Chapter Text
The moon hung high in the sky, round and pale like an all-seeing eye.
"A long, long time ago…" a solemn voice began, then cut off. "No, wait. Excuse me, did I say a long time ago? Shouldn't it be in the distant future?"
The image shifted, revealing Mount Hua. Its peaks rose majestically against the night sky, but something was out of place. Telecommunication antennas gleamed on several summits, and on the southern slope, a glass building reflected the moonlight.
"Not that either. It didn't happen long ago, nor in a distant world. It's some point in the future, in a world not so different from the present."
In a dimly lit room in the third-class disciples' residence, Cheong Myeong sat cross-legged in front of a screen. But it wasn't meditation. His thumbs moved at an impossible speed over a video game controller.
"What do you mean you headshot me?!" he shouted, his disheveled black hair flying. "Jo Gul, you cheating bastard!"
"I'm not cheating, Sahyung!" protested Jo Gul, sitting beside him with an indignant expression. "You're just bad!"
"Bad? ME?" Cheong Myeong let out a sarcastic laugh. "I've killed more demons than grains of sand in the Taklamakan Desert. I'm not losing to some brat who can't even beat a level thirty dungeon boss."
"Sahyung, that was centuries ago…" murmured Yun Jong from the corner, watching the scene with a steaming cup of tea in his hands. His expression was serene, resigned. "And the boss was level forty."
"It's the same thing!"
The screen displayed "DEFEAT" in red letters. Cheong Myeong threw the controller down like a broken sword.
"I hate this game. I hate technology. I hate children who were born after I died."
"But you were also born after you died, Sahyung," Yun Jong pointed out gently.
Cheong Myeong shot him a murderous look.
"Once upon a time, there was an ordinary young man who also enjoyed playing games." The narrator's voice sounded amused. "Other times he studied hard, became a fanboy of a specific person, got sad, played board games, and became a fanboy again. They say his name was Cheong Myeong."
"WHO'S TALKING?!" Cheong Myeong shouted at the ceiling. "I heard you! I'm no 'ordinary young man'! I'm the Divine Dragon of Mount Hua! I killed the Demon Cult Leader! I descended from the sky with my fists!"
"Sahyung, that was falling off a cliff," Jo Gul whispered.
"SHUT UP!"
Cheong Myeong smacked the console off and stood up. He pulled off his t-shirt printed with a virtual girl group — the image showed a turquoise-haired girl making a heart with her hands — and put on his white taoist uniform.
"I'm done with this shitty day," he muttered.
And then he began his training.
---
Two hours later, Cheong Myeong lay sprawled on the bamboo floor, gasping. His hair looked like it had been through a hurricane, and his face had the color of someone who had seen death and waved at it.
"Finally… I'll be able to… train for days straight…" he panted. "And I'll sleep… six straight hours…"
He pulled himself up with superhuman effort, staggering like a drunk, and stuck his AirPods in his ears. Hatsune Miku's music began to play — "World is Mine" — as he brushed his teeth in front of the mirror.
"Sekai de ichiban ohime-sama…" he hummed off-key.
He stepped out onto the balcony, toothbrush still in his mouth, and looked up at the sky.
The moon shone. And then, a shooting star streaked across the firmament.
"Quick!" he spat out toothpaste foam. "Money! Lots of money! I want money, dammit!" he squeezed his eyes shut. "Let me win the lottery! Let me find treasure! Let someone donate a million won to me for no reason at all!"
He opened his eyes.
The pillar of light shone in the backyard.
"What the..."
It was a column of turquoise light, intense, seemingly piercing the night sky. At its base, something — no, someone — glowed with an otherworldly radiance.
Cheong Myeong spat out the rest of the toothpaste foam.
"I must be really tired."
He turned to go back to his room.
Crack.
The bamboo doors opened on their own. No, not on their own. Someone had opened them. Someone very small. Someone who was now looking up at him from the floor with enormous, bright turquoise eyes.
...
...
The baby had skin white as porcelain and a lock of dark hair on its forehead. Its eyes — those impossible eyes — seemed to contain entire galaxies. Its body — because yes, it glowed — emitted an aura that made the air around it tremble slightly.
Cheong Myeong felt his soul leave his body.
"I'm too young to be a dad," he whispered, eyes wide.
The baby looked at him. And then, it smiled.
It was a beautiful smile. Pure. Innocent.
Cheong Myeong felt like he'd just had his wallet stolen.
"No. No. NO." He began backing away slowly. "I don't know who you are or where you came from, but no. I don't do babies. I kill demons. There's a huge difference."
The baby crawled toward him.
"DON'T COME CLOSER!"
The baby crawled faster.
Cheong Myeong ran.
The baby crawled faster.
It was a ridiculous chase. The strongest disciple of Mount Hua — reborn, yes, but still — fleeing from an infant in diapers through the bamboo corridors.
"I'm an immortal warrior!" Cheong Myeong shouted, jumping over a table. "I've defeated entire armies! I KILLED THE DEMON LORD!"
The baby laughed. It seemed amused.
Cheong Myeong stopped dead, sweating, panting.
"Okay," he said, regaining his composure. "Okay. I'm just an adult" — he paused — "well, an adult in a teenager's body, but technically I'm over a hundred years old. I can handle this."
He crouched down, smiling in the fakest way possible.
"Look, little... being... baby? I'm going to ask you a very simple question. Where are your parents?"
The baby pointed at the pillar of light.
"Right." Cheong Myeong nodded slowly. "And... is that pillar going to close at any point?"
The baby looked at him with its big turquoise eyes.
Click.
The pillar closed. The light faded. The night was just night again.
...
The baby opened its mouth. Its eyes filled with tears.
"DON'T CRY," Cheong Myeong shouted in panic. "DON'T CRY, PLEASE!"
The baby began to wail. It wasn't a soft cry. It was a gut-wrenching cry, the kind that pierces eardrums and makes neighbors call the police.
"HELP!" Cheong Myeong yelled, scooping up the baby as if it were a bomb about to explode. "SOMEONE HELP! Does anyone know how to calm a baby?! YUN JONG! JO GUL! ANYONE!"
