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There was a fairly popular tale amongst the civilians dating back from ancient times.
That same tale soon spread towards not only the noblemen, but also the martial artists that lived in the high, isolated mountains.
The fire was on, serving as both a source of light and warmth for the two people sitting next to it.
“Sahyung, can you tell me a story?”
“Hm, which one should I tell…” Chung Mun looked down to the side, towards the face of the youngest, a slight smile gracing his lips, “Instead of a story, would a tale do?”
“If that is what Sahyung has on the tip of his tongue!” a full-blown smile appeared under the contrasting gaze of silvery moon and fiery fire.
“What I am to tell you is a tale of old that sounds like something that came out of a madman’s mouth.
“Still, that doesn’t stop many from believing. You, though, are free to choose whether or not this is simple foolishness.”
The kid moved his head up and down, anxiously awaiting for the words that he would allow himself to fantasise with late at night.
“Then let’s first head to the Medicine Hall.”
Chung Myung obliged and followed, entering a wide room where multiple cabinets and closets had their backs against the wall. His Sahyung opened one and quickly took out a quite extravagant flower, sundry tones of red permeating its petals.
“Do you know which flower this is?” A ‘no’ came forward as the answer, to which he nodded in understanding before continuing.
“It’s a chrysanthemum - this tale’s root.”
At that phrase, the child’s attention became fully his, and he promised not to disappoint his expectations for a worthwhile piece of fiction.
“From ancient times, entire herds of land would paint a drawing under the heavens that seemed to reflect its hues to the skies.
“Appreciating the comfort by them provided and the bed of flowers that was deemed one of the most romantic and unique places to be in, the common people would sometimes spend hours in there when time was on their side. Thus began the habit of picking up one of the surrounding flowers and carefully pluck its petals one at a time, to the tunes of ‘Meet me, meet me not’, until they arrived at the last one, which they said to decide their romantic fate.”
At this point, the chrysanthemum found itself on top of a squared towel that travelled with the same pace as the child who was of it carrying entrusted.
Their seats retaken, the story was resumed.
“Everyone in this earthy terrain is bound by soul to a soulmate - that’s what people believe in,” Chung Mun hands the flower to Chung Myung, “This is only the method some entrust and wholeheartedly rely on to ascertain whether or not they will meet their soulmate in this lifetime.”
“Sahyung,” certainly ignoring many of the questions prodding at his rationale, he decided to focus on a seemingly less important one, no less pragmatic still, “But why a chrysanthemum?”
At the proposed question, Chung Mun could only chuckle beneath breaths and try his best to answer, “Well… It could simply be because of its abundance and glamour that overwhelm one’s senses. Perhaps because of their usual connection to love, be it romantic or slighted.”
His mind added concepts and phonetics, conjuring the words that conveyed yet another hypothesis.
“Perhaps it could also have something to do with their meanings…”
“Doesn’t Jú (菊, chrysanthemum), closely resemble Jū (居), to reside in each other’s hearts until they can no longer beat together and the link between soul and body is severed, even further than that, or even Jiǔ (久), a long enduring connection that will go beyond time and space?”
His Sajae's eyes glistened, mirroring the steady rhythm at which the words seemed to make way inside his brain, carefully analysing the meaning behind them - a far too strenuous task for a child his age, too abstract, touching concepts he still barely grasped.
This line of thought came to an end as his head dropped, staring down at the flower with eyes as bright as the stars, before returning to his Sahyung.
“Can I do it?”
“Go ahead.”
*
The moon was high and yet, this time, there was no drink to accompany.
Two lone yet expressive silhouettes, barely visible to the untrained eye, were cast over the terrain behind their backs.
Words wandered the air, flowing from mouth to ear, sometimes with no essence at all, others with all the meaning and more that could to them be granted.
“And so, I spent the last weekend marking presence at the new Lord’s marriage. Such a lengthy celebration to be honest!”
“Now that you speak about that, there’s a Sajae of mine who finally realized he’s in love with this woman he met some decades ago on Hua-Um,” Chung Myung promptly shared the news, not like it was that important of a matter anyway, but always something they could debate over without the alcohol’s influence, “Can you imagine that?!”
Without leaving actual room for the other to answer, his rambles resumed, “He also went on and on about how the ‘flower guessing’ he did all ‘all those years ago’ was right… That his faith was not misplaced-”
Laughter came from his side, no signs of ceasing any moment soon. An unprompted continuation of words came from Tang Bo.
“Now that you have brought the topic up, I may as well ask,” he leaned closer, gaze hanging low, curiously facing the other from a new downward angle, “Has the well-renowned Sword Saint ever attempted said ‘flower guessing’?”
With a scoff, the other replied, “Ha! And what leads you to believe I’ll answer that?”
“Huhu, no need. You’ve already done so with that last sentence of yours~” a smug expression installed on his lips, eyes carving half moons of appreciation ever so easily discovering the other despite his will.
“So, tell me - meet me or meet me not?”
“What if I don’t want to tell you, hun?”
“But… I though you trusted me…” A saddened look installed itself on his face as Tang Bo rearranged himself, easily identified as a fake by the one it attempted to trick.
“There’s this really annoying thing that is trying to pry at my personal business, and you know fully well what I to things that piss me off-”
The veins in his temple visibly throbbed, a noticeable display of his anger, a clear sign for no further provocations - thinking back, it was probably already late for that in Tang Bo’s mind.
A sword approached the heights before the fall, eyes instinctively shutting, hands coming forward to protect himself - even if not to any effect. However, after a long pause, nothing came.
Confused and hesitant, he stared up, only to witness a sword stationed in mid-air, as if having stopped in time.
