Farewell Gathering (2)
With the five-year promotion examination concluded, every member of the Zhongnan Sect gathered in one place.
Introductory disciples, second-generation disciples, and first-generation disciples. The Sect Leader and the elders. Even the reclusive senior elders showed their faces.
The introductory disciples swallowed dryly. They were merely standing in the same place as the masters of the Zhongnan Sect, yet the sheer weight of their presence was enough to overwhelm.
Okwon Jinin, the current Sect Leader, surveyed the faces of the introductory disciples and allowed a gentle smile to touch his lips. Facing masters whose faces they had scarcely glimpsed until now, their tension was only natural. Yet today was the last day they would stand as introductory disciples of the Zhongnan Sect. They could not remain frozen in nerves forever.
“Ahem.”
Okwon Jinin drew their eyes with a light clearing of his throat. He had not raised his voice, yet every word rang as clearly as if spoken at their ears—an application of the Six Harmonies Sound Transmission, a technique that carried sound in every direction without regard for front, back, left, right, above, or below.
“The training of this Hwa-generation of introductory disciples has been truly eventful. There were unforeseen accidents and incidents, yet there were also achievements that have no precedent even in the sect’s own histories.”
Okwon Jinin looked over the disciples. Their numbers had dwindled since the day they first entered the sect—not because successive examinations had weeded them out, but because unexpected attacks had claimed lives. Put another way, there had been no other losses.
“Never before in the history of the Zhongnan Sect has an entire generation of introductory disciples passed without a single failure.”
His gaze settled naturally upon the center of that unprecedented success: the introductory disciple Cheonhwa, the boy whom the first-generation disciple Jinhyun had brought in. The Sect Leader had received reports of the influence this boy exerted upon his fellows at every turn.
“This is the fruit of no one’s effort but your own across these five years.”
Five years. The span from the day they entered the Zhongnan Sect, through the promotion examinations, to the choices each of them now faced.
“And those five years of experience will become a great treasure for the lives that lie ahead of you.”
They had tempered body and mind through martial arts, competed at times and cooperated at others, been swept into unforeseen crises, and fought their way through them to survive. Every one of those experiences would leave a deep mark upon their still-short lives.
“Yet a chrysalis must shed its shell and become a butterfly. The time has come for you to leave behind the title of introductory disciple.”
Some would remain at the main mountain. Some would leave it. Each would walk their own path according to their circumstances and choices.
“Therefore, on this final day before each of you sets out upon your road, I ask the introductory disciples: do you know why the Zhongnan Sect bestows a Daoist title upon every child the moment they are accepted?”
It was not unusual for a Taoist sect to grant a Daoist title—or Daoist name—to its disciples. From the nearby Huashan Sect to the Wudang Sect that had once visited as guests, many Taoist schools named their disciples thus. Those who received such names were generally formal disciples. Only the Zhongnan Sect conferred the title at the very moment of entry.
“It was so that each of you would feel, in your bones, that you were disciples of the Zhongnan Sect.”
The introductory disciples had come from every walk of life. Some were scions of great clans; others were nameless orphans of the wilds. In the secular world the gulf of status between them would have been so vast they might never even have met face to face. Yet the instant they became introductory disciples and received their titles, they were all Hwa-generation disciples of the Zhongnan Sect.
“Those who leave and those who remain are alike disciples of the Zhongnan Sect. The proof of that bond is the Daoist title you have shared these five years.”
Another name they had worn together for half a decade—that was the emblem of Zhongnan’s ties, and the final gift to those who would now return to the secular world.
“I have spoken long enough. There are no other duties today; we shall simply hold the farewell gathering. Introductory disciples, rest at ease.”
With those words Okwon Jinin dismissed the assembly.
At the farewell gathering, dishes more lavish than any they had ever seen were set out—partly to offer a final meal to those descending the mountain, and partly to nourish those who would remain and become formal disciples.
The introductory disciples ate and talked of many things. Mostly the ones becoming secular disciples exchanged quiet words with those remaining as formal disciples of the main mountain.
“Don’t you dare forget me once you’ve gone down.”
“Let’s at least write now and then.”
“When I make it big I’ll brag that we were the same generation, so you better succeed!”
Most of those descending did so because of family circumstances that required them to become secular disciples. They spoke of staying in touch, yet everyone knew such chances would be rare. Once they returned to the secular world, they would rarely meet unless some special occasion or summons from the main mountain brought them together again. Even so, five years of shared hardship made them martial brothers still, and the secular disciples wished their fellows good fortune in the martial path.
No one received more such blessings than Cheonhwa. Introductory disciples thronged around him; virtually every one of those leaving as secular disciples came to speak with him face to face.
“If it weren’t for the family, I’d have stayed as a formal disciple.”
“Thinking I won’t get to watch Woobo anymore leaves me feeling empty in all sorts of ways.”
“Exactly. You never get tired of watching him, do you?”
“At first I wondered what kind of guy he was, but now I can’t help wondering how far he’ll go. I wanted to stay and see it if I could.”
“I know that feeling. Among those of us becoming secular disciples, people who don’t feel that way are probably the rare ones.”
One after another the departing disciples voiced the same regret: they had wanted to walk beside him and could not. They had watched the effort he poured out day after day; inspired by that example they had kept striving themselves and each had found their own measure of achievement. It had all been possible because of the silent back of Cheonhwa, always pressing forward.
