Chapter Text
Throwing away the used bandage, Tang Soso swiftly grabs a clean pair before approaching the patient.
Truly, the statement “doctors are the worst patients” is said for a reason.
Tang Gunak, her father, had miraculously survived a battle against a now-dead Jang Ilso—along with the two heads of the Muyong and Zhuge families, somehow—and instead of resting as was heavily suggested by a distraught Chung Myung, was now attempting to go out and act as if nothing happened. Her father, the Poison King, as well as one of the most knowledgeable of medicine in the Tang Clan family, was acting as if it were not a one-in-a-million chance of his survival, and even if he did survive, it likely wouldn’t last the night. Every time Tang Soso or one of the other Tang Clan doctors turns their back for just a single second, her father is already far out the door. And every time he escapes, he’s brought back by an also recuperating Chung Myung, who at least has far better regeneration than he does.
And, just as Tang Soso predicted, as she turned to grab a fresh pair of bandages, her father was out the door. But…
“Sahyeong?”
If her father is able to disappear in less than a second even with injuries as bad as his, then Chung Myung can practically teleport while being fully in the grave save for a pinky.
With a sinking feeling in her stomach, Tang Soso leaves the Wudang’s Medicinal Hall and gasps loudly.
“W-Where is everyone—?!"
-
Falling out of the darkness, Chung Myung lands quickly on his feet, in spite of the severe injuries gained from the fight against Jang Ilso.
Looking around, he can see the similar situation happening to everybody that had disappeared.
Before whatever the hell was happening just now, Chung Myung was already approaching an escaping Tang Gunak when he suddenly felt a sinking feeling in his stomach. Expanding his senses to the area around him, where everybody from the collapsed Gupailbang that had joined Cheonumaeng were settled in Wudang's broken sect, he noticed an increasing lack of warriors in the mountain. And at first, Chung Myung thought that there must have somehow been another attack by Saperyeon, perhaps by the deceased Jang Ilso’d Ref Fogs, but he couldn’t find any qi signatures that matched. But even so, Chung Myung warily sweats his gaze across the mountain, aware of the countless eyes watching his serious form, clearly noticing that something dangerous caught his eye.
Then just as Baek Cheon hesitantly called out to him, the world went dark.
“Hm…maybe it wasn’t the world that went dark but my vision?”
Eh, well, who cares about that now? What’s done is done.
Instead…
“An opera theater?"
A place he's never been to in his second life, but unfortunately has been to several times in his first. Of course, he only went the first ten years of his life or so before high-ranking nobles and any other person that would invite Hwasan finally got the memo that sitting still for hours at a time wasn't his thing.
( Tang Bo tried to go with him once, for whatever reason. It had been in the first few months they met each other, and out of pity and exasperation, Chung Myung went with him after several weeks of begging.
Naturally, they couldn't make it through the first act before Chung Myung fell asleep. Yet somehow, Tang Bo was pleased with this.
Of course, Chung Myung had no idea this was because his head was on Tang Bo’s shoulder the entire time. )
“Chung Myung!”
Hm?
At the voices calling out to him all at once, Chung Myung finally notices that everybody on the mountain—eh? Is that Hwang Jongwi???—is is the theater room with him.
‘I could have sworn that I disappeared before most of the people here…’
“This place must be big to fit all these people—”
“Chung Myung!”
“Oof! Let go off me!”
Growling at the arms of his chicks around him, Chung Myung finally pays attention to the panic in their voices.
“Chung Myung! Where are we?!”
“Eh? How the hell am I supposed to know—”
“Chung Myung! Everything suddenly went dark! We were in the infirmary tents outside when we suddenly heard people panicking, and everybody suddenly started disappearing!"
“Yeah, I noticed that too—”
“Chung Myung! Everybody in the sect is here! Not just them, but the other sects too!”
“...Can you stop interrupting—”
“Chung Myung! The Tang Clan is here! Even the ones that were off in Hua-um! The Eunha Guild, the Moyong Clan, The Zhuge Clan, the Ghost sect, Jongnam, Namgung, Wudang, Hainan, Nanman Beast Palace, The Ice Palace, Potala Palace, Shaolin—Everybody!"
“...You little brats—Ah, wait. Shaolin?”
“Yes!”
In the arms of his Sahyeongs and Sasuks, he can see higher than normal—no matter how much he's trained or eaten, he’s still annoyingly among the shortest in Hwasan, just above Tang Soso—and sure enough, the broken, defeated Shaolin is off to the corner of the opera theater. And among the several lackluster bald heads is a particularly shiny head.
“Hae Yeon?”
“Mn. It seems that in spite of the random order everybody left, Hwasan was the last one to arrive. Hae Yeon is still technically counted as a part of Shaolin, so as far as we know, he's been with them since he got here.”
Indeed, based on how tense Hae Yeon is, they've been with each other for some time now, talking and catching up as casually as one could when more than half the sect’s disciples are dead, the sect itself is practically in ruin, the Abbot is staring blankly at a wall, and they suddenly find themselves in an opera theater without explanation.
Turning from the depressing sight, Chung Myung looks at where all of the sect leaders and clan heads—and that sneaky sapa bastard—speak to each other with hushed, tense voices. As they speak, much like Hwasan, all the disciples are gathered together in tight groups in random parts of the theater, constantly looking at each other with their hands nervously gripping their weapons.
Then, as if sensing his gaze, the leaders simultaneously turn his way.
“Chung Myung!”
“Dojang!”
At the voices of the leaders calling out to him, the disciples of the sects also turn his way, tension somehow bleeding out quickly as they approach him as well.
“Sodojang!”
“Hwasan Geomhyeop!”
Squirming uncomfortably in the arms of his martial brothers—who are still holding onto him???—Chung Myung tilts his head in confusion, wondering why everybody suddenly looks so tense.
( What he doesn’t know is that when everybody fell with their respective sects and clans, inexplicably it took much longer for Chung Myung to appear. And with their sudden appearance in an unknown place, with everybody terribly injured and caught off guard, the likelihood that someone was able to take Chung Myung suddenly seemed possible. Chung Myung, who was arguably the most injured and exhausted out of everybody, would have a difficult time fighting against an entity that was able to kidnap a large group of people from all around the world so suddenly. )
Finally being dropped to the floor, Chung Myung smooths out his clothes, only to be interrupted as he's picked up once more.
“Chung Myung-ah, you cute little brat! Where were you?"
“Grand-Elder! Let go—ah! My cheeks! Cheeks!”
Hyun Young, picking him up with one arm and pinching his cheek with the other, naturally, doesn’t listen. Luckily, appearing behind him with a pleasant smile, Hyun Sang picks the other Grand Elder into a tight bear hug.
“Haha! Excuse us, Sect Leader!”
“...Thank you.” Un Am looks at them with an equally pleasant face before turning back. “Chung Myung-ah, are you alright?"
“Ah, I’m fine, Sect Leader. I’m used to this. But, ah, where are we…?”
At his question, the eyes of the silent leaders and heads regain their previous tension. Crossing his large arms, Maeng So hums slightly. “We were hoping you would know.”
“Eh? Me?”
“Well,” Tang Gunak raises a nonchalant brow, "you were the last one to arrive. We rightfully figured that you were doing something.”
Chung Myung tilts his head innocently. “Me? One of the most injured, tired, and youngest people in the room?”
All heads nod.
“...”
“Dojang shouldn’t underestimate himself like that? You’re still the strongest one here, even if you're injured!”
Ah, Seol Sobaek…why are your eyes so sparkly? Don’t you know that's the Asura you're talking to…?
Pointedly ignoring that, the leaders once again look back at Chung Myung.
Absentmindedly rubbing his head, where he’s had a terrible migraine ever since narrowly surviving against Jang Ilso, Zhuge Jain sighs. “So if the general, of everybody, doesn’t know, then isn’t this situation much more serious than we thought?”
With a fan fluttering in front of his face, Im Sobyeong hums. “Well, this situation is already serious. What Dojang does or doesn’t know won't make the current situation any more difficult.”
“Perhaps not,” Jongli Gok says, turning back for a moment to look at his anxious disciples, “but it would certainly be beneficial if at least one of us knew where we were.”
At this, Chung Myung levels them with a flat stare, doing it long enough that the leaders and heads turn away awkwardly.
“Do you all really think I, of all people, know something about opera houses?”
…
No. No, we don’t.
“Ahem,” Hyun Jong coughs awkwardly, slightly flushed, “in any case, we still need to find a way out—”
BOOM!
“!”
All hands unsheathe their weapons, bodies immediately tensing at the sudden explosion, coming from nowhere visible. At the same time, the Ogeom and Hye Yeon surround Chung Myung, watching as a large gust of dusty wind knocks over the chairs and tables everybody had been carefully avoiding.
And obscured in the dusty wind, a terrifying, bloody figure emerges.
And watching the figure, everybody's eyes widen.
And as everybody's eyes widen, they begin alternating between one figure and another.
“Chung Myung…?”
“Dojang?!”
“A-Another Chung Myung?!”
It's physically impossible, even with all the weirdness surrounding a certain little devil, but inexplicably an older—a terribly, terribly injured—version of Chung Myung stands in front of them.
Except…
“Don’t they look different?”
"There are a few different features hidden under the blood but…”
“The eyes.”
The figure, the older Chung Myung, looks exactly like their own Chung Myung except for a few minor facial details. But the eyes…the sharpness, the deadliness, the way he looks covered in blood—the specific shade of plum blossom pink everyone knows.