No one answered. It was late. Very late.
Cheong Myeong looked at the crying baby in his arms. He looked at the closed pillar. He looked at the moon.
"You're going to kill me," he muttered. "You, you little demon with the pretty eyes, you're going to kill me before any enemy in this world does."
The baby cried louder.
Cheong Myeong sighed. He gave up.
And so, with a mysterious baby in his arms, he headed back to the residence, cursing every god he'd ever known and all the ones he hadn't.
---
Cheong Myeong's room was controlled chaos. Posters of virtual idols on the walls. A mechanical keyboard on the desk. Three empty instant noodle cups in the corner. And now, a baby in his bed.
The baby was still crying.
"I already searched online," Cheong Myeong said, frantically swiping his phone. "'How to calm a baby.' It says you have to rock them. I AM rocking them!" — he was swaying the baby like a bowl of soup. "'Sing lullabies.' I don't know lullabies. I sing death metal!"
The baby cried louder.
"Okay, okay." Cheong Myeong took a breath. "Lullabies. What lullabies do I know?" — he thought hard. "Ah. Yes. That one."
He cleared his throat.
"Hey, as the melody flows inside your heart from within…" he sang, his voice rough and off-key. "It's for you…"
The baby stopped crying.
"Seriously?" Cheong Myeong raised an eyebrow. "That worked?"
The baby looked at him with wet eyes, blinked slowly, and its eyelids began to close.
"Dream, little one, let the moon watch over you…" Cheong Myeong improvised, feeling ridiculous. "Let the wind bring you sweet dreams…"
The baby fell asleep.
Cheong Myeong stared at it for a moment. Its little chest rose and fell rhythmically. Its rosy cheeks glowed under the dim lamplight.
"Dammit," Cheong Myeong whispered. "It's adorable."
And then he passed out on the desk.
---
Three hours later, the baby woke him up crying. Six hours later, again. Eight hours later, Cheong Myeong was buying diapers at the 4 AM convenience store, with dark circles so deep they looked like mining tunnels.
"I'm the strongest disciple of Mount Hua," he muttered, paying with a credit card. "I've climbed mountains of corpses. I've drunk from rivers of blood. And here I am. Buying baby formula."
The cashier looked at him sympathetically.
"First child?"
"Not my child!"
"That's what everyone says at first."
Cheong Myeong nearly broke the cash register.
The next morning, he dragged the baby — now carried in a baby carrier bought from a secondhand sale — to the Sect Leader's residence.
"Jangmun!" he shouted, kicking the door. "Emergency!"
The Leader, a white-bearded man who had been meditating, opened one eye.
"Cheong Myeong-ah. What... is that?"
"It's a baby," Cheong Myeong said, pointing at the carrier. "It fell from the sky. Well, from a pillar of light. But basically from the sky. I need you to find it a home. I can't take care of it. I don't have time. I don't have money. I DON'T HAVE PATIENCE."
The baby chose that moment to smile at the Leader.
The Leader smiled back.
"No," Cheong Myeong said, seeing that smile. "Whatever you're thinking, no. I'm not keeping it. It's a disaster. A problem. A heavenly curse in diaper form."
"He seems like a very sweet child," the Leader said, eyes twinkling.
"NO!"
"It'll be good karma."
"I DON'T CARE ABOUT KARMA!"
"And think of all the donations a sect raising a celestial child could receive…"
Cheong Myeong fell silent.
"Donations?" he asked slowly.
"The faithful love that sort of thing."
Cheong Myeong looked at the baby. The baby drooled.
"Fine," Cheong Myeong said. "But you're paying for half the diapers."
"Let's negotiate a third."
"Two thirds."
"Half and half."
"Deal."
And so, Cheong Myeong officially became the reluctant legal guardian of a mysterious baby.
---
The first few days were a nightmare. The baby cried at all hours, Cheong Myeong didn't sleep, and the third-class disciples took turns helping because even they felt sorry seeing their Sahyung so destroyed.
"Sahyung, have you tried giving him warm milk?" suggested Yun Jong.
"Yes."
"And rocking him?"
"Yes."
"And singing to him?"
"I'm not singing anymore," Cheong Myeong said, his voice hollow. "That's what put him to sleep the first night, but then he got used to it. Now when I sing, he cries louder. I think he hates my voice."
"Maybe you should try a different song."
"I sang 'Oye' four times. 'Miku' five times. 'God Knows' three times. Nothing works."
"What about classical music?"
"You think I didn't try?" Cheong Myeong pointed at his phone. "I have a two-hour playlist of traditional lullabies. The baby hates them. He has the taste of a music critic."
"He's a baby."
"EXACTLY! WHY DOES A BABY HAVE MUSICAL STANDARDS?!"
On the fifth day, Cheong Myeong came back to his room after training and found the baby crawling toward the TV remote.
"Hey," he said, crouching down. "That's not a toy—"
The baby had already grabbed the remote and was chewing on it.
"THAT COSTS MONEY!" Cheong Myeong shouted, snatching it away. "Nothing that costs more than five thousand won gets chewed on! That's rule number one of this house!"
The baby looked at him.
And crawled toward Cheong Myeong's phone.
"NO."
But then, something strange began to happen.
By the seventh day, the baby was already walking.
By the tenth, he was speaking in single words.
"Milk," he said one morning, pointing at the kitchen.
Cheong Myeong spat out the tea he was drinking.
"What?"
"Mil-k," the child repeated, enunciating carefully. "I wan-t mil-k."
"You're... three weeks old?" Cheong Myeong squinted at him. "Normal babies don't talk at three weeks."
"I'm not normal," the child said, with a seriousness that didn't match his tiny size. "I'm Jin Dongryong."
"Jin Dongryong?"
"That's my name," the child nodded solemnly. "I named myself."
"You... named yourself?" Cheong Myeong blinked. "At three weeks old?"
"I'm in a hurry to grow up."
"In a hurry to—" Cheong Myeong ran a hand over his face. "Fine. Fine. I'm just... going to accept it. My life doesn't make sense anymore anyway."
