The Blade
Aboard the vessel that cleaved the current without pause, Dang Hyeongeuk and Namgung Cheon gazed out over the Yangtze where the sunset melted into the water, their faces set hard.
The transparent green flower-shaped jade mentioned in the letter bound with a blue knot.
The blossom had looked so vivid it might tremble at the mere brush of wind, and each petal, they had been told, seemed to hold a fragment of the Dang Clan’s martial principles.
As far as either of them knew, only one such jade had ever existed.
Garyeong-ah. Though tomorrow you become an outsider, never forget that you remain a daughter of the Dang Clan.
Unlike the family custom of taking sons-in-law into the household, this time the match had been such that they had no choice but to send their sister away.
He had spent more than half a year cutting sleep short to finish the carving for her; how could he fail to recognize it?
Dang Hyeongeuk still remembered with perfect clarity the day he had pressed the jade into Dang Garyeong’s hand.
How her eyes had reddened with emotion even as she forced a bright smile so the family would not worry—how that image still caught at his heart.
Had he known it would be the last time, he would never have let her go that way.
Chewing on that deep regret, Dang Hyeongeuk next summoned the name written in the letter.
Cheongwol.
How had a young woman said to have come from Qinghai Province arrived at the Dang Clan bearing his sister’s jade?
Worse, she had given every sign of knowing nothing of the jade’s connection to the clan.
The sole discovery had been her own admission that she and the jade’s owner had been exceedingly close.
Could it be that the child of Namgung Cheon and Dang Garyeong had truly returned alive?
Yet they said she bore a son.
Nothing lined up. Dang Hyeongeuk’s brow knotted tight.
Unless…
If the woman who brought the jade were the descendant of the enemy who had slain Garyeong and her child—
Killing intent began to seep from him unbidden.
Whether the gesture was mockery or some belated bid for reconciliation, he intended to accept neither.
“Hyung-nim.”
Just as the emotion threatened to boil over, Namgung Cheon’s voice reached him from the side.
Dang Hyeongeuk snapped his head around. Namgung Cheon drew the brim of his bamboo hat lower and spoke in a level tone.
“I understand your heart, yet the others are afraid.”
Looking back, Dang Hyeongeuk saw that several men on the deck were indeed watching him with fearful eyes.
“…Forgive me. You must be the one most unsettled of all.”
Only then did he draw the energy back in and swallow dryly.
Now that he himself was a father of two, he understood.
How violent the storm must be inside Namgung Cheon’s chest.
Even that man was holding it down with desperate strength; how could the one addressed as elder brother display so shameful a face?
“Age, perhaps—my heart only grows more impatient.”
Dang Hyeongeuk let out a short breath and leaned forward, both hands gripping the rail.
Tonight the Yangtze’s darkness seemed slower than usual in its coming.
“I feel the same. I only hope the wind blows a little harder tomorrow.”
Namgung Cheon nodded in agreement, yet his own patience was nearing its end.
Not a boy, but a girl. Could it be that Im Yu-gwang…
A full month had passed since Cheongwol left the Kongdong Sect.
Soga-yul voluntarily laid down the seat of Sect Leader and withdrew.
Every elder and disciple begged her to reconsider, yet her resolve was so absolute that they had no choice but to yield.
For whatever years remain to me, I must repent the sins I have wrought and lighten them even a little.
Her tongue might be rough, yet who among them had lived so free of blemish that she should speak of sin?
They found it strange, yet most dismissed it as mere humility and thought little more of it.
Unhak, the man Cheongwol called senior brother, was not among them.
He let the tea settle on his tongue, tasted its faint bitterness, and asked carefully,
“Sect Leader, why did you step down in such haste?”
Soga-yul shook her head and closed her fingers around the hot cup.
“I am no longer Sect Leader. I fear others may overhear.”
“Until a new leader is chosen, I shall continue to address you so.”
Two years spent beside Cheongwol seemed to have left their mark on his manner.