It all matches.
And Chung Myung, the small Chung Myung, their Chung Myung looks on with a blank face.
( To everyone else, this is the face of someone who was caught off guard for the first time in their life, but for the Ogeom and Hye Yeon, this is something else.
To them, this is the face made by someone as they stumble across the Ten Thousand Mountains for hours at a time, only stopping as they find a corpse of an ancestor long dead. )
Finally, after sweeping the room and the inhabitants with familiar eyes, they stop.
On familiar eyes.
Pink eyes meet pink eyes, and simultaneously, like it was coordinated, both reach for their swords.
“To think that one of those Demonic Sect bastards had such skills to kidnap the Maehwa Geomjon Chung Myung.”
A smooth voice cuts through the tense room like a knife through butter before raising the tension further.
“M-Maehwa Geomjon Chung Myung…?!”
The theater immediately explodes with the whispers and yelling of the disciples, especially from the Namnan Palace, and the distraught expressions of the sect leaders and clan heads do nothing to stop it. They whisper and frantically ask each other if that's really the Maehwa Geomjon Chung Myung. And even though they ask, a large part of themselves immediately believe it.
After all, if the leaders themselves are this tense in front of someone that isnt their Chung Myung, then surely—
“You.”
Pressure. Pressure no one has ever felt before.
All voices stop. All hands clenching on their weapons fall. All eyes turn back to the Maewha Geomjon Chung Myung, realizing immediately how foolish it was to look away for even a second from this monster of a man.
“Who are you?”
Pressure so dark, so heavy, in his voice weighs them all down.
“...”
“Oh? The imposter doesn’t wish to speak?”
A step forward.
No one can move. Not even if they wanted to.
The Ogeom and Hye Yeon and Hwasan all try to step forward, but their bodies won’t move.
“You have the audacity to poorly steal my face, yet do not have the courage to speak?”
“...”
At Chung Myung's continuous, uncharacteristic silence in the face of taunts and mocking, the Maehwa Geomjon Chung Myung snarls. Inexplicably, the room temperature goes down, feeling cold enough to see one's breath—that is, if anybody were able to breathe.
“Speak, Imposter. If you know who I am, then you must know I have much more pressing matters to deal with—”
The pressure disappears. The heavy, deadly eyes turn from them and face the darkness of the ceiling.
Maewha Geomjon Chung Myung stands terrifyingly still, and for a moment everybody panics inside and out.
If there is something in this room to make that man so still, then the situation is much more serious than—
“Sahyeong!”
Maewha Geomjon Chung Myung calls out, looking up at nothing, with an oddly childish, amost whiny tone. Like a kid calling out to their parents after they got lost for hours in a crowded festival.
“Sahyeong!”
The terrifying man, covered in blood so fresh it's as if he'd just been pulled out of a battlefield, calls out into the nothingness once more.
“Sahyeong!”
The disciples and leaders look at each other in confusion, yet no one has the courage to say anything out loud or move. The only ones who do are, of course, Hwasan, moving closer to their Chung Myunng, who has gotten deathly pale.
‘It figures that even this guy would get intimidated by the supposed Maewha Geomjon Chung Myung.’
‘It really just shows that even this guy is human.’
Baek Cheon warily eyes the Maewha Geomjon Chung Myung, who was still calling out to the darkness with no response, leaned down close to his Sajil’s ear. “Are you alright?”
“...”
Still pale and beginning to cold-sweat, Chung Myung says nothing, much to the worry of Hwasan and now the others close enough to see this.
Many like Maeng So look down at the general of Cheonummaeng, then back at Maewha Geomjon Chung Myung.
They never expected to meet the man. Well, who would expect to meet a man that had been dead for over one hundred years? But even so, meeting the man now, they can understand why the man was so infamous.
Chung Myung, their Chung Myung, is undoubtedly the strongest person they knows, and yet even he has been reduced to this state after the Maewha Geomjon Chung Myung himself spoke to him.
But little do they know that this is not the reason.
His younger version.
The person he hates most in this world, only second to Cheon Ma.
( Jang Ilso doesn’t count, on account of being dead. )
Maewha Geomjon Chung Myung, a person he'd never expect to see—especially since that's him, and no one would ever expect to see a version of themselves who's been dead for years to be standing in front of them. A battered-worn person, someone just plucked out of the battlefield, calling for his Sahyeong.
‘When was the last time I did that?’
Chung Myung never knew he sounded so childish, so lost, whenever he would call out for his Sahyeong. Maybe if he called out for him now, he'd sound the same.
But he won't focus on that. Because his younger version is still calling out for his Sahyeong.
And if Maewha Geomjon Chung Myung is calling out for his Sahyeong in such a way, even if he isn't ‘there,’ it's because he is there.
Hes almost there—
“Sahyeong!”
A man falls out of the darkness, and hundreds follow.
The quiet spell over the original inhabitants of the opera room disappears as everybody begins talking over each other in a panic.
Hundreds of people fall out of the darkness, landing with the agility and grace of warriors, but Maewha Geomjon Chung Myung focuses on only one man.
“Sahyeong!”
The man turns. “Myung-ah—Oof!”
The Maewha Geomjon Chung Myung, a man who had an entire room of impressive people and even more impressive warriors tense and terrified, jumps on the man. The monster of a man, covered in still-fresh blood, practically wraps himself around the man like a red panda bear on bamboo, doing so in such a natural way it's like he's unashamedly done it for years.
Meanwhile the man, while shocked at falling out of the darkness into an opera theater—something they all sympathize with so much—looks completely unsurprised at the clinging form of the Maewha Geomjon Chung Myung.
“Myung-ah? Aren't you supposed to—where are we?”
“I was hoping Sahyeong would know.”
“...I got here after you.”
“Eh? What does that matter?”
“You brat!”
Like they're in their own little world, the two begin squabbling as the still unknown man attempts to shrug off the Maewha Geomjon Chung Myung from his person, while the other petulantly clings like a child.
At the sight, for some reason, many look at the smaller Chung Myung.
( The petulant nature, the bratty clinginess, the arrogant way he speaks—it's like they're looking at Chung Myung.
Not just the Maewha Geomjon Chung Myung, but Chung Myung. Their Chung Myung. )
And Chung Myung, not noticing the eyes of the many, simply stared at the group with indescribable eyes.
He stares at the man who looks so much like himself, stares at the man arguing with the Maewha Geomjon Chung Myung, stares at the group of people too far to see the symbols on bloody clothing watching the scene with exasperated expressions, and stares at two people approaching the scene.
“Dosa Hyung-nim~!”
“Ya, Sahyeong! We’re in public right now!”
A man in the same clothing as the unknown man and the Maewha Geomjon Chung Myung approach with slightly less worn-out clothing, just as a man with clothing eerily similar to the Tang Clan approaches with a flirty tone.
“Dosa Hyung-nim~!” The man calls out again with a flirty tone that does not match his icy expression. “Why are you moving so much with all those injuries, hm~?”
Despite the tone that makes many around them freeze, Maewha Geomjon Chung Myung simply rolls his eyes. “These things? They're nothing.”
“You—!”
“Excuse me!”
All heads in the room turn to the man with a fan delicately covering his face.
“Perhaps we can all focus on the more pressing issue at hand?”
The unknown man in Tang green narrows his eyes at Im Sobyeong, who flinches at the terrifying gaze but still persists. “Ah-hah, n-not to say the injuries of the great Maewha Geomjon Chung Myung is not important, but we all find ourselves in a similar predicament! None of ourselves seem to know where we are, and are in an opera theatre of all places, with hundreds of people we dont recognize—”
“Who are you?”
“M-Me?! O-Oh, I am the Nok—”
“Not you.” The man in Tang green looks away from Im Sobyeong, who breathes a sigh of relief, before looking at someone else. “You.”
Chung Myung.
“Who are you, and why do you look like my Dosa Hyeong-nim?”
Chung Myung, who was impossibly more pale, more sweaty, and more silent, does nothing.
At his lack of anything, the man narrows his eyes and starts to make his way to Chung Myung. That is, until a man in similar green steps forward.
“My apologies,” Tang Gunak bows to the man with a confused and serious expression on his face. “However, before you do anything else, I do have a question.”
The man looks at the similarly green colors of Tang Gunak.
“...Who are you? I’ve never seen you before.”
I’ve never seen a man that isn’t in the Tang wearing the Tang colors, is what the man clearly means.
“I can say the same for you.”
“I won’t repeat myself again.”
“I am Tang Gunak. Head of the Tang Clan.”
The unknown man in green’s eyes widen incredibly. "No, you’re not.”
Tang Gunak’s lips curl downwards at the dismissal of his position. “I won’t have anybody doubt my position as the head of the Tang Clan.”
“Nor will I allow an imposter to claim my own.”
The eyes watching the members of the Tang Clan turn to another man in the luxurious Tang green. However, the Tang Clan, watching this man insert himself in the dispute, each wear similar expressions of confusion and…familiarity?
Ever the composed man, Tang Gunak does not allow the oddity of the situation to shake him visibly. “Who might you be?”
“Hm. The imposter does not even know who I am? Your skills are poor.”
"Who. Are. You."
“I am Tang Cheolak, the head of the Tang Clan.”
Finally, Tang Gunak's composure cracks. “T-The Tang Clan Leader during the Demonic War?!”
“Hm, so there’s an official name for it now?”
“O-Official?”
