Regret, Ruin, Awakening (3)
To speak of the relationship between Murim and the imperial family is simple yet profoundly complex.
It began in the era of the founding emperor of the Tang Dynasty, Hwagwang. Back when he was still a Song general, he found himself surrounded by enemies on all sides. Before him loomed the Jin and the Mongols; behind him, the Song imperial court itself.
To the emperor, Hwagwang was nothing more than a hound to sic on the Jin and Mongols—a potential rebel who could threaten his throne at any moment. Even as a demigod bearing divine blood, he stood alone, with no faction in the palace to back him. His own mother, the empress, viewed her half-divine son with suspicion and kept her distance. The only "friend" he could claim was his own shadow flickering in the firelight.
Staying the course would mean tosagu pyeong—when the hare dies, the hound gets cooked. It was only a matter of time.
...So Hwagwang decided that if he was destined for execution as a traitor once the war ended, he'd commit real treason.
"Hey, your boyfriend just walked by."
"Ah! I'm gonna kill him! For real!?"
The cold stares and mocking words that had plagued him since childhood ignited a fire in Hwagwang's heart.
"I didn't do anything wrong... yet they discriminate. Fucking bastards. Fine, I'll rebel for real."
No matter how strong, a flesh-and-blood body needs food, sleep, and shit. Vulnerabilities were inevitable. So first, Hwagwang sought a force to protect him—loyal vassals.
That force was religion.
Not all, but Murim's religious folk were scholars and, when push came to shove, elite warriors who could fight. The ancient sages had all been such men; studying their teachings naturally led to mastering supreme martial arts.
In any case, Hwagwang invited Daoist priests from Quanzhen—the pinnacle of martial learning and religious prestige at the time—and eminent monks from Shaolin, taking them as his masters.
A famed hero and demigod humbly seeking teachings? Delighted, Quanzhen and Shaolin praised Hwagwang's virtue. Word spread, drawing Daoist and Buddhist warriors from other sects to his side.
...But it still wasn't enough. The Daoists and Buddhists were mighty, yet limited as priests—they lacked cunning in schemes or strategy. Hwagwang's aides were all imperial plants anyway, leaving him with no real command over the troops.
He needed experts in politics, intrigue, and private armies. Conveniently, amid the chaos, warlords in the provinces were seizing lands under the guise of bandit suppression, collecting taxes in place of the government, and raising personal forces. The Murim clans: Namgung family, Huangbo family, Jegal family, Sichuan Tang family, Hebei Peng family, Jinju Eon family, and more.
"Hey—you lot, join me."
Fire's terror lies in how, unchecked, it devours everything, swelling into an unstoppable blaze beyond human resistance.
"His Imperial Majesty has been deposed as of today."
After twists and turns in an unglamorous rebellion, Hwagwang succeeded. He ousted the emperor, installed a puppet of his own making, and filled the palace with his people.
Later, having crushed the Jin and Mongols, Hwagwang received formal abdication from the puppet: "Your virtue reaches the heavens."
The day Song banners fell from the capital and Tang banners rose, Hwagwang sat the jade throne, smiling at the civil and military officials—and the Murim warriors who'd aided his coup.
"I sit here today thanks to my masters and brothers."
Having nearly suffered tosagu pyeong himself under the Song emperor, Hwagwang despised purging meritorious retainers. He lavished amnesties and privileges, openly decreeing that minor offenses wouldn't be punished.
This marked the dawn of the untouchable era for great Murim figures.
Thus, when a diviner's fire foretold a Namgung girl becoming king, the imperial family couldn't slaughter every Namgung daughter. Trusting one prophecy to massacre a meritorious house's heirs? Bad optics.
Besides, Murim folk used titles like Sword King or Fist King anyway. The Hua imperial line found it unsettling but decided not to stir trouble.