Two weeks later, Jin Dongryong looked like a three-year-old. He ran through the halls of Mount Hua, climbed trees, and had developed an unhealthy obsession with social media.
"Look, Cheong Myeong-ah!" he shouted, showing him a tablet he'd found somewhere. "This girl has ten million followers!"
"Where did you get that?" Cheong Myeong asked in a dangerous voice.
"In your room."
"Was I searching my room?"
"It was under your pillow."
"What were you doing under my pillow?"
"Looking for money to buy ice cream."
Cheong Myeong felt a vein burst in his forehead.
"Jin Dongryong..."
"Look at this video!" the child completely ignored his tone. "It's a dancing cat!"
Cheong Myeong sighed. He gave up. He sat down to watch the cat video with him.
Another week passed.
Cheong Myeong came to his room after a particularly brutal training session — he'd been sparring with Jo Gul, who now had a black eye — and found Jin Dongryong...
Naked.
Completely naked.
Looking at his phone.
"WHY ARE YOU NAKED?!" Cheong Myeong shouted, covering his eyes.
"Clothing is a social construct," the child replied, not taking his eyes off the screen.
"YOU'RE THREE YEARS OLD!"
"Three and a half," Jin Dongryong corrected. "And I'm watching a video on how to tie shoelaces. I need to learn before kindergarten."
"What kindergarten? Who said anything about kindergarten?"
"You did. You said you were going to look into options."
"That was a week ago! I didn't think you'd remember..."
"I remember everything." Jin Dongryong finally looked up, and Cheong Myeong froze.
His turquoise eyes shone with an intelligence that didn't belong to a three-year-old. There was something ancient in that gaze. Something deep.
"What are you really?" Cheong Myeong asked quietly.
Jin Dongryong smiled.
"Se-cre-t."
---
The next morning, Cheong Myeong was woken by a violent shake.
"Hey. Wake up. I'm hungry."
"Mmm... five more minutes..." Cheong Myeong mumbled, burying his face in the pillow.
"I WANT MILK."
"Yeah, yeah. But first I have to heat it up." Cheong Myeong sat up, yawning, and opened his eyes.
He froze.
In front of him, sitting on the bed as if nothing was wrong, was a young man of about seventeen. Long, straight hair, black as ink, with a split fringe framing a face of almost unreal classical beauty. Large, deep eyes of a clear turquoise that seemed to hold the sky. Skin white as porcelain, sharp jaw, thick eyebrows that gave a masculine touch to a beauty that would otherwise be almost feminine. He wore a white ribbon on his forehead.
And he was completely naked.
"HOW DID YOU GROW SO FAST?!" Cheong Myeong shouted, jumping out of bed as if electrocuted. "WHAT ARE YOU?!"
"Jin Dongryong," the young man replied calmly. "I told you. I'm Jin Dongryong."
"THREE DAYS AGO YOU WERE A BABY! YESTERDAY YOU WERE A THREE-YEAR-OLD! TODAY YOU LOOK OLDER THAN ME!"
"Technically, I am," the young man said, tilting his head. "I'm... well, I don't actually know how old I am. Many. Very many."
"PUT ON CLOTHES!"
"Ah. Right. Sorry. I forget that humans care about that."
"'HUMANS'?" Cheong Myeong grabbed a white taoist robe from his closet and threw it in his face. "Get dressed! Now! And then EXPLAIN EVERYTHING!"
The young man — Jin Dongryong, or whatever his name was — put on the robe with an elegance that didn't seem practiced. It was slightly too big in the shoulders and too short in the sleeves, but somehow he managed to look majestic.
"This is comfortable," he commented, stretching his arms. "Is this your sect's uniform?"
"Why are you putting on my stuff like it's nothing?" Cheong Myeong grabbed him by the collar of the robe. "Get out of my room! Get out of my life! I didn't sign up for this!"
"Calm down, Cheong Myeong-ah." The young man didn't resist, just looked at him with a serene smile. "I'm just hungry."
Growl.
Cheong Myeong's stomach also growled.
"Dammit," he muttered, letting go. "Fine. Let's eat. But then we talk. And if I don't like your answers, I'm kicking you off Mount Hua, got it?"
"Understood," Jin Dongryong nodded.
They went down together.
---
The convenience store was empty at two in the morning. The fluorescent lights hummed softly, and the air smelled of instant food and lost hope.
Cheong Myeong filled a basket with everything he could: gimbap, ramyeon, bags of chips, onigiri, and several cans of iced coffee for himself.
"59,400 won," he said, showing the total on his phone. "That's like five full meals. Eat."
Jin Dongryong took the gimbap and bit into it. His turquoise eyes lit up like stars.
"It tastes good!" he exclaimed, mouth full. "What is this?"
"Gimbap. Rice with seaweed and stuff inside. You've never eaten?"
"I don't remember eating anything before I got here," Jin Dongryong said, chewing enthusiastically. "It's... strange. Having a body that needs food. But I like it."
Cheong Myeong watched him devour the food as if he hadn't eaten in centuries. There was something about the way he ate — messy, happy, almost childlike — that contrasted violently with his classical beauty appearance.
"Where do you come from?" he asked finally.
Jin Dongryong pointed at the ceiling of the store, beyond the ceiling, toward the sky.
"From the moon."
Cheong Myeong was silent for a moment.
"Really?"
"Really." Jin Dongryong smiled, and there was something melancholic in that smile. "I don't remember how I got here. But where I come from, the days are extremely boring. Nothing changes. Nothing moves. It's like being trapped in a painting. So... I came here. Because here is fun."
"Fun?" Cheong Myeong raised an eyebrow. "You think my life is fun?"
"Isn't it?" Jin Dongryong tilted his head. "You have friends. You have fights. You have food that tastes good. You have..." — he paused — "You have a purpose."
"How do you know I have a purpose?"
"From the way you move," Jin Dongryong said simply. "Even when you're tired, even when you complain, you move like someone who knows where they're going. That's rare. Most people don't."
Cheong Myeong didn't know what to say to that. He brought a can of coffee to his lips to buy time.
