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Chung Myung has always been one to boast about his alcohol tolerance. No matter the amount of liquor this crazed man consumed, he would always be able to simply burn it off with flames of true clarity. Thus, he never really bothers to keep count while drinking and simply fills himself to his heart's content every single damn time.
But as the saying goes, all that starts well doesn't always necessarely end well.
'Ahh...just one more bottle.'
'While I'm at it, might as well finish this crate.'
'Just a little bit more...'
'... Just gonna...empty this last bottle out...'
'Well...One more certainly won't kill me...'
Before long, countless empty bottles littered the all-too-pristine wooden flooring while others were stacked upon each other, almost high enough to reach the peak of Mount Hua.
The scene seems to have come right out of a movie. At this point, Chung Myung was already out of his mind. All stuttering and mumbling to himself as his body sways, barely able to keep himself sitting upright as half his body slumps on the table. And yet, he shows no signs of stopping as he uncorks yet another bottle of the Tang family's precious liquor.
His green ribbon was long forgotten as it lay on his bedside, letting his long, messy obsidian hair drape carelessly over his shoulders. Intoxicated as of now, the swordsman doesn't bother to push the strands falling infront of his face. His hazy plum-blossom-colored eyes were faintly highlighted by the streams of light pushing their way through the curtains, giving them an uncharacteristic sense of melancholy and nostalgia.
In sum, the divine dragon of Mount Hua looked rather pathetic, a stark contrast to his usual brash and arrogant demeanor.
Perhaps it was the far too familiar place that he resided in that caused him to miss the other so much.
Chung Myung's body tenses involuntarily as he's reminded of the man that he's been trying so hard to avoid. His nails dig painfully into his palms as he feels a pair of long arms encircle his neck as a familiar shade of green overwhelms his vision.
"Hyung-nim."
He knows. He knows that he's dead. After all, dead men tell no tales. In the end, the people that he's known and loved are now all but a figment of his own imagination, made up of his own grief and longing. And yet, as he feels the others' hair tickling his cheek, he can't help but close his eyes and lean into the touch.
"Won't this Taoist spare a glance at this poor Tang Bo, hm?"
Long slender fingers trace and tug at Chung Myung's robes, causing the other to shiver until they finally stop at his chin, tilting his head upwards. The figure's long hazelnut hair cascades downwards, enveloping the other in a scent of medicinal herbs and smoke. He smiles condescendingly, carrying in it a hint of bitterness and mockery. No, it's wrong, all terribly wrong. His Tang Bo never looked at him like this, the Tang Bo he had known would have—
"Feel like a waste?"
" ..."
CRASH!
The precious liquor that Chung Myung had previously been holding in his hand crashed to the ground as it stained the wood beneath their feet. He bites his lips hard enough to draw blood.
"How can you..."
"Speak up, hyung-nim. Where did all that confidence go, huh?" Tang Bo snickers as he lets go of his hold over the other man.
Chung Myung lets raw anger overtake him as he flips Tang Bo around, pressing him flush against the hard floor, pinning the younger man beneath him.
"How can you talk when you died and left me behind!"
The silence is deafening as Chung Myung's heavy breathing fills up the room.
"How could you...how dare you say that when your pathetic, pathetic body bled out in my arms!"
His vision blurs.
"Do you know how I felt when you told me to take care of your family even at the verge of death? Do you even care?!" He screams, his voice cracking near the end.
"..."
"Helpless. That's how I felt. Hah! The world's greatest swordsman was unable to save the one person they cared about the most." Chung Myung laughs bitterly.
Tears fall onto Tang Bo's face. Huh...when did he start crying?
"You promised..." He grips Tang Bo's robe tightly with his fists as he buries his head onto the other's chest.
"You promised to travel the world together when we cut off that damn demon's head...don't you remember?" His whole body trembles, shoulders appearing smaller than ever before.
"So why..." His voice is small and careful as sobs wrack his entire being.
"Why did you have to go and die, you stupid leech?"
There's no response from the other, of course. Dead. Dead. Dead. They were all dead. His sahyungs, sajils, and sajaes. The only things left behind are unaswered questions, memories, and regrets. So many regrets.
Alas, the dead will forever continue to haunt the living. Thus is the way of life. A Taoist should know this and should accept it. Yet in the haunting pale moonlight as the stench of alcohol fills the room, Chung Myung wishes that he could go back. Go back to change it all. Train harder, work harder. To fix his mistakes. Mistakes that would inevitably be the cause of death of all his loved ones.
He doesn't deserve to cry, doesn't deserve to mourn them. He was stained and filthy. He was someone who had all their blood on his hands. If he had been stronger, there would have been less sacrifice. If he had been stronger, Mount Hua wouldn't have fallen. If he had been stronger...
Shining green eyes and a soft smile always calling out his name.
"Hyung-nim!"
"Myung-ah!"
"...Taoist brother...my family...my sect...please...take care of them..."
Only when a hundred years have passed would Chung Myung dare to call out his name once more.
"...Tang...Bo."