Changbong Hall — The Widow's Memorial
"What is the matter?"
Turning her head, Moyong Sang-ah caught sight of an elderly man speaking to her with an awkward look, half-concealed beneath the eaves' deep shadows. Her mind raced, instantly recalling everything she knew about him.
He was a member of the Council of Elders. His standing within that body was modest, his presence entirely unremarkable. While he made a habit of declining private bribes, he never refused when entertained alongside the other elders.
How had he known she had come alone to the Patriarch Hall in her troubled state of mind?
Pricked by caution, Sang-ah cast her senses outward. Fortunately, no martial artists lay in wait to spring an ambush.
"Do not fret," the old man said, stepping out from the gloom to put her at ease. "He is not mad enough to pull something right before the Patriarch Hall."
"Were you waiting for me?"
"I have words for your ears, and something to place in your hands."
"Speak, then."
Sang-ah made no effort to disguise her wariness. Whatever could he want to tell her that warranted waiting here in secret?
"Beware of assassins."
"What do you mean by that?"
His warning took even the ever-vigilant Sang-ah aback.
"It is something I overheard in passing, so do not let it slip in one ear and out the other. Keep it close to your heart."
"Did you hear something from the Young Clan Head?"
The elder shook his head, looking up at the sky before answering.
"In the end, this contest hinges on how much legitimacy you can amass before the Clan Head draws his final breath. The upper hand will always belong to the title of Young Clan Head—and so long as the Clan Head does not wake, that mantle cannot be stripped from Moyong Bi."
"I am well aware. Which is why I set out to find the Hall of Accomplished Martial Archives, did I not?"
"Indeed. Should you enter the Hall of Accomplished Martial Archives and claim what lies within, none could ever dispute your right to lead. But precisely because of that, someone may prepare a final, desperate stroke."
"...Assassination, you mean."
Sang-ah understood at once why he had spoken the word.
"I know neither of you would make such a foolish choice lightly," the elder murmured. "A faction that loses its head does not simply crumble; it runs wildly out of control. Why invite such ruin? Yet those who serve beneath are quick to grow uneasy over the slightest chance of defeat."
The turmoil tearing the Moyong Clan apart could never be resolved simply by cutting down either faction's leader.
They had to wage war both in the light and in the dark, chipping away at each other's influence and legitimacy until the opposing side was forced to yield. Only then could the Moyong Clan be preserved intact.
Yet someone might prepare a different sort of failsafe before that day came. In fact, those preparations had already begun.
That was the truth the old man had come to deliver.
"Thank you for informing me."
"Ahem. The other old fools care only for lining their bellies, but I... I wish to see the Moyong Clan reclaim the glory of the days when we were hailed as the Number One Clan Under Heaven. I view our current strife as nothing more than the unavoidable growing pains of that restoration. So take this."
Looking somewhat sheepish, unaccustomed to receiving her gratitude, the old man reached into his robes and withdrew several hand-bound books.
"What are these?"
"My search journals for the Hall of Accomplished Martial Archives. In my youth, I once went hunting for it myself."
"To entrust something so vital to me..."
"Consider it the lingering attachment of an old man who once chased a dream. I may sit on the Council of Elders, but only at the lowest seat. I have no real sway, but I will be rooting for you. I shall take my leave."
Sang-ah bowed respectfully in thanks. Once he had slipped into the shadows, she turned her steps toward Changbong Hall.
The bitter, unrelenting winter passed. The new year came and went, and time flowed ever onward.
Amid the lingering chill, an occasional warm breeze drifted in to melt the frost, and the earth prepared to burst forth with new life. Before she knew it, that very spring day had returned—the day her first love had begun, and her last love had ended.
"Make me look beautiful," Moyong Sang-ah instructed, sitting before her vanity with a solemn gaze.
"Yes, My Lady! I will make you so lovely that anyone would stop in their tracks to stare."
Tying back her stray orange hair, the maid looked upon the master of Changbong Hall with a delighted smile. She had served Sang-ah since childhood. Even when the Changbong Corps had been disbanded and Sang-ah faced her darkest hour, she had been one of the few who never left her side.
