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Regret was a funny thing.
It was something he’d stubbornly refused—banished from his consciousness for the longest time. Moments in time, snippets of his life flashing before his eyes—not a moment even at his lowest had he ever truly regretted. Not like this, not like this.
“Do you regret your decisions?” Chung Myung heard the soft voice of Sahyung Chung Mun. His father, his older brother, his family—this man was Chung Myung’s goal. He wanted to follow him until the very end, but it was too late for that too.
Yes, I regret it. I regret it so, so much, Sahyung.
“There is no need for regret.” His voice exuded warmth. “It is the Mount Hua Sect after all.”
…Sahyung.
It seemed to Chung Myung that Sahyung was chuckling. Forever warm and benevolent.
“Because it is the Mount Hua Sect.”
As Chung Myung finally gave into the darkness, his lips twisted downwards in pure agony.
How could I not?
Gentle grey eyes and a quiet but warm smile flashed through his mind.
Aeri, I’m so sorry.
That day, the Great Plum Blossom Saint, the Elder of the Great Mount Hua Sect, One of the Top Three Swordsmen in Kangho, Best in the—no, Chung Myung passed away.
“Hah? Sahyung who the hell is this little runt—ow, Sahyung that hurts! Are you already favoring her over me, your precious Sajae?!”
“Chung Myung-ah, say hello. This is Aeri. She will be your samae from now on.”
“What do you want this time, runt?”
“…Won’t you show me again, just one more time? Please? Your plum blossoms?”
“Samae! Samae! Hide me?”
“…What did you steal this time, Sahyung?”
“Just some alcohol, hehehe. Please?”
“…Fine, come in, I’ve got mooncakes.”
“Maybe take a swan dive off Lotus peak and hope for a better body in your next life—ARGH!”
“Chung Myung Sahyung, stop!”
“The fuck did you say about my junior sister?!”
“Who the hell would wanna marry an ugly hag like her?”
“The better question would be who wouldn’t, Chung Myung Sahyung. You should really stop being so dense. Someone will snatch Aeri Sago before you know it.”
“The fuck did you say, Chung Jin—”
“Mercy, mercy!”
“Aeri is not a martial artist. She is a patient! She is weak! She needs someone to protect and take care of her! She should not be straining herself like this—”
“Weak? Her? Sahyung, are you going senile already? You’re still so young!”
“Will you take me away from here then, dear Saint?”
“You’re as simple as ever, Samae. Of course, I will! The great Plum Blossom Sword Saint does not go back on his word!”
“Even if your Sahyung may be inconvenienced?”
“I promised, did I not?”
“You agreed to it? You?”
“…”
“…It was a good match. He is a good man.”
“Did you finally realize, Dosa hyung-nim? About damn time! I thought it would take you another eighty years before—”
“…You knew?”
“Hyung-nim. You were a little too happy to crack my head the first time we met. Battle of honor, my ass.”
“Guess how happy I’m gonna be cracking it this time, leech bastard—”
“Hey, there’s something I need to tell you after I beat up those Magyo bastards. Wait for me?”
“Always.”
Chung Myung lives and dies. And then miraculously, he lives again.
He wakes up in the body of a beggar called Chosam, learns the fate of those whom he loved, and grieves for what he once had. And then runs, as fast as his worn feet will carry him, towards home.
In another story, Mount Hua would have (should have) fallen long ago—having lost its people, its techniques, and its history. The only people left in the Great Mount Hua Sect at the end of the Demonic War were the women and children. Chung Myung knows this, and the world knows this.
And yet, this is not that story.
As he listens to the words of the beggar boy in front of him, spinning a lofty tale about how Mount Hua’s plum blossoms had bloomed that fateful night despite all the odds, telling the entire world that even if they lost everything their plum blossoms would continue to bloom come spring— Chung Myung cannot help but think wryly.
This damned story—it begins and ends with just one young woman.
Aeri.
The Mount Hua Chung Myung finds after a hundred years is glaringly different from the one he remembers. And yet, it is also the same.
The signboard he remembers his neurotic Sect Leader Sahyung cleaning so lovingly every morning is still there, but the wood has weathered with age and the words carved within it have faded with time. Though the marbled titles of the training grounds have long been replaced with dirt, the disciples’ stances remain stable and their swords are sharp. And though the sect no longer boasts any of its former grandeur and splendor, the few buildings that remain from then are modest and humble—reflecting only the core tenets of Mount Hua’s values.
They are simple and straightforward—but they embody Mount Hua at its core more than anything else.
This Mount Hua—it’s so different from what Chung Myung remembers that it makes his heart ache—and yet, it’s so, so similar it makes him want to cry. But he doesn’t—he doesn’t.
But then he finds out just why his beloved sect is the way it is now.
“The Mount Hua Sect follows the righteous path, so certain courtesies must be observed by guests.” Chung Myung watches the door to Jade Spring Temple be pushed open. “Please go in and pay your respects to our ancestors. You can rest afterward.”
Chung Myung isn’t sure what he expects to see there. Is it going to be something abysmal—like Sahyung-forbid, the white plum blossom of nocturnal fragrance being sold!—or is it going to be surprisingly well-preserved, despite the tragedy of what happened to Mount Hua after the war as he’s seen thus far?
Whatever it is—what he doesn’t expect to see is gentle grey eyes, braided dark hair and a serene, almost too tranquil smile forever immortalized in yellowed parchment.
Chung Myung stares at it—drinks it in—and thinks vaguely that ah,
He’s seen this before.
