Chapter Text
Day 1
There was one detail about Chung Myung that only a close few were granted the privilege of knowing.
It was a special hobby of his, undermined by the passage of time, the not present right state of mind and the missing key to the door behind which many memories remained stored.
The figure of a disciple in his corresponding white robes, with a bloom adorning the left side of his chest, sitting in the quietude of his room, was a image of the past that those now present in Mount Hua couldn’t recall or would even be able to fathom. Irregardless, not many familiar faces of the past had been able to witness this facet of his either.
Perhaps certain wandering thoughts crossed his mind, reminding him of what he had lost, those fleeting feelings and sensations, the states in which he got himself - No. It was for his own good (or so he thought). Although temptation may be harder to resist once faced with reality.
But no one would expect, perhaps not even himself, the implications past events would have on how one subconsciously acts or thinks - how they express themselves.
- - - - - - - - - - - - -
A soft melody travelled in the air. From the mountains to the village, from the village to the sky, and from there, met the horizon line, in hopes of expanding further.
Although the wielder of such an instrument was still in the most advanced of stages, in the sound, a will, a message was carried out, though to tough for a little kid to decipher and understand. All those petite beings could tell, was a vague sense of an emotion, be it happiness, sadness, fear or unrest, based on how low or high it was.
A more acute noise intervened in its resolution, asking questions as per usual.
“Sahyung! Sahyung!”
“What is it Myung?” Ceasing every movement and sound produced, he paid close attention to the child’s following words.
“What is that below your hands?” Curiosity was evident in his tone, willingness to learn more about this unknown tool.
“It’s a qin, sometimes called guqin since it is a rather ancient instrument.”
“I’ve never seen Sahyung play something like this before though…”
“That is because I have only fairly recently taken a liking to it. Master finally gave me permission to roam freely around Hua-Um some time ago. There are many lovely stands there. Perhaps you and I should take a stroll around the village some day…”
“Don’t stray away!” An impatient voice called out.
“Okay, okay.” The eldest laughed it off and continued. “It was on that walk that my attention diverted to a stand selling many different instruments. Every single one of those on show looked and sounded exquisite, I must say. But what really caught my eye and made me try and reproduce this instrument with materials over here on Mount Hua was its story-”
“What is it, what is it!” Almost pouting, the child pressed his hands on the ground and leaned to the front, re-enforcing the resoluteness and desire in both face and voice to know more about this matter.
“So. A long, long time ago, there was a man who used to sit in solitude, listening in to the tunes of nature and tuning his qin to his heart’s desire. This was his way of expressing his deeply rooted emotions, of saying what words could never pass on.”
The one by his side listened attentively, forcing the many questions and complaints to not leave his mind with much effort, as to not interrupt.
“One day, someone who, by chance or fate, came to meet him, expressed understanding for his emotions - his heart's melody. Besides, the only one to have done so up until that master's passing.”
Unable to hold back any longer, the kid babbled out - “But how can that be?!”
Even at this loud rebuke, the one going by ‘Sahyung’ didn’t waver, instead replying calmly with another question.
“What was it that attracted you about this instrument? Why did you come ask me about it?”
“Well, that was because…”
There was a sudden silence in the air.
A long pause before an answer could finally be heard.
“Because… it felt like plum blossoms. Well, the sound of them falling, or… or the breeze making the petals flutter, and many, many more.” The younger one struggled to convey what he felt, stuttering every couple of words. Nevertheless, the glint of genuinity in his eyes was such that no one would dare doubt him.
At this, his Sahyung stared at him in a bit of disbelief, but soon softened his gaze.
“That is about right.”
Setting down the qin, he corrected his posture and got up, hands behind his back, eyes facing forward, perhaps at some invisible entity, unknown to the child.
“My intention was to, through the qin, pass on the spirit of Mount Hua to listeners.”
He glanced down with a vague look of appreciation at the figure grabbing at the hem of his robes. During this whole event, the little one had fixated on him his gaze full of fondness.
“It seems like I have somewhat achieved my goal.”
