A Family That Has Changed
If I were to describe the Dancheon Sword Clan before Myeong-gae, one word would suffice: desolation. Much like my own circumstances in those days.
But describing the clan as it stands now? Well, that's not so easy. A single sentence won't do it justice.
That's how much has changed within the Dancheon Clan.
The fact that the family now gathers once a month to share a meal together — that, too, is one of those many changes.
“I'm back.”
After parting ways with Chun-baek, my steps carried me to the dining hall beside the Patriarch's quarters.
Everyone was already gathered.
Not a single person had lifted their chopsticks — they had been waiting for me, it seemed.
“Eat well, all of you.”
My mother Baek Yeo-hae's single word marked the start of the meal.
Despite her chilly voice, the lavish dishes her hands had touched still steamed warmly.
The clan kept its own dedicated chef, but I knew that for this table alone, her own hands were always added to the work.
“Thank you for the food.”
This mealtime had become something I was now quite used to.
“And how are things with Hak these days?”
The greatest change of all was that my father Dancheon Gang, who had once only ever weighed words, now offered us small talk like this.
It looked like a blunt question, but the look in his eyes as he asked it wasn't the hawk's gaze of a man measuring his eldest son's achievements.
He was simply asking about his son's daily life. Only, the question itself felt so awkward to him that he stumbled over it — I could tell.
Even without Myeong-gae's trained eye, anyone could see how uncomfortable Dancheon Gang looked.
“Hm? Is that a strange question to ask?”
“Not at all, Father.”
“You'll give yourself indigestion. Finish your meal first.”
“Ah...”
My father Dancheon Gang was embarrassed by his own habit of asking such small questions.
And yet he kept trying — which is why I'd call him a true Patriarch, and a true father.
Come to think of it now, another thought occurs to me.
Perhaps Patriarch Dancheon Gang simply never knew how to play the role of a father.
At least until he ascended as Patriarch, the clan had been nothing but an arena of legitimate succession — a contest of winner-takes-all.
It may well have been inevitable that he never had a moment to ponder what it meant to be a parent.
Matching my father's awkwardness with an awkward expression of my own, my brother Dancheon Hak spoke up.
“These days I've been receiving a great deal of help from this Gong. Our sparring sessions benefit me immensely.”
That, too, was admirable effort — a fitting display from the clan's eldest son.
“That's good to hear.”
A satisfied smile spread across my father's face.
This Gong was his way of referring to Chun-baek.
They were close in age, and both were seasoned masters who had reached the Harmony Realm — so Chun-baek and my brother Dancheon Hak became excellent spurs to one another.
They sparred frequently as friends and maintained a constant exchange of martial knowledge.
I knew, in particular, that for my brother Dancheon Hak — who had only ever trained within the clan's walls — the sword of Chun-baek, a man who had walked the ronin's path, was opening up new horizons. Such is the wholesome function of a meal companion.
Patriarch Dancheon Gang, nodding in satisfaction, turned his gaze to me this time.
“You're not going out anymore?”
Hm. That question sounds a little off.
“Am I someone who runs out at every spare moment?”
“Weren't you?”
“Ahem.”
The iron face I had honed in my days as Myeong-gae hadn't fully set in this life, so I cleared my throat and avoided my father's gaze.
“Heheh.”
Hearing his laugh, I understood.
Dancheon Gang was thoroughly enjoying this conversation.
“So you're not going out?”
Uncle Yeo-baek chimed in, echoing my father. But the tone of that question was also strange.
“Did you say I should go out?”
“Surely not.”
My father hastily denied it, but...
“Isn't that right?”
“Ahem.”
Uncle Yeo-baek delivered the confirmation kill.
“Ah.”
Now I understood.
One-tenth of the appraised value of the Hwanragwon elixirs I'd brought back from my last outing.
That enormous sum must have arrived at the clan recently.
Such was the creditworthiness of the Murim Alliance.
— I have no need of them.
— We found them together, didn't we?
— You were the one who found them. Setting that aside, I have no need of them. I won't take them. You take them all.