Soga-yul gave a short laugh, as if conceding defeat.
“As you wish. Now—what brings you to me?”
“…Must there be business before I may come? I only wished to ask after your well-being.”
So he said, yet Soga-yul caught the faint question hidden in his eyes.
“You are curious as well, then. Why I set the seat aside.”
Years of experience were not easily deceived.
Unhak nodded and admitted it without resistance.
“I will not claim the thought never crossed my mind.”
His phrasing reminded her of Cheongwol; Soga-yul looked down into the cup she held.
Clear mirror, still water.
The principle she had drilled into Cheongwol again and again—yet when the moment came, she herself had failed to keep it.
I was not even a good master.
Bitterness rose over the face of Cheongwol that floated on the tea’s surface.
“There is no special reason beyond what I have already said. To repent my sins and lighten them.”
“…”
At that, Unhak could find no further words.
Though Cheongwol had drawn them close, Soga-yul remained the former Sect Leader and he a second-generation disciple.
By strict rule, even private conversation of this sort would scarcely have been permitted across such a gulf.
How, then, could he dare ask what sin she meant?
Heavy silence settled between them for a time.
Only the soft sounds of sipping and of cups set down filled the room, until Unhak broke the awkward quiet.
“…I wonder whether Junior Sister Cheongwol is faring well. I do not know what she means to do, yet she said only that it would not be easy, and so worry comes first.”
He had spoken to lighten the air, yet Soga-yul’s face only darkened further.
“You need not worry on that account.”
“…Pardon?”
If only she could pour her sins into the empty cup.
Soga-yul’s eyelids trembled; she shut her eyes tight.
“The day that child first came here, it was already as good as finished.”
A child who had grown up regarding a mortal enemy—one with whom she could never share the same sky—as her only family.
Worse still, she had become that enemy’s blade and was now being swung against her true blood.
Knowing full well how it would end, yet keeping silent—she would surely fall to the lowest pit of hell.
Yet what else could she do?
The only one left who could close forever the eyes of the man whose injustice had never been righted was herself.
Biting her lip hard enough to draw blood, Soga-yul pictured the karma that would soon arrive.
If it eases your resentment even a little, I will gladly offer this shabby neck.
Watching Ak Seo-a sit primly on the bed, Cheongwol felt something different from the usual.
The girl who never stopped talking for even a moment—why was she so quiet today?
Had something passed between her and Dang Gangjin, young lord of the Dang Clan?
Unable to contain her curiosity, Cheongwol edged closer and asked,
“Miss Ak Seo-a, what ails you that you speak not a word today? You know full well I live for the joy of hearing your voice.”
She mimicked the girl’s dramatic manner in play. Ak Seo-a glanced at her.
Unfamiliar.
Where had the friend gone who once idolized the chivalrous heroes of righteousness and followed in their footsteps?
Cheongwol could scarcely bear that indifferent gaze.
“Seo-a, what’s wrong? Did I do something?”
When Cheongwol clung to her side and whined, Ak Seo-a finally smiled with her old brightness.
“I fell into deep contemplation without realizing it! To claim any fault of Miss Cheongwol’s is utterly unfitting!”
So saying, she pulled Cheongwol into her arms.
The soft press of a woman’s breast left Cheongwol unable to draw breath; color flooded her face of its own accord.
She herself now wore the same body—why, then, did another woman’s chest still shame her so?
“It is all thanks to Miss Cheongwol. I am truly grateful.”
She had done nothing; what sudden thanks was this?
Today’s Ak Seo-a was decidedly strange.
“Seo-a, did something happen with Brother Dang?”
At once the arms that had held her so tightly loosened.
“…”
Cheongwol glanced up. Ak Seo-a still smiled, yet the expression held a chill.
The corners of her mouth lifted slightly.
Her eyes, however, did not curve at all.
“Miss Cheongwol. There seems no need even for you to call Young Lord Dang Gangjin ‘Older Brother.’”