The Moonview Garden and the Mobile Prison
Looking up, I saw a sky filled with a darkness whose end no eye could fathom.
Dim starlight huddled close together, each faint flicker rubbing against the others in hopes of budding just a little brighter. Far off, beneath a sky without a single cloud, bright moonlight dyed the peaks a luminous blue. A narrow path wound through it all, white flowers in riotous bloom on either side.
Tap-tap.
Walking slowly along that path, I came upon a garden bluer still than the peaks. White blossoms bowed their heads. Moonflowers that bloomed the very color of the moonlight each time it touched them… flowers steeped in an eerie spiritual aura.
Yes. This was a garden. For long, endless years, a woman forced to sit upon a heavenly seat she never wanted had lived a life she never chose — despairing of yesterday, lamenting today, planting hope for tomorrow and singing to it as it grew. The only garden she had ever tended by her own will.
And there, at the far end of that garden, a lone figure stirred in silence, long sleeves washed white fluttering as her feet traced out their quiet rhythm.
A dance of drifting silk. A dancer beneath the moon. Each time her sleeves cleaved the air, waves of blue split apart like moonlight seeping into the night sky, and their trails traced the flow of the Milky Way.
That dance was called the Asura Sura Dance.
Something surged up from the depths of my chest. A distant longing. A beloved landscape. A beloved dance. This garden drowning in white blossoms, and the woman dancing beneath the moon — dear to me precisely because they no longer existed.
And so.
"………"
Bonjwa — the Blood Demon, Cheon Yujin. No… I, Cheon Yujin —
Drip. A single tear slipped from the corner of my eye.
At some point the world had begun flowing past with solemn dignity, like a scene from a black-and-white film. As if an aged recording were playing. As if someone had dragged out a decrepit projector and set it whirring. This achingly dear garden was a garden of memory — nothing more than a fleeting dream, a guest invited for a moment by long-nursed nostalgia. I knew now that all of these replayed, cherished moments were only a dream, a place I had merely stopped by.
Tak!
The woman's dance, which had traced those trails of blue, slowly lost its strength. And then my eyes met those of the woman with the faintly glowing, rosy face — who had, at some point, been watching me all along.
"The night carries a chill. Even if the moonlight is so bright it steals your sleep — what business could bring you all the way out to my Moonview Garden?"
Red eyes. But their color was far, far too pale, and even the irises themselves were blurred and dim. She was blind. The sky she saw was a blackness in which nothing could be seen — a dark heaven. And yet, even with those sightless eyes, the woman had found my gaze with perfect precision. She looked like a gentle, ageless beauty; in truth, she had spent more than a hundred years in endless sorrow and regret, living for nothing but to guard the seal of the Blood Demon Art locked away in the Cheonhyeol Geumbak. With those hollow, empty eyes, she wore a soft smile.
"My disciple."
My master had called for me.
Ever since I fell into Murim — from beggar barbarian in the back alleys of Hangzhou to the supreme seat of the Blood Demon — I had three masters. From the first, Amyoung Sintou, I trained in the Liangshang Junzibo and the craft of thieving. From the second, I tempered the Fierce Tiger Fist and the Dragon Claw Hand, the foundations of the external arts. And last of all… the one who gave me everything else. The previous Lord of Blood Heaven Castle — the woman who refused to inherit the Blood Demon Art's cursed karma. Creator of the Asura Sura Dance, Sura Hyeolma. My third master, my final master, drew near.
"Yes, well. Judging by that face, it seems you couldn't manage a wink of sleep tonight. And how many times have I told you? A disciple has no need to shoulder a master's burden in the master's stead."
"………"
In memory — in dream — the me of that time said something. And perhaps because it reflected how, returned to my homeland and absurdly reborn in a girl's body, I had been gradually forgetting what my own voice had once sounded like… that voice made no sound at all.
"Heavens, that glib tongue of yours. I know full well that the patter is a screen for your fear. I am no one else but your master. There is nothing you need hide from me."
"………"
"The Blood Demon Art is a curse. I could not bear it, and not one soul in this cursed bloodline ever could. There is no need for you to be sacrificed. So… stop. Let it go."
