A Homecoming for the New Year
Even in the vastness of the mountains, finding Brother Chun-baek was never difficult.
Tak-tak—
In deep valleys where the sun had already slipped beyond the ridgeline, there was no easier beacon to follow than a campfire. An ordinary herb hunter would never commit the lunacy of lighting a fire at night on a winter mountain — but the very best herb hunters were not bound by such ordinary logic.
Following the glow of a campfire visible from far away, I crossed three low peaks and there he was, roasting a rabbit.
Perhaps thanks to his years as a vagabond, the rabbit was roasted to a rather respectable-looking finish.
"You've come."
"I'm late, I know."
"Not at all. I only just arrived myself."
He welcomed me before I had even made a sound.
"Any luck?"
Brother Chun-baek asked with a poorly concealed air of anticipation. Whether it was because my senses had awakened to the spiritual, or because I had grown close enough to him to read him with ease, I could not say — but his emotions were plainly legible without meeting his eyes.
Unlike his usual calm, weighty presence, a flicker of boyish excitement was unmistakable. He looked, quite frankly, like a child waiting to be praised.
"With snow blanketing every corner of heaven and earth, it hasn't been easy."
When I teased him with studied indifference, having already guessed his mood, Chun-baek broke into an uncharacteristically bright grin.
"Look at this."
He held something out. It was something I knew well — thanks to the rigorous study of spirit herbs and medicinal plants I had done back in my days as Myeong-gae.
"Isn't this nine-branch ginseng root? Judging by its size, it must be at least three hundred years old."
Nine-branch root was an herb famed for dissolving blood stasis and restoring vital energy, ranked a notch above fleeceflower root. And like fleeceflower, when it aged long enough it became a spirit herb. In the world of Jianghu, even century-old fleeceflower was treated as a spirit herb — so a three-hundred-year nine-branch root was a genuinely fine one.
"Ahem."
Brother Chun-baek cleared his throat with conspicuous pomposity. At this moment he was a rank amateur who had dug up a three-hundred-year spirit herb on a snowbound mountain, so the preening was only natural.
"Impressive, truly."
As a matter of fact, the first thing my eyes had caught was not the nine-branch root in his hand but the hand itself. It had always been a rough hand, befitting an honest man of the sword, but now it was cracked and scraped all over.
Without even witnessing it, I could imagine how much earth he had turned over to find that single root. Brother Chun-baek knew I was playing at herb hunting because I needed spirit herbs. How could I fail to understand that he had given everything he had — for my sake?
With a proud expression, Chun-baek offered the root to me.
"Take it."
I shook my head.
"That's yours, Brother Chun-baek."
But my refusal was refused.
"I won our duel today, so you'll do as I say."
"Hm?"
Come to think of it, I did recall him proposing a contest before we each set out in search of herbs.
"I see. So today was your victory, Brother."
"Which is why you'll take it."
"......?"
I could not for the life of me deduce the causal link between his victory and my receiving the nine-branch root.
"You lost to me, so you'll accept defeat like a man and honor the victor's wish — which is that you take the root. That's all there is to it."
"What manner of logic is that?"
"Isn't it the victor who sets the rules?"
Come to think of it, that almost sounded right.
"......I'll put it to good use, then."
I decided to pretend I had never found the thousand-year lingzhi tucked away in my breast pocket. Better to secretly gift it to him another day, as thanks for the nine-branch root. Today, it was only right that Brother Chun-baek be the victor.
Herb hunters, by their nature, are gatherers of ordinary herbs — not diggers of spirit herbs. Ignore the common herbs while chasing only the miraculous, and you'll starve to death. That's simply how it works.
We had spent well over a month wandering the deep mountains, and in that time we had secured a handful of spirit herbs and a great quantity of ordinary ones. Bundled up like a peddler under a mountain of herb satchels, I made a proposal.
"Let's move these before we go anywhere."
"Agreed."
And so the first place we sought out in the village we hadn't visited in ages was the herbalist's shop.