"Hey," he said after a moment. "Do you know the tale of the bamboo cutter?"
"You mean the one where the moon princess comes out of a bamboo stalk?" Jin Dongryong asked, his eyes shining with recognition. "Princess Kaguya. Yes, I know it."
"So," Cheong Myeong stared at him. "Are you the princess?"
Jin Dongryong burst out laughing. It was a clean, genuine laugh that made the few customers in the store turn to look.
"I'm no princess," he said, wiping away a tear of laughter. "And you're not the old bamboo cutter. Although..." — he examined him closely — "You have an old man's face. Inside that young body. How old are you really?"
"Over a hundred," Cheong Myeong replied dryly.
"Ah. So you're younger than me."
"What?"
"I'm older." Jin Dongryong smiled smugly. "Much older. In my world, time doesn't exist the way you understand it. But if I had to calculate... several centuries. Maybe more."
"Several centuries?" Cheong Myeong looked him up and down. "You look seventeen."
"So do you."
"That's different. I reincarnated."
"So did I," Jin Dongryong said, and his smile softened. "Somehow."
Cheong Myeong squeezed the coffee can. The aluminum creaked.
"I don't know if you can see the future," he said slowly, "but I'm too young to be an old man, Cheong Myeong-ah."
"HOW DO YOU KNOW MY NAME?!" Cheong Myeong exploded, nearly spilling his coffee. "I never told you!"
Jin Dongryong put a finger to his lips.
"Se-cre-t."
"That's not an answer!"
"But it's fun, isn't it?"
Cheong Myeong glared at him with murderous eyes. Jin Dongryong smiled with all the innocence of someone who was clearly not innocent at all.
"Finish eating," Cheong Myeong growled, standing up. "We're leaving."
"To your place?"
"To my room. And early tomorrow, we're going to see the Sect Leader. He'll decide what to do with you."
"And if he decides I should stay?"
"Then..." Cheong Myeong sighed. "Then we'll have a problem."
Back at the residence, Cheong Myeong went to the bathroom to brush his teeth. The routine gave him a false sense of normalcy. Brush. Toothpaste. Circular motions. Spit. Rinse.
He came out of the bathroom, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and looked at the calendar on the wall.
His soul left his body.
"MY LONG WEEKEND IS OVER!" he shouted, pointing at the red circle he'd marked. "It was today! Today classes start again! Training! The disciples!"
"What are disciples?" asked Jin Dongryong, who had made himself comfortable in Cheong Myeong's bed.
"They're walking problems!" Cheong Myeong began dressing in a hurry. "And you" — he pointed at Jin Dongryong — "You stay here. Don't go out. Don't touch anything. Don't look at anything. Don't breathe too loudly."
"Can I use your computer?"
"NO."
"Your phone?"
"NO!"
"The TV remote?"
"ALSO NO!"
Jin Dongryong pouted. On his classically beautiful face, the gesture was absurdly childish.
"You're a tyrant."
"I'm your savior," Cheong Myeong corrected, putting on his shoes. "If someone finds you here, I'll have to explain where you came from, and I don't have a good explanation. 'He fell from the moon' doesn't work in official reports."
"Why not? It's the truth."
"The truth isn't always useful, little grasshopper."
"I'm bigger than you," Jin Dongryong pointed out, effectively half a head taller.
"In age, maybe! But in rank, I'm your superior!"
"What rank?"
"THE RANK OF 'I PAY FOR THE FOOD'!"
Jin Dongryong opened his mouth to respond, but Cheong Myeong was already out the door, leaving him alone with his thoughts.
The turquoise-eyed young man stared at the closed door for a moment. Then, slowly, a smile spread across his face.
"How fun," he murmured. "I haven't had this much fun in centuries."
He stretched out on the bed, crossed his hands behind his head, and closed his eyes.
Ten seconds later, he was fast asleep.
---
The next morning, Cheong Myeong arrived at his room after morning training, his muscles burning and his mood in the gutter. He opened the door.
The bed was empty.
"Jin Dongryong?" he called, looking around. "Where are you?"
No one answered.
Cheong Myeong felt a pang of... concern? No. Not concern. Relief. Yes, relief. Definitely.
"He must have left," he said aloud, nodding to himself. "It was all a dream. A very strange dream where a baby fell from the moon and grew into a beautiful—" he stopped. "No. I'm not finishing that sentence. It was a dream. Good!"
Crack.
The balcony door opened.
Cheong Myeong slowly turned around.
Jin Dongryong was sitting on a tree branch, his feet dangling, his cheeks rosy from the morning cold, his hair dotted with tiny dewdrops. He was wearing Cheong Myeong's white robe — because, of course — and his turquoise eyes shone with an energy that made the morning seem brighter.
"Good morning, Cheong Myeong-ah!" he greeted, raising a hand.
Cheong Myeong's soul left his body. It floated for a moment above his head, briefly contemplated the possibility of ascending to heaven and reuniting with his ancestors, then climbed back into his body because, frankly, his ancestors were also a handful.
"I'm leaving," Cheong Myeong said, turning on his heel.
"Stay with me!" Jin Dongryong jumped from the tree with feline agility and grabbed his arm. "I get bored alone!"
"I can't!" Cheong Myeong tried to pull away, but the grip was surprisingly strong. "I have duties! I have training! I have disciples to teach! I can't miss it!"
"And what am I going to eat?"
"Ah." Cheong Myeong stopped. He reached into his backpack and pulled out a plastic bag. "Hotcakes. From the sect cafeteria. They're cheap and filling."
Jin Dongryong took the bag curiously. He opened the wrapper and bit into a hotcake.
His expression changed from curiosity to bewilderment, from bewilderment to horror.
"It tastes horrible," he said with his mouth full, his face twisted in a grimace. "It tastes like... sorrow and death."
"Sect hotcakes are a tradition," Cheong Myeong replied gravely. "The tradition of suffering."
"Why would you voluntarily eat this?"
"Because it costs three hundred won and I have to feed twenty disciples on a war budget."
Jin Dongryong looked at him with genuine pity.