To appease the throne, the Namgung family disguised their heir's daughter, Soso, as a boy and raised her as such. Young heir Namgung Seon and North Sea Ice Palace princess Seol Wolha believed that once the ominous prophecy faded from memory, Soso could live as a girl again. They awaited that day.
...But in the year Soso turned twelve, she drew the sword she shouldn't have. The prophecy became fate.
The pounding rain mercifully turned to a passing shower, and the play would resume in the evening. But one snag: the next scene showed Jeoseokcheon, having slain the evil dragon, ascending to heaven with the fairy come to greet him. The rope rig for it had broken.
"Excuse me, guests—are you Murim folk? Would you mind filling in as actors, by chance?"
The festival guide—in colorful performer garb, no mere decoration but part of the troupe—bowed to me and Soso, pleading for our help.
With lightness skill, we could leap high sans ropes for a heavenly ascent.
"Eh, new experience, looks fun. Pay up, and we're in."
My crisp okay lit up the guide's face; he turned expectant eyes to Soso.
She, silent till now, blushed faintly, eyes sparkling, and murmured to him:
"You mean... I could play Jeoseokcheon?"
Overcoming shyness to declare her protagonist dreams, Soso shook the guide's pupils—he'd eyed her for the fairy.
Long story short: I took Jeoseokcheon; Soso got fairy. No fitting Jeoseokcheon garb for her petite frame.
She looked adorable, like a girlfriend borrowing her boyfriend's shirt, sleeves dangling.
The guide fretted she'd bail, but Soso insisted backing out after agreeing was wrong. She took fairy—but refused women's clothes, settling for the red silk hair ornaments.
Anyway, she seemed fine with it, fiddling with the ornaments while peeking backstage—like a kid touring a tokusatsu set.
Our bit: Jeoseokcheon ignores heaven, cavorting with hot spring nymphs. Impatient fairy dances at moonlit dawn to lure him; mesmerized by her beauty, he chases her skyward.
Luckily, a masked jingju-style opera—mid-performer swap was low-risk if we kept quiet.
We'd stuntman in post-actors' lines: chase, clash, then lightness-skill finale. Easy—go through motions till the big leap.
...My plan shattered at Soso's dance.
Under gorgeous moonlight, amid fevered crowd gazes, the sword dancer tempting a god whirls in sword dance.
Sublime, poignant, upright—a dance both noble and heartbreaking.
Festival heat? Her allure? Saliva pools; something hot surges from my core.
Greed boils.
...Why am I just standing here?
I grip my staff. Step forward. Approach Soso.
Someone backstage hisses "not yet"—doesn't matter anymore.
Stick Flicks Dog to the Sky — Fling the dog skyward with the staff.
Staff clashes sword.
Sword flies upward from the upward flick.
Seizing the gap, Jeoseokcheon reaches for the sword dancer.
...But she doesn't flinch, stepping back with footwork. As if daring: catch me if you can. She circles him, dancing.
Staff meets sword again.
Chase and clash, pursue and parry.
Two white egrets dance in rings.
Movement clears my head a bit. Backstage signal: time to exit.
Act over. Back to rational Sima Mancheon from lustful Jeoseokcheon.
Soso sees it too, withdrawing her sword to pull back.
That instant, my left arm snakes greedily around her slim waist, yanking her into my embrace.
To visibly flustered Soso in this unforeseen mess, I casually drop my staff.
Clang—it rings across the stage, drawing all eyes.
"S-Sima Young Master, this isn't in the script... A-and... so many watching... let go, please."
Whispering shyly, but I lift my mask with my right hand, grinning playfully as Manchon, not Jeoseokcheon.
"Let 'em watch their fill."
Plays thrive on ad-libs for spice.
"Wolchimchim ya samgyeong—Moon dim in the third watch of night."
Sweet words echo over the moonlit evening stage.
"Yangin simsa yangin ji—Two hearts' secrets known to two alone."
That night, Mancheon tore up Jeoseokcheon's stage.