“Dosa Hyung-nim?” he tried calling.
A startled expression spread across Chung Myung's face, snapping to the other side while returning the sword in sheath to its righteous place, crossing his arms over his chest with a pout beginning to settle in his visage.
‘Seriously, what is this god-awful personality? - So unpredictable!’
‘Still pretty expressive though, which makes it worth the risk to tease him~’
While Tang Bo spaced out, hand below his chin, a question came directed towards him.
“And you, since you’ve probably plucked at a chrysanthemum’s petals, what did it say?”
At the unexpected question, Tang Bo could only look up in search for a memory, “If age still hasn’t struck me, then I can surely affirm that yes, I will meet my soulmate if those tales stand correct.”
For some reason, Chung Myung's chest felt more relieved at that answer, heart freer and head clearer.
“That’s… good,” for you or for me? He couldn’t tell - perhaps it was for them both.
*
“Meet me,” his fingers plucked one petal from the chrysanthemum in his hand.
“Meet me not,” the first the child had heard, a frown in his forehead as he relayed the rhythmic words.
“Meet me,” the frown turned upside down, slowly getting used to the repetition of words that would with them bring a sense of dismay and relief, relief and dismay.
“Meet me not,” sitting atop a cliff, moon high up, missing nothing except for a drink, he wanders through a sea of memories, of a child plucking away a poor flower’s petals solely for an unfounded hope.
“Meet me,” he wishes that were the answer (unbeknownst to his conscious), head to the side turning, only to gaze at a smile that does wonders to his being, that lit up something nothing else can.
“Meet me not,” the crease in between his eyebrows deepens, his grip further grows, threatening to rip the fragile leafs in between his fingertips. ‘Why am I even doing this?’ he pondered, fully knowing it was more of a rhetoric question.
“Meet me,” his impending doom, in his mind, had already been confirmed. If only he could save himself from the hurt that came from knowing how to count.
“Meet me not,” he desperately wished for a miracle, for one of the remaining petals to fall before being mercilessly pulled from their lifeline by him.
“Meet me,” he tried not getting carried away by these words, by the unfathomable necessity he felt for those to be the ones, only for his mouth to open once again, for the last time…
“Meet me…
"Not…”
His arms feel helplessly to the ground, having lost all their will and force to remain in place. It had died down with the last bit of his hope.
- “Oh,” interjected Chung Mun, “and don’t forget that whatever the result may be, it is forever to be that way. No amount of petals plucked or flowers stripped of their tulle will ever be capable of changing that.”
That’s right, he remembered the words from so long ago, head onerously turning to face the vast plains in his wake, the trail of countless flowers deprived of their colour, their essence, all off it to wither on the desolate ground that was home to their roots.
Leaving the sight behind him behind, he attempted to find solace in the starry night sky.
During the last month of war, his mind could never quite find the time to address that ever-growing emotion, the anxiety that would perhaps ease if he put a name on it.
It took him having some time, a fresh mind, along with his absence, to realise what he could not before - that that pestering feeling was not having him by his side anymore.
Chung Myung's figure could be seen, hopeful, just a few hours prior, amidst a camp overflowing with red chrysanthemums.
Now he stood, inconsolable, in the midst of a river of red petals that seemed to resembled a blood bath where only one remained still, seemingly unaffected, but, nonetheless, drowning in between the remains of what was left of the it.
His memories.
His regrets.
The what if's.
What could have been but now can never be.
All those and many more that will forever haunt and torment his life for as long as he remains a breathing corpse on this earth.
Because how could he let such a simple yet vital thing slip right through his fingers?
How could he not have realized even when the topic had been brought up in between them?
How could he not realize as he felt the strength leave his body and the fire taper off?
How could his mind betray the certainty of his heart?
He had no answer, because if he were to search for it, he feared he would drown even further in this sea of…
Sorrow,
Grief,
Regret,
Whatever it was-
Instead, he wished to actually drown - not in this sea though - but in Tang Bo’s warmth and comforting presence, in that smile that could surpass the sun in brightness and serenity, in those emerald green eyes that resembled a place of shadow under a plum blossom tree, a glimpse of hope-
Oh, how he missed the days in which that was even dreamable.
He left the garden of what were before chrysanthemums, an unknown location he found whilst in a mission, far away from Mount Hua.
Mount Hua...
*
His eyes fluttered open, the drowsiness from his sudden awakening still very present in his face.
It was no surprise though, for Chung Myung, for such a thing to happen. He had been feeling restless ever since he got back, unable to let go of the results to the question he so vehemently searched for an answer to that day -
‘Meet me or meet me not, in this lifetime?’
His body stood up, dressing his uniform and leaving the room without a thought or command behind these actions. He left the White Blossom Hall with measured steps, gazing around at the familiar scenery, before it became entranced by the plum blossoms of one of many similar trees.
With ease, he jumped up to the top of a rather sturdy branch from which plum blossoms flourished.
A hand reached forward, tugging at the flower’s stem before eventually separating it from the branch. He then counted the petals.
One,
Two,
Three,
Four,
…Five.
Almost instinctively, he plucked at one of them.
“Meet me.”
“Meet me not,” another was plucked.
“Meet me,” and another.
“Meet me not,” and another.
“Meet me...” The last petal was now in his hands, the flower losing its rosy dress.
A chuckle escaped his lips, unwanted, yet, he was unable to keep it from appearing and escalating into a full laugh akin to a maniac’s - anyone who witnessed this would probably agree.
Tears threatened to roll down his eyes, but he was unaware even of their presence.
All he could think at that moment was -
‘How I wish these plum blossoms were the bearer’s of my love fortune…’