Work Text:
Does life truly end when someone dies?
Or is it merely a new phase, quietly unfolding beyond mortal sight?
What are your thoughts on life and death, Taoist?
One could picture it like a stream flowing from its hidden spring, winding through the earth until it reached the vast, endless sea. Eventually, it evaporated into clouds. The clouds bring rain back to the earth, the soil absorbs it, and the water finds its way once more to the spring.
It was an endless cycle.
The same as a mortal life.
Birth.
Death.
Then rebirth.
They form a perfect, unbroken cycle.
Something humans were never meant to peer into, let alone intervene in, for it lay far beyond mortal comprehension.
All bore life’s pains, for anguish was ingrained in human nature. It was said that passing through the cycle was meant to break that suffering.
But was it truly that simple?
Did reincarnation exist solely for that reason?
Taoist, in the end, there is only one conclusion a mere human could grasp.
You could rely on no one but yourself.
There are no external answer.
When the time come for you to seek answers, simply look within yourself. All the answer lie within you.
—Have you find your answer, Taoist?
The words of Panchen Lama resurfaced in his mind. Conversations long forgotten replayed like a broken recording. The crackle of fire. Tears streaking down the Dalai Lama’s face. The gentle wind brushing against his skin as dawn approached.
—Poor child. Why are you navigating this harsh path alone? Are you truly prepared to walk for countless years on a path that’s no different from hell? Alas…
Indeed, the path he had walked had been nothing but hell. One that swallowed light and left only darkness behind.
It was a path he would have abandoned had he been given a choice. But there had been no other road. Made it one he could not stray from.
He had prepared himself to walk it alone.
Yet along the way, countless lights had shone upon him. Walking beside him through the unknown until he learned to illuminate his own path.
Panchen lama, I don’t think I’ve found it.
But…I think I understand it.
—Did you live a good life, Cheong Myeong?
As if carried by the breath of death itself, a gentle breeze brushed his cheek. It was the voice of his Jang Mun Sahyung. His father, his brother, his family. A remnant of a past he had cherished deeply.
Sahyung, does it look like I lived well????
Ekhm… it was bearable.
…
Actually… I did. I lived a very good life, Sahyung.
This time, there’s no reply.
Instead, a plum blossom petal drifted down and rested softly against his face, prompting him to open his eyes.
Mount Hua stretched before him, bathed in gold as the sun climbed slowly over the horizon.
Cheong Myeong had witnessed this sunrise thousands of times, yet today it felt different. A serenity so profound it seemed to whisper that his time was drawing to a close.
Strangely, it did not trouble him even a bit.
He turned his head, letting his gaze wander.
Memorial Peak
That was what the disciples of Mount Hua had called this place for the past few years.
It was a strange, grandiose title for a place that was once just a quiet, forgotten mountain.
Cheong Myeong scoffed quietly.
He had never intended to start a cemetery.
He had only wanted a peaceful resting place for Cheong Jin.
Nothing more.
Yet, the empty mountain had slowly filled with those who refused to leave him.
“Seriously… how dare you all leave me behind like this?”
Cheong Myeong pointed his sword toward the sky.
There was no answer. He knew there wouldn’t be. Still, he continued.
“And you too, Dong Ryong! After all that boasting about outliving me, you’re the first one to tuck yourself in? Have you no shame? Jang Mun Sahyung, please hit him at least ten times!”
Despite the grumbling, his voice softened as his gaze drifted downward. To the mound beside him.
He traced the damp soil gently, let the cold of earth seep through his fingers.
“…Really, Dong Ryong-ah. Leaving me behind like this.”
It had only been three days.
Three days since Baek Cheon, the 22nd Generation Sect Leader, his sasuk, and the final anchor of his heart, had departed.
His final moments had not been dramatic like Jo Geol’s, nor quiet like Yu Sago’s.
It had been an ordinary night.
Cheong Myeong leaning against him, an alcohol bottle in hand, while Baek Cheon gently brushed his hair.
They had both known it would be their last night. Yet neither had spoken of it.
As Baek Cheon's grip had grown lighter, he had looked at Cheong Myeong with those annoyingly clear eyes and whispered
“Cheong Myeong-ah… even the most stubborn plum blossom must eventually fall to let the spring begin again. It’s okay to let go the branch when the wind has called.”
Cheong Myeong had scoffed then, calling him a sentimental fool. Only now, sitting alone in the silence of the peak, did he finally understand.
He had lived his second life with the certainty that he would be the first to leave.
Yet the universe, in its quiet cruelty, had made him the last one remaining.
Alive.
Breathing.
Left to witness the funeral processions of each sect brothers and sisters he cherished.
Cheong Myeong absolutely wasn't fond of that part at all
However, being able to send them off peacefully in the embrace of Mount Hua—instead of the bloody war that claimed his sahyeongjae of the past—brought him a quiet comfort.
And perhaps,
perhaps that was why he had been allowed to remain until the end.
To settle the regret he once carried. To give proper farewells he hadn’t been able before.
Now, that he had sent Baek Cheon off as well, his heart finally felt lighter.
“Sasuk,”
Cheong Myeong murmured, his voice barely louder than the wind.
“It’s too quiet up here. I think… I’ve grown used to your nagging.”
He paused.
“The silence is louder than your voice ever was.”
With a long, tired sigh, he settled his back against the damp mound. He leaned into the earth as if he was leaning against Baek Cheon’s shoulder after a long day.
There was no physical warmth this time. No steady hand reached out to pull him closer or scold him for his posture.
Instead, the warmth of the rising sun spilled over him. A warmth that uncannily felt the same.
Cheong Myeong lifted his gaze one last time, looking out over Mount Hua. The sect that had once been a ruin of crumbling stone and a hundred desperate souls, had grown to surpass even the glory of Mount Hua in the era of the Plum Blossom Sword Saint.
Mount Hua.
A place that had made him him.
A place that had allowed him to become himself.
And this time, he had finally left behind a proper legacy.
Sahyung, did I do a good job?
Between the rustle of leaves, somehow, he could heard it. The warm and benevolent voice of his sahyung.
—You did, Myeong-ah. You did very well.
A genuine smile softened his features, easing a hundred years of quiet burden. He let his eyelids fall, feeling the world drift away like a falling petal.
Sahyung, let’s have a drink.
I have so many stories to tell you… and I think the kids are waiting.
One hundred years after the second war against the Heavenly Demon ended,
Mount Hua Sword Saint.
Mount Hua Mad Dog.
Cheong Myeong,
23rd Generation Disciple,
Finally fell into eternal sleep.