"………"
"I know. I know that even if my disciple was despised as a barbarian, lived by petty thieving and fist-gangs… even if you soaked battlefields in blood — in truth, you were never a child meant to fall into some pit of the demonic paths."
"………"
"A kind, gentle child who knew how to cherish family… had you not cast yourself into Blood Heaven Castle to save your comrades, you would never have become a demon."
As though murmuring to herself, in a voice steeped in regret, Sura Hyeolma — my master — spoke.
"My disciple… oh, my disciple."
With a tenderness wrapped in sorrow:
"Yujin."
She called my name.
"The Blood Demon Art is a demonic art that parasitizes its inheritor, dyeing them little by little in blood… until at last it devours the self. An art that would stain the whole world red in its reach for transcendence."
"………"
"The Blood Demon Art will drag up a malice buried in the abyss at the very bottom of your heart — one even you do not know of. The Blood Demon Art you must face is your own most twisted, most defiled… filthy mirror."
"………"
"Even were a miracle to occur and you did master the Blood Demon Art… my disciple would no longer be the child I knew. That is… the nature of that curse."
"………"
"And even so… you truly mean to shoulder my burden in my place?"
That day, I gave my master my answer.
In the garden of trembling white flowers — a garden made to watch and welcome the moon — my master turned her back toward the black sky. Trembling shoulders. A dewy, rosy face shining in the moonlight.
"Then remember this. Remember it, always."
With that distant longing, my consciousness drifted far, far away.
A voice receding beyond the reach of hearing. And as that whispering voice faded into nothing, consciousness rose to the surface once more.
To have dreamed at all was a sign: of rising from deep sleep, of consciousness slowly coming back to itself.
I, Cheon Yujin. No… Bonjwa, the Blood Demon Cheon Yujin. Perhaps it was because I'd dreamed that dear dream after so long. Blinking several times to clear the haze filming my vision, I managed to right myself. The stark white ceiling of a hospital room. And then my gaze locked with a pair of black eyes that were blinking right back at me.
"…S-Se-ah?"
It was my little sister, Cheon Se-ah.
The instant I met those jet-black eyes — thump-thump — some inexplicable déjà vu and dread seized me at once, and a chill ran down my spine.
Something happens. Wake up in a hospital room. Se-ah cries in the hospital room. Somehow, Bonjwa ends up third-rate as a brother. …For some reason, it felt like this exact process had congealed into one perfect pipeline and been ambushing Bonjwa all this while.
But! But noooooo…!!!
I had reached the second tier of the Forged Blood Art — the Pure Blood Realm — purged the turbid qi and impurities that had built up in this pristine body, and passed through a molting meant to shore up, however slightly, these hopelessly frail bones and sinews. This time I hadn't stumbled into any catastrophe! Sure, maybe there was some bleeding while expelling dead blood, but—
…How much turbid qi could there even have been? This is a little girl's body, for goodness' sake.
Exactly. It had been barely a few months since Bonjwa returned home. My body had even been reconstructed into a young girl's — a body with no turbid qi whatsoever, like a newborn's. Impurities and turbid qi only accumulate over long years of growth. But Bonjwa had been here a handful of months at most. And fine, if I'd stuffed myself with impure food during those months, how much could I possibly have… …all right, I did eat quite a lot of it, but that's beside the point—
Even if blood had come out, at absolute worst it would have been a nosebleed like always…!!! If anything, I'd merely taken a short nap so my health could improve even further — and none of it was intentional, so wasn't this force majeure?!
Think it through calmly, and Bonjwa had not one single thing to be ashamed of…!
…Heh.
And so Bonjwa laughed inwardly. Honestly, laughing out loud would have pricked the conscience a little… n-not that that was the reason! Anyway!
Just then — as if my inner chuckle had been caught red-handed — Se-ah reached out her hand.
"Hrk…!"
Pricked by guilt, I let out a strangled little sound before I could stop myself… but anyway! Force majeure…!
And where Se-ah's hand landed was Bonjwa's cheek. The cheek that, thanks to far too many sweets of late, seemed to have grown quite a bit rounder than in the early days.
"S-Se-ah…?"