"Poor Cheong Myeong-ah."
"Don't pity me. Give me solutions." Cheong Myeong shrugged. "But I'm leaving now. Stay here. Don't go out. Don't open the door for anyone. Don't turn on anything electric. Especially don't turn on anything electric."
"What happens if I turn on something electric?"
"Last time a third-class disciple touched my computer, he deleted my saved game of Stardew Valley. I had a hundred hours. A HUNDRED."
"What's Stardew Valley?"
"Never mind. Stay. Here. Period."
And Cheong Myeong left, closing the door with a definitive slam.
Jin Dongryong stood in the middle of the room, alone, with a half-eaten hotcake in his hand and the morning sun filtering through the blinds.
"How boring," he murmured.
He looked around. The bed was made. The desk, tidy. The computer, off.
"I won't turn anything on," he said aloud, as if needing to convince himself. "I promised."
He walked to the desk.
"I'm just going to look."
He ran a finger over the mouse.
"Just to make sure it's off."
The screen lit up.
"Oh," said Jin Dongryong, tilting his head. "How pretty."
The screen showed Cheong Myeong's desktop. Hatsune Miku wallpaper. Game icons, streaming apps, a folder called "IMPORTANT - DON'T TOUCH" and another called "IMPORTANT - TOUCH".
Jin Dongryong clicked the second one.
Inside were photos of cats. Hundreds of photos of cats.
"How adorable," he smiled.
He browsed a bit more. He found a music player, hit play on a song called "Oye", and listened intently.
"Nice song," he commented. "He sang it last night. The off-key version."
He moved to the next. Then the next. Then he found a video game with an English title and opened it out of curiosity.
Three hours later, Cheong Myeong received a notification on his phone:
"A purchase has been made in the app store: 49,990 won."
"WHAT," said Cheong Myeong in the middle of a calligraphy class.
"A purchase has been made in the app store: 79,990 won."
"WHAT?!"
"A purchase has been made in the app store: 119,990 won."
Cheong Myeong ran out of class as if the devil himself were chasing him.
---
When he got to his room, the door was wide open. Jin Dongryong was sitting in front of the computer, wearing Cheong Myeong's smart glasses — the ones he'd bought on a Black Friday sale and barely used — typing at surprising speed.
"WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!" Cheong Myeong shouted, ripping them off.
"Playing," Jin Dongryong replied with complete naturalness. "It's fun. I've never played before. Why didn't you tell me video games existed?"
"BECAUSE THEY'RE A WASTE OF TIME!"
"But you play."
"THAT'S DIFFERENT!"
"Why?"
"Because...!" Cheong Myeong blanked. "Because I'm a responsible adult!"
Jin Dongryong looked at him skeptically.
"You have posters of a virtual singer on the wall."
"Hatsune Miku is a goddess!"
"She's a hologram."
"A HOLOGRAPHIC GODDESS!"
Jin Dongryong let out a laugh so contagious that Cheong Myeong almost, almost, forgot that he'd just lost nearly 250,000 won in microtransactions.
"You're going to pay back every single won," Cheong Myeong said, pointing a finger at him. "You're going to work for the sect. You're going to sweep. You're going to mop. You're going to clean the bathrooms. You're going to earn every cent you stole from me."
"I didn't steal," Jin Dongryong protested. "I used your credit card. It was in the drawer. With the password on a piece of paper. '1234'."
"That's not my password!"
"Then why did it work?"
Cheong Myeong fell silent.
"I'm going to change it," he said finally. "But first" — he grabbed Jin Dongryong's arm — "We're going to the cafeteria. I need coffee. Lots of coffee. And you're paying."
"I don't have money."
"THEN YOU'RE PAYING WITH YOUR SOUL!"
"My soul isn't worth anything. It's very old."
"SHUT UP!"
---
The sect cafeteria was full. Disciples of all ranks milled around the tables, drinking tea, eating hotcakes (reluctantly), and talking about murim news.
Cheong Myeong entered like a whirlwind, dragging Jin Dongryong behind him.
"Sit there," he ordered, pointing to an empty table in the corner. "Don't move. Don't talk to anyone. Don't breathe in anyone's direction."
"That's biologically impossible."
"FIND A WAY!"
Cheong Myeong went to the queue to order coffee. Jin Dongryong sat obediently, folded his hands on the table, and observed the place with curiosity.
It was... lively. People of all ages, some in taoist uniforms, others in modern clothes, sharing space and conversations. A strange mix of old and new. A cell phone next to a porcelain teacup. A laptop next to a calligraphy scroll.
"Are you new?" asked a voice beside him.
Jin Dongryong looked up. A young man with brown hair and a shy expression stood before him, a tray in his hands.
"Yes," Jin Dongryong replied. "I'm new."
"Which sect are you from? I don't recognize you."
"I'm from..." Jin Dongryong thought for a moment. "The moon."
The young man blinked.
"The Moon sect?"
"No. The moon. The satellite."
"Ah," the young man nodded slowly, with an expression of not having understood anything. "Interesting. Well, will you sit with us?" — he pointed to a table where two others were waiting — "We're third-class disciples. I'm Jo Gul. They're Yun Jong and..." — he paused, searching with his eyes — "Cheong Myeong Sahyung is over there, in line."
"Cheong Myeong?" Jin Dongryong smiled. "I know him."
"Oh, really?" Jo Gul was surprised. "How?"
"He's my..." Jin Dongryong paused dramatically. "How do you say it? Host? Caretaker? The one who gives me shelter and food in exchange for my silence?"
"Sounds like blackmail."
"A little."
Jo Gul laughed. It was an open, carefree laugh.
"Well, if Cheong Myeong Sahyung is taking care of you, you must be important. Or someone who owes him a lot of money."
"More like the opposite," Jin Dongryong said slyly. "I owe him money. Although technically I didn't borrow it. I just used his credit card without permission."
Jo Gul was silent for a moment.
"Are you very brave or very stupid?"
"A bit of both."
"He's going to kill you."
"I know." Jin Dongryong smiled. "That's why I want to eat something good before I die."