The child’s eyes gleamed whilst the sunset reflected itself on them. His gaze spoke for itself of the high place his Sahyung had in his heart.
But he still wasn’t content, with so many questions left answered.
“But how are you producing such noises with only a piece of wood and some silk? It doesn’t make any sense!” The small child cried out in frustration, not out of injustice, but because it wasn’t understandable to him, after all this time, the way such ordinary items, when put together, could create worlds and speak out the musician’s heart content so openly and shamelessly yet, at the same time, so subtly and in such a difficult manner to piece together.
“Something similar happens with swordmanship to be honest..."
"Oh well, I guess that too is a part of the magic behind instruments and one of their biggest appeals… I can teach you-”
“But how can Sahyung not know!”
A sudden laughter came out of the eldest’s lips.
“Whaaaat! Why are you laughing Sahyung?”
“First, I am no knowledgeable sage. Second…”
“It’s just fun how you always manage to interrupt me, be it when I’m telling a story or when I’m lecturing you.”
“More like nagging…”
“Hey, you brat! I heard that!”
“Hehehehehe” Different from the soft laughter from before, these were intentionally provocative giggles, followed by a loud yawn.
“Looks like someone is sleepy.” He grabbed the little one’s right hand as the latter scrubbed his eye with the left one. “Let’s go back to the dorms.”
“Wait! Can you just answer one last question before we leave?”
“I guess so.”
“Can you, hum… really teach me how to play the qin?”
His Sahyung’s eyes widened in surprise - he never knew this troublesome and overly active child would take an interest in such a kind of activity! But if it was fate for him to do so, who was him to meddle?
“Why not?”
A slight smile made his way into his face, a grin quickly growing as the tips of his lips grew apart.
“Then I’ll be in your care, Sahyung!”
“Sigh, when have you not been?”
- - - - - - - - - - -
…
Let’s just say the next few months were… interesting.
Yes.
An interesting experience for the teacher.
The teacher who could not properly teach, all thanks to his much hyperactive sole student.
But still.
Whenever he was not running around, wrecking havoc in the room or showering him with his incessant questions, it was as if the child’s concentration surpassed his own.
All the philosophies of self-cultivation that the child’s usual self failed to uphold came to light in these ephemeral moments where he lived in his little enchanted world where only his self and the qin existed, hair down, fingers gliding through the stage set up by himself for only himself.
So deeply immersed that his emotions seemed to become tangible, as if coming to life, yet still so hard to reach.
An impossible task.
Either a veil or a shield, or any other thinkable utensil took, in his imagination, the role of covering any trace of recognisable emotions, coveting its contents for itself.
For a moment, he wondered.
Whether this was what that tale talked about.
He couldn’t know for sure, but that was what his gut feeling told him.
And if so did indeed be true, then he would wish for the time when someone can understand and appreciate those tunes alongside this infant to come soon.
- - - - - - - - - -
The sun broke through the siege of the clouds lying by the horizon line once again. A symbol of dawn, a symbol of the beginning of the day. But besides that, also an alarm for many to wake or a clock of the time.
A loud yawn made its way across the mountain, the sleep-deprived body begging its owner for some relief, which was, of course, not conceded.
But despite that warning, nothing halted Chung Myung’s jumps from one rock to another, each taller than the previous.
The destination consisted of a cave in the rocky mountains, far from humanity’s reach - but apparently not the devil’s.
The fabric patchwork, acting as a more or less credible disguise for the entrance, was pulled down in one full swoop and carried over his forearm. It came down to give an unkept environment the chance to reveal itself to the world, if only the world was Chung Myung and his uncaring eyes as they wandered through the room only out of habit, the umpteenth pile of dust not mattering any more than the previous.
The bulging, glowy object in between Chung Myung’s chest and his black robes came on full display to reveal not only a ball of white fur, but also a newly-bought phosphorescent pearl, immediately placed on top of a platform slightly pointing outwards, to illuminate the surroundings without bothering its buyer.
