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Published:
2023-03-07
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2,000
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1/1
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Your Roots Are Ours

Summary:

"You're taking this way better than I thought you would."

"After many years of dealing with you, surprises are few and far between.”

In which, secrets are shared and nothing really changes.

Notes:

(See the end of the work for notes.)

Work Text:

They ask for hope. And in comes the devil.

Chung Myung is a force of nature in human skin, unpredictable and promised change. Through endless dawns and dusks, the disciples of the Mount Hua Sect know nothing but never-ending hell. Falling to their knees, their only option is to get up and try again. They climb one mountain only to conquer another. When they perform a thousand sword swings, a thousand more await them.

They cry. They curse. Despite that, the results of their hard work are too sweet to miss. Each time they step into the world, they storm through it as if it is their birthright. Perhaps, it has always been so.

Gone are the days when people would question their every step, looking down on them with contempt in their eyes. It has long been replaced by envy.

The seemingly-endless enduring winter of Mount Hua Sect is recalled in reverence, rather than ridicule. After all, there is not a single person who can say they have not fought tooth and nail to return to their former glory—and perhaps, to a peak no one has ever reached.

The world watches on.

If Yoon Jong could visit his younger self and tell him that in the future—not even a decade’s worth—he dons the title of one of the Five Swords of Mount Hua, his younger self would only ask one question:

“How?”

And he would answer honestly. Whole-heartedly, with a hint of fond exasperation he could not stop. “You will meet someone. He will take the world by storm, and you along with him. You will curse and spit and bleed, but he is someone worth it all—he will take this hollow shell of you and make you realize you have always been capable of change.”

 

 

There are often days when Baek Cheon has a sword in hand and considers taking a stab at Chung Myung. It’s wishful thinking. The bastard has eyes on the back of his head and although Baek Cheon has gotten incredibly strong compared to three years ago, he doesn’t hold a candle to Chung Myung. None of the other Five Swords do.

The more they scale this cliff, the more it seems to never end.

From what he knows, Chung Myung has never lost. Merciless and without hesitation. That is his way. It is hard to imagine anything but victory when it comes to him.

Calling him a genius is insulting.

He is, after all, a monster.

Yet, there are often days when they wonder.

When they see him conquer foes twice his age as easy as breathing—

When they watch as plum blossoms sprout from a sword so beautifully, you would think all blades are meant to—

When they listen to a voice that whispers of wisdom unfitting of a boy—

Chung Myung is the youngest. He rarely ever feels like it. Because at every given moment under the gaze of the world, warborn and wicked, Chung Myung stands at its center, bearing the weight of mountains on shoulders never meant to do so.

Why?

They want to ask.

What made you this way?







Was the world too cruel?

 

 

The question and the spring come on a regular night, during a high-in-demand break after a long training session with Chung Myung. However, this is only the beginning of a long night.

Chung Myung has his sword sheath rather than a jug of alcohol in his hand and that is the first sign that something is out of place. In his eyes, his usual playfulness is absent. That is the second sign.

Under the shroud of trees and stars, spread around a campfire, Yoon Jong isn’t the only one who notices.

The crackle of embers hitch.

And breaking through the silence, Chung Myung’s voice leads to the stiffening of their spines.

“I am going to ask you a question,” Chung Myung states.

Yu Iseol stares onward.

Jo Gul and Baek Cheon straighten.

Yoon Jong doesn’t know what brought this on, but what he does know is that his heart has begun beating faster and faster as a heaviness descends onto the atmosphere.

Chung Myung’s shoulders are loose. His voice is a bleak slate of stone. And he is as unreadable as he has always been as he continues, “Before you answer or say anything, I want you to think about what I’m asking of you.”

Yoon Jong opens his mouth to reply. Something in the air tells him not to, and he settles with a nod.

Chung Myung’s gaze is strong—still—and steady as he asks, with a voice above a whisper, “Do you believe in reincarnation?”

If Yoon Jong expects anything, this isn’t it. But as Chung Myung asks of them, he holds back his tongue and thinks.

It is a strange question.

However, Yoon Jong—and undoubtedly the rest of them know Chung Myung isn't one for useless fantasies.

Yoon Jong’s sharpness has never only applied to his blade.

Because in the next second, everything—everything floods in with no ending in sight, and Yoon Jong’s lungs fill with cold water.

“Brats!”

“When I was younger—”

“Kids these days—”

“When I was fighting wars, you couldn’t afford to make mistakes!”

Pieces fall together around Chung Myung with a question he asked himself.

Someone has to laugh. Someone has to crack in something along the lines of, “What a funny joke, Chung Myung,” but there is a heavy boulder dipping deeper and deeper into Yoon Jong’s chest every passing second as this epiphany settles in between his ribs.

He's not sure if he is breathing anymore.

The rest of the Five Swords seem to realize, going by the widening of their eyes, but as if frozen in time, no one opens their mouth. No one says a goddamn word.

Chung Myung is a man that cannot be defined simply. He drinks from dawn till dusk. He’s strict—only demanding the very best, and he pulls on patience with a sharp tongue and tactless words.