Tang Gunak uncharacteristically shudders, and similarly, the ever-composed (?) members of the Tang Clan look at Tang Cheolak in confusion.
Finally, Tang Pae says the thought that had been in their minds. “B-But haven’t you been dead for a hundred years?”
His voice is hardly louder than a whisper, yet it caused the room to go silent once more. To his credit, despite hearing this wild claim, Tang Cheolak does nothing more than scoff.
“Such ridiculous words, boy. I have been fighting on the front lines for several months now, yet you already proclaim me dead?” Then, focusing on the colors of Tang Pae’d robes, his eyes narrow. “Better yet, explain to me why an unknown child is proudly wearing the colors of my clan and rudely claiming that the head is dead.”
Tang Pae, a byproduct of interacting with Chung Myung for months now, courageously holds his glare. “I am the next heir to the Tang Clan, Tang Pae, and my father Tang Gunak, is the current head who just survived a near-death battle with Sapaeryeon and Maninbang.”
The hundreds of unknown warriors begin to whisper to each other, revealing their unfamiliarity with those names.
Cheonumaeng and their allies too begin to whisper to each other, confused by their confusion.
There is nobody in the modern world who does not know about Sapaeryeon or Maninbang. And there is no other Tang Clan head besides Tang Gunak, not for several years.
The lack of clarification and mismatched information only leave those in the room more tense. And with the room majority being warriors, all of whom have quite obviously just been in battle or are recovering from battle, tensions only continue to rise. The few in the opera theatre with no martial background—Hwang Jongwi, his guild members, some of the Tang craftsmen, and even Lady Chu and her baby—can’t even attempt to diffuse the situation, the frustrated glares of the warriors making it too difficult to even breathe.
Then, always knowing how to make a situation worse, Chung Myung speaks. Maehwa Geomjom Chung Myung speaks. “So…two Tang Clans, huh? What’s next, two Hwasans? After all, there’s already another imposter poorly wearing my face, too cowardly to admit it when it’s so obvious.”
Maehwa Geomjon Chung Myung, finally separated from the unknown man, steps to the middle of the room, immediately taking the attention of all eyes in the room. “An impostor boldly wears my face, a man claims to be the head of the Tang Clan while claiming that the real Tang Clan head is dead, doesn’t even seem to recognize who their most valuable member even is, and, to make matters so much better, a bunch of petty brats are wearing the Hwasan Sect robes, and nobody is even saying anything about that?!”
Nobody there can ignore how terrifying the man is, not even after seeing him cling to a man like a child, so hearing the way his voice gradually rises as he speaks leaves a deep chill in the bones of everybody listening. Hwasan, the ones accused of being petty impostor brats, can’t even say anything either. In spite of their pride as members of Hwasan, not allowing anybody to tarnish its name as long as they are alive, the presence of the Maehwa Geomjon Chung Myung is too strong for them to do anything.
Even Jang Ilso’s presence is nothing compared to this man.
( If they were less afraid, less occupied by their circumstances, the members of Cheonumaeng would recognize how similar that presence feels. )
At the lack of anything around him, Maehwa Geomjon Chung Myung snarls, striding closer to where Hwasan is. And at that moment, despite the fear that plagued their souls terribly, everybody in Cheonumaeng, even those that had just joined, stands in front of Hwasan, who stands around their Chung Myung.
Of course, the sight does nothing for Maehwa Geomjon Chung Myung, a man known for facing stronger foes in larger quantities.
But then a voice calls to him. “Chung Myung.”
And he stops. The turns with a rough gaze to the man who called him before scoffing and turning back to where the unknown man in Tang green stands.
Then, the man who called out to Maehwa Geomjon Chung Myung, who is also the man he had clung to like a child, smiles gently before bowing—much to the chagrin of Maehwa Geomjon Chung Myung, who calls out to the man with an unsettlingly whiny tone.
“My name is Chung Mun, of the thirteenth generation. I do not know why there are now arguments for who the rightful leaders of each sect are, but I am the current sect leader of Hwasan.”
The moment the man says his name and generation, the eyes of those of Hwasan widen comically.
( Except for one. )
“C-Chung Mun?!”
“The thirteenth generation?!”
At the recognition of his name and the surprise at his generation number, Chung Mun’s smile cracks a little. “Yes? Is that such a surprise?”
And Hwasan, a sect filled with people who cannot read the room to save their lives, burst out immediately. “We’re the twenty-third generation!”
…
“What.”
Everybody stares at one another in confusion, tension immediately being replaced by pure confusion. But of course, Maehwa Geomjon Chung Myung, fitting for any person with the name Chung Myung, just rolls his eyes, clearly not believing their words.
“This…”
[ This… ]
“!”
All heads turn.
Inexplicably, the voice of Maehwa Geomjon Chung Myung echoes loudly in the room. One would think that this was the work of the man whose talents know no bounds, but the startled expression on the man's face makes it clear this wasn't his doing.
Instead, all eyes turn to the endlessly large stage of the opera theater everybody dismissed as unimportant in favor of disputing with the unknown people in the area.
And just above the stage the white background screen now displays—
“O-Oh m-my God…”
“U-Ughh…!
“Tha-that…!”
“Hyuk…!”
Hurling and groaning and strangled gasps and cut-off screams and sudden sobs echo in the room loudly.
Because the white screen shows a vivid image, more clear and more realistic than a tiger painting from Cao Buxing.
No, it's not the realistic ‘painting’ in front of them.
It's what it shows.
Hundreds, thousands of bodies litter the floor. Some lay stranded and untouched. Others are deliberately thrown into piles, desecrating their corpses.
[ Teeth clenched hard enough to shatter any moment.
Fists tight enough to draw dark red blood.
Trembling and convulsions that couldn’t be controlled. ]
An unknown voice echoes in the room, one that does not belong to Maehwa Geomjon Chung Myung, describing the actions of an unknown man.
But then—
[ Anger enough to turn his hair white.
Red. Everything was red. Everything before his eyes was stained scarlet with blood. ]
Once again, the voice of Maehwa Geomjon Chung Myung echoes in the air. And immediately, everybody forcefully wrenches their eyes away from the still portrait of butchered and unrecognizable corpses lying around horribly, to the man himself.
The man himself, who looks more confused than anybody else there.
They cannot see the man on the formerly plain white screen, even as his voice somehow echoes, yet the pain, the anger, the devastation in his voice make it easy to imagine how the man looks.
And the man, the Maehwa Geomjon Chung Myung, somehow looks more terrified and confused now than his presence and strength made them.
( And everybody is so focused on Maehwa Geomjon Chung Myung that nobody, not even Ogeom and Hae Yeon and the people that are supposedly from the thirteenth generation of Hwasan, who have been subtly glancing at him with confused familiarity in their eyes—nobody looks at him.
No one notices the way that he is the only one who doesn't look at the screen, because it's only been a few years since he's seen it, and some days he remembers that moment more than he remembers his Sahyeong’s face. His Sahyeong’s face, which is present, which is so close to him. His Sahyeong, who stands immediately by the side of his younger self, protectiveness and fear evident in his every move. )
Someone attempts to speak, and despite the room being filled with skilled warriors, no one can place or recall who because—
“A-Ah…!”
“F-Fuck!”
"I-It's all…!”
[ The lush green mountain peak was stained blood-red; its very nature was swept away in a single day. ]
Those that had been there both on the journey to save the Hainan sect and those that barely survived on the way back can’t help making a comparison.
Somehow, the white screen, made of fabric to use as a plain background for plays or musical events, had somehow been able to shift between the horrifying image of bodies strewn absently across the mountain floors and a quick shift between luscious mountains and then to the silent, dead mountain full of dead bodies.
They knew, from the journey there, how suffocating the mountains felt even a hundred years later, but to see it? To see the corpses of the bodies still fresh, in the same places where they accidentally bugger up their corpses? To see how they were still simply left there, discarded there from the moment of their death to the present? To see how—
[ Death. All that was left was death.
What purpose did all this bloodshed serve? ]
“M-Myung-ah…!”
The man that claimed to be Sect Leader Chung Mun of the thirteenth generation calls out to Maewha Geomjon Chung Myung, like it was an instinctive response to any kind of pain from the younger. Similarly, the other 'Hwasan' looks to the man after hearing the devastation and tremble in his voice, instantly crowding around the terrifying man like they aimed to protect him.
[ Chung Myung clawed at the hilt of the sword embedded in his shoulder, drawing out the broken length of the Plum Blossom Sword. ]
“DOSA HYUNG-NIM!”
“CHUNG MYUNG!”
The man in Tang green, equally frozen and confused as everyone else, hastily grabs at the man, looking frantically between the vivid moving portrait and Maehwa Geomjon Chung Myung. The other members of ‘Hwasan’ as well begin to react frantically, shaking him and grabbing at his person while staring fearfully at the screen.
Not a single one of them knows how a large piece of fabric meant to act as a simple screen and background in opera theaters is suddenly shifting between such realistic events, especially events that not a single one of them can clearly remember happening. And yet they still react, because that's Chung Myung, on the ‘screen,’ in pain and missing an arm.
That is Chung Myung on the screen missing an arm and clawing it out.
It's such a Chung Myung thing to do that for a moment, many who know him can believe they are looking at the future.
It's such a Chung Myung thing to do, that, those of Cheoneunmaeong, still gathered around Hwasan gathered around Chung Myung, look at him in fear.
Then that feeling of fear only amplifies.