That was why Chun-baek had refused so stubbornly, and...
— You found them, so they're yours.
— I belong to the clan.
— And what is it you want?
— Help the clan grow.
— You mean to work your father to the bone?
— Think of it as filial devotion.
— Heheh.
And because I had given everything to the clan, the entire tenth had become the property of the Dancheon Sword Clan.
To say the Dancheon Sword Clan of today has risen onto solid bedrock would be entirely accurate.
Money doesn't determine a clan's strength, but it's also true that a clan needs money to become strong — hence my reasoning.
“Well, Myeong, I suppose it's not a bad thing that you go out so often. A son of the house ought to range across the Jianghu and grow, shouldn't he?”
“Mm.”
A son who goes out and brings back the Empty Blue Stone Milk, who goes out and earns a fortune — even I would want to send such a son out, I suppose.
Truthfully, I know my father Dancheon Gang's words carry his own hidden meaning...
“Well, I do intend to go out again before long.”
I made that statement a fact.
“Oh.”
“Oh—”
Uncle Yeo-baek and my brother Dancheon Hak didn't bother hiding their exclamations of awe.
“Ahem. Well, don't overdo it.”
My father Dancheon Gang was only now recovering his composure.
He didn't show it openly, but I didn't miss the anticipation seeping into my mother Baek Yeo-hae's eyes either.
A snort of laughter escaped me.
I simply liked this — trading banter with them under the name of family.
Liked it enough that I wanted to protect it, no matter what.
Everything has its season.
That saying is an age-old maxim of the Jianghu that everyone, young and old, knows by heart.
But I don't believe that maxim is entirely precise.
Small matters can be pursued at any time, regardless of timing — and pursuing them is the right thing to do. That's closer to my own values.
— It's raining today, so the timing isn't right. I shall postpone sword training until tomorrow.
Or...
— I drank too much cheap liquor yesterday and my vital energy is murky, so I'm not in perfect condition to expel pure true qi. It would be right to postpone my circulation training until tomorrow.
Or...
— I'm still lacking, so I'm not yet worthy of Gapsuni. I should earn a little more money before confessing.
I've seen countless people who invoked timing even in small matters fail to achieve satisfying results.
The first man's swordsmanship remained forever clumsy; the second never built a solid inner foundation; and the third, I hear, attended Gapsuni's wedding as a guest and swallowed his tears in silence.
Those who seek timing even in small matters are, more often than not, weak-willed — or simply looking for an excuse not to act.
These are things I witnessed with my own eyes over my own years of living.
But when it comes to the category of great undertakings, I believe no saying is more correct than that maxim.
Great undertakings have a point that cannot be overcome by human strength and effort alone.
A great undertaking should be pursued when the proper season arrives — what one might call the mandate of fortune.
Charging headlong into a high-risk endeavor without proper preparation isn't steadfastness; it's foolishness.
So, to correct the maxim: great undertakings have their season — that is the truly right proposition.
What I now seek to accomplish is the sixth stage of the Yakseon Heart Decision: Pyeongcheonha, the Integration of Heaven and All Under Heaven.
A miraculous new realm that no one has ever achieved — not even Grand Master Yakseon, the very creator of the Heart Decision — a feat worthy of being called unprecedented.
Whether judged by its difficulty or its importance, it is a great undertaking.
Since its main task is obtaining the Five Great Pills of the Murim, there are points that effort alone cannot resolve — all the more so for that reason.
That is why I have spent my time at the Dancheon Clan.
In other words, the proper season has not yet arrived.
Because the season of Eumhyeol Sinma's appearance came, I was able to forge a bond anew with Chwipung-gae; because I forged a deep bond with Chwipung-gae, I was able to obtain the Chwigu-hwan.
It was truly a proper season befitting a great undertaking, and I harvested results worthy of it.
But the process of seeking out the remaining four of the Five Great Pills of the Murim would be no easy road.
Unlike the Beggars' Gang, I had never managed to forge deep bonds with Shaolin, Mount Wudang, Mount Hua, or Kunlun even in my days as Myeong-gae.