Dully, he registers Un Am speaking.
“Please pay your respects to our esteemed elder, the Plum Blossom Saintess Kim Aeri.”
He’s seen this exact painting halfway done clasped by Chung Jin’s ink-stained fingers, had obsessed over how well it captured the subject of the portrait until he’d found out just what it was being painted for and had rushed out angrily to complain to his Sect Leader Sahyung.
“Sahyung! I know you always complain about money, but since when did the sect get so broke it’d start selling off its disciples to creepy old men?!”
“Chung Myung you brat! It’s not like that!”
Plum-colored eyes scour every inch of the painting hungrily, taking in the image of someone he’d thought long lost. Clenched fists, bitten lips, and finally, a quiet, tired smile.
“Long time no see, Samae.”
So you’re the reason.
The girl with the name Aeri arrived during the coldest winter Mount Hua had ever seen.
She came holding Sahyung’s hand, wrapped in thick layers of fur, looking at everything around her with uncertain eyes and shying away from the affectionate greetings from her senior siblings. A single, approving nod from Sahyung and she’d finally let go of her death grip on his hand, before bowing dutifully and finally responding to the greetings.
Even then, she’d been a little too small, a little too pale, a little too weak.
Of course, Chung Myung hadn’t given two shits.
How dare she monopolize Sahyung’s attention—so what if she was his niece! Chung Myung was supposed to be his Sahyung’s favorite! Oh to be him, his Sahyung and all his other seniors had begun neglecting his poor self all because a cute girl had turned up instead! Blasphemy!
He’s old enough now to understand that he may have been a bit biased there.
If anything, Kim Aeri was the most pitiful person at Mount Hua.
She was his Sahyung’s niece, from the family he had outside of Kangho before joining the sect. But even if she was so, there had been no need for her to join Mount Hua—but she had to regardless. Kim Aeri was sick, had too much talent for her body to handle and so, it was giving up on her.
The only reason she was at Mount Hua was to survive.
Chung Myung doesn’t learn about the intricacies of Kim Aeri’s illness until much, much later—only that Mount Hua’s cultivation techniques helped her manage the internal energy leakage and allowed her to extend her lifespan. She would’ve died before she became an adult otherwise.
So Kim Aeri lived because she joined Mount Hua. But even then, she was not a person of Mount Hua.
She was not a disciple, not a practitioner, not even a guest.
Because Kim Aeri could not do martial arts.
The moment she dared to try to pursue her dream, her body would fail her and she’d die.
That strange wild child who’d come from beyond the borders of the sect, who watched more than she spoke, who was born with all the talent in the world but was cursed with a body that loathed her. The sword maniac who loved the sword more than he himself, who lived and breathed every day to repay the sect for saving her life to the point of selling herself, but then gave into her vices every night—dancing secretly with a sword every night under the moon’s watchful gaze.
So then why?
“When the Demonic Cult’s remanents marched to Mount Hua to raze it to the ground, the Plum Blossom Saintess took up the sword to defend the sect.”
He thinks wildly, chaotically as he listens to Jo Gul’s explanations.
So then how?
“Though only the lower-class disciples were left in the sect who did not know any plum blossom techniques, and the Saintess herself was not a martial artist—”
Chung Myung remembers that unnerving grey gaze transfixed on every single movement he made during training. Obsessive. Fanatical.
“—she shocked the world by blooming plum blossoms on her blade.”
The moment she would dare to try to pursue her dream, her body would fail her and she’d die.
Really, this foolish, foolish girl. She’d thrown away everything Sahyung had given her, and all for nothing. To die for something like that—
“How long did she live?” He asks suddenly, making Jo Gul blink at the intensity in his voice. “When did she die?”
A day? Maybe two?
Aeri’s body had been like an overflowing dam, full of the purest internal energy in the world because of her unique constitution, but dangerously full to the extent if ever broken—there was no way in hell she’d ever be able to rein it back in. It would flow out all in one go, leaving behind nothing for her to salvage.
Such a painful, painful way to go.
But then Jo Gul’s words make Chung Myung short circuit.
“…The Saintess?” Jo Gul looked uncertain. “I’m not sure, but I think she died a decade or so later?”
“…A decade?”
“Fifteen years.” Yoon Jong added, taking the opportunity to sneakily stop massaging Chung Myung’s shoulders. “It’s recorded that the Saintess passed away exactly fifteen years after the night of the attack from old age.”
“Old age, you say.” Chung Myung scoffed in disbelief, staring down at his hands. Fifteen years. After breaking her body and committing the ultimate taboo. Fifteen years. “So she ended up becoming an old hag in the end, didn’t she?”
Suddenly, everything makes sense.
How everything is not as bad as it could’ve been—all things considered—even after all the Great Sects and Families turned their backs on Mount Hua. The Great Mount Hua Sect may have burned down that night, may have lost all its warriors, its techniques, and it’s secrets—but it continued to live regardless.
Because one person remained to continue to tell it’s story.
Chung Myung cackles once more, this time with pure irony.
Hey, Sect Leader Sahyung, are you seeing this? The girl we all kept calling weak and fragile ended up saving all our asses. She’s the reason Mount Hua still has its techniques. To think she got them down right after just watching us perform them during training. Insane, you gotta pat her on the back for this. This girl is insane.
“Er…Sajae? Are you okay?”
Chung Myung just ignores his concerned seniors, devolving into loud cackling that was tinged just with a hint of melancholy.