Winter was the off-season for herbalists. Skilled herb hunters, you see, do not climb winter mountains.
A novice hunter couldn't dig herbs on a winter mountain to begin with. Granted, there existed one such novice — Chun-baek, who had dug up a spirit herb instead of a common one — but he ought to be counted as the exception that proves the rule.
In any case... once winter arrives, the difficulty of herb gathering climbs on a geometric curve. Only a truly seasoned hunter could hope to gather a satisfying haul on a winter mountain — and seasoned hunters don't climb winter mountains at all. They've already gathered enough in spring, summer, and autumn to see themselves through the cold. That is what mastery means.
Those without the ability cannot dig herbs in winter; those with the ability never create the circumstances that would force them onto a winter mountain in the first place. The herbalist's winter slump was therefore inevitable.
"Thank you kindly! Safe travels, sirs!"
The shopkeeper saw us off in a booming voice. To a man fretting through the off-season, my bundle of herbs had been nothing short of a windfall.
"Our pleasure."
The satchels bursting with herbs became a handsome sum of silver, weighed out and stored in my pack.
"Here's your share, Brother Chun-baek."
When I handed over his portion, he counted on his fingers.
"You're buying?"
"Of course."
"Let's go, then."
As we walked in search of the tastes of the mortal world, my keen senses caught a handful of figures: a beggar holding out a begging bowl, a tavern girl crying her wares, a lone traveler in unremarkable clothes.
As Chun-baek and I passed them in easy conversation, their forms quietly vanished from my perception.
It seemed we had now secured ample plausibility for discovering the Garden of Delight.
Time, after all, is a relative thing. Playing at herb hunters while sparring at every opportunity and roaming the Jianghu, the days had flown past like an arrow.
A journey begun around the first day of winter had passed the winter solstice and drawn suddenly near to the last day of the twelfth month. Two months of wandering might seem a long while — but truthfully, given the sheer breadth of the Central Plains, it was barely enough to properly circle a tenth of it.
The last day of the twelfth month. The night known as Je-ye, the Eve of Expulsion — the day before the new year arrives, when the old year is swept away.
I had willingly made myself a somewhat unfilial son in order to answer the destiny laid upon me, but I had no desire to become the ultimate unfilial son. And so, on New Year's Eve, I set my steps toward the Dancheon Clan for the first time in a long while.
-The new year? I can't say I've ever much bothered with such things.
-Then come along with me.
To my careful question, Chun-baek had answered just so — and since he had nowhere in particular to go anyway, traveling with him to the Dancheon Clan was the natural course of things.
"Ah, the young master has returned."
"You always work so hard."
"Thank you, young master."
After exchanging greetings with the familiar gate guards of the Dancheon Clan, a few more steps brought me to my quarters — still immaculate, without a speck of dust, as if steeped in Mother Baek Yeo-hae's enduring care.
"Rest a while, Brother Chun-baek."
"Where are you off to?"
"I have to report my return, don't I?"
"Go on, then. You've earned your rest."
"I'll be back."
Between the running away and the frequent departures, reporting my return had become quite the familiar routine, and I made my way toward the Patriarch's hall with easy, practiced steps.
"Well, if it isn't you. What brings you home?"
Not that I could ever quite grow used to my father Dancheon Gang reacting that way. Setting aside my private observation that this was not, historically, the Patriarch's usual manner, I opened my mouth.
"Is it so strange for a son to come home?"
Even my own speech and conduct seemed to have shifted somewhat.
"A little strange, yes."
"Hm."
Unable to find an answer to my father's short, faintly sulking reply, I noticed Uncle Yeo-baek seated at the Patriarch's side, making no effort to hide his laughter.
"Myeong is your karma, Gang."
"......So it would seem."
In any case, since the venerable Patriarch had deigned to ask what brought me here, answering was the proper thing to do.
"The new year should be welcomed with family."
It still felt awkward — but spoken aloud, it turned out to be such a small thing. When I thought of the years I had lived through just to come back and say that one line, the preciousness of what I was protecting struck me anew.