The moment Chung Myung unsheathes his sword, that man is replaced by something else entirely.

In his place stands a swordsman in the storm of his own creation, soundless and solemn, with a blade that carves out light so soft and subtle, it is a sight sought out by gods. Ruby eyes stare onward. Their hue embodies the color of plum trees, whose roots bury into soil like a seamless stream, unwavering and immovable.

The world knows beauty.

Chung Myung, this sea with depths unknown, is the start of it.

When the Mount Hua Sect was buried beneath the weight of the world, clawing to stay above the surface just to breathe, Chung Myung reached out his hand and never let go.

It has been years. Since then, the Mount Hua Sect has made unchallengeable leaps—a snowball that hasn't stopped rolling.

There is no room to question. The momentum pushes on and on and they must catch their breaths themselves now.

But sitting under the gaze of this force of nature with a name, perhaps, it is time to face it straight on.

“...Who—” Jo Gul starts.

Chung Myung chides softly, “Sahyung, I told you to think.”

No one knows much about Chung Myung’s past—or practically anything about the man. He used to be a beggar. He appeared at their doors in rags. And he holds a burning passion and love for this Sect—more than anyone. Why is that so?

And now—

“Do you believe in reincarnation?”

When Chung Myung challenged Southern Edge, he carved out plum blossoms out of the sky with a technique thought lost with its Sect a century ago.

There is no one in the world who can rival him. A century ago, there was someone like that too.

“Plum Blossom Sword Saint.”

Yoon Jong whips his head around to look at Baek Cheon, who had spoken. The latter’s eyes are blown wide.

Looking for confirmation, they look back at Chung Myung.

Steady ruby eyes are their answer. “Maybe you kids are sharper than I gave you credit for.”

“Why tell us now?” Yu Iseol asks, hesitant.

Chung Myung shrugs, leaning back on his hands as he replies, “Call it a whim.”

Yoon Jong knows it's not. Despite his playful and casual nature, Chung Myung doesn’t make moves without thought and reason.

The reason this snowball hasn’t stopped rolling isn’t due to luck.

Chung Myung is an ever-flowing spring of surprise. Yet, Yoon Jong surprises himself because somehow, some way, the Chung Myung sitting across the fire does not look any different than from a moment ago.

Somehow, someway, this truth and secret should shake everything.

Somehow, someway, it doesn’t.

Instead of surprise, warmth blooms in Yoon Jong’s chest, like a persevering plum blossom at the end of a long winter. Trust settles into his breath.

After all, Chung Myung is someone who walks forward, regardless of anything, breaking past and through expectations. Perhaps, now, they can walk with him.

If he had told them when he first arrived three years ago, Yoon Jong has no doubts that they would be a stuttering and gaping mess.

But here.

Now.

After everything.

In front of them is Chung Myung—their friend, the back they follow, the Divine Dragon, and now the Plum Blossom Sword Saint.

Chung Myung stands as a pillar of unwavering support, however rash his actions are or appear to be. He guides them. He watches over them. He has helped them grow into people they never imagined they could be.

They respect him. They follow him. And most importantly, they cherish him—more than anyone.

None of these three things have changed.

Yoon Jong finds his lips dry as he summons his voice, soft and somber.

“It must have been lonely.”

And these words must have not been what he is expecting because Chung Myung’s eyes widen.

Not much.

But in the end, they do.

Glancing away, Chung Myung huffs, “It was a burden I had to carry. I should have passed on what I needed to—a long time ago.”

“Thank you,” Baek Cheon starts. His gaze is rigid, and in his voice is not awe, but a riveted regard that has always been there. “For telling us.”

Yu Iseol nods.

Jo Gul adds, grinning, “We are always with you, before and now.”

Chung Myung smiles. In his eyes bloom a color akin to warmth, and Yoon Jong hopes they will see that color many times in the future. “You’re taking this way better than I thought you would.”

They share a laugh around the campfire. The embers in the air are not the only things that burn bright that night.

Yoon Jong finds his heart sore. “After many years of dealing with you, surprises are few and far between.”

 

 

From an outside perspective, nothing changes.

The devil arises once more, and Chung Myung drowns them in living breathing hell. There is no room to breathe. To think. To question.

Despite that, the Five Swords feel the change.

Previously, on the battlefield, unbound by laws and reason, when a blade got too close for comfort, Chung Myung was there .

“You brats think you can wave off a mistake in war? Wave off your missing arm and tell me then!”

But after that day, on the battlefield, unbound by laws and reason, when a blade gets too close for comfort, they evade. They block. They strike back without hesitation and without mistake.

Chung Myung does not even look back once.

Pride fills their lungs.

Chung Myung throws himself into the fray without a glance over his shoulder, because he trusts them to fight well and fight to win.

His shoulders are lighter.

His back is taller.

His eyes are brighter.

This legacy he’s carried alone until now—

The moment Chung Myung saw this sinking Sect of former splendor and made them his own was the moment he no longer had to bear this burden alone.

Notes:

Found Family is my bread and butter.