I’ll take good care of the Mount Hua you’ve passed down to me, Samae. Pinky Promise.
The Mount Hua Aeri left for him has pieces of them wherever he looks. It has Chung Jin’s neurotic insistence to list down any and everything related to their martial techniques. It has Chung Mun’s obsession with maintaining cleanliness and order throughout the sect. It has Chung Myung’s own rabid obsession with training like a madman.
Maybe it’s a testament to Aeri’s own obsession with martial arts, because the sect has way too many wooden swords for what they should actually need.
But it works out for Chung Myung, because now he can train his bastard sahyungs even harder now. Hehe, he’s gonna keep his promise to his samae. He won’t let her hard work go to waste.
Once he works out where the martial arts journals are kept, the first thing he does is break into Elder Hyun Sang’s living quarters to steal them. It’s for a good cause! He needs to make sure what Aeri passed down is actually reflective of what the martial arts techniques are supposed to be! Especially because while Aeri had been working off memory instead of actual experience!
It’s during that heist that Chung Myung realizes Aeri did not pass down the 24-Movement Plum Blossom Sword Technique. His signature move.
Why, he does not know—because it’s not a matter of her not seeing it being performed before. The damn woman had been more of a leech than Tang Bo regarding it, begging to see it at any and every opportunity. He’d ended up relenting, even if it had ended up with him being scolded by Sahyung later since it was supposed to be a secret technique but meh. He can still remember the adoring way her eyes had traced every line of movement, every swing of his sword, every twist of his body—as if trying to immortalize it forever by burning it into her mind.
So why hadn’t she passed it down to their descendants?
He gets his answer when he breaks into Chung Mun’s secret Sect Leader bunker and finds a weathered journal in her writing detailing everything she knows of the technique, as well as her decision to keep it locked away until these doors can be opened.
Because there is no reason to do so.
Plum-colored eyes carefully trace over the familiar handwriting, taking in every single brush stroke with crippling fondness. He can almost hear her voice, calm and measured, in every word in the journal.
Everything begins from the roots. Until the foundation is strong and stable, there is no point in pursuing higher and higher skies. This lowly ancestor fears that if this sacred technique is passed down too early to our descendants, then it may jeopardize their stable foundations. And so, I have hidden this behind these closed doors. The doors are the test, modified to only be opened if complete mastery of the techniques existing outside has been achieved. If you are reading this now, then that means that you are worthy enough to learn this technique, though this is not mine to pass down to you.
“You’re such a sap.” He bites out harshly, trying to suppress his smile. “Not yours, my ass. Should’ve cracked your head too during training.”
He can almost hear Sahyung’s nagging.
Chung Myung you brat, don’t you dare bully your samae.
There’s a strange sort of ease with which he adapts to his new life.
Of course, the regrets remain—plaguing him night and day until he is all but made of them. He’s made so many mistakes, could’ve have done so much more—and yet he didn’t. All these grievances, these regrets remain. But somehow, strangely, he doesn’t feel alone.
His weird delirious Sahyung manifestations aside, perhaps it’s because he can see and feel Aeri’s careful touch in everything he experiences at Mount Hua.
All of it—all of everything Chung Myung’s Mount Hua should have burned down and disappeared that night. And yet it didn’t, because one person had survived. Kim Aeri lives in everything ranging from the biggest things in Mount Hua to the smallest of habits developed by its disciples.
Chung Myung tastes Kim Aeri in the way Hyun Jong brews his tea, sees Kim Aeri in the way the disciples train their swords, and feels Kim Aeri in the airiness of the linen used to stitch the uniforms.
It reminds him, pitifully so, of how he isn’t alone.
Even when he deserves to be.
It also makes him think, for the first time in both his wretched lives, of someone other than himself. He thinks of what Kim Aeri might have been thinking choosing this linen for the uniforms, what Kim Aeri would have to go through to pass down Mount Hua’s ethics and values besides its martial techniques, what Kim Aeri had gone through seeking help from the other sects.
He thinks about her when he opens the doors to the Sect Leader’s bunker, thinks about her when he beats that shitty merchant and finds out he’s from the Southern Edge Sect, thinks about her when he heals Elder Hwang to gain his support and finds out that their techniques were stolen by their own allies.
He’s not alone.
But she had been.
And it makes him grieve in a way he never thought he would.
He remembers that fateful night, a lifetime ago, when their departure for the war had been announced. Her stormy gaze, furious at the notion that she’d be left behind and his Sahyung’s placating words, did nothing but aggravate the normally well-composed woman even more.
“I am a person of the Mount Hua Sect!” Her loud cries, sharp as glass and cold as ice. “My role is to stand by your side! How can I stay back when my seniors and my juniors alike fight on the frontlines? Surely you will not make me suffer this dishonor, Sect Leader!”
“Aeri, I’m sorry.” Chung Myung wonders if his Sahyung knew he had been selfish. Everyone who could fight had left for that war. Except for her. It didn’t matter if she couldn’t use her internal energy. “But you are not a martial artist. It will be incredibly dangerous for you there. My wish is for you to stay back as an Elder of Mount Hua and watch over the children in our absence. That is your role.”
She’d fulfilled that role admirably, Chung Myung thinks—but then, when he thinks of her fate on the battlefield in contrast to the one she suffered alone—he wonders which death would have been kinder. One where she’d have died with those she loved, and the other, where she’d have to live a life without them—the last to go.
He remembers thinking once.
How Chung Myung had wept for his Sahyungs and his Sajils. But how no one was left to weep for him.
