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There was an old legend in the Tang Family, the most poisonous one there was.
Although he's not really bad in the same way as the elders in the council, he was terrible in the way that he was completely apathetic to everyone and everything around him. For him, no matter what happens in jianghu, none of it is his business. It doesn't matter if the sapa and the gupa are getting into wars with each other, this entire time, he just remained quiet and uncaring about it.
Everyone was saying it will be over when he gets involved. But despite everyone spectating on those things...he never showed up. It actually reached the point where everyone thought that story about amjon still existing was just a baseless rumor. After all, it will make more sense if that's true. There's no way anyone could survive the war. Much less, the hundred years that passed after that.
And then the Tang Family just....descended into chaos one day.
Since it was just a little after the Yangtze River incident, they were still recovering a lot. But the gaju just got a letter from the main house and everything made very little sense after.
It was difficult to explain. Even though the legend about that person was still being talked about (and the proof of this was that when some alliance members heard about the situation, they went pale and slack-jawed), the problem was that Mount Hua itself doesn't have much clue about the situation. They had their own problems and had no time to think about other people's businesses. So it definitely made sense when Cheong Myeong frowned and just tilted his head in confusion when they told him the news.
"That person recently came back."
"Uh?" Cheong Myeong asked, looking like he couldn't care less about the situation. "Who?"
"If I say, please manage yourself a little."
"Okay?"
"Alright." Tang Gunak takes a deep breath before sharing the news. "It's Amjon."
"..."
"He's a hero from the war, the only survivor of that time," the older man continued, feeling something off about the sudden silence. "He might be a great help to us in the future. However, it will be a challenge to convince him, with how apathetic he—"
He looked at the gaju, face pale and hands shaking in a way that no one has ever seen before. it was such a foreign look that Tang Gunak cut himself off, staring speechlessly at that terrible expression.
"...Who?" the swordsman whispered, his voice echoing in the silence.
It was an absolute mess back in Sichuan. Those who were left there were trying to calm down Amjon, who had been tearing things left and right trying to figure out what the hell happened while he was out not caring about things in this world. He left the manor not too long after, feeling so sick at the sight of plum blossoms engraved everywhere in the pillars and walls of that place.
He ended up looking for where the rest of his family members has gone. It was too easy of a feat to do for someone like him. It didn't really make sense to him at first, why everyone was in a single, place playing house like this training together. And what's this...alliance that everyone was talking about? Even in the past, that term was just a label, calling them something just for the sake of it. To give everyone a peace of mind.
He's just been away for a while. What's everyone playing at? Sure, Mount Hua was there too—the face of the sect leader being different from the person from the past—And so were several more groups and, heavens forbid, even Nokrim was there. It hurts his eyes.
The gaju, too, was panicking when Amjon arrived. He's always been too enigmatic and hard to please. Even in the past, he always doesn't seem to not know what to feel about Mount Hua. If he's in a bad mood, he would've really hurt them then and there and remained silent in good ones.
To make matters worse, the person who agreed to talk to him to try to bring him on their side was just nowhere to be found. During the entire conversation, the war legend was just staring blankly at the sect leader. So eerily quiet and unlike how he usually seems like. He seems to be looking at something that was never there in the first place.
Amjon's eyes then shifted to the side, as if trying to catch the afterimage of something that was there. Had been there.
He excused himself after a while. No, that was too light of a word. He left wordlessly after.
No one else had seen him for the entire day. And, strangely enough, even Cheong Myeong himself wasn't there at all to torment anyone with training. It was only at night when his green robed figure, paired with startling silver hair swept through the place like a ghost. His movements were so quiet that even the most well-trained of martial artist wouldn't have noticed his presence at all. It was a skill that he honed through his almost two hundred years of living.
There was someone on the rooftop already drinking when he came.
Amjon stared at him like he doesn't even know just what he was looking at. It was a young man, probably not even half his age, drinking so much for someone who was supposed to be a Taoist. He laid on that roof so carelessly, as if he didn't care about whoever may come see him.
His head turned slightly when amjon took a step forward.
Like this, he can clearly see it now. That person's eyes were a unique shade of pink, the color of the plum blossoms he once loved so much. There was also a green ribbon tied on his hair, a tassel of the same shade on his waist, and another one tied at the hilt of his sword.
It was so sickening.
For Tang Bo, who hasn't felt anything in his almost two centuries of living, this was a sight that felt similar to mockery. The thought didn't help with the feeling of a heavy energy weighing down only at that specific spot.