Because Chung Myung isn’t looking at the screen. Instead, his head is so fearfully bowed, in a clear attempt to not see what is happening. And Cheonumaeng, and Hwasan can only crowd around him further, allowing him to hide if that's what he wants to do.
[ His left arm was gone—only the torn scraps of his sleeve flapped in the wind. His legs were unwounded, yet he could barely move. His stomach gaped open with a hole the size of an infant’s head. ]
Everybody in the opera theatre can hear so clearly the almost monotonous way Maehwa Geomjon Chung Myung speaks of his wounds. Like he can hardly care about such life-threatening wounds.
And those of the Tang Clan, always and forever connected to a man who will have that name, look at each man with matching names in both parts with fear and anger. As Tang Soso tightly clenches her Sahyeong’s left arm, the unknown man in Tang green does the same.
Nobody brings up, or even looks at, the way the hands of the Tang Clan members and the man in Tang Green begin to twitch, like their bodies are actively attempting to wrap the man completely in bandages.
But it's terrifying, horrifying in a way that makes it suffocating to even think about talking. Because the somehow-moving painting on the fabric screen actively shows how large the gap in the man’s stomach is by showing the view through the man.
And at this point everybody knows, and everybody doesn't want to say, ‘That man is going to die.’
[ And yet, Chung Myung couldn’t feel the pain.
The pain of his body was nothing compared to the turmoil in his heart. ]
The last words of the man tremble so agonizingly that even though Baek Cheon knows that isn’t their Chung Myung, he can't help the way he too clutches tightly to Chung Myung like Tang Soso.
The man looks and speaks too much like Chung Myung for his heart to feel composed. The sight of the mountains covered in corpses was terrifying and sickening in such a way that he feels that if he thinks about it for a second longer, he might genuinely vomit and pass out.
But the anguish in a man who sounds and speaks so much like their Chung Myung makes him want to take that troublesome Sagil of his and lock and guard him in his room for a year straight.
Somehow, the man claiming to be Sect Leader Chung Mun and all the others of the supposed ‘Hwasan’ sect of the past look like they want to do the same.
[ …Sahyeong Jang Mun. ]
A broken voice calls out. It's said in the same tone and same childish, whiny tone as the Maehwa Geomjon Chung Myung was using moments before, but the tearful way it's being choked out is so drastically different.
And the man being called out responds in an equally broken voice, like it was an instinct.
“M-Myung-ah…”
Chung Myung flinches. He looks almost fearful as he looks at the man using such an affectionate affliction with such a broken tone. His throat bobs as he almost audibly gulps, looking away from everybody once more.
He can’t do it.
He can’t, he can't, he can’t—
[ He discovered the discarded corpse of Jang Mun of Mount Hua Sect.
Nobody notices the sob that almost comes out of his throat, or the way his hand goes to his mouth as he forcibly holds back the vomit, or the way his knees almost buckle—because all hell breaks loose.
“What.The.FUCK!”
Maehwa Geomjon Chung Myung separates himself from the group, who are all too stunned at the vivid sight of Chung Mun of the thirteenth generation, with a large portion of his body blown apart and an equally stunned look on his own face—with the blow, the death, being too quick for him to feel the pain.
Maehwa Geomjon Chung Myung, who had shown less reaction to his own death, grabs at the sword on his waist with a clear intention to pull it out and slash at the portrait for showing such a sight, but Chung Mun of the thirteenth generation simply stops it with a rough hand on his trembling wrist.
“Sahyeong…!”
“How do we know it's real?”
“...”
The man says the words quietly, yet it catches the attention of everybody in the room.
Those who have interacted with the man listen to those simple words intently. No matter the foe, if Chung Mun of the Hwasan Sect were to go into battle, it is likely that Maehwa Geomjon Chung Myung would die first before letting anybody lay a hand on the man. The entire situation, being plucked out of battle rooms or active battles, was ridiculous. Seeing eerily realistic paintings shift themselves into newer, even more eerie paintings in an opera theater befitting of an emperor is even more ludicrous. It would be more ridiculous to believe such things were reality instead of a clear ploy by the Demonic Sect to weaken them mentally.
However, those of the present, a more modern world, listen to the man’s quiet words with a different feeling in their hearts.
They know, even if they have never seen the battle, that this is the final battle of the Demonic War, where the Heavenly Demon was beheaded.
Each of them can tell, as tension is forced out of their bodies, that these people are trying to convince themselves that such portraits were fake and unreal.
But because they know what happens, because even after one hundred years they still face the consequences, they know it is all real.
[ Why was it so unfair? Why were the dead unable to even close their eyes? ]
“S-Sahyeong…”
“Calm down, Myung-ah. This is likely to be a mental trick.”
“...”
[ “Sajae…” Sajae Chung Gong’s bisected body haunted him. ]
“Sahyeong!”
“Sasuk!”
“U-urk…!”
The eyes of the past Hwasan turn to Chung Gong, hearing the pain in Chung Myung’s voice as he speaks of Chung Gong’s ‘death.’ All look at the man himself, whose hand goes to his mouth with a severely nauseated expression.
Their sect leader said that this was likely to be a ploy, but why does it feel so real?
[ Sajils… ]
“Urk…!”
“O-Oh, fuck…”
“Sa-Sahyeong…!”
The voices of the past Hwasan echo in the quiet room as the portrait somehow shifts instantly to show the bisected, blown-up, beaten, severed, trampled, discarded, impaled, dead bodies of their martial brothers.
[ Everyone was dead. ]
Then, not just the bodies of those from Hwasan, but the bodies of members of Shaolin, Wudang, Namgung, Jongnam—sects big and small are shown.
And this time, not just the unknown warriors of the past wearing battle armor groan and sob and tremble, but those barely recuperating from a battle of their own do as well.
How can—who can do such a thing?!
[ All of Mount Hua Sect’s best and brightest, who had promised to climb the mountain together, to safeguard their territory, to spread their names far and wide, had departed to a place from which they could not return.
And their Sajils followed them. ]
The best and brightest of Hwasan in question tense their expressions, both at the despair in their Chung Myung's voice and at an action that sounds just like them.
Their sect leader said to be wary, as this is likely to be a mental trick from the Demonic Sect, but how can they not have doubt when there is something so realistic being described?
For them the war has only just started a year ago, yet all of Hwasan, more than any other sect, have clearly made peace with their own deaths. And aren't their actions, being described by the heartbreakingly tearful voice of their Chung Myung, clearly showing that determination?
( Still, nobody notices a younger and older Chung Myung, who looks away from the fabric screen oddly projecting his past thoughts out loud, hiking his shoulder high in a poor attempt to ignore what he's hearing.
He’s already seen this. He’s already lived it. Does he really have to go through this all over again? )
[ Chung Myung clenched his teeth.
Theirs was a noble sacrifice. Their death was just and glorious.
But who would dare praise their deaths? Who would dare!? ]
Everybody in the room flinches at the raised voice of Maehwa Geomjon Chung Myung.
When the man first dropped into the room with a large bang, so similar to their own Chung Myung, he had been agitated and angry enough that he began raising his voice while adding pressure to his presence.
And he does the same thing again. But this time, instead of a bone-chilling fear, a heartbreak like no other encompasses their souls.
Yu Yiseol, watching a man so eerily similar to her Sajil, finds herself suddenly standing guard behind her little Sajil.
It’s odd…it's tragic.
It’s eerily familiar.
[ Chung Myung’s gaze locked on to the perpetrator, the one who had roused his unfathomable rage. ]
Then, the unrealistic, eerily realistic fabric screen shifts once more to a sight they are all familiar with.
Different faces, but same eyes. Plum blossom pink eyes are narrowed in unsealed rage, bitterness, frustration, and despair. Some are emotions none would imagine would ever be present in those eyes, but others are seen so often that the doubt on whether or not this is a mental trick begins to be challenged further.
But it's the next words that change everything.
[ The Demon from the skies, the leader of the Heavenly Demon Sect. ]
“!”
“W-What?!”
Those from the supposed past generation look at each other with hardened gazes, clearly familiar with the ‘man,’ but those from the future are much more different.
To think they would actually see the Heavenly Demon?!
None of them can ignore the tales of the ‘man’ able to kill an entire army with a simple glare, and none of them can ignore the fact that the man was strong enough to lead the fanatical Demonic Sect bastards so naturally.
The simple thought of the Heavenly Demon had plagued the world for decades, far more than the acts of the Demonic Sect ever could.
But to think—
[ The Heavenly Demon. ]
“A-ah…”
A strangled gasp leaves a man before he falls unconscious. No one can judge the man, a clear warrior, based on his impressive build, bloody and worn clothing, and sheathed weapon that looks like it's had far better days.
The Heavenly Demon. He’s close. He’s right there. Behind them, next to them, in front of them. His eyes peer into their souls, and his hands claw their ways into their ribcages to crush their hearts and pound on their lungs.
He—He’s terrifying.
“O-Our ancestors…fought—"
The voice was cut off by a silent groan, but everybody could understand the incredulity the man felt. Because they can feel it too.
Their ancestors fought against this man?
[ The sight of this despicable man sat cross-legged in the sea of blood and gore evoked strange emotions in Chung Myung. Even in this hellish scene, the Heavenly Demon appeared supremely serene. ]
Not just the Maehwa Geomjon Chung Myung, somehow on the fabric screen, vividly breathing heavily and blinking furiously, feels the anger.