How foolish of him.
And again, he remembers Aeri’s anger—her first and only act of rebellion against her uncle and her savior. He’d thought of it as cute back then, the tantrums of a young woman, and had callously gone off to console her. Only to witness the side of herself she’d kept hidden from the world, revealed only when she washed out the perfumes from her hair, wiped the paint from her face, and shed her silks in exchange for callused hands and a sword.
Within the folds of the night, nowhere was there to be seen the demure and poised lady they knew. The perfect bride, raised from childhood for the sake of Mount Hua’s prosperity, ready to be all but sold at a moment’s notice with her own willingness, for the sake of repaying the life debt she owed to the sect.
It had annoyed Chung Myung how willing she was to be sacrificed—to sit around all day brewing tea, having her portraits painted, and waiting for marriage proposals. How perfect she made herself out to be, the epitome of duty and responsibility in contrast to he, himself—the image of indulgence and selfishness.
Her unwavering dedication, to the point of self-sacrifice, had been irritating—for it only highlighted his own failings. And yet, the delicate balance between duty and desire—she herself unveiled before him.
“The tip of your sword should be higher.”
Sharp grey eyes snap up to meet his, trembling slightly in shock when they register the owner of the voice. He remembers relishing in the idea of having her full undivided attention, and then promptly feeling uncomfortable the longer she continued to remain silent. “Er—Samae, you know Sahyung means well—”
“I know.”
Her movements had been smooth, she’d sheathed her sword in one go before turning completely towards him. If he closes his eyes, he can count out every single bead of sweat on her brow, the flecks of grey in her dark eyes, and the dissatisfied curve of her mouth. It had been the first time he’d seen her so…expressive.
“Even if I could use internal energy, I’d still be a burden on the battlefield.” She turns her head, staring off the cliffside with a distant gaze. “I do not have the experience nor the willpower I think, to take the life of another. At least not yet.”
“If it makes you feel better, those Magyo bastards are as human as ants.”
Aeri chuckles lightly. “It does. Thank you, Sahyung.”
He remembers—no, viscerally feels—how that last endearment had felt to him then. “…You haven’t called me that for a long time, Samae.”
“What? Sahyung?” She raises an eyebrow, a tired but fond smile curving across her lips. Under the moonlight, the grey of her gaze glows sliver with amusement. “Well, it would be rude to not call my Sahyung by his title would it not? Even to those of Mount Hua, you are the esteemed Sword Saint.”
“But it’s so impersonal.” He hadn’t been able to control the whine in that. “Anyone would think you’re a stranger.”
“I think the Sect Leader would agree.”
“Hey.” He’d sobered up quickly at that statement, noting how it was tinged with the barest hints of bitterness. “You know Sahyung’s going senile with age. So usually I’d be on your side, but not this time. He’s made the right choice.”
“What makes you think so, Sahyung?”
Chung Myung had met her eyes squarely, not a hint of his usual roguish behavior present. For once, he was talking more as an Elder of Mount Hua than as the Plum Blossom Sword Saint. There was a difference. There was.
“Because you’re smart.”
“…What?”
“Sahyung can’t just leave the Sect to anyone.” He explains patiently. “Not with the Deputy going with him too. You’re the one he trusts the most in the sect in his absence. You’re the one who’s been in the sect the longest, been by his side the longest. If anyone can hold the fort here, it’s you.”
She had frozen, looking uncertain at this new information. Then her uncertainty had morphed into guilt. “But how can he think as such? All he knows of me is—he does not know about this—”
To which Chung Myung had raised an unimpressed eyebrow. “Hey Samae, do you seriously think that crazy Sect Leader wouldn’t know what’s going on in his own sect? You’re forgetting he raised me, and I did sneakier shit he sniffed me out for instantly. Like hell he doesn’t know what you’ve been up to every night.”
“But then—”
“No buts!” He flicked her forehead, making her yelp in pain as he grinned roguishly. “You worry too much, Samae. No wonder you’re aging like a hag!”
“You have more white hair than I do!”
“Hehehe.”
Chung Myung had watched Aeri gather herself, harden herself before heading off to confront his Sect Leader Sahyung. Had watched her apologize and gracefully take up the duty of protecting Mount Hua in their absence. It was an empty title, and emptier duty they all knew—for who would have expected none of them would return home—but Kim Aeri had steeled herself, masked her bitterness and her loneliness as everything she had ever loved had left her behind.
As if telling her that even in death, she was not a part of their Mount Hua.
Chung Myung is not one to continue bemoaning regret—he regrets but he amends—but this is the one regret he allows himself because there is no going back in time and fixing. He regrets not saying anything when he’d looked back that day—the day they’d left for war and he’d accidentally looked back to see the expression on her face. The gaze that had asked if they were truly leaving her behind.
That dark hair, unraveling and swaying in the unforgiving autumn wind, masking the wretchedness in the silver of her eyes and the dangerous tremble of her mouth.
The silent prayer on her lips, gone unanswered.
No one returns home from the war. Kim Aeri lives and dies alone, surrounded by the children she had to raise —never mind the fact that she was still a child herself in the way she yearned for those she had lost. And a hundred years, far too late, Chung Myung, her foolish Sahyung awakens and finds her in all that he lives and breathes.
“Chung Myung-ah.” He looks up and sees Yoon Jong enter the room, Jo Gul following after him looking uncharacteristically timid. “Listen, this is really important.”