Her mistress rarely paid any mind to her appearance. Yet with just a light dusting of powder, she blossomed like gold thread embroidered across silk, or precious jade polished to radiance.
Today, however, was different. For Sang-ah, this was the one day she wished to appear more beautiful than anyone else in the world.
Yes. Today was that day.
"Is the food for my husband's memorial service nearly ready?"
It was the anniversary of Kang Yunho's death.
"Yes, My Lady. We hired skilled chefs and instructed them to prepare delicacies from both the Central Plains and the eight provinces of Joseon."
"And what of finding out which dishes he favored?"
"The Commander of the Changbong Corps reported that he inquired among the Kang family, but they were distant relatives. Only secluded women who had never stepped beyond their inner courtyards remained, so they could not say."
"...Is that so."
A tinge of bitterness seeped into Sang-ah's voice.
"We have prepared every delicacy of land and sea!" the orange-haired maid said brightly, trying to lift her mistress's spirits. "Surely, Young Master Kang is bound to like at least a few among them!"
"I suppose so..."
Offering a faint nod, Sang-ah allowed herself to be dressed in the neat attire and elegant ornaments handed to her.
"If you give me your hairpin, My Lady, I will style your hair."
"I shall put the hairpin in myself. Just tend to my hair."
Sang-ah refused, as though it were a privilege she could surrender to no one, and drew out a hairpin treasured in the depths of her drawer. No one else was permitted to touch it. For two years ago, her beloved had set it in her hair with his own hands.
Unlike two years ago, her fingers were deft and practiced now as she fastened the hairpin in place.
"Once preparations are complete, tell everyone to withdraw."
When the maid stepped out, Sang-ah gazed into the mirror. She was not the master of Changbong Hall here, but simply a woman. Someone's wife.
Neat attire suited for a memorial rite, accompanied by graceful ornaments. A silver ring upon her finger, the hairpin resting in her coiffure, and a face painted with consummate care. It was a loveliness she wished only one person in the world could see.
After dismissing all the servants, Sang-ah waited in silence for the hour to arrive.
With my husband by my side, I can endure anything. Together, we can overcome this crisis.
Past midnight, the wedding day that had overflowed with love and joy slipped away. Happiness had turned to despair, marking the day her love had begun—and ended.
Spirit Seat of Late Husband, Scholar Kang Yunho
Sang-ah retrieved the spirit tablet for her departed husband, placed an incense burner beside it, and lit the incense. As the subtle fragrance meant to honor the dead drifted around her, she finally looked upon the tablet and spoke.
"I prepared even more delicious dishes for you this year. I brought in the finest chefs to cook delicacies from both the Central Plains and Joseon."
Sang-ah poured wine into a cup for her husband and bowed deeply toward the tablet.
"Where are you now?" she asked the tablet, her face twisted with anguish. "Where are you, braving the wind and the rain? Where could you be? I worry for you day and night, waking and sleeping."
No matter how desperately she searched, not a single trace of him could be found.
Her husband, who had lost his life on her account, had his corpse cast out into the streets, where it was likely torn to shreds. For over a year, she had searched ceaselessly for his whereabouts, yet she had uncovered nothing. She ought to be tending to his grave, watching over his final resting place.
Her heart burned with agony. She was terrified that she might never recover her husband's remains.
Refusing to let the dread in her chest spill over, Sang-ah steeled her resolve to find him at all costs, then continued.
"So much has happened. I established Changbong Hall, stirred the Council of Elders to curtail my brother's influence, wiped out an infiltrated unit of Demonic Cultists, and claimed immense authority as a direct descendant of the main lineage."
Two years had passed since that wedding. Countless things had transpired. A powerless girl had become the sovereign leader of an entire faction. Naturally, reaching this point was possible because of the vast wealth at her disposal, but it was also due to her own brilliance and desperate, unyielding effort.
Yet she did not see it that way.
"All of this is thanks to you, my husband."
It was entirely because of him. While her brother built his power through the Demonic Cult, she had gained the strength to stand against them through her husband's aid alone. She had forged a force so formidable that even the Demonic Cult dared not act recklessly.