Her already foxlike eyes arched high at the corners. Her face flared scarlet, as though she wanted to bellow something at the top of her lungs — but she swallowed it down with an audible gulp. And then, slowly — very, very slowly — the way I used to do for little Se-ah long ago, this time it was grown-up Se-ah who… gently cradled the warmth of Bonjwa's cheek.
"…Slept well, oppa?"
"Y-ye… yes… s-slept… slept well…."
What… what was this? Se-ah was acting strange. I was so inexplicably overpowered that I'd even come out with an idiot's answer.
My little sister, Cheon Se-ah. Her body and age had matured while we were apart, but her behavior had barely changed from the old days — the whining, the crying, the wild melodrama… the tantrums hurled left and right. If this were the blockheaded old Se-ah who'd barely finished middle school, she would have flung herself at Bonjwa on the spot, hammered the crown of my head, and bawled, You stupid oppa…!!!
"Now that you're awake, I'd better go get Rachel-unnie soon. Don't push yourself to get up — just lie still, oppa."
Se-ah said it in a calm voice, with a gentle smile. I couldn't… I simply couldn't get used to this. Under some inexplicable pressure, Bonjwa's eyelids trembled as I forced my mouth open.
"S-Se-ah… th-that is… you…"
"What is it, oppa? Are you feeling unwell somewhere?"
"N-no… it's… it's nothing…"
Oppa, where does it hurt?! Are you okay?! Should I run and get Rachel-unnie right now?! Ah, damn it, what do I do… my oppa… just hold on!
…Where had that reaction gone? Se-ah was still wearing that same mild smile. Only then did… Bonjwa understand. …Ahh. So that's what this was. This demeanor… as though she had matured one more layer, somewhere deep in her mind. Living alongside Bonjwa since my return… had Se-ah finally climbed another step of growth as well? An oppa who raised his little sister to full bloom. Bonjwa, third-rate? What lackey of what sect had dared spread such slander? As expected, Bonjwa was… first-rate even as an oppa.
Heh.
Just as I chuckled inwardly — shudder. Apparently I had been asleep for quite a long while, because the call of nature set my lower back trembling.
"Ugh… Se-ah, forget Rachel for a second… I… I need to hit the bathroom first…"
"The bathroom? I'll help you up. Here, take my hand."
"Th-thanks."
It wasn't as if I'd been in any true coma. I couldn't tell exactly how far the Forged Blood Art had rebuilt me, but at the very least I felt in peak condition. So I hardly needed the help — though, well, refusing it outright felt a little churlish too. Taking Se-ah's hand, I rose, and we stepped out into the corridor to head for the bathroom. And then, suddenly—
Walking down that hallway, I was struck by a bizarre sense of wrongness.
"U-um… Se-ah?"
"Hmm? What is it, oppa?"
"It's just… there's like… no air resistance…? None at all. What is this…?"
And then the Forged Blood Art's qi-sense caught it… a high-density mass of mana wrapped around Bonjwa on every side.
Se-ah pressed a finger to her lips and tilted her head.
"What do you mean, what? It's the barrier you already know about, oppa. My specialty. Forgotten already?"
"No, that's… not what I meant…"
Every time Bonjwa moved, the formless barrier swaddling me moved along with it, but… how to put this… the feel of it was a little… less like being protected… and more like being sealed inside a mobile prison…
"Aha! I get what you're saying. Oh dear, our oppa, honestly…. Don't you worry, oppa."
Se-ah clapped her hands together with an awkward smile. Had she grasped Bonjwa's meaning right away? As expected — a first-rate oppa raises a first-rate little sister…!!!
And then:
"Oxygen and sunlight and everything essential aren't blocked inside the barrier! So there's no need to worry about any of that."
No, that's not—
"Uh… it's… this thing, you can make it… permanent, can't you…? So there's really no need for something like—"
"Hmm? It is permanent."
"………?"
In that instant, Bonjwa came face to face with… Se-ah's eyes, sunken into pitch-black depths.
"Even if it's outside my line of sight, it keeps holding as long as I stay nearby! And I can always paint it on again. So yes — permanent."
"………"
Bonjwa fainted.