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As he opened his eyes, Chung Myung found himself standing there again. The familiar landscape that makes all his sense reacts instinctively. Yet he remains still, watching the scene unfold fresh from his memory.
Nothing that he had never seen before.
In that place that he knows is dream, he sees a scorched land stretched as far as he can see. What remains after the carnage, are bodies of the fallen both from comrades and enemies crammed together. New corpses piled up even before the ground dried from those blood spilled the day before. Shredded limbs and dismembered heads scattering around in dirt and pools of blood.
He took a breath.
The air around him is sickening with a thick stench of death overpowered all his will to remain calm.
Yet he kept breathing. Because he is alive. He is survived
Everything feels just as real as he remembered.
The disgusting feeling of the blood soaked uniform on his body.
Raw wounds that have been bleeding for a while.
A broken hairpin on the ground.
A green robe spread like butterfly wings beneath his foot.
The weight of the body in his arms.
The absence of pulse under the skin he touched.
Chung Myung forced himself to breathe again. Maybe he took the breath too deep, he was forced to let out a few coughs because of the pain from his punctured lungs. Deep pink orbs trailing down only to meet with blank eyes, void of any color.
One a smile so vibrant and full of life, is now nothing but cold, silent lips. The beautiful face appeared dull and lifeless, leaving nothing but a shell of what he was before.
He is not someone who is suited to have such a pale face.
Chung Myung screams, or is he? There is no sound coming out from his mouth. It's as if some indescribable fluid flowed from his chest to his throat and choked him. Suffocation engulfs him from within and his head slowly spinning from the lack of oxygen.
As the pain from his swollen chest worsened, Chung Myung swept his gaze at his surroundings again. One by one he looked at the faces among all the corpses, both rotten and fresh, his heart squeezed tightly every time he found a plum blossom embroidery uniform among them.
Every single one of them is dead except him.
Who is the one responsible for this?
On the top of mountains made from dead bodies and broken swords, that thing stared down. Its gaze fell heavily on the only survivor of this carnage (can’t call this a war when only one side was forced to sacrifice everything to face one entity without nothing to lose). Whoever dares to look up will know those eyes are only a pair of pits containing nothing but empty abyss.
That thing bore neither kindness nor malice in its gaze. Only an expression that shapes something akin to boredom. Mistook it with pity and you will regret it. That thing has nothing human about it.
An entity that portrays a perfect image of unstoppable power and destruction. His silent gaze stating the fact, you are still breathing only as the result of a mercy.
Chung Myung intensely stares back despite how powerless those eyes made him feel. Somehow, his hand found their way on the hilt of his sword again. He stood only by sheer will power alone, knowing it may be the last time he can stand on his feet if he fails this chance. He raises his sword with one will to end everything right in this place and he rushes up ahead as if his legs aren't broken.
There was a sharp breeze caressing his cheek.
Then, he heard a silent thud.
A hand drops on the ground.
.
.
.
.
.
Chung Myung awakens with violent pain on his left. His body was shaking, drenched in cold sweat. His breath is ragged and shaky. He can feel his heart hammered in a frantic rhythm against his ribs. A primal fear, cold and sharp, lanced through him.
The air hung heavy, thick with the sound of his own ragged breaths and the frantic drumbeat of his own pulse. It's suffocating, mirroring the oppressive weight in his chest.
He curls himself, one hand grasping into thin air where his left arm once was. A drop of blood drips down his chin from how hard he bites on his lips. There is an unbearable pain, one that is too real as if he is living through the moment when his arm is ripped apart all over again. The pain has seared in his skin and soul that even though he fully aware his arm is no longer there, it doesn’t make it feel any less real.
With bloodshot eyes he scans the area around him. It took him a few seconds to adapt his eyes with the darkness surrounding him before he noticed he was inside a proper bedroom rather than a tent or some random cave.
As he slowly builds his consciousness inside him, his only hand searches frantically on the space beside him, only for him to find nothing there. He found no one there.
He darted his eyes around the room once more, searching for someone, anyone. Yet the darkness offered no answers. The anxiousness inside him started to rise again. All worries and thoughts swarm within his mind, ridden with terror of his nightmare.
He is alone.
He survived alone, again.
He lost them
He lost him
No
Chung Myung tried to stand up just to miserably fall from his bed.