---
Cheong Myeong returned with two steaming cups of coffee and an expression of eternal weariness. He sat down across from Jin Dongryong with a sigh.
"Here," he said, sliding a cup toward him. "It's a latte. No caffeine. Because if you get any more hyper than you already are, I'm throwing myself off the balcony."
"Thanks," Jin Dongryong took the cup carefully, sniffed it, and took a small sip. "It's... sweet?"
"I put in four sugar packets. Kids need energy."
"I'm not a kid."
"You act a lot like one."
Jin Dongryong was about to protest, but at that moment, Jo Gul and Yun Jong approached the table with their trays.
"Sahyung," said Jo Gul, sitting down. "Is your friend sitting with us?"
"He's not my friend," Cheong Myeong replied automatically.
"We know each other," Jin Dongryong said at the same time.
They looked at each other. Cheong Myeong narrowed his eyes. Jin Dongryong smiled sweetly.
"He's an acquaintance," Jin Dongryong corrected himself. "An acquaintance who lives in his house. Temporarily."
"You live with Cheong Myeong Sahyung?" Yun Jong raised an eyebrow. "That's... unusual."
"Very," confirmed Cheong Myeong. "It's unusual, it's annoying, and it's temporary. Is that clear? Temporary."
"Crystal clear," Jin Dongryong nodded.
Jo Gul observed Jin Dongryong closely. His face, his clothes (the white robe, slightly too large), his way of moving.
"Hey," he said suddenly. "Isn't that Cheong Myeong Sahyung's robe?"
"Yes," Jin Dongryong replied, stretching the sleeves. "It's a little big on me, but it's comfortable."
"And why are you wearing Cheong Myeong Sahyung's robe?"
"Because I don't have my own clothes. I arrived... unprepared."
"Unprepared?"
"Without luggage. Without clothes. Without anything. Just me and..." — he touched his forehead — "Well, and this ribbon. I like it. I put it on this morning."
Cheong Myeong put his hand to his face.
"Please," he said in a strangled voice. "Please, stop talking."
"Why?" asked Jin Dongryong with feigned innocence. "I'm just getting to know your friends. Isn't that what people do? Socialize?"
"Not when you're a state secret."
"I'm a state secret?" Jin Dongryong looked amazed. "What an honor!"
"IT'S NOT AN HONOR. IT'S A PROBLEM."
Yun Jong intervened gently:
"Sahyung, perhaps you should introduce us formally. To avoid misunderstandings."
Cheong Myeong sighed. Defeated.
"Fine." He pointed at Jin Dongryong. "This is..." — he paused — "Jin Dongryong. He arrived a few weeks ago. He's passing through. I don't know where he's from. I don't know where he's going. I don't know anything about him. And I prefer not to know."
"What a warm introduction," Jin Dongryong commented. "I feel very welcome."
"Shut up."
Jo Gul leaned forward, his eyes shining with curiosity.
"Jin Dongryong-ssi, do you really live with Cheong Myeong Sahyung? What's it like? Is it true he snores?"
"I don't snore!" protested Cheong Myeong.
"Yes, he snores," said Jin Dongryong. "Like an old truck engine. He also talks in his sleep. Last night he said 'Miku, marry me.'"
The table exploded with laughter. Even Yun Jong let out a suppressed chuckle.
Cheong Myeong turned red as a tomato.
"THAT'S NOT TRUE!"
"It's completely true," Jin Dongryong nodded seriously. "He also said 'the sect's hotcakes are a crime against humanity.'"
"I did say that," Cheong Myeong admitted. "Because it's true."
"And he said 'Jin Dongryong is a walking problem.'"
"That's also true."
"And he said 'I wish I'd never opened that door.'"
"...That's also true."
Jin Dongryong smiled triumphantly.
"See? I don't lie."
"You lie about the important things," Cheong Myeong muttered.
"Like what?"
"Like the Miku thing."
"Are you sure?" Jin Dongryong tilted his head. "I could record it tonight."
"YOU'RE NOT RECORDING ANYTHING!"
"Then you don't snore."
"I don't snore!"
"But you said you weren't going to record, not that you don't snore. That's a logical fallacy."
Cheong Myeong opened his mouth to respond. He closed it. Opened it again.
"I hate you," he said finally.
"I know," Jin Dongryong replied with a radiant smile. "But you bought me food."
"I DIDN'T BUY YOU FOOD! YOU STOLE MY CARD!"
"Details."
---
At the next table, some second-class disciples began to murmur. One of them, a young man with long hair tied in a ponytail, pointed at Jin Dongryong.
"Who is that?" he asked. "I haven't seen him before."
"I don't know," another replied. "But he's wearing the sect robe. Could he be a new disciple?"
"With Cheong Myeong? The Mad Dog hasn't trained anyone for months."
"Maybe he's a relative."
"Does Cheong Myeong have family?"
"Not that I know of."
Eyes fixed on Jin Dongryong. He, unperturbed, kept drinking his latte as if he were on a terrace in Paris.
"I think they're looking at us," Jo Gul whispered.
"They're always looking at us," Cheong Myeong replied. "We're the third-class disciples. We're the bottom of the barrel."
"But they're looking at him more," said Yun Jong, subtly gesturing at Jin Dongryong.
Cheong Myeong turned his head. Indeed, several tables were observing the young man with long hair and turquoise eyes. It was no wonder. Even in the borrowed robe, even disheveled from the morning wind, Jin Dongryong had a presence that drew gazes like a magnet.
"He has a princess face," Jo Gul murmured.
"And peasant manners," added Cheong Myeong. "The perfect combination for causing trouble."
"Why do you say that?" asked Yun Jong.
"Because pretty people attract attention. And people who attract attention attract questions. And questions attract trouble."
"You speak from experience," Jin Dongryong said suddenly.
Everyone looked at him.
"What do you mean?" asked Cheong Myeong in a dangerous voice.
"That you're also handsome," Jin Dongryong said naturally. "And you also attract attention. And you also cause trouble. Especially trouble."
Cheong Myeong fell silent. His cheeks tinted a barely perceptible pink.