There was the usual bench, carved out from the cave’s stone, a straw bed, a low table, in such order from furthest to closest. Even the same weird-looking box facing the wall- Wait a damn minute…
Although this cave was supposedly unscathed from any foreign touch, his eyes had never drifted towards that box before, and his little box up there also couldn’t remember any instance where he had cheerfully drank alcohol, with back and either forearm slouched upon such a commodity before...
Suspicious, to say the least.
So, what was the best to do with an unidentified object?
That’s right. Inspect it!
However, before he could make a move for the trunk, a little marten was already on top of it, making its best efforts to open its lid, though to no avail. Despite the laughableness of the situation, Chung Myung appreciated the little creature’s efforts, walking closer to it and offering a place on his shoulder, this offer promptly accepted.
Now, his hands fell over the locks, gaze akin to a curious cat as he unlocked one by one.
‘Why are there so many locks? Did the Plum Blossom Sword Saint hid Mount Hua’s entire fortune here or what?’
‘Surely my head was not in the right place 100 years ago!’ Those were his thoughts during the process and after successfully gaining access to its contents. ‘Now let’s see what really needed to be so meticulously hidden…’
His head peeked inside the dark trunk, protected from the accumulation of dust, the object inside a perfect replica of images that now flashed behind his eyes. Curiosity was long gone, confusion brief and realisation even briefer. Many more crossed the eyes, invisible yet known to Baek Ah, who clung to Chung Myung’s neck, the same strategy used over and over again to sooth the slight and desynchronised trembling of his body.
Unsteady hands make their way to grab and bring to his side a bygone memory. Gentleness envelops his fingers whilst they caress the plum wood, covered in large, red spots in the top layer of intertwined almond and buff browns.
Instinctively and before proceeding, he now faced the bottom of the instrument, hands working tirelessly to properly tune it to his liking, gifting this side with only a few instants of light.
‘Seems like my memory does not match my age after all.’
The seven fine lines of silk spread across the top of the plaque reacted to every slightest hint of a fingers coming into contact with it, quivering according to those ephemeral touches that left lingering echoes of bass sounds wandering the air.
‘But still, it’s in much better shape than I could ever imagine… It’s almost my age after all! Not everything has the ability to look this good after… 170 years? En, who cares right now.’
His pure qi outspread in the cave, displaying many hues of white and colours alike deciding on their preferred space to settle in.
The air surrounding his figure resembled that of a fascinated and nostalgic soul, who had, at last, found a dear object of an ancient memory.
And whilst his left hand rested at the furthermost end of the instrument, the resolve to end all in just one gesture concentrated in his other middle finger, as it pluck the forth string outwards.
The first.
The action left behind a buzzing sound that stood out from the remaining. A sound that fulfilled his wish to remember, but also became one he wished to forget.
A click of his tongue escaped.
‘Too harsh and enerving…’
Led by habit, his left hand returned to hovering right above the strings. Through his eyes, he observed each hui and their positions, how the strings aligned with them, creating an imaginary chess-like pattern.
His finger followed the trajectory on the middle string, only a lingering sense of touch permeating his fingers, before the two lines intersected and a repeated motion of plucking and lifting ensued 13 times.
The second.
As if floating, those sounds got gradually higher, yet still lower, a deep echo that seemed afraid of pursuing the previous impact of the last. Instead, it traded impact for gracefulness, for a sense of lightness that could be carried anywhere and yet, didn’t leave its place.
When there’s a second, there’s always third. Having given their solo performances, now the two hands were resolute in dancing together on this silky stage.
Cupping his right hand and pressing down on the silk with his index and thumb on the left, up until they touched the surface board, Chung Myung let in a breath of fresh air, plucking the third and fifth notes on each side.
The third.
The cord vibrated and deviated from the original tone.
Up and down, high and low.
The vibration persisted, giving birth to sounds through which the fingers glided with enviable ease.
Again and again, his fingers danced through the threads, the same motion over and over again came through the fingers. The echo was abrupt when they would pluck, swiftly shifting back and forth in amplitude, raising and falling until satisfied.
But there was something more this time. An underlying murmur, sharp and lingering, working the same job as an accent does in language - a ray of unicity.