Cheong Myeong watched him for a long time, a burdensome thought running through his head.
Was this how you've always been all these years?
He was no fool. He made sure to ask thoroughly when he heard the news about Amjon being alive. The same man who has survived from a brutal war from long time ago. And...someone who slowly painted his own name with blood.
(They say he kills them now. Anyone—anything—that reminded him of a certain someone.)
Looking at him right now, questions echoed in Cheong Myeong's mind.
Was this how it is always like, when you came to people with the intent to kill?
Is this really the kind of person you've become?
How many uninvolved have died, just because you hated seeing echoes of the past?
And...
When did you lose that smile you've always worn?
He finds that he hates it.
But that person, Amjon, did not move an inch from where he was. He just kept staring, contrary to the stories of how he would always strike first even when expected, like a venomous snake that has come to take vengeance.
His eyes dug into Cheong Myeong, seemingly looking for something.
Finally, he spoke.
"You."
That voice, too, was so scratchy and rough, as if it hadn't been used for a long, long time.
"My eyes do not recognize you. but something about you is familiar."
And well...something about those words hurt.
Cheong Myeong was really going to say something. But all the words were stuck to his throat. That guy, Amjon, approached him slowly. One step after another, eyes locked firmly into his.
There was something there. A quiet desperation that has been slowly weathered away by time.
Even in this lifetime, there was barely anyone who could reach up to his skills.
But at that moment, Amjon's presence suffocated him so much that he cannot even take another sip of his alcohol. He remained sitting there, just watching without saying anything else.
That guy didn't try to kill him.
Instead, he got close enough so that his fingers can reach out, moving past his face, and past his ear. he reached for the green ribbon tied to his hair and caressed it like an old lover he's been torn away from.
"Why do you wear this?"
But still, he can't speak.
Cheong Myeong doesn't know how his silence must've translated as. But Amjon's hand dropped down from the ribbon to the face that had crumpled to a frown the longer their encounter goes. He was kneeling as well, uncaring if his robes get caught.
"You...you...you..."
There was something raw there, bared out at that moment, for one person to see.
"You..."
The worn-out hand moved away but tried to reach out again. Back and away, as if he can't decide on what to do.
He thinks there was despair there, too.
Amjon laughs, agonized.
"I'm going crazy."
Rough fingers rested against his neck, twitching as if fighting the urge to close and cut off his breath. The sight of this, a mourning that has faded away into some twisted anger and violence felt like a knife digging onto Cheong Myeong's chest.
Wasn't this situation so ironic? These two men, who has always known each other from the roots of their hair to the tips of their toes, so much that one can't even tell where one ended and the other began—
They can't even recognize each other anymore.
(Still, why does the heart claim otherwise?)
and then—
"Bo-yah."
...
....
"Bo-yah, you bastard. what happened to you?"
Amjon flinched back, looking as if he was scalded by boiling water.
He stared at Cheong Myeong as if looking at a ghost. No matter how much he stares, that youthful face did not turn into the sight that he loved once upon a time.
His lips twisted into a mirthless smile.
"I think I'm really going to die soon," he mumbles to himself. "Hyung...My Dosa Hyung-nim's spirit possessed a brat's body and has come to pick me up. Or maybe I've just lost my mind?"
He keeps talking to himself, as if the person in front of him wasn't there at all. That look on his face was self-deprecating, a sight that just doesn't fit him at all.
He's lived for such a long time.
So much that he doesn't even know anymore why he was still here. Even the promises made from what felt like a lifetime ago had already slipped through his fingers and hid away from his mind.
And then there was stinging pain.
Amjon, who had been laughing to himself and seemingly really have finally lost his mind, slowly turned his head back, staring wide eyed at the brat that just...slapped his face?
Hey... who in this world would have the audacity to do that? To the notoriously feared Amjon as well?
He was pushed back so suddenly that he can't even properly process what was happening. Amjon sat on top of that roof, with an angry guy on his lap, gripping at his robe with such intensity that it almost tore off.
"What the hell's with that?" Cheong Myeong asked angrily. "You're gonna die now, ah? What's wrong with you? Did no one hit you on the head enough all these years that you've gone mad? Yah! Tang Bo-yah, you—"
Amjon stared at him wordlessly, not knowing what to do.
Or...or maybe he does. But too terrified that things would reveal itself to be a cruel dream, he dared not move a single muscle.
(It was familiar, wasn't it?)
(Have you heard these words before?)
"Die? Dieeee? Just try, you bastard! I will really hit you if you—if you—"
His voice cracked.
...No.