Chung Myung listens to Yoon Jong all but beg him to mind himself in front of the returning second-class disciples. Particularly in front of the eldest, who are known to be quite prickly about etiquette and the like. Chung Myung listens to it all, like the good junior he is, and then Chung Myung purges it all, like the cranky old ancestor he is.
Etiquette his ass, he’s old enough that sticking their heads into the ground in prostration wouldn’t be enough.
Chung Myung pauses, before stroking his chin thoughtfully. “Hm, sticking their heads in the ground—that sounds like good motivation for the brats—”
Yoon Jong’s sigh sounds more like a sob.
It goes without saying that Chung Myung can be a little possessive over his things. He’s possessive of his kids, his Sect, and his money. But before it all, he’d been possessive over his Sahyung. Safe to say, he really hadn’t liked Kim Aeri for a long, long time.
Now, while that would’ve normally culminated in standard Chung-Myung-shenanigans, Kim Aeri had always been prized in Mount Hua—had always been treated as delicately as if she were glass, destined to break with the smallest push. Maybe she was, considering how she was literally a ticking time bomb but—
The truest metaphor would be how Kim Aeri had been raised like prized cattle, spoiled and fattened up only to come under the butcher’s knife later on. All things considered, Chung Myung had been the same—the way he’d been groomed, pushed into the role of the Plum Blossom Sword Saint—he had been yet another cattle raised by the Elders.
But while he remained alive to flaunt off the Sect’s glory, Kim Aeri had been raised for slaughter.
And unlike him, who had rebelled against his reality—had run away from duty, indulged in his vices, and lived the life he’d wanted—Kim Aeri had embraced her fate with open arms. Had seen nothing wrong with it.
And that had incensed Chung Myung—had made him hate her more than his weird Sahyung-is-mine-only phase.
It’s not that Chung Myung understands it even now, why Kim Aeri chose to have her face painted, her body perfumed, and silk wrapped around her body like some sort of commodity to be sold by the Sect for it’s prosperity. Chung Myung is a Taoist, their Sect is Taoist—they don’t view marriage as particularly relevant to their martial path—but that’s exactly where Mount Hua is worldly and where it deviates from other Taoist Sects like the Kunlun Sect.
Chung Myung has never considered marriage, but even he knows that marriage should be of love.
So Kim Aeri’s insistence otherwise, to forge alliances of blood instead of trust never made sense to him. It’s only now, a hundred years later living in a reality where their so-called ‘allies’ had abandoned and stolen from them that Chung Myung realizes. He looks at the Tang Family and he wonders.
Perhaps blood would have held these flimsy facades of camaraderie better.
All he remembers now is Kim Aeri’s insistence, and her anger. Her righteous, bone-chilling fury—the first and last time she’d ever snapped at him. He remembers barging into her chambers, lounging on her cushions as she’d been carefully primped up for another one of her suitors. The inane chatter and irritating worry over how thin her waist should be, or how pale her skin is, or how to hide the scars on her hands—
Her listening to the maidservants silently, as if she were less human than ornament.
The peacock bastard coming to see her, flashing his plume unabashedly like a shameless leech, having forgotten the beating Chung Myung had given him the last time he’d seen him in favor of gawking at Kim Aeri and her stupid grey eyes like a fucking idiot.
Kim Aeri, silently accepting it. His Sahyung, silently allowing it.
And Chung Myung, silently making up his mind—and knocking out the bastard’s front teeth.
“Yah! I’m gonna crack this filthy bastard’s head today—!”
“Chung Myung!”
The first punch had been satisfying, but the second—breaking that stupid fan? Perfection. It was worth all the nagging and punishment Sahyung would dole out later. It was worth ignoring the hands of his seniors and juniors clawing at his clothes, trying to pull him back, and Sahyung’s voice shrieking in his ear.
“CHUNG MYUNG SAHYUNG! WHAT ARE YOU DOING?”
He had stilled.
Because this was not Sahyung’s voice.
If Chung Myung is to describe Kim Aeri’s anger, it is like the calm before the storm. He’d be lying if he says he’s very experienced with it, for Aeri had always been carefully composed, had always carefully groomed all of her expressions into one of demure indifference. She had never been quick to anger, more patient than more, always silently listening and observing. She’d speak and enchant with her words whenever needed, but she’d pick and choose her moments, as if each turn of her lips was worth its weight in gold.
Perhaps it was, perhaps it was.
Because it only made her anger even more terrifying.
Steel-colored irises flashed like lightning, harboring the fury of a thousand storms, pinning Chung Myung down under their oppressive weight. He’d remained frozen as she’d stalked across the clearing, reaching to clutch his arm in a vice-like grip before tearing him away from the peacock bastard and dragging him away from the ground.
His own fury remerging tenfold, gazing down in shock at her absurdly complicated hairdo, the plum-colored robes, and how her hand was too small to curl completely around his wrist. But his self-preservation overrode his anger, for the first time in his life, and he’d quietly followed after the irritated woman into her chambers, where she finally rounded on him.
He glared at her. “What.”
And she exploded. “What the hell is wrong with you?!”
“What is wrong with you?!” He had hissed back with twice as much venom. “Letting that shitty Zhuge bastard—”
Aeri rounded on him, her glare withering. “There was nothing wrong with him—nothing! He is a respectable young master of the Zhuge Family!”
“Like hell, he is!” Chung Myung had roared. “Are you fucking blind? Did you not see the way he was talking about you—”
“There was no guarantee the Sect Leader would accept him—”
“Oh?” Chung Myung had scoffed sardonically, something ugly and foreign twisting in his chest. “So if Sahyung accepted him, you’d just roll over and spread your legs—”
Slap.