Any and all people in the opera theater, people fundamentally opposed to everything the Heavenly Demon stood for and had done, can’t help the way their eyes burn in anger and the way their hands clench tightly on their swords.
The man is absolutely terrifying, though "terrifying" is too simple of a word to describe what he evokes in the crowd, but their anger at his serenity can nearly overcome it.
[ No, “serenity” didn’t suit him now. Dozens of swords pierced his body, and two spears pierced his stomach. Everyone had spent their lives to topple that demon. ]
A scene of warriors—warriors now in this room, standing battered but alive—a scene of warriors risking their lives like ants against a bored tiger.
Just a fraction of the battle is displayed—as if it were a short memory being recalled—but that much is enough to make several warriors of the supposed past generations collapse to the ground or pass out in fear and shock.
A man from Shaolin's arm is blown off, and right as he attempts to use the other, his legs are blasted away. He attempts to move, but his body is accidentally trampled on by his martial brothers.
A man from Wudang narrowly escapes a beam of light heading his way, but his fate is more painful. As he turns, the Heavenly Demon turns his way, flicks his wrist, and the man’s body twists and twists and twists. The man screams, and explodes.
Another man from Wudang, now covered in the blood and flesh of the martial brother who was twisted so obscenely right in infront of him, stops for a second. That second is enough for several Demonic Sect men to grab at each of his limbs, hold him down, and stab him repeatedly until he is no more than a lump of sliced flesh.
A man from Jongnam, desperately defending himself from thirty-six different angles, doesn’t account for the enemy to crawl underground and grab at his ankles. He goes down screaming, clawing at the ground, and almost makes his escape, but instead the enemy cut his arms into tens of pieces and cut the tongue of the man in clear annoyance at his screaming.
A man from Hwasan, who was clearly letting out plum blossoms for hours at end, based on their severe lack of shine, becomes a dagger target practice for the enemy. Right before the final dagger makes its way through his heart, he throws his sword with all his might at the back of the Heavenly Demon. It’s shot down.
[ The battle between the final squad, consisting only of the elite of the sects, and the Heavenly Demon ended in annihilation. ]
The elites of the sects, which make up the majority of the warriors of the past generation, don’t miss the wording.
Annihilation.
That word was not used for no reason. Even their combined strength made the battle practically a one-sided defeat on their end.
[ Was it satisfactory? Would the dead rest peacefully?
They would not.
With such deaths, with knowledge of their supposed defeat—because none of this can be real, there is always room for doubt—would they ever be able to rest peacefully?
Knowing their deaths meant nothing in the end?
Ridiculous question to ask.
[ Even if they did, Chung Myung couldn’t. It took everything he had left to stop the rage from stealing his rationality. ]
They would never be able to rest if that was truly how they died.
And they would never be able to continue fighting, not if they knew that’s how they would die.
And yet…even if there is still much doubt on the legitimacy of whatever is being presented, the idea that Maewha Geomjon Chung Myung would feel such rage for them? Somehow, it helps that rage settle.
[ The Heavenly Demon’s pale, empty eyes opened to gaze into the blue sky.
“…Mount Hua Sect.” Three words spilled from his lips. ]
At the words of the Heavenly Demon, all of those who proudly wear the plum blossom symbol can't help but stiffen.
Inexplicably, such words feel more disrespectful than anything they had ever faced. More almost than what they had lost and faced in the war, more almost than the hundred years of intolerance and shame they had faced in a broken sect.
( Hearing those words again, being done in a way so vivid that he physically feels there, back on that mountain, Chung Myung looks up for the first time.
He looks immediately back down, actively angling his body away fraction by fraction.
He physically, genuinely cannot do this right now— )
[ The words eternally inscribed on Chung Myung’s heart now emerged from the demon’s mouth.
“How unfortunate, disciple of Mount Hua Sect. If only you could get out of here, you could boast of your achievements.”
“…Shut your disgusting mouth.” ]
“Oh Chung Myung…”
Who in the world didn’t know how horrible his temper was? It wasn’t unknown that the terrifying man had little to no patience for anything, save for his Chung Mun Sahyeong.
But hearing and seeing their Chung Myung—even in a mental trick—lash out so violently in fear and not solely anger?
It’s so tough…
[ “You can still be proud of your actions. With the help of countless people, your sword finally reached my body.”
“Shut up!” Chung Myung’s stomach churned just from hearing the name of his sect from that wretched mouth. ]
“Oh, Chung Myung…” A sigh of his name is said once more, yet only two people hear it this time.
This is the most conversation that anybody has heard from the Heavenly Demon. Nobody in the current Cheonumaeong can say, not even Im Sobyeong, that they know of any ‘spirited debates’ the Heavenly Demon might have had with anyone. None of the past generations can say they have heard the man say more than just a few words, but those who can have always said the man had only said it to one man.
Maehwa Geomjon Chung Myung.
A man who was always the exception to everything.
[ “How unfortunate.” The Heavenly Demon was dying. Even as the greatest demon in all of time, he cannot survive his dantian breaking and his organs being ruined.
Terminal lucidity—his appearance was nothing more than his last gasps of life.
But why? Why did a dying man seem so relaxed!? Cheon Ma was incomprehensible to Chung Myung. ]
The warriors of the unacknowledged past generation gasp and look at each other with confused eyes.
The Heavenly Demon? Dying?
Could it be that their supposed deaths in the future that were declared for naught actually meant something?
If the confusion and shock in Maewha Geomjon Chung Myung’s voice could be believed as legitimate, then surely such a thing might be possible.
Meanwhile, those from the unbeliebed future generation look at each other in confusion, especially Zhuge Jain and Im Sobyeong.
Never had they heard nor read about a specific name for the Heavenly Demon, yet Maehwa Geonjon Chung Myung knew it?
[ If I were given just one more day, I would have truly become a being worthy of the name “Heavenly Demon." This is fate as well. ]
The warriors of the past pause at the ever-terrifying voice of the Heavenly Demon.
“N-Not worthy…?”
How could the atrocities of a sect led by that man not make him qualified for such a disturbingly fear-inducing title?
But more importantly…
“One more day…?”
The people of Cheonumaeng look at each other with widened eyes.
Nobody who fought on that mountain lived, so almost nothing about what happened could be shared. Thus, nobody was able to pass it on that the Heavenly Demon would have only needed one more day to fully take over the world.
‘Just how strong is he, that a single day could make such a difference?’
[ Chung Myung gripped the sword he’d pulled out of his shoulder. The sharply forged blade cut his palm. ]
“Sahyeong…!”
“Chung Myung!”
“D-Dosa Hyeong-nim!”
Several voices call out to the man, as if they could stop a moving painting from, well, moving.
But even so, the strangled gasps and reactions are completely warranted, since the man was practically dead on his feet. He was so injured that it would be no surprise if he tripped and died on the spot.
[ One step. ]
“F-Fuck, stop walking…!”
[ Another step. ]
“H-He’s practically walking himself to his grave!”
"I-it's not real! Stop freaking out…!”
[ At the end of a long and terrible war, Chung Myung limped towards the Heavenly Demon. ]
“O-Oh, God…!”
“What the fuck is he doing?!”
Many in the room, clearly stressed at the sight of the strongest in the room limping painfully to the Heavenly Demon instead of away, were begging and yelling at the man on screen and in the room.
Even those in Cheonumaeng, fully aware of what was going to happen, still find themselves yelling in panic and frustration because the man is just too much like their Chung Myung.
( And idea had long since developed ever since Maehwa Geomjon Chung Myung dropped into the room, and their Chung Myung went eerily silent.
Even now, their Chung Myung is quiet, looking away from the screen and trembling, which only adds to the idea.
But none of them can even continue that thought, because the idea of it being true, is far too painful for any of them to imagine, )
[ “Remember this, disciple of Mount Hua Sect.” Cheon Ma’s eyes seemed devoid of emotion, even as Chung Myung approached. “This is not the end. The Demons will return. And when that happens, the world will be conquered by the Demons. The Demons can never be stoppe— ]
The eyes of those in the room practically bulge out.
Too much information had been given at once.
“This is not the end.”
“The Demons will return.”
The Heavenly Demon says this with such surety, that any doubt can’t even begin to settle in. All the warriors and non-warriors look at each other, even if they've hardly interacted, if ever. Even if this fabric screen were showing falsities—an idea desperately persisting in the minds of those from past generations—the threat is too real to ignore.
Many already begin to open their mouths to speak, but just as their words are cut off, so is the Heavenly Demon’s.
[ The Heavenly Demon’s head fell to the ground. ]
…What.
[ Chung Myung crushed the head of the Heavenly Demon, eyes still open. ]
What.
[ “It’s…” ]
Just like that?
[ The war was over. ]
“Just…Just like that…?”
The fabric screen showed the scene clearly.
The Heavenly Demon, prophesizing the future. The tip of a sword, held in seemingly stable hands. Then-
Plop
The head is severed from the neck and falls quietly, like any other head.
A foot is lifted with difficulty to step on it, using little force to squish it, like it was the head of a normal man and not a monstrous beast.
[ The world would remember their victory. But Chung Myung knew: there was no victory here. No one won this war. ]
“Aren’t…” The man who begins to speak cuts himself off, but it’s clear what he wanted to say.
‘Aren’t these words we've all thought before?’
How could the bastards from the Demonic sect ever be capable of showing, even in a mental ploy, the despair and hopelessness felt right after a long and arduous battle? Those bastards lack the compassion and sanity for that.