When he came up this roof, he already resolved himself to it. He had taken deep breaths one after the other as he always had, promising himself that he will not cry.
When has he ever done that anyway?
(Cheong Jin's case was different.)
And yet, here he was. Moving away, hands furiously wiping away at his eyes and leaving them red.
Drip. Drip.
He's not supposed to cry. He's not. He's not.
There was no reason to. Tang Bo is alive and here, even when he thought he'd long left the world. He's sitting in this roof in front of Cheong Myeong, staring at him even though he looks like he'd aged over the years that has passed. Alive, alive, alive, alive.
He's—
Ah.
...
It sucks.
...
Haha......It really, really sucks.
He was supposed to be angry. This guy, who does he think he is making a mess of everything instead of helping? What was that speech about him becoming a better elder after the war? He was supposed to chew him out.
Pathetic.
(What did he feel, when Tang Gunak mentioned to him that Amjon was alive?
Angry? Not at all, but it sure felt like it. There was this...tightening feeling in his chest. A screaming that never left his throat, a desperate cry of relief.
He's alive.)
"...Yah...What are you...?"
That look on the Tang Elder was no better. He looked as if he was going to break down and cry then and there. But the sight of that person crying in front of him made him hold back his own tears, face twisted unpleasantly.
(Familiar.)
"Hyung-nim?"
"Don't touch me," Cheong Myeong threatens through his teeth, but he didn't look any intimidating with tears glistening in his eyes and his nose red from crying. "I will really hit you. I swear. I'll—I'll send you across the river myself."
"Hyung-nim."
"Shut up. Shut—shut up."
There was screaming in his ears.
That sight was still there, burned in his eyelids no matter how many times he closes his eyes. There was blood in his nostrils and metal clashing everywhere.
(For a moment, everything he'd ever treasure had all gone.)
(He blinks, and then they weren't.)
He can't see anything, but it was warm.
There was something—someone? He can feel somebody's sleeves wrapped around him, tugging him closer to a breathing (living?) figure. He can hear the shaky breaths and the trembling that wouldn't have been noticed otherwise.
"Hyung-nim," a voice mumbled shakily. "Dosa Hyung-nim."
(Alive. Alive. Alive, Alive alivealivealive--)
He wants to throw up.
"Tell me it's you. Please. Please. Please."
"..."
Haaaah...
This is really ridiculous.
He still can't move, trapped in between the arms that refused to let him go as if fearful of him vanishing if he did.
Who else could it be? Hey, you brat who followed persistently from the ends of hell and back—
Shouldn't you, of all people, know already?
Maybe his silence was enough of an answer. Amjon—no, that expression on his face was far too vulnerable to belong to the man named as such.
There must've been something there.
They've held onto each other for a long time for the rest of the night, not saying anything. Holding on to that fragile rope that kept sanity tethered to reality. Alcohol forgotten on the spot behind them.
Cheong Myeong must've fallen asleep at some point, overwhelmed by his emotions and lulled to sleep by a familiar presence. By the time Tang Bo had moved his arms to get a better view of that person—now smaller, more vulnerable and weaker—in his arms, the tears had already dried long ago.
A hand brushed away the bangs that fell over his eyes.
To Tang Bo, who has spent endless years suffering by himself, fighting mind demons without anyone to help him, the entire scenario felt surreal.
"...You really look different now."
Softer, but with weary shoulders that carried more than before.
...
You shouldn't have had to do this a second time. Haven't you done enough?
Tang Bo, for a brief while, closes his eyes. The kinder memories of bygone days have almost been completely etched away from his mind.
But...does it matter? That person that colored them once is back here again anyway.
There's time. He now has time again.
There was the sound of clothes rustling together. Tang Bo adjusted so Cheong Myeong can sleep easily against him. The weight of his body felt foreign and different, but never wrong.
A hand reached out to cover his own mouth.
Should he get rid of them all?
If there's no one in the way, then surely, he can spend as much time as he wants with his hyung-nim. Just like how it used to be, right?
(At this point, wasn't that person far weaker than him? if he so wants, isn't it true that he can easily push for what he wants in a battle of strength?)
It was so easy...
He moves again. This time, to stroke the soft locks that he hasn't felt in a long, long time.
"Hyung-nim," he called to someone who won't hear him anyway. "Would you hate me if I do?"
But still...
Remembering that frustrated look on who used to be the sword saint, the deep grief that only they could understand—
Tang Bo quietened his own thoughts and just let out a heavy sigh.
"You're alive."
That's right.
That's enough.
-
end.