Suddenly, a conversation I once had with Kwak Mo, the man of leisure, came to mind.
— Myeong-gae, listen here. The truth is, luck is just another word for the proper season, you see.
Finding an elixir — that happened because you were in that place at the proper season. Gaining a fortuitous encounter — that happened because you were in that place at the proper season.
Even picking up a single copper coin requires passing by that spot at the proper season.
The varieties of luck are endless, but every explanation of every kind of luck must include the words proper season.
Think of it that way, and luck is really nothing more than another name for the proper season.
— Kwak Mo, what kind of bone-licking beggar nonsense is that? You'd best first learn the truth that meat is what fills the belly.
— If you hear me out to the end, I'll fill your begging bowl for the whole day.
— The proper season is luck itself, you say? What a fascinating notion! Kwak Mo, hurry and finish the story. I can hardly contain my curiosity.
— The thought just struck me. Doesn't luck take the shape of a reverse hairpin, I wonder?
— Ooooh. As expected of Kwak Mo. The freshness of that expression is beyond words.
We traded roughly an hour of such useless talk and came away with a full begging bowl — so looking back, that day, too, was a proper season, I suppose.
Anyway...
It was nothing but idle nonsense, but his metaphor was so apt that the words stayed with me.
A reverse hairpin looks easy enough to snatch from the front, but hesitate even a little and let the moment pass, and a slippery bald head appears, making it hard to grab hold of.
— That is precisely what luck is. Myeong-gae, don't let the proper season slip you by.
He was right.
What slips away with the slightest hesitation is luck itself — and that is the proper season of a great undertaking.
But I will never let that happen.
Because I already know, well in advance, what constitutes a great undertaking and what constitutes luck.
Not something you only realize after being struck on the back of the head — I'm confident I'll recognize it from afar, from its mere existence. I am a regressor who has made ample preparations, after all.
Considering the hardships of my days as Myeong-gae, enjoying this much privilege would only be fair.
Moreover, I haven't simply been sitting on my hands just because the season hasn't come.
Because I know that one who waits with idle hands will have no strength to seize the season even when it arrives.
Waiting for the season is not the same thing as simply letting time drift by.
I waited, exchanging martial knowledge with Chun-baek, my brother Dancheon Hak, Uncle Yeo-baek, and my father Dancheon Gang.
It's not that their realms being beneath mine means I gain nothing from them.
With a hundred martial artists, a hundred paths of martial learning spring forth.
Glimpsing scenery along another's path that I had never seen before is itself the mark of a superior master.
Had I not experienced growing through sparring with Chun-baek before?
In truth, thanks to exchanging martial arts with them, my abnormally rapid growth was supplemented all the further.
And yet...
Frankly speaking, if I claimed I felt no impatience at the time slipping inexorably away, that too would be a lie.
The season is racing past the summer solstice of my twenty-third year, hurtling toward the Beginning of Autumn.
Thinking of Myeong-gae's timeline, the Great War of the Righteous and Demonic will erupt in a little over six years from now.
My regression began at the cusp of eighteen — so already half the time allotted to me has flowed past.
The fortunate thing is that, without a hair's breadth of deviation from my pre-regression plans — no, even more smoothly and quickly than that — I achieved the sixth stage of the Five Great Pills.
In other words, I have the composure to wait for the season with a cool head.
“Let's have a match!”
As if to shake me from my reverie, my brother Dancheon Hak appeared out of nowhere.
“Suddenly?”
My bewilderment had no chance to fade.
“No words needed — the blade speaks!”
Because Dancheon Hak, having shouted that, shot up into the air with startling speed.
Is he mad? The thought crossed my mind for a moment, but...
“Hm.”
I couldn't afford to be careless.
Because his achievement, each time he promised more to come, turned out to be no empty boast — it was quite astonishing.
KA-GANG!
“Not bad, Brother.”
“I was always better than you, you wretch!”
“Hahaha.”
“Stop laughing!”
Today, keeping my brother Dancheon Hak company seemed like a fine idea too.