In Sang-ah's heart, her husband's greatness loomed ever larger, easily matching the suffocating enormity of the Demonic Cult.
"You gave me so very much, yet this paltry offering is all I can give in return... It tears my heart apart."
In the end, not a soul remained who knew what dishes he favored. What if his spirit returned, only to find nothing he liked and feel disappointed? What if he cast a reproachful gaze upon her?
Though the altar groaned under delicacies some would never taste in a lifetime, Sang-ah lowered her head in sorrow, unable to look up. Placing a hand over her burning chest, she spoke on.
"They say time heals all wounds. They say that with the passing of years, painful memories fade. How could that ever be true?"
Some memories bound a person for a lifetime, tormenting them more fiercely, carving them into someone new.
"You came to me like a miracle."
To a girl who knew only how to swing a sword, incompetent, frail, and on the verge of collapse, he had arrived like a miracle. To one who could barely stay on her feet, standing on the brink of despair, he had reached out his hand as if to tell her the world had not yet ended.
"The burdens I must bear grow heavier by the day."
The girl who loved the sword had become a woman branded as a wicked creature by the world. Using everything her husband had given her, Sang-ah had become the master of Changbong Hall and the rallying banner to purge the Demonic Cult rooted within the Moyong Clan.
Responsibility and gravity.
The expectations placed upon her weighed heavily. It was a crushing burden for a woman of merely twenty-one years to endure. Did they say the wounds in one's heart would fade with time? With every passing year, the man named Kang Yunho only grew larger in Moyong Sang-ah's life, etched deeper into her soul.
"Even now, I want to cast everything aside and go see your face."
If she were to end her life this very instant, would she be able to meet him?
Guilt burrowed into her heart as an unyielding ache, and her love for her husband swelled endlessly. Her longing deepened with every breath.
Whoooosh.
Was it some strange coincidence? Just like at that moment last year, a warm draft swept into the room.
"Husband..."
Had he come to partake of the sacrificial feast she had prepared?
She could not bring herself to lift her head. Though she had adorned herself in beauty to show him, she could not raise her eyes before him. For she had accomplished nothing yet. Because she was a woman steeped in sin.
The gentle draft stirred the incense upon the altar table, causing it to burn a little brighter, before brushing past her cheek. The breeze was warm, yet had a slight bite to it. As if urging her not to be weak. As if a husband were chiding his wife.
The warm breeze brushed past her cheek and vanished into the night.
"Husband. I want to see your face just once more."
Once the wind had receded, she steeled her resolve and murmured softly. Just as the wind had told her, it was not yet time. Death was merely an escape. She could never run away. She held no right to flee.
Sang-ah renewed her vow.
"When that day finally arrives, I will live on just so I may look upon your face."
That day would surely come. And until it did, she had to live with every fiber of her being. One day, she would tumble into the abyss of the netherworld and stand before the judgment seat. Even if she were torn limb from limb, even if she were condemned to whatever punishment awaited...
She would tell him that she had given everything to live, that she had fulfilled every task he had charged her with. Only then would she earn the right to beg—to beg that she might gaze upon her husband's face just one more time.
A single tear rolled down her beautifully powdered cheek.
Changbong Hall.
There resided the wicked woman whose notoriety was spreading across the Jianghu—the sole hope capable of uprooting the Demonic Cult that had sunk its claws into the Moyong Clan.
"My Lady. Using the materials you provided, we have narrowed down the search area for the Hall of Accomplished Martial Archives. It is time for your inspection."
"Prepare to move."
Taking hold of her sword, Sang-ah completed her preparations for the inspection. Searching for the whereabouts of her husband's remains, running Changbong Hall, confronting Moyong Bi, and pursuing the search for the Hall of Accomplished Martial Archives to secure legitimacy...
Today, once again, she completed her preparations to reclaim the Moyong Clan and purge the Demonic Cult.
Some might sneer that a wicked woman was thrashing about desperately to seize control of the Moyong Clan.
Yes, she was thrashing.
Clinging to the sole hope of a single reunion before the judgment seat of the netherworld...
Moyong Sang-ah was fighting tooth and nail, simply to earn the right to die.