"I'm not handsome," he said finally. "I'm imposing."
"That's what handsome people say when they want to seem humble."
"I DON'T WANT TO SEEM HUMBLE!"
"So you're handsome?"
"I AM...!" Cheong Myeong stopped. "I'm not falling into your trap!"
"What trap?" Jin Dongryong blinked innocently. "I'm just asking."
Jo Gul was laughing hysterically. Yun Jong hid a smile behind his teacup. Even some disciples at other tables watched the scene with amusement.
Cheong Myeong buried his face in his hands.
"Why," he murmured. "Why did you do this to me, fate? Why did you send this celestial being to ruin my life?"
"I'm not celestial," Jin Dongryong corrected. "I'm lunar. There's a difference."
"IT'S THE SAME SHIT!"
"Not exactly. Celestials live in the sky. I live on the moon. The sky is a broad concept. The moon is a specific place."
"I DON'T CARE!"
"You should. Geography is important."
Cheong Myeong looked up, his eyes bloodshot.
"You're going to be the cause of my death," he said. "Not a demon. Not an enemy. You. With your pretty face and your twisted logic."
"How romantic," Jin Dongryong smiled. "Are you going to die for me?"
"I'M GOING TO KILL YOU FIRST!"
"That's less romantic."
"I DON'T CARE HOW ROMANTIC IT IS."
Jin Dongryong sighed, with an expression of feigned disappointment.
"And here I thought we'd connected."
"WE HAVEN'T CONNECTED AT ALL!"
"We share a room. We share food. We share your credit cards." Jin Dongryong paused. "Well, maybe the credit card thing was one-sided."
"IT WAS THEFT!"
"It was an unauthorized loan."
"IT'S THE SAME THING!"
"No. Theft implies bad intent. I just wanted to try something new."
"And what did you try?"
"That I like video games," Jin Dongryong said, and his eyes lit up. "Can we play later?"
"NO."
"Please?"
"NO."
"With a cherry on top?"
"THERE ARE NO CHERRIES THAT CAN FIX THIS!"
Jo Gul wiped away a tear of laughter.
"Sahyung," he said between laughs. "I like him. Can he stay?"
"NO."
"Permanently?"
"ALSO NO."
"Temporarily?"
"ONLY UNTIL I FIND OUT WHERE THE HELL HE CAME FROM!"
Jin Dongryong nodded seriously.
"From the moon. I already told you."
"THAT'S NOT A VALID ANSWER!"
"It's the only one I have."
Cheong Myeong stared at him. Jin Dongryong stared back, his turquoise eyes shining like beacons in the night.
"Fine," Cheong Myeong said finally, in a tired voice. "Fine. You'll play video games. But by my rules."
"What rules?"
"Rule one: no spending real money. Rule two: don't touch my computer without permission. Rule three: if you break something, you pay with your life."
"Accepted," said Jin Dongryong. "But rule two is already broken."
"I know. That's why it's a rule now."
"And rule three is a bit extreme."
"Welcome to Mount Hua."
Jin Dongryong smiled. It was a different smile than before. Softer. More genuine.
"Thank you," he said quietly.
"For what?"
"For letting me stay. Even if it's temporary."
Cheong Myeong didn't answer. He just drank his coffee and looked out the window.
Outside, the moon was beginning to fade in the morning sky.
---
They were walking back to the residence when Jin Dongryong suddenly stopped.
"What?" asked Cheong Myeong, turning around.
Jin Dongryong had his head tilted, as if listening to something no one else could hear.
"Nothing," he said after a moment. "I thought I heard... but no. It's nothing."
"Heard what?"
"A voice. A voice I knew. A long time ago."
Cheong Myeong frowned.
"Hallucinations? Does that come with being from the moon too?"
"I don't know." Jin Dongryong smiled, but the smile didn't reach his eyes. "Maybe I'm just tired. I slept ten hours, but still..."
"You slept ten hours. I slept four."
"You're younger. You need less sleep."
"I'm over a hundred years old."
"And I'm over several centuries. So technically, you're the young one here."
Cheong Myeong looked at him with exasperation.
"Are you always like this?"
"Like what?"
"Like... complicated."
"No," said Jin Dongryong, and for an instant, his expression turned serious. "I used to be different. I used to be... simpler. More innocent. But that was a long time ago."
"What happened?"
"Many things." Jin Dongryong started walking again. "Things I'd rather not remember. Things I'd rather forget. That's why I came here. To start over."
"And why here? Why my house? Why me?"
"Because..." Jin Dongryong paused. "Because when I saw that pillar of light, and when I saw you, I knew this was the place. And you were the person."
"The person for what?"
"To remind me that I can still feel good things."
Cheong Myeong fell silent. He didn't know how to respond to that. He wasn't good with pretty words. He wasn't good with feelings. He was good at fighting, drinking, and saving money.
"That's very cheesy," he said finally.
"I know," Jin Dongryong laughed. "That's why you like it."
"I DON'T like it."
Your face says otherwise."
"My face doesn't say anything. My face is an impassive mask."
"Your face is red."
"IT'S THE SUN!"
"It's cloudy."
"IT'S THE... INTERNAL HEAT!"
"Sure," Jin Dongryong smiled. "Of course it is."
They walked in silence the rest of the way. When they reached the residence door, Cheong Myeong stopped.
"One thing," he said, not looking at him. "The credit card thing. Don't let it happen again."
"It won't," Jin Dongryong promised.
"And the computer. Ask before using it."
"I'll ask."
"And the..." Cheong Myeong sighed. "And the staying. It's temporary. But while you're here... I suppose you can use my clothes. And eat my food. And play my games."
"And sleep in your bed?"
"No."
"Why?"
"Because I have limits."
"Where do I sleep, then?"
Cheong Myeong pointed at the floor.
"There."
"On the floor?"
"You're several centuries old. You've survived worse things."
"That's true," Jin Dongryong admitted. "But the floor is uncomfortable."
"Then get a mat."
"With your money?"
"WITH YOUR MONEY!" Cheong Myeong almost shouted. "When you get a job!"
"What kind of job?"