The small creature snuggling in his neck, enchanted by the melody, was forced out of its illusion at a sudden stop in the play.
The sound wasn’t that loud. In it, one wouldn’t find any trace of desire for fame or boosting of their proficiency. All it seemed to care about was harmonising with nature, the environment around.
The little marten crawled up to his head, not knowing why, but with an instinct tugging at her mind, that she needed to do something, anything, to let the music continue. The whitish walls were preparing themselves to gradually retreat, and with them, the feeling.
With an unexpected mastery, a green ribbon left its duties, now curled up in Baek Ah’s hands, who returned to its resting place, as million strands of hair unfurled down its master's back.
Suddenly, a glimpse of light appeared in Chung Myung’s eyes, having widened for some unknown reason. One or two miniscule droplets attempted to fall from the corners… and you want to know what?
He let them.
His eyelids willingly closed. His expression became serene and radiated focus and meticulous attention, as if touch, hearing and smell were the only three senses he needed at that moment - to drown in the sensations and vibrations of the silk beneath him, the sounds that overwhelmed his ears with cherished noises, the familiar fragrance characteristic to his home and that he brought with him everywhere.
The qi around him, previously shapeless, gained life with the music, droplets separating from the walls, colours changing and a new world undergoing creation inside this small cave - his inner world, branches sprouting from many places, pink and green colours painting the caves' interior.
And letting go of the self-imposed chains that tightly bound his hands, freedom was now theirs to pluck, pinch, pull and press how much and however they’d like.
It was a peaceful day
Breathing in the fragrance
Welcoming every single sun ray
Taking in the unusual silence
Resting atop a plum tree
The world to fit in the palm
Of my hand seemed, a wishful fantasy
true I once wished it were so vehemently
The wind blows, bringing about
the so-dear scent to never forget I sought.
The sun is still up, the breeze too.
Down there rest the memories I buried long ago.
Resting under a plum tree’s shadow,
I embrace an odd sense of security.
‘This is my home without a doubt!’
I proclaimed to the winds with certainty.
The characteristic scent begins to fade, long overdue.
We all know it stayed the most it could.
But still, why let this beautiful pink summit,
be washed in green, stripped of its unicity?/
Resting against a plum tree’s trunk,
Was to meet you a mere stroke of luck?
Oh, warrior buds that in harsh winters persevere,
allow me to bring you with me everywhere.
Stay by my side and you will see,
plums blossom in the flowery and rainy season,
lamenting their companions tragedy
incapable of bringing them a sense of familiarity.
Tell me now, tell me please - Why?
Why does it hurt when you make me sway
wandering back and forth to my dismay?
Why do you bring forth my ruin
while knowing you’re my salvation?
Because, plums of Mount Hua,
what would I do without you?
Take me back to those lost times
When my hair in the wind would fly,
And you would be present laughing by my side.
That’s right, that reality is long gone now.
It’s night time by now, moon high on the sky,
and I still haven’t stopped wondering why.
But, at last, let me bask in your comfort
as I play you my life testimony, this final dulcet.
…
A sigh of relief left his lips.
“Huff. This was a very needed rest!”
His hand moved upwards, stretching themselves after a while.
“What to do now, what to do…”
He slowly got up from his seated position, hand making its way down to scratch his head, in search for ideas.
“Wait, why is my hair down?”
At the question, the innocent culprit popped his head out from his hiding place.
Unable to hide his gratified expression, Chung Myung's hand moved towards the marten’s head, gently stroking it, an unexpected yet totally welcome gesture from the latter’s part.
It wasn’t long before his gaze returned to the qin, sitting on the improvised carpet.
“Perhaps it wouldn’t hurt to take this with me… You know?”
“Shriek!”
“See! You understand me!”
Retrieving the qin for himself, he carefully placed it once again inside the ark and held it under his arm.
From then on, his room got a new addition. Right by his bedside table where all kinds of things were kept, a rectangular-shaped box joined in.
From then on, the silhouette belonging to a human with a strange object hanging of his back and a marten resting in his shoulder, heading towards the further corners of the mountain, became a frequent sight for night owls in the late hours of night.