Chung Myung had seen it before he’d registered the pain.
He’d seen the way her eyes widened, and then the beginnings of hurt across her face before her hand had shot up at lightning speed. There was a beat of silence, as Aeri composed herself—and Chung Myung processed what had happened.
Plum-colored eyes looking back up and freezing at the glassy-eyed glare fixed on him, Kim Aeri’s lower lip trembling dangerously but still twisting in a harsh snarl.
“You’re not the one who gets to talk.” She had begun slowly, quietly—holding his gaze. “You don’t get to say anything to me. I owe my life to this Sect. ”
Grey storms met fallen plum blossoms, searching for something—anything. And when they found nothing, Aeri’s expression had closed, her voice growing resigned as she turned to leave. “I’m not having this conversation with you. I’m leaving. ”
“Then you can repay it without selling yourself like a piece of meat!” Chung Myung hissed lowly, growing louder and louder with every stake she’d take. “You’re just dressing yourself up for some creep, learning about useless tea ceremonies and different types of fabric, primping up yourself for the next creep to buy you like the latest attraction at the local vendor, so just why the hell are you so insistent about this—”
“BECAUSE THIS ALL I CAN DO!”
He’d frozen.
Ah, what an image she was in that moment—lips bitten red from anger instead of rouge, demure composure thrown out the window for frenzied desperation, silken clothes wrinkled from clenching them too hard. Her elaborate hairdo was coming apart, the eye makeup smudging slightly at the ends from the stray tears that had escaped her notice, and her normally steel grey eyes dark with anger and desperation.
She looked nothing like the bride she was trying to be sold as.
But—she didn’t look anything like how she truly was, either.
So Chung Myung had stared, silently, as she’d grabbed his collar and shaken him—her Sahyung, her senior brother—like he was some common beggar on the street. And she’d hissed, eyes full of furious tears that refused to shed in his presence.
“Because this is all I can do!” She hissed venomously. “I am not talented, nor am I blessed with a body like yours. Nothing I have is mine to give. I have nothing other than my body and my mind—and even then, my mind is not as valuable as my body!”
“Aeri—”
“No! Now you listen to me!” She snapped, cutting him off sharply and forcing him to look at her chambers. “These clothes, this jewelry—this privilege— of all it was given, rather than birthright! It is because I understand that I must pay off my debts!”
“But—”
“I am a woman!”
He grew silent.
“I am a woman.” She repeated once more, her voice quieter but just as intense. “My life, my world, my existence is vastly different from yours. You will never understand what I have to go through. Because I am a woman, I am a daughter and sister, a wife and a mother. I am a bride.”
“You may think of these things as foolish and meaningless,” Aeri continued, her voice tinged with bitterness. But she still held his gaze, refusing to let him look away. As if, for the first time in their lives, he was forced to look at her for who she was. “You may think of me perfuming my hair, picking and choosing my silks, and painting my skin as a foolish and meaningless waste of time—but it is the life I have chosen, this is the way I have chosen to repay my home. This is my martial arts, my Taoism. There is no shame in it—look at me!”
A jerk of her hand, and stormy grey eyes meeting plum-colored ones with renewed fire as she spoke slowly, driving every single word deeper and deeper.
“There is no shame in it. I am a woman. There is no shame in being a woman.”
“So don’t you dare—don’t you dare pretend to know what I ought to do and what I shouldn’t when everything has been handed to you on a silver platter because of your talent, body, and your gender.”
Chung Myung could count the number of times he’s seen Kim Aeri grow angry on one hand.
But he thinks, that even if she’d have gotten mad at him a dozen more times, even then, this moment would remain burned into his retinas—imprinted into his mind for the rest of his life.
“I’m sorry.”
“…What?”
He’d met her eyes squarely. “I won’t interfere anymore.”
Because that was the first time in his life that the World-Famous Chung Myung would admit out loud that he was an idiot. And it just happened to be said out loud the moment his Sahyung and Chung Jin came barreling inside to commit damage control only to be mentally damaged themselves.
The ensuing chaos his apology caused is a story for another time.
But the image of Aeri, her stubborn insistence, and her steely confidence is something that remains with Chung Myung even a hundred years later, in another lifetime. He uses it to fuel his swagger, his self-assurance that even if things may go wrong—this is his effort, this is his hard work. Or as Aeri had declared to him, proud and confident, this is his martial arts.
He’d been lost for a long time, had been foolish, and thought himself a genius when he was not. Only now did he realize everything he had came from Mount Hua, and that everything he would pass on would be to Mount Hua too.
His only regret is that he wishes he’d realized it earlier.
Maybe then, the girl with the grey eyes and perfumed hair wouldn’t have been so lonely.
He drinks.
It’s easier to feel closer to his Sajaes, to hear his Sahyung’s voice scolding him when he does so. And if he’s drunk enough—sometimes, just sometimes he can even feel the warmth of Aeri’s smile.
It gets colder and colder, until even this long winter comes to pass.
Spring finally arrives to Mount Hua.
Chung Myung whips his bastard Sahyungs into shape, bullies the workers from the Eunha Merchant Guild into choosing the best marble for the training grounds, and takes down his Sect Leader Sahyung’s beloved signboard himself to be repainted by Hyun Jong.
There are three things one needs to build a Sect—people, money, and influence. Chung Myung secures the money, and trains the people—and so, it is only influence that remains. But even that will come with time. Now—now it is time for the plum blossoms to bloom again.