"ANYTHING! SWEEP! WASH DISHES! SING ON THE STREET! I DON'T CARE!"
Jin Dongryong thought for a moment.
"Sing on the street? Like buskers?"
"Yes. You have a good voice. You could earn something."
"You think I have a good voice?"
"That's not important. THE IMPORTANT THING IS MONEY!"
"You say that, but you let me stay. And you gave me food. And you lent me your clothes." Jin Dongryong tilted his head. "Could it be that deep down you're a good person?"
"I'M NOT A GOOD PERSON!" Cheong Myeong slammed the door open. "I'M A PRAGMATIC PERSON! I'M LETTING YOU STAY BECAUSE I HAVE NO OTHER CHOICE!"
"Sure," said Jin Dongryong, walking in behind him. "Of course."
And while Cheong Myeong took off his shoes and cursed under his breath, Jin Dongryong watched him with a smile that said more than a thousand words.
"And so began the story of Cheong Myeong and the child from the moon," said the narrator's voice, in a tone that oscillated between epic and comic. "A story of financial disasters, sleepless nights, and a bond that neither was willing to admit."
"But that's a story for another day."
"Or for tonight."
"Or for five minutes from now, when Cheong Myeong discovers that Jin Dongryong also used his streaming account to rent three horror movies."
"Spoiler: he won't sleep."
---
In the room, Jin Dongryong was already in front of the computer, fingers poised over the keyboard.
"Cheong Myeong-ah," he said without turning around. "What's 'browsing history'?"
Cheong Myeong felt a shiver run down his spine.
"Don't touch that," he said hoarsely.
"Why? Is there something you don't want me to see?"
"DON'T TOUCH ANYTHING!"
"Too late." Jin Dongryong clicked something. "Oh. 'Miku fanfiction.' How interesting."
Cheong Myeong lunged at him.
"DELETE THAT RIGHT NOW!"
"I don't know how!"
"PRESS DELETE!"
"I DON'T KNOW WHERE IT IS!"
"THE BIG KEY THAT SAYS DELETE!"
"THERE'S NO KEY THAT SAYS DELETE!"
"THE ONE THAT SAYS DEL!"
"WHY WOULD IT SAY DEL?!"
"IT'S ABBREVIATION!"
"ABBREVIATION FOR WHAT?!"
"FOR DELETE!"
"THAT DOESN'T MAKE SENSE!"
"NOTHING IN MY LIFE HAS MADE SENSE SINCE YOU ARRIVED!"
Jin Dongryong finally found the key. The screen refreshed. The history disappeared.
"Done," he said, turning to Cheong Myeong with a radiant smile. "See? I'm useful."
Cheong Myeong fell to his knees.
"Please," he murmured. "Please, someone come get this child. I can't anymore. I don't have the energy. I don't have the patience. I don't have the mental health."
Jin Dongryong crouched beside him and put a hand on his shoulder.
"Relax," he said gently. "I won't look at anything else."
"Do you promise?"
"I promise."
"Do you swear on the moon?"
Jin Dongryong smiled.
"I swear on the moon."
Cheong Myeong stared at him for a long moment. Then, slowly, he stood up.
"Fine," he said. "I trust you."
"Really?"
"No. But I'm too tired to fight."
He collapsed on the bed, face down, and closed his eyes.
"Turn off the light when you go to sleep," he murmured.
"Can I stay on the computer a little longer?"
"Yes. But don't buy anything."
"I won't buy anything."
"And don't look at my history."
"I already saw it."
"WHAT?!"
"Kidding. I didn't see anything."
"You're a demon."
"I've been told."
Cheong Myeong buried his face in the pillow and groaned.
Jin Dongryong turned off the lamp. Only the bluish glow of the computer screen remained, illuminating his face as he softly browsed the internet.
"Cheong Myeong-ah," he said quietly.
"What?"
"Thank you. For everything."
"Mm."
"Really."
"Mm."
"You're a good person. Even if you don't want to admit it."
"Mm."
"And Miku is lucky to have such a dedicated fan."
"SHUT UP AND TURN OFF THAT COMPUTER!"
Jin Dongryong laughed, but obeyed. The screen went dark, and the room fell into darkness.
In the dim light, Cheong Myeong opened one eye.
"Jin Dongryong."
"Yes?"
"Are you really from the moon?"
There was a silence. Long. Deep.
"Yes," he replied finally, and his voice sounded different. Older. Tired. "I really am."
"And... why did you come?"
"Because I was alone." Another pause. "Because I'd been alone for centuries. And I saw a light. And I followed that light. And that light led me to you."
"And if I had refused? If I hadn't let you stay?"
"Then I would have left. I would have looked for another place. Another person." His voice cracked slightly. "But I didn't want to. I didn't want to keep searching."
Cheong Myeong didn't answer. He didn't know how.
But in the darkness, he reached out a hand. Not to touch. Just to offer.
Jin Dongryong took it.
"Thank you," he whispered.
"Sleep," said Cheong Myeong. "Tomorrow will be another day. And another problem. And another fight."
"Sounds good."
"No, it doesn't sound good. It sounds horrible."
"It sounds like life."
Cheong Myeong didn't object.
And so, in a small room on Mount Hua, a reincarnated warrior and a child from the moon fell asleep, for the first time in a long time, feeling that they weren't alone.
Outside, the moon shone high above.
And somewhere, far away, someone smiled.
---
END OF CHAPTER ONE
"And if you're wondering what happened next," said the narrator's voice, "suffice it to say that Cheong Myeong woke up the next day with Jin Dongryong curled up beside him, snoring softly, with one arm over his chest and a smile on his lips."
"Cheong Myeong spent ten whole minutes debating whether to kick him awake or let him sleep."
"In the end, he let him sleep."
"But don't tell him that. He'd never admit it."
"And that, dear listeners, is the story of how the Mad Dog of Mount Hua ended up as the caretaker of a lunar being."
"A story of madness, of laughter, and of two broken souls who, without meaning to, began to heal each other."
"End of the first chapter."
"To be continued... probably tomorrow."
"Good night."