NO NO NO NO NO
The sounds of alarm blarring in his mind. He pleads helplessly for anything to wake him up from this dream. Then he heard a door slide open. The soft glow light cast by the moon picturing a shadow of a man that is too beautiful for his loud mind to comprehend.
“Hyung-nim!”
.
.
.
Early in the morning.
Tang Bo inhaled deeply, a cider pipe in hand. Each exhale released a puff of white smoke that mingled with the starlit canopy above. He watched as the white smoke spiral upwards, disappearing into the endless expanse of the summer sky.
A tapestry of fireflies blinked against the velvet blackness of the mountain night. Even as it's long past the spring season, the air is thick with the fragrance of blooming plum blossoms, tickling his nose. While at the day the building up heat announces the approaching of summer, the night wind that ruffles his hair is warm, just in a perfect temperature for sitting outside the adobe house to enjoy the night.
It was not often for Tang Bo to be sitting in the company of silence. Unfortunately, Chung Myung and his older brother, the Lord of his family, have banned him from smoking for health purposes or so they said. Still, old habits die hard and two years is not enough to stop, more so for a heavy smoker like him.
Tang Bo knows how Chung Myung hates to see him touch the poisonous substances again, let alone inhale it into his body. It is that fierce aversion that sometimes sends him outside on nights like this. The only chance he gets after he makes sure the swordsman is already deep in sleep, before he proceeds to slip out of the bed.
The mountain’s fresh air became a perfect partner in crime for clearing away the remaining scent of burned tobacco. By the time morning came, all evidence would be swept away by the wind like they were never there.
Tang Bo was just about to draw another puff of smoke when he heard a noise coming from the bedroom behind him. Tang Bo flinched, putting down the pipe in his hand. Then, he heard a choked gasp. Faintly he heard voices, raw with terror. That short moment of peace shattered, instantly replaced with worries washed up all over him. He sprinted towards the room, sliding the door open, Tang Bo was met with a sight that sent a jolt of fear through him
“Hyung-nim!”
There, a tangled mess on the floor, was Chung Myung. His recently returned peaceful face was contorted, eyes wide and vacant, fixed on some unseen horror. Short, ragged gasps ripped from his lips, each one a tiny explosion in the hushed room. The swordsman's chest rose and fell with a frantic rhythm, his whole body trembling as his right hand clutched into his left side where the missing arms used to be.
Tang Bo stopped himself as fast as he wanted to, instinctively, rushed to his side, to offer comfort. Past experience has taught him caution. A careless touch, a sudden movement, could send the already teetering balance crashing down.
First several times he tried to touch Chung Myung while he was still violently shaking from the panic attack, Tang Bo got punched in the stomach and scratches on his hands from frantic clawing. Not to mention the other day the plum blossom sword made its way aiming at his neck.
Tang Bo couldn't bear to see the guilt in the swordsman’s face, as he kept saying sorry for days until the wounds all healed. Now, unless it looks like Chung Myung is about to hurt himself, Tang Bo would avoid any sudden contact as much as possible.
So, Tang Bo did the only thing he could. He inched closer, each step agonizingly slow. He focused on his own breathing, willing himself to project a sense of calm, hoping it would somehow bridge the distance between them. He stopped right in front of the older man, leaving some space just close enough to be a comforting presence but far enough not to startle.
His eyes did quick work, attentively scanned for any injury (he can only sigh slightly at the bloodied lips without being able to do anything). Both his hands hung helplessly on the air, didn’t know what to do seeing how much the swordsman’s body trembled all over as if a mere touch would only hurt him more.
Minutes stretched into an eternity, punctuated only by ragged breaths and the frantic thump of their shared heart. Tang Bo felt a helpless fury rise within him. Every fiber of his being ached to soothe. Every second a brutal test of his own restraint.
Tang Bo’s heart tore every time a low, whimpering sound escaped the swordsman’s lips. A sound so raw and vulnerable, and nothing like the voice he fell in love with. He longed to tear it away, to breathe for him, to do something, anything. The helplessness was almost as suffocating as the terror in the room.
As the silence between them stretched, thick with tension and his own rising anxiety, Chung Myung slowly raised his head to look at him like a wounded animal. A word fell between his shaky breath.