But the words of the Maehwa Geomjon Chung Myung…those are always the words they repeat to themselves after narrowly surviving but watching their martial brothers die in vain in front of their eyes.
Meanwhile, those on the side of Cheonumaeng harden their faces, especially those that came from the now broken Gupailbang.
Many, like Jongli Rok, Heo Do Jinin—and if they were to look, Beop Jeop, who had been silent and off to the farthest corner the entire time—and Namgung Myung are all aware of the commitment of their ancestors to erase anything that Hwasan did in the war. Of course, the influence of Hwasan at the time was just to great, especially because of Maehwa Geomjon Chung Myung, so they weren’t still completely forgotten in history.
There was no victory for anybody in the war, but there were certainly losers, and Hwasan was the main one. It’s such a shame, they think, after interacting with the revived Hwasan, that everybody, themselves included, chose to ignore what Hwasan did for them
And it’s such a shame that such a great man like Maewha Geomjon Chung Myung would never be avenged.
[ Finally, Chung Myung no longer had the strength to stand. His inevitable death was coming. ]
The faces of the past Hwasan turn pale in an instant. The amount of surety in his death was hard to ignore.
It was making it harder and harder to deny the fact that this is reality. Every time they attempt to say it is all a hoax, something is shown to them that is so vivid, so devastatingly real, that it feels like they’re there. They can feel the despair Chung Myung feels.
The unknown man in Tang green, standing so closely to Chung Myung like a leech, narrows his eyes at the thoughts of the older on the fabric screen being projected. Out of everybody in the world, even the great Chung Mun, he’s the one that knows best how Chung Myung is like on the battlefield. Sure, it’s only been a year of fighting the Demonic Sect, but he’s been in countless battles over the decades with his Dosa Hyeong-nim.
And he knows, as severe as his wounds may be, the great Maehwa Geomjon Chung Myung will never die from wounds or blood loss, not unless he wants to.
But it’s clear to him that his great Dosa Hyeong-nim, somehow being presented to them with moving paintings—because unlike what the majority of warriors around him are still attempting to believe, this is not a ploy or mental trick—won't ever die unless he no longer has anything to live for.
…How annoying.
He clenches his fists tightly enough to let out blood.
How heartbreaking.
[ Chung Myung raised his head to the sky. Even after such bloodshed, the sky was still blue, as if indifferent to the happenings of earth. ]
That’s how it’s always been, Lady Chu thinks bitterly.
As she was hiding from the Demonic Sect with her baby, from the faint cracks beneath the debris, she was able to see the bright blue sky, so blue it was practically blinding.
Even now she still has difficulty sleeping, so she can’t imagine how it must have been for the Maehwa Geomjon Chung Myung in such a devastating, world-altering moment. In a moment where he was certain of his death.
( Unwillingly, she looks at where Hwasan Geomhyeop is surrounded by the disciples of Hwasan. She turns away as soon as she sees the trembling in his hands. )
[ What will happen to the Mount Hua Sect? ]
Hearing the despaired voice echo in the operating theater, Hyun Jong closed his eyes.
This is one of the things he had feared for several years.
For the longest time, when he was the sect leader, Hyun Jong worried about what the past generations of Hwasan would say and think if they knew about their current state. He was sure that in their final moments many were scared for the fate of Hwasan. And even though everything had been resolved and revived, there were still many years of the sect being broken apart and seconds away from ruin.
But it is so difficult, actively knowing that the greatest martial artist that ever came out of Hwasan was more worried about the sect than himself.
( Hyun Jong doesn’t look at Chung Myung. He doesn’t look at either version of the man in fear.
Never would he have thought. Never would he have expected—
Hyun Jong shakes his head, cutting off that thought. It’s not true until Chung Myung says it’s true. )
[ Everyone who climbed the mountain was dead. Even if anyone had survived, they were probably on their last breaths. No clan had suffered as much as Mount Hua Sect.
“Sahyung Jang Mun… I told you.” ]
Chung Mun closes his eyes, already knowing what it is that his Chung Myung was referring to.
After all, they’ve had this discussion several times in the past year.
[ “Don’t give your all in every task,” he’d said. Now Mount Hua Sect would be buried on this mountain. All the disciples had followed their masters to death. All that was left were the children, who knew nothing about Mount Hua Sect. ]
Listening to the words of their ancestor, Yoon Jong clenches his fists, looking away momentarily before looking back. It’s not right for him to look away for a single moment when this is the last moment of the greatest warrior of Hwasan.
But even so, it hurts to see, to know, that their ancestors knew there would be severe consequences if they were to give it their all in the way. And yet, they still did it anyway.
The current Hwasan is practically living in a golden age, but if it weren’t for Chung Myung, the despairs of their ancestors would have persisted.
It’s odd being in the same room as people who have likely died one hundred years ago—because unlike them, with the information that doesn’t match up, they’re far more willing to believe that this is reality—but he’s glad at least that they’re not going to see Hwasan when it was at its worst.
[ And… regret. It was regret. ]
Many listening to the dying voice of the lone man can’t help their sighs.
For those that have personally fought with or against the man, it’s hard to believe that in death he too had regrets.
In a way, it almost makes him seem…human.
[ Was there any meaning to what happened? Did the spilled blood of Mount Hua Sect mean anything? ]
Those from the Nannam Beast Palace can’t help their frowns. In a way, the blood of Hwasan meant nothing, not for a long time.
Maeng So watches the fabric screen with an uncharacteristically silent expression. For the longest time the people of the Beast palace had practically worshiped Maehwa Geomjon Chung Myung, to the point that they welcomed their descendants gladly after decades of no contact.
But to actively see the despair of the man, akin to a tiger cub separated from its mother? Like an innocent creature devastated by the loss of its habitat?
It's heartbreaking, but it shows that these people too were humans. It shows that even legendary figures, whose accomplishments have been romanticized, feel the scars worse than anyone else.
[ “I don’t know anymore. Sahyung Jang…” Chung Myung fell onto his side. ]
Chung Mun can feel his heart stop.
He knows that he told everybody that there was a chance that this could be a ploy, but that was only said to calm Chung Myung down. He can’t actually believe it. Because out of everything that feels just so realistic, the thing that ultimately convinces him is how even as he’s about to die, Chung Myung still calls out to him.
It’s always been like that. When he was a child, when he would get in trouble, when he would be curled up in his bed after battle, healing from life-threatening wounds. Chung Myung always called out to him, like he was seeing guidance, like Chung Mun was the answer to everything.
Like simply calling out to Chung Mun would instantly make any situation easier.
[ His pure white robes, painted with a five-leaf plum blossom, splayed out before his eyes.
Innocent death. ]
Even for those who don’t particularly like Maewha Geomjon Chung Myung, the moment of the man’s death is too devastating to watch.
But for those that know the man? They keep their eyes peeled unblinkingly, because if Chung Myung truly dies alone one day, then at least for one moment, even if it feels fake, they can’t leave him alone.
( Chung Myung looks at the fabric screen. Somehow, out of everything, watching his death is the least painful moment.
It doesn't mean it’s easy, somehow, watching himself die, as if dying and reincarnating weren't crazy enough, and it certainly doesn’t mean it’s easy to see himself fall so pathetically.
But it’s better than seeing in vivid detail—as if it doesn’t already play in his head every night—the deaths of his comrades and martial brothers. )
[ A lonely end, with no witnesses. The great Plum Blossom Sword Saint of Mount Hua Sect was dying like a dog. ]
No, not like a dog.
Because a dog's death would imply that no one would mourn and that he did nothing up until his point. A dog's death means that the great Maehwa Geomjon Chung Myung died uselessly, contributing nothing to the world.
Of all people, no one can argue that the man died uselessly.
[ “…But your death was better than mine.” Because there was someone to weep for you. Chung Myung wept for them. ]
Oh, how he wept.
Chung Jin was the first martial brother of Hwasan that people know he cried for—even if they don’t know why—but his heart constantly cries for them. It’s this deep, childlike cry for the dead that is never-ending.
[ ‘I’m sorry, Sahyung Jang Mun.’ Chung Myung’s vision faded. ]
Amidst his quickly blurring tears, Chung Mun’s eyes burn like a flame.
How can a version of Chung Myung, any version of him, beg Chung Mun for forgiveness moments before his lonely death?
Can he still not understand that it was Chung Mun who drove his beloved Sajae to his death?
How can he still not understand that Chung Mun is a far more sinful person than his Chung Myung ever could be?
[ If he had devoted a little more of his time to training, would he have been able to save at least one person?
If he had listened to his teachers and their scolding…?
If he had truly obtained the Mount Hua Sword instead of the Plum Blossom Sword. ]
Finally, like the collapse of a dam, small sniffles and groans can be heard, then full-on sobbing.
Those of the past and those of the future look away from the Hwasan gathered around Maehwa Geomjon Chung Myung, letting the sect keep their privacy.
Considering the situation, it would only be fair.
None of them had said this, since neither of them has yet to have a civil conversation with full clarity—and even if they did, none of them would have enough courage—but nobody can fully, truly believe this to be a ploy from the Demonic Sect.
The bastards from the Demonic Sect are powerful, but this is not within their abilities. And none of them would be able to encapture the thoughts of a man as insane as Maehwa Geomjon Chung Myung.
Perhaps in the very beginning, when everybody simply thought that the fabric screen was merely an illusion to hide the first moving ‘painting,’ but after that, doubt in such trickery was unbelievable.
