tapping the tips of Chung Myung’s fingers.
Fine, fine.
You want me to hurry up, huh?
Chung Myung nodded and started climbing the cliff again.
He must want to get to Mount Hua as quickly as possible.
Right—back to the place where you lived.
Only then did his steps quicken a little.
The road was still steep and merciless, but there was no sign of weariness in Chung Myung’s gait. If anything, his steps had become firmer, heavier, more determined than usual.
The sky, once flushed purple, was now quickly being swallowed by darkness.
But that was fine.
What Cheong Jin had longed for was all of Mount Hua, after all. He must have missed the night on Mount Hua too, with darkness settling into every corner and the soft rustle of plum leaves whispering in the breeze.
Now only the final cliff leading up to Mount Hua remained.
Let’s go.
Clutching the bundle tightly, Chung Myung leapt at once up the cliff.
Gone was the slow pace of before; now it was a light, almost cheerful stride.
Thunk.
Having kicked off the cliff and soared upward, Chung Myung’s eyes took in the wide expanse of Mount Hua’s scenery. The Mount Hua Sect of the past overlapped with the view before him.
It had changed a little, but it didn’t feel awkward. No matter how much its appearance changed, this was still Mount Hua. The breath of those who had died before him lived on vividly here.
Tap.
Chung Myung landed and looked toward the mountain gate.
Great Mount Hua Sect.
The moment those four characters—written in a hand that seemed to make a dragon ascend—came into view, he found himself biting down hard on his lip without meaning to.
We’re home.
Only after all this time.
For some reason, it felt as though warmth still lingered in the bundle against his chest.
Come on, Cheong Jin.
Chung Myung moved forward as if bewitched.
One step, then another.
The wall of Mount Hua, the towering mountain gate, even the familiar scenery visible through the wide-open entrance—everything was suddenly right before him.
It’s only a ten-day walk, for crying out loud.
How very long it had taken, hadn’t it?
Without realizing it, he spoke inwardly with an unfamiliar tenderness, and when he had crossed that short distance as though it were a thousand li, someone stood waiting at the mountain gate to receive him.
“...Sect Leader.”
Hyun Jong, dressed in Mount Hua’s formal robes and even wearing his Daoist hat, stood there silently, looking at Chung Myung. Since Baek Cheon had sent word in advance, he must already know the rough outline of what had happened.
Sure enough, Hyun Jong’s gaze moved to the bundle in Chung Myung’s arms.
Chung Myung slowly opened his mouth.
“Mount Hua…”
His voice trembled faintly.
“This is the remains of Mount Hua Sect’s thirteenth-generation disciple, Cheong Jin Chinin.”
Hyun Jong silently looked at the bundle, then slowly nodded. Spreading the hem of his robe before him, he knelt there on the spot.
After bowing with such profound solemnity that it bordered on reverence, he rose and softly recited a Daoist invocation.
Chung Myung placed Cheong Jin’s remains into Hyun Jong’s hands. Hyun Jong received them with the utmost care and turned away.
The disciples similarly dressed in formal robes had lined up to the left and right. Through the path between them, perfectly straight and without the slightest disturbance, Hyun Jong and Cheong Jin slowly began to walk.
At the end of that path, a modest but neatly prepared altar had been set up.
While Chung Myung stood staring blankly at the scene, someone laid a hand on his shoulder.
“...”
When he looked back, Hyun Young was standing there with a gentle smile on his face.
“You’ve worked hard.”
“...”
“For now, let us see our ancestor safely settled.”
Chung Myung nodded instead of answering. Hyun Young gave his shoulder a couple of reassuring pats, then walked toward the altar.
The Five Swords, who had arrived behind him, passed Chung Myung as well and entered Mount Hua.
All the disciples of Mount Hua watched the ancestor who had returned to Mount Hua too late. Reverence filled every pair of eyes.
But… Chung Myung himself could not so much as step forward among them.
Even though every disciple of Mount Hua except him was already inside the mountain gate, his feet wouldn’t move, as if glue had been poured onto the ground beneath him.
Just a moment ago, he had been soothed by this familiarity, by the scenery of Mount Hua—but now it felt strangely alien. The sense of wrongness was so severe it almost made him gag.
I…
Covering his mouth with one hand, Chung Myung hunched in on himself.
The world spun; his ears rang; his vision went dim.
I…
Then it happened.
We have returned.
A voice brushed past his ear.
Startled, Chung Myung whipped around, but…
“...”
There was nothing there. Nothing but Mount Hua, drowned in night. As always.
Like someone chasing after something, Chung Myung urgently reached out into the empty air, then slowly straightened his bent back again.
His slightly parted lips trembled faintly.
Chung Myung!
Senior Brother!
Oh, goodness! Senior Brother! Where did you go off to this time!
Longing voices swirled at his ears. The sounds seemed to have ridden in on the wind, so vivid that Chung Myung could not possibly open his eyes.
Yes, this was only a return.
He took a step toward the inside of the mountain gate without opening his closed eyes. Not making a sound, he walked silently into Mount Hua, and onto his shoulder, somewhere from beyond, a delicate scent of purple plum blossoms gently settled.