“Honestly, when I heard he’d perfected the Gyunchon Chukgi-gong in only four years, I was stunned. Everyone says it takes five years at the least, and he cut a whole year off.”
“And what about stepping into the entry of First-class only three months after learning the higher mind method? Who would have guessed the Gyunchon Chukgi-gong had that kind of efficacy?”
“By that point it almost felt like Heaven itself was helping Woobo along. He trains with a vicious will, sure, but once he reaches that level you can’t even feel jealousy anymore.”
They never tired of marveling at Cheonhwa’s absurd rate of growth. Whatever fortuitous encounters he might have received remained unknown, yet everyone knew he lived as if training were the very air he breathed. It would have been stranger if someone who worked as hard as Cheonhwa failed to grow strong.
Cheonhwa answered with modest agreement and simply listened. Tomorrow they would part; he wanted to keep them company as long as he could. Still, he had never grown used to praise, and the cascade of compliments left him awkward. He kept his face as expressionless as possible, but after five years together the other disciples read the subtle shifts in his expression. Deciding there would never be a better chance to tease Woobo, they piled on the flattery without restraint. At last Cheonhwa could bear no more and slipped out of the gathering on the pretext of visiting the privy.
Even the senior brothers show no mercy when it’s the last day…
He let out a heavy sigh and wandered about to take the air. The sun was already sinking; the gathering that had begun in broad daylight had stretched on for quite some time.
As he walked he spotted another figure who, like him, had stepped outside for a breath of wind. It was none other than Daehwa.
Even after all this time Cheonhwa still found Daehwa difficult to face. The two of them maintained a carefully measured distance—neither close nor far—and, unless official business required it, each tried to ignore the other. This time as well Cheonhwa meant to pass by as if he had not seen him. Daehwa, however, had other ideas.
“Come here.”
“…”
“You didn’t mishear. I am calling you. Come here.”
Having noticed Cheonhwa’s attempt to slip past, Daehwa summoned him closer. Cheonhwa could not guess what wind had suddenly stirred the other youth, yet Daehwa was among those descending as a secular disciple. He obeyed without protest.
“For what reason did you call me, Senior Brother?”
“Today is the last day we are both introductory disciples. If we are to speak, it has to be now.”
After six months of closed-door seclusion Daehwa had clearly changed, yet the change remained hard to pin down—because he had never chosen to display it. Today, for reasons of his own, he began to pour out, without order, the reasons he had changed.
“After I lost to you I spent six months in the Punishment Cave asking myself, over and over, what had gone wrong.”
Daehwa spoke calmly of the reflections he had undergone there.
“Why had I hated you so fiercely? The answer was right in front of me.”
A bitter smile he could not quite suppress touched his lips as he continued.
“I was envious of you. That was all.”
He had envied Cheonhwa, who had worked a miracle and overcome talent with sheer effort. He had envied him so desperately that a heart demon had taken root. Accepting that simple, childish truth had taken a long time.
“I wanted to become like you.”
Someone who could defeat talent through effort, someone upright enough to keep walking no matter what hardship or adversity came—that was the person he had longed to be.
“By now it is impossible.”
An arrow once loosed cannot be recalled; spilled water cannot be gathered again. A will once broken cannot simply be raised once more. More than that, the wrongs and karmic burdens Daehwa had inflicted upon Cheonhwa had not vanished. Even if heart demons had driven him, he had still done those things with his own hands; that fact admitted no excuse.
Having listened to Daehwa’s confession, Cheonhwa spoke.
“Why should it be impossible?”
“…What?”
“Just as I said. You need only begin again.”
An arrow once loosed cannot be recalled, yet a new arrow can be nocked. Spilled water cannot be gathered, yet fresh water can be drawn. If a will has broken once, one need only rise and set a new will in its place.
“Of course it will take a long time. You will want to give up more than once. But the fact that you cannot seize a chance unless you challenge it—Senior Brother Daehwa knows that better than anyone.”
“But I… to you…”
“If guilt toward me is the problem, then I forgive you.”
“…”
When Cheonhwa offered forgiveness so readily, Daehwa found himself speechless.
“I cannot claim I feel no resentment toward Senior Brother Daehwa. Still, in place of a final parting gift, I will forgive you.”
“…I still cannot win against Junior Brother Cheonhwa.”
To forgive, simply because it was the end, the very person who had tormented him—Daehwa doubted he would ever possess such a state of mind even if he lived a hundred years. Yet somehow his heart felt lighter.
“Junior Brother Cheonhwa, it seems you still have no intention of becoming chief disciple?”
“Standing above others has never sat well with me.”
“I think it is already far too late. Whether you like it or not, you will become chief disciple.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because in wartime command there is no one like you.”
Daehwa spoke less as a martial artist than as a soldier. In the sudden chaos of an assassin attack Cheonhwa had rallied the allies; even in the face of danger he had stood openly at the vanguard and lifted everyone’s morale. In that sense he had been born with the makings of a vanguard commander.
“In peacetime it might be different, but in times as unsettled as these there is no more reliable commander than Junior Brother Cheonhwa. I expect the second-generation uncles and the other seniors think the same.”
“…”
“You told me to begin again, so let me return those words in my own way.”
For the first time a faint smile touched Daehwa’s lips.
“There is nowhere left to run. Face it head-on—just as you always have.”