So, for who knows how long, they have been watching the long, drawn-out, soulcrushingly lonely death of Maehwa Geomjon Chung Myung.
The man, as strong-minded as he is, surely cannot deal with such a sight alone. And the Hwasan of the past would surely be unable to stay strong long enough to not shed any tears or visibly feel the devastation.
So for now, the best they can do is look away, for even a moment, to give a sense of privacy to Maehwa Geomjon Chung Myung and his family.
[ No regrets… But it was all regret. All he had left was regrets.
And worries for the sect.
Plum blossoms are meant to fall, and after the cold winter comes spring.
Mount Hua… ]
The voice of the man that was just moments ago screaming in rage and frustration and despair now quietly echoes in the chillingly silent opera theater.
Somehow, the hauntingly monotonous voice of Maehwa Geomjon Chung Myung was more terrifying than the Heavenly Demom.
[ The thirteenth disciple of the Great Mount Hua Sect, the Plum Blossom Sword Saint, Chung Myung, who slayed the Heavenly Demon at the summit of the Hundred Thousand Mountains of the Heavenly Demon Sect, drifted into eternal sleep.
This short anecdote was his only legacy. ]
Despite himself, Chung Myung can’t help the way his lips twist upwards wickedly on his pale, sweaty face.
This whole place—all of this, he's just so fucking sick of it.
Some unknown thing drops him off here, drops off practically everybody he's ever interacted with in both lives, and forces him to suddenly confront the very people he spends every day mourning, and now—and now, they are mocking him?
Talking some bullshit about ‘his only legacy?!’
A legacy is something that continues and persists after the years. It's not the unshared thoughts and regrets of a pathetic, dying old man.
Well, they used to be unshared.
Because somehow his thoughts have been echoing in this weird opera theater for who knows how long, stripping him of any kind of privacy he might have had.
But to make things worse, he knows it won't stop there. Because when has he ever been lucky enough for that not to be the case?
( And he knows, he knows, that Cheonumaeng and the hundreds of past warriors suddenly brought into this room know—anybody who has ever even seen both Maehwa Geomjon Chung Myung and Hwasan Geomhyeop Chung Myung would know they are the same.
Not related. Not a descendant or ancestor. But the same person. The fake high priest knew it. And the old sect leader of the Beggars Union knew it.
Because they both have seen—not even react but just seen—him before. )
“Chung Myung?”
Someone calls to him, he doesn't know who.
“Mn?”
“...Are you alright?"
“I’m fine.”
“...”
Whoever asked him says nothing to his prompt response, but suddenly the eyes that had been so obviously trying not to look at him are suddenly looking his way. Unashamedly, while not asking anything else, everybody around him stares at him with too knowing eyes.
And he…
He cannot do this right now.
He’s genuinely going to loose his shit any second now.
[ The 13th disciple of the Mount Hua Sect, one of the greatest third-generation swordsmen, the Plum Blossom Sword Saint: Chung Myung. After defeating the Heavenly Demon and ending his reign of chaos, Chung Myung breathed his last on the summit of the Heavenly Demon Sect’s mountain. ]
Chung Myung almost scoffs but settles for shutting his eyes tightly.
It feels like the unknown voice echoing in the opera theater is just dragging this out. Unconsciously, his hand goes to his Dark Fragrant Sword, pulling it out of its sheath minutely before pushing it back down.
He knows his biggest secret is going to be revealed any minute now, with no regard for his sense of privacy nor the fact that it will be done without a choice. With all the craziness that had been going on, revealing his identity had been the farthest thing from his mind, and eventually, it seemed like it was too late to do it. For some time now he'd just been playing with the idea of not telling everybody, of keeping the secret with him until the day he died again.
But of course, when does he actually get a choice?
Absentmindedly, Chung Myung turns his head slightly to where his old family surrounds his younger version so tightly he's practically out of view.
‘I wonder how they’ll take the news…’
Will they be disappointed with him? Will they feel pity or anger or feel like it should have been them? Surely, one of them might bring up, not with a cruel heart, that maybe Chung Mun or Chung Jin would have been a better choice. Hell, he wonders how Tang Bo will react. Maybe he’ll be upset with Chung Myung for letting his clan get so bad. Or maybe he’ll be angry that Chung Myung reincarnated and not himself.
‘Or maybe…they’ll be proud.’
“Ha!”
At that stray thought, Chung Myung lets out a silent laugh.
What a ridiculous idea.
[ Several of years passed. ]
Chung Myung raises his eyebrows.
They’re moving on that quickly from his death?
Clearly, based on the frustrated and almost disgusted looks from the people in the room, he’s not the only one who thinks this way. And sure enough, from far away, he can hear a familiar scoff.
“As if this wasn’t shitty enough.”
Tang Bo.
Bo-ya.
Close to him, Tang Gunak—likely weirded out still from his small interaction with Tang Cheolak—coughs slightly. “Ahem—excuse me, Sir…?”
“Tang Bo.”
“Ah, yes, yes—the—?! The Amjon Tang Bo?!”
“Yeah, yeah, that’s me." Tang Bo rolls his eyes, ignoring the ridiculously gaping faces of the entire Tang Clan and everyone else. “I thought we already established that the past generation and one of the future generations are stuck in some theater."
…Well, everybody knows that, even if most are still trying not to believe it's the case, but they didn't actually establish that.
Before they could, the fabric screen suddenly began showing them several realistic moving 'paintings' and displaying the thoughts and voices of Maehwa Geomjon Chung Myung in his last moments.
A man as smart as Amjon Tang Bo must clearly be aware of this, but he doesn't pay this any mind. “This entire situation is so shitty.”
“Tang Bo…”
“What? Am I wrong, Clan Head?” The two look at each other intensely before Tang Cheolak looks away with a sigh. Scoffing, Amjon Tang Bo continues. “We were right in the middle of an important battle with the Demonic Sect, and now we're being shown the death of my Dosa Hyeong-nim! And to make matters worse, they just brush it off! Like it was nothing.”
“Bo-ya. That’s enough.”
“...”
Maehwa Geomjon Chung Myung interrupts the conversation, cutting through the dark tension that left everybody in the room prepared for a fight. “It’s not worth it.”
That wasn’t the right thing to say.
“Wha—?! Dosa Hyeong-nim! You can’t just—”
“We expected this, didn’t we?”
“...”
Maehwa Geomjon Chung Myung looks away from the cold look on Amjon Tang Bo’s face, facing the rest of the room, who look at him with equally hardened expressions. Then, his eyes fall on Sect Leader Chung Mun. “Jang Mun Sahyeong, I don’t know why you or anyone else is upset.”
“...”
“It’s just one death out of the many. What difference will it be whether it's my corpse or anyone else's?"
“Chung Myung—!”
“Sahyeong.”
“...”
If the room was tense when Maehwa Geomjon Chung Myunng first dropped in, when the brutal deaths were revealed, when the Heavenly Demon was shown, and when Amjon Tang Bo was irritated, then the tension in the room from Sect Leader Chung Mun is unimaginable.
( Those of the future generation do not know, since hardly anything was saved or said about the nature of those of Hwasan before their demise, but Sect Leader Chung Mun was a terrifying man. It's a given, since he's the man that raised Maehwa Geomjon Chung Myung, someone with a horrible temper and uncanny strength. )
“Chung Myung.”
“...Sahyeong,” Chung Myung’s body naturally tenses at the barely restrained anger in his Sahyeong’s voice, "It's not a peaceful death, but at least I won’t be alone. I’ll be with you and everyone else after my death—”
[ And he was revived as a child. ]
…
An uncharacteristic stutter in an uncharacteristically surprised voice. “W-What…?”
Maehwa Geomjon Chung Myung had been turned away from the screen the entire confrontation, so he turns to the now pitch-black fabric screen with confusion evident on every inch of his frame.
He’s not the only one.
Amjon Tang Bo turns about as still as a statue, looking into the nothingness of the nearest wall in pure confusion and shock. Sect Leader Chung Mun stumbles to a shocked Maehwa Geomjon Chung Myung, grasping his arm so tightly it's sure to leave bruising. The past Hwasan—as in sync as ever, fitting the nature of those from that damn sect—grab at their swords unintentionally, as if they could somehow challenge whatever entity is keeping them for saying such nonsense. The past sect leaders, clan heads, and their disciples each wear expressions ranging from utter disbelief—like the Namgung—to pale-faced denial—like Shaolin. Clearly, such an idea—reincarnation? Maehwa Geomjon Chung Myung reincarnating, out of everybody?— is too ludicrous to believe, even when everything else being told and shown to them is credible enough.
But those of the future, those from Cheonumaeng and its allies, look at one place in sync.
At one person.
The unknown voice echoing in the opera theater didn't show anybody, it didn't even say a name.
But everybody who has ever met him knows, in an instant, who it is.
There's only one person they know who's incomprehensible, whose life and abundance of knowledge make no sense, and who has a depth as dangerously deep as the Yangtze River. There's only one person to whom such an insane, unbelievable thing could ever happen.
[ But… ]
Naturally, whatever it is that brought them to this opera house and the unknown voice echoing in the room doesn't care for their reactions and especially not how they feel.
[ “What was that? Mount Hua Sect has fallen? What kind of bullshit is that!?” ]
…
Everybody turns to the person that belongs to the voice echoing loudly in the room, a far contrast to the monotonous voice from before.
The voice before was unknown, but the voice of Maehwa Geomjon Chung Myung would be recognizable even to those who do not know it.