And they do—Chung Myung watches them bloom all across his children’s faces. Sees it in the strength in Jo Gul’s arms, sees it in the enthusiasm with which Un Geom reads through the plum blossom manuals, sees it in the smile lines deepening on Hyun Jong’s weathered face.
The Elders fuss over him—Hyun Young calling him their blessing star, their lucky child—linking Mount Hua’s sudden prosperity to the arrival of the small beggar child that cold winter day. Chung Myung soaks in the praise because he is human after all (and Hyun Young’s adoration often comes with pocket money), but in the moments where that sincerity and gratitude gets a little too much—
Chung Myung remembers the girl with the grey eyes.
And wants to tell them to thank her instead.
Because even if he wasn’t here, even if he’d ascended to the heavens with his Sect Leader Sahyung and all his other Sajaes that day a hundred years ago—Chung Myung knows that Mount Hua would’ve continued to survive, would’ve continued to live.
And one day, even without his interference—Mount Hua’s spring would’ve arrived.
And they would have thrived.
There’s only one person responsible for that. So to the woman immortalized in the brushstrokes of Chung Jin’s painting, Chung Myung wishes for them to direct their gratitude. All he has done, here and now, are things she had set foundations for long ago.
If anything, Chung Myung was the only one smart enough to find and recognize those foundations.
Hyun Jong and the previous Sect Leaders would’ve long had access to Sahyung’s locker if they’d mastered the plum blossom techniques Aeri had left them. Scratch that, they’d have never needed to rely on the locker and the treasures hidden within if they’d mastered the plum blossom techniques—since people brought influence brought money.
Aeri had passed down Mount Hua’s spirit—passed down its techniques and its story.
On nights like these, Chung Myung cradles the bottle of liquor close to him and gazes out into the full moon above him and he thinks. She had time—far more than any of them had ever expected—but he knows she would’ve given even more if she’d had more.
But perhaps it was the loneliness, perhaps it was the wish to see her beloved departed again—but Kim Aeri had eventually surrendered her passed down the mantle to the generation.
Entrusted them with the duty of carrying on Mount Hua’s will, trusting that her descendants would be able to one day understand her will and discover the importance of what she’d left them. They hadn’t been able to yet, but that’s where he comes in.
Chung Myung is nothing if not a generous, venerable Sahyung.
Even if he continues to drink.
And even when said drinking gets him into more trouble than it’s worth.
Maybe it’s the alcohol, but the nonsense coming out of his dumb descendants is even more annoying. Chung Myung listens to the pompous second-class disciples pretend like they’ve done something praiseworthy when they look weaker than Jo Gul. The way they speak of sacrifice, of the horrors of foregoing meals and rest and entertainment—
Maybe—maybe it’s because he can tell none of them are strong or disciplined enough to bloom plum blossoms despite everything Aeri has done—
Chung Myung cannot help but scorn their arrogance.
You dare speak of strength when you’re nothing but frogs in a well?
Spoiled. They were spoiled.
Of course, that gets him unwanted attention and, more for the brats’ sake than his own—Chung Myung hightails it out of there as fast as he can, ignoring the suspicious gazes fixed on his back. He listens to Jo Gul’s whining, Yoon Jong’s pleading, and complains the entire way to the front gates the next day.
“Such a shame, such a shame,” He grouses under his breath in annoyance, furiously ignoring all of Jo Gul’s heckling to hasten his pace. “All that tasty liquor, gone just like that.”
Sure, he can get rid of all the alcohol in his body in a single sneeze, but that doesn’t mean he wants to. He’d paid good money for that alcohol! And it’s not even for a worthy reason—all they’re doing is greeting those pompous second-class disciples home. Chung Myung should be halfway through his hangover alcohol right now.
But no, Yoon Jong and Jo Gul—those two brats flank Chung Myung’s sides like hulking bodyguards— which might have been heartwarming if not for the fact that he’s not the one being protected here. It’s everyone else.
He pauses for a moment.
“…The audacity of these brats.”
Chung Myung had had half a mind to stir up another ruckus—just for shits and giggles—but then Yoon Jong gives Chung Myung such a pathetic look that he can’t help but be reminded of his poor Sahyung.
Dear Sahyung in heaven, does this make up for giving you all those white hairs?
- Like hell, you damn brat.
Oh well, it was worth a try.
So Chung Myung behaves. Somewhat.
Chung Myung doesn’t point out how despite their best attempts—Yoon Jong and his dear Sahyung bastards had overlooked one small thing. Namely, the fact that Chung Myung has inadvertently been pushed to the very front of the group. Between that the fact that Chung Myung looks very obviously, visibly younger than the rest of these gorillas—it’s all but screaming fresh blood.
And Chung Myung doesn’t need to know the second-class disciples to know that the pecking order is the same as it was a hundred years ago. The strong prey on the weak—especially those immediately weaker than them.
So it’s to no one’s surprise that Chung Myung gets singled out.
In another universe, he might have been offended that a young prick like this was picking a fight with him—would debate teaching him a lesson there and then. He’d stay silent as Yoon Jong and his Sahyungs would step in hastily to protect him, being far more generous than his grumpy personality tended to be. He’d let Baek Cheon turn on his heel as if nothing were wrong and greet the Elders he’d neglected in his foolish attempt to preserve his pride and his seniority. They were his precious little descendants after all.
“You’d do well to remember my name for the future, rookie.”