“Tang Bo…”
“Yes, this is Tang Bo. Your Tang Bo is here.” The younger man pushes a little smile in hope it will lessen the terror that clouded those deep pink eyes.
“How many…” Chung Myung struggles to inhale air back into his lung before he continues.
“How many died today?”
Those words delivered barely a whisper. If anyone can hear the fear and hopelessness there, Tang Bo prefers to pretend he didn’t. He closed his eyes, the forced smile faltering.
A blade seemed to lodge itself in his chest, a chilling echo of a memory he desperately tried to bury. Tang Bo almost can feel the sensation of that cold metal piercing his heart again. Along with the metallic tang of blood, the cold bite of steel – the chilling echo of the battlefield. The memory sent a phantom ache through his chest, a searing reminder of a life forever altered.
“No one, hyung. It’s over.” Tang Bo isn't sure if his voice can sound any better. “The war is already over hyung.”
He watched as the tense left Chung Myung’s body. Relief washed over him, a wave so powerful it nearly knocked him off his feet. It feels like all his strength just vanished like a mist. Tang Bo catches his head quick enough before he falls hard on the floor and embraces him closer.
Tang Bo positioned himself on the swordsman’s left side. The younger man pulled a blanket that got tangled up on the floor to cover both of them with one hand while the other helped Chung Myung to sit steadily against him. Then, he put his head on his left shoulder, nuzzling affectionately. Chung Myung felt almost ticklish from touch, as if a feather was grazing against his skin. The pain from the missing arm subsided as Tang Bo made him complete again.
“You’ll be fine. I’m here. It’s gonna be fine.” The younger man kept his voice low, a soothing murmur against the stormy heart.
He put a hand on Chung Myung’s back. The hand gently moves up and down soothing him, until he can feel like breathing again. They remained like that for a couple of minutes.
Slowly, ever so slowly, the storm began to abate. The rapid breaths hitched less frequently, the tremor in his body subsided. Finally, a shuddering exhale escaped his lips, a glimmer of recognition flickered in his eyes as they returned into the color of plum blossom in the spring.
Tang Bo didn't dare move, afraid to break the fragile peace. Chung Myung’s eyes fluttered closed, but refused to go back to sleep just yet.
“Feeling better?” Tang Bo said after a while. He didn’t expect an answer, but he couldn't stand the deafening silence. So even if one-sided, he continues to speak.
“You should join me outside. The sky is so bright tonight.” Tang Bo took a quick glance before he continued. “ It's such a waste to miss. I bet you would like the stars.” He could feel the older man shake his head even as slightly and somehow Tang Bo found that response cute.
“No?” he ventured, voice laced with gentle amusement. This time, he felt a nod.
“Which one is it?”
Tang Bo couldn't help but let out a soft chuckle. The half hearted rejection to his admittedly outlandish suggestion of stargazing after one hell of a panic attack, is so typically them. In a way, it is comforting.
“Who cares about stars?” Chung Myung spoke in his usual uninterested tone.
“Hyung-nim, you are not romantic at all.” Even through closed eyelids, Tang Bo could almost sure the swordsman roll his eyes at him.
Both of them relax at the sensation of each other's weight as they lean their body together, Chung Myung feels his heartbeat finally tuning in with the rhythm of Tang Bo’s. As the younger man’s sincere laugh filled the room, Chung Myung found himself falling in love like it was his first time again.
“Tang Bo.” The younger man didn’t respond right away. Rather, he shifted himself so they could see each other’s faces.
Chung Myung cupped Tang Bo’s face in his palm. He took a very long pause to adore his beloved’s face bloomed into a shade of pink, mirroring the heat rising in his own chest. The world around them dissolved into the warm depths of those dark green eyes. His gaze held galaxies of unspoken affection. A smile, soft and tender, bloomed on his lips, and the air between them crackled with a warmth that had nothing to do with the summer sun.
He leaned in a slow, deliberate moment. When their lips met, it was a collision of whispered sighs and the softest brush of velvet. Warm like the first touch of spring. As sweet as the flower’s dew. There was no urgency, no desperate grasping. It was a silent conversation spoken in the language of gentle touches.
The kiss deepened, and in that quiet moment, bathed in the warmth of their love, Chung Myung knew he was finally home. The love so profound, so gentle, flowing in as familiar as breathing, it keeps filling his heart so full it threatens to burst.