It's just something about him, about the way he speaks that is so unique, even the specific accent of why he speaks is somehow so different from the regular Shaanxi accent. And it's just something about him that makes anybody believe they can recognize him in no matter what form he is.
Because the man is fundamentally different from normal human beings.
In any way or form, the man will be known.
“...Chung Myung?”
Any way or form.
“...Myung-ah?”
He will be known.
“Dosa Hyeong-nim…?”
Whether he likes it or not.
[ Was he supposed to just live his life knowing that? ]
“...Chung Myung-ah.”
“Dojang…”
“Maehwa Geomjon…”
The last voice, unknown to him because of the ringing in his ears, cuts off.
But there's no point, because it's obvious what came next.
Chung Myung closes his eyes, going back to clicking his sword out of its sheath in and out in and out in and outinandoutinandoutinandoutinandoutin a n d o u t—
[ “Fallen? Who said that? That doesn’t matter!” ]
The news of the fall of Hwasan would undoubtedly be devastating.
Their Hwasan? Their beloved sect, in possible doom and ruin? The possibility that nobody came to save them? Not even their allies in the war?
But…reincarnation.
Their Chung Myung had just said that at least he will be able to see them soon after he dies.
But the Heavenly God won’t even allow him that simple pleasure.
How cruel.
[ The plum blossoms fall? After a cold winter, spring comes and the plum blossoms come into full bloom once again. ]
Baek Cheon's face wrinkles oddly, unlike his usually handsome appearance.
‘Even then, he still thinks of Hwasan…’
Most definitely, it is a shock, to know that off all secrets their youngest was keeping, reincarnating was one of them.
But somehow, its not supsrisng to Baek Cheon in the way one would think. Well, of course the concept of reincarnation being real is certainly baffling, but thats not the main thing hes focused on.
Instead, he just feel…sad for Chung Myung.
Everybody knew that Chung Myung must have had a difficult life.
( The conversation between Im Sobyeong and his sajil on the boatride from Haenan wasn’t exactly quiet. He heard the Nokrim King tell Chung Myung all about their beliefs of his unimaginable pain, that none of them have been privy to. )
When it was revealed that he really was a beggar—wich turned out to be another lie—in the back of his mind, Baek Cheon thought that even as a beggar, Chung Myung must have had a really difficult time. More than a normal beggar would have to face.
But…reincarnation.
Baek Cheon looks at the other disciples and the elders of Hwasan around him, and by product of all the time and experiences they've spent with each other, he just knows they are thinking the same thing.
‘Chung Myung wasnt just a regular person who reincarnated, but the Maehwa Geomjon Chung Myung.’
The most accomplished warrior that ever came out of Hwasan. The person who made the world actually have a chance against the Demonic Sect. Their ancestor—and that’s going to be so weird to discuss later. The person just seen on the fabric screen is beheading the Heavenly Demon. The very person the Nanman Beast Palace worship for saving them all those years ago. The one who everybody had just seen die a lonely death and be unwillingly reincarnated instead of reunited with his family. A person who must have been in more battles, more wars, than any other person could handle.
The only person to survive the last battle of the Demonic War, but not by choice.
[ “But before the Mount Hua Sect returns, I need to be there first! Even if it’s in ruins, there has to be something left there—Ugh, those people in there!” ]
Despite himself, Un Am can’t help the slight smile that crosses his face.
He’s sure that he's reacting far too calmly for the reveal that just happened—and based on the near-dead silence in the opera theater, he’s sure that everybody still hasn't really processed that information, much less properly. He’s also sure, however, that Chung Myung was just as confused, more even, by his reincarnation.
The fact was presented to them simply, so they don’t know the details—where he ended up, how he originally reacted, or even his physical conditions at the moment of his rebirth—but Chung Myung, the most reactive person he's ever met, surely would not have a good reaction. Much less a calm reaction.
But it's so funny to him, in a terribly sad way.
The Demonic War was said to go on for several years, with Chung Myung being the sole reason for their chances and survival, and every war and battle undoubtedly had to become more demoralizing and traumatizing. Even as Maehwa Geomjon Chung Myung he seemed to care immensely about Hwasan and its people, spending his entire life raised under their care, so being faced for years with the death of his many loved ones certainly would do no good for him in any way. Inclusively, horror stories had been told over the last one hundred years about the last battle with the Demonic Sect, to the point that being in the Ten Thousand Mountains is practically a taboo and almost seen as a cursed place, with the wandering spirits of thousands of ghosts. By the plum blossoms, the land had never recovered even a speck of life in all the years after the war ended!
The very last moments of Chung Myung’s life must have been more painful than even a person as insane as him could handle.
And yet—
“Ugh, those people in there!”
—The shrill, passionate voice of the very recently reincarnated Chung Myung sounds just as he normally does.
Over the years, Un Am had found himself utterly impressed and astounded by the person the youngest—uh, is it the youngest, or is it the oldest now?—was, even in the most difficult times they had to face as a sect.
( Even when he couldn’t stand without the aid of Tang Gunak after the rescue of Haenan, practically a newborn fawn on trembling legs, Chung Myung still stood tall. He still was the strongest person around, even when he had to be carried by Jo Gul right after. )
But now, it seems like he has another reason to be impressed.
[ And so began the struggle of the Plum Blossom Sword Saint, Chung Myung, to save the fallen Mount Hua Sect. ]
The moment the unknown voice finishes, the dark fabric screen turns to its original white color.
Then, the chairs and tables that had been toppled over and long ignored are suddenly propped up. And on the tables, feasts worthy of emperors—with large gourds of alcohol, juicy meat, steaming dumplings, and endless desserts—suddenly emerge from multiple clouds of smoke.
Just like an opera theater.
Clearly, the moving painting had finished its task, yet they were expected to continue and “get comfortable.”
However, nobody moves. Not the most impulsive of the people, nor the most hungry of warriors who just came from battle, nor even the most reactive of certain individuals who would take this as a chance to get some answers. But no.
Instead, since the...reveal, all attention has been on a quiet noise, echoing loudly even in an opera room with hundreds of people.
Click
Out comes the sword.
Click
In goes the sword.
Click
Out comes the sword.
Click
In goes the sword.
Click
His privacy.
Click
His death.
Click
Their deaths.
Click
All put on like it was some play.
Click
His Sahyeong—everybody he’s ever met and cared for is in the same room as him, all alive and not yet worn down by war and still hopeful.
Click
it’s all just so sickening.
Click
He’s just—just supposed to sit here all docile, acting like the reveal of all his inhumanity and wrongness is nothing?
Click
Act like all of his sins haven't been revealed bit by bit to the very people he didn’t want it shown to?
Click
Is Chung Myung supposed to be happy now that his soul is free from the burden of his secret reincarnation?
Click
Should Chung Myung be glad that now that the secret is out, he can tell people where he got all his information from, and he can now take all the credit for his hard work?
Click
Is Chung Myung supposed to be happy that now everyone will know what he’s done for them, so they can finally be more grateful and understanding?
Click
Should Chung Myung be happy now that everybody will know of his rank as Maewha Geomjon Chung Myung, so they’ll treat him with seniority and act all awkward around him?
Click
Should Chung Myung be happy that he’ll have to see the disappointment, sadness, and shame on the faces of his beloved family and friends when they see how much more screwed up he has become?
Click
They’ve come from a time where it’s only been a year into the Demonic War.
Click
At that time, many of his sajaes and Sahyeong’s had already died, and warriors of other sects he’d gotten close with had also died quite early on, but Chung Myung wasn’t nowhere near as affected as he would become later in.
Click
It was only until the end of the one-sided bloodbath, where he found Myung Do and several other disciples and finally met and fought, for the first of many, the Heavenly Demon, that Chung Myung finally began to slip.
Click
But they’ll see it now.
Click
He’s aware of how brutal, cruel, and downright animalistic he’s become.
Click.
No one can blame him, not really.
Click
It’s a product of fighting battles and wars every day for more than five years straight.
Click
No one, not even the Asura himself, can handle the-the ruthlessness, the suffocating presence of death, the lengths a human will go to survive—no one can come out of that untainted.
Click
But everyone will see that now.
Click
They’ll see the monster Chung Myung had become in order to survive.
Click
They'll see the things he’s done to get revenge on all the people who’ve wronged his family and acted like they’ve had no part.
Click
Everyone will look at it.
Click
Everyone will look at it and look at him, then the way they’re looking at him now.
Click
They think he can’t see them?
Click
Do they think he does not know what they’re thinking?
Click
‘...Cowards.’
Click
If they're going to stare at him like this, at least they should have the balls to follow up on that.
Click
He-
Click
He should just-
Click
“Destroy everything.”
Click
The only person in this room who can really stop him is his other self, and maybe Tang Bo, but they’d more likely join him than stop him.
Click
But who else is strong enough to stop Chung Myung if he actually tries?
Click
No one.
Click
It won’t be that hard either.
Click
He’s beheaded that damned Heavenly Demon and beat Jang Islo while fighting against the severely fatal inner demons.
Click
He should just destroy everything here.
Click
He’s died once before then came back to life.
Click
Who’s to say he can’t try that again?
Click
Who’s to say he’s free from the burden of living anyway?
Click
He’s never been free from it, not even if he tried.
Click
ChungMyungshouldjustdestroye v e r y t h i n g-
CLICK-
“That’s enough now, Sahyeong.”
“Why don’t we have a chat, Myung-ah?”