-So you finally came back to me.
The voice of Chwipung-gae, murmuring with his hand laid upon the grave mound, brushed past my ear. Perhaps it had been his influence all along — that I, who had never once marked the new year any more than Chun-baek had, had gone out of my way to return to the Dancheon Clan under the pretext of New Year's Eve.
"So the boy has some common sense after all."
Whether my answer had pleased him, a satisfied smile tugged at the corner of my father's mouth.
But as I said before — I had no wish to become the ultimate unfilial son, yet neither had I been granted the destiny of becoming a filial one. A sorry fate, truly.
"I'll likely have to set out again around the start of spring."
This year's New Year's Eve fell not far from that day, so I gave notice that I would be leaving home again before long.
"So you're a doomed wretch after all."
My father's face crumpled.
"Hahahaha!"
"Yeo-baek. Don't laugh."
"Yes, Patriarch."
Even under the Patriarch's stern command, Uncle Yeo-baek only suppressed his laughter — barely.
"You have all worked hard this year."
The Patriarch Dancheon Gang, bearing his weight of dignity before the family.
"Goodness, another year older. At your age, you really ought to stop counting."
Uncle Yeo-baek, now showing an easy, genial humor.
"Eat up. All of it."
Mother Baek Yeo-hae, saying it in her chill voice while quietly sliding another dish my way.
"You — when did you get back?"
And Elder Brother Dancheon Hak, startled by my sudden appearance — whether because the household's information network had slackened in my absence, I couldn't say — yet still burning with competitive fire as ever.
Looking for all the world like the daily life of any ordinary family, we ate together. It was, in its way, a shape I had grown quite accustomed to now. A family, gathered around one table.
"You looked at peace, all of you."
On the way back to my quarters after the meal, Brother Chun-baek — who had sat quietly through it all, doing nothing but eating — said this.
"Did we?"
Coming from a man who never spoke empty words, the assessment was deeply satisfying. I didn't particularly care for others' opinions of me, but there was no reason on earth to dislike being told I looked happy.
"To be honest, knowing your background, I worried a little. It seems it was for nothing."
"Hm?"
The background Chun-baek spoke of could only mean one thing — that I was born an illegitimate son of the Dancheon Sword Clan.
Our first meeting drifted back to me unbidden. On the road to the Dragon and Phoenix Assembly, when Namgung Tan had insulted me with talk of bastard blood, it had been Chun-baek's blade that blocked the strike — and that chance encounter had become our bond.
-I'm a bastard too. That was all there was to it. I simply couldn't stomach the way that Namgung whelp talked.
That's right. My own indifference had made me forget, but Chun-baek was a man who carried a background much like my own.
"......Are your parents well?"
"They passed some time ago."
"Hm. May they rest in peace."
"Ancient history."
Chun-baek laughed it off lightly. Just as he said, he seemed to have let the past flow past him cleanly.
Compared to the Dancheon Myeong of my previous life, Brother Chun-baek was a remarkably mature man.
"Don't worry. I have family of my own, you know."
I could guess who he meant. The present-day successor of the mysterious sect that had made the Vagabond King Yi Chun-baek what he was — Chun-baek's master, surely.
"Someday, I'd like to bring you to pay your respects."
"Isn't that only proper? Paying one's respects to a friend's parents is a fundamental duty."
"Right. Parents. Well said."
A flicker of longing passed over Chun-baek's face. Not long from now, I was destined to seek that master out together with him — so it would be no empty promise.
In any case, New Year's Eve had passed and the new year had dawned. I was twenty-three now.
Five years since my regression. Seven years remained until the Great War of Righteousness and Evil.
I had accomplished much — yet much still remained to be accomplished. Above all, I knew that chasing at the heels of the giant called the Heavenly Demon, and surpassing him, would be anything but easy.
But that was all right. At twenty-three, I had finally reached the very point on the timeline where Myeong-gae, the three-knot beggar, had begun spreading his wings in earnest and widening his reach across the realm.
I will protect the things that have become precious to me.