Overwhelmed by the flowing affection, a single tear, warm and unexpected, traced a shimmering path down Chung Myung’s cheek. Tang Bo tried to break the kiss when he realized the swordsman started crying but Chung Myung only pulled him further. He held the back of Tang Bo’s head and savored the kiss as if he wanted to imprint his own being on the other’s soul.
“Bo-ya…” he called, whispering against the other’s lips.
“Here. I’m here hyung-nim.” It was a promise – a promise of forever.
When they finally pulled away, a breathless sigh escaped him, a contented smile gracing his lips.
Tang Bo didn’t stop Chung Myung from crying. He never did. Just like how the swordsman also knew he didn’t need to hide from those tender watchful gazes. Tang Bo only watched silently to let him take some time to wash away all the pain that was still left inside along with the flowing tears.
Tang Bo’s trembling hand was about to reach out to brush away a stray tear from Chung Myung’s cheek when faint footsteps getting closer and the sound of the door roughly sliding open shattered the short-lived peace.
“Master swordsman.” A little girl, not yet seven, appeared at the door, holding hands with another sleepy little boy. “Let us sleep here.” A pair of purple orbs round cutely as she pleaded innocently in contrast to her monotone voice.
“Huh? Why are you two here? Did you walk here by yourself?” Chung Myung’s concern is clear as his private residence was made far from the main building, more so from the young disciples' living quarters.
“Yun-ah had nightmare. Wanna sleep with master…” said the little girl as she pulled the younger boy and walked closer to both masters. She stopped in her tracks when she was finally close enough to notice all the tears on her master’s face.
“....Amzone”
“No, Seol-ah. I can explain.”
“Master!” It seems the older girl’s wary grip made the younger one also wake up from his sleepy state. “Master! Cry… why crying?” The boy’s little hands quickly busy wiping the trail of tears in panic, almost in tears himself.
Both children push himself between the two grownups, separating the Tang’s elder from their beloved master.
“Yun–ah, I’m fine. It’s okay, wait, careful with my eyes.”
“Amzone, why master is crying?”
“Yun-ah, let’s calm down.”
“Amzone! Bad!”
It's chaos. Chung Myung is busy assuring little Yun Jong to calm down, while little Yu Iseol throws a nasty glare at Tang Bo.
"Amzone, say sorry!" Little Iseol protested at the lack of word from the Tang's elder.
Tang Bo sighs in defeat in front of clear favoritism from the little ones.
‘Little A-So, I miss you.”
Suddenly, he misses his lovely great granddaughter who always takes his side in times like this.
At the same time relief, warm and expansive, washed over him, dissolving the tension that had coiled tight in his gut for years. It wasn't just the tears themselves, but the raw vulnerability the swordsman represented.
Chung Myung had always been a fortress, his emotions locked away like a treasure chest. The war had stolen their normal life, leaving behind a desolate landscape where tenderness was a forgotten language. The memory of his own war-hardened shell, the inability to shed a single tear even in the face of unimaginable loss, sometimes still haunt the younger man even now.
But now there is no more enemy. There is no more need to hold back their emotions. There is no more morning that starts with strategy meetings and night that closes with another report about the loss for that day.
This moment is hundreds of times better than when he needed to hold Chung Myung with all his strength to prevent him from jumping right away to the battlefield again, the first time he heard his junior’s massacred in the war.
The weight of the war, a constant presence on his shoulders, seemed to ease slightly. It wasn’t gone, not yet.
But perhaps, in this shared space of vulnerability, they could heal together, tear by tear. In this rare moment of vulnerability, he saw their own path to healing, a chance to chip away at the walls they'd built around their heart.
And maybe, just maybe, they could rebuild, together, brick by tear-stained brick. Their new home.
Here, in this isolated haven, peace is welcomed back into their life. A concept that had become a distant memory, slowly seeping back into their bones. The quiet chirping of crickets intensified, their song a poignant reminder of the life that hummed on, indifferent to the human cost of war. The path to true peace would be long and arduous. But here, under the gaze of a million stars, with the scent of plum blossoms and the whispers of the mountain wind, both of them had taken the first tentative step towards a new life, a life where either in dream or wake will just as bright.
Even if sometimes nightmare comes, that'll be fine too.
Because long as I have you, nightmare will only be another dream.