But in this universe, Chung Myung sees not Baek Cheon confront him. He sees not the second-class disciples and the hierarchy he embodies. Instead, he recalls Yoon Jong’s apprehension, Jo Gul’s uncertainty, and the way his Sahyungs had shrunk into themselves at the mere thought of surpassing their Sasuks.
They’re seen as the hope of Mount Hua. The ones who will revive Mount Hua.
Yoon Jong’s rehearsed words.
How can someone like me ever hope of being on their level?
Jo Gul’s awkward laugh.
There is a clear hierarchy in the Mount Hua Sect, based on seniority. So you can’t treat the Sasuks as you please, Chung Myung, even if you’ve been in the Sect longer than them.
His Sect Leader Sahyung’s consolations, a lifetime ago.
You see, Chung Myung has never conformed to that respect for the sake of seniority bullshit. Would seniority save you from getting killed on the battlefield? Will pride put food in the mouths of your starving disciples? Would respect stop the enemies trying to burn your sect down?
Like hell it would.
So no, Chung Myung doesn’t see Baek Cheon when he confronts him.
Instead, he sees the folly of his own pride, the result of the thirteenth generation’s arrogance.
He sees Aeri.
And he sees her lonely plum blossoms, the unholy ones that defied the will of the heavens, the ones that were forbidden from ever even existing, let alone blooming.
The eternal winter upon Mount Hua that that child had sacrificed everything to give to her descendants. The future his Sect Leader Sahyung, his Sahyungs, and his Sajaes had killed themselves for.
What had pride, respect, and seniority done for them?
What had it done for the children who had burned, burned, burned that night?
“You?”
His voice is low, quieter than it has ever been before.
You puny little cockroaches unworthy of even wearing that plum blossom crest on your chest when you can’t even bloom a single plum blossom despite being hand-fed everything, you will be the ones to revive Mount Hua?
You dare to speak of pride and respect?
He can feel Yoon Jong’s terrified grip on his arm as he takes a step forward, a desperate attempt to hold him back. But Chung Myung ignores it, plum-colored eyes as dark as blood fixed on the frozen disciple in front of him. Unnerved—at just a glare, this chick already looks so unnerved. So even then, this arrogant shit—
You dare to speak of sacrifice?
“Chung Myung—”
“No, let go—”
Chung Myung hisses, shrugging off Yoon Jong’s grip like it were nothing, fists already clenched—
“Enough.”
That’s when it hits him.
The scent of plum blossoms and…fresh rain.
Chung Myung freezes in his tracks as a low, hauntingly familiar voice rings across the grounds.
“S—Sago.”
Dully, he registers Baek Cheon's stammer as all eyes land on the newest arrival. Sago, he’d said, so that meant he wasn’t the eldest of the Baek disciples. Then—
Frenzied pink eyes land on familiar eyes the color of lightning, swirling with the intensity of a thousand storms.
“I told you that you don’t need to call me that. You’re older than me.”
That familiar voice, measured and neutral, practiced and carefully devoid of any emotion.
“Ah but—”
“Is there a problem here? Why haven’t you greeted the Elders yet?”
And that face—that face—
“You…”
“Hm?” A raised eyebrow, slate eyes shifting to land on Chung Myung again. Then realization dawns on a fair, delicate face. “You’re a new face, so you must have recently joined. Welcome—we can greet you later, but we must pay our respects to the Elders first—”
“—You—how the hell are you alive?”
Chung Myung gawks at the woman in front of him.
Kim Aeri’s face frowns back.
Regret was a funny thing.
It was something he’d stubbornly refused once— had banished from his consciousness for the longest time. Moments in time, snippets of his previous life had flashed before his eyes—not a moment, even at his absolute lowest had Chung Myung ever truly regretted. Not like this, not like this.
“Do you regret your decisions?” Chung Myung once heard the soft voice of Sahyung Chung Mun. Eternally warm and benevolent, like the rays of sunlight on a cold winter day. And Chung Myung had once answered, in all of his wretchedness—for the first time in his life—
“Yes, I regret it. I regret it so, so much, Sahyung.”
Chung Myung lives and dies. And then miraculously, he lives again.
Because of this regret.
He wakes up in the body of a beggar called Chosam, learns the fate of those whom he loved, and grieves for what he once had. And then runs, as fast as his torn feet will carry him, towards home.
He comes home a Mount Hua not his own, only to find that it is—it still is. He learns of the plum blossoms that bloomed against all the odds, the years Kim Aeri had lived on steadfastly despite her grief, fueled only by the memory of the cruel duty she had been given. He finds her and their Mount Hua in all that he lives and breathes and loves.
And he hopes desperately, earnestly, for that foolishly dutiful Samae of his.
That she does not regret.
That she knows she has done more than enough. That she is no longer alone.
So she can rest—she can rest easy and trust the children.
Kim Aeri lived and died. But he had hoped, that if (once) she lived again, she would no longer be tied down to the name of Kim Aeri. Because he didn’t want her to regret.
In another story, Mount Hua would have (should have) fallen long ago—having lost its people, its techniques, and its history. In another, Mount Hua would have been saved by the unlikeliest person and would have been lovingly rebuilt by the woman with the grey eyes until the day she’d finally join her family in the heavens above.
But this is not that story.
This damned story—that begins and ends with just one person—
As spring finally arrives for Mount Hua after a long, long winter—under the falling plum blossoms, mixed with the strong scent of the fresh spring rain—Chung Myung meets Kim Aeri again.
And there, he finds her regret.