Episode 72. Before the Sky Grows Too Dark
After washing up and changing into clean clothes, I sat at the grand hall’s table, facing Cha Sungtae and Ho Yeoncheong once more.
“Sungtae, go fetch some wine. Three cups.”
“Yes, sir.”
He set the bottle down and placed a cup before each of us. I turned to Ho Yeoncheong.
“Listen carefully.”
“Yes.”
“I don’t care if your name’s Yu Sacheong or Ho Yeoncheong. I don’t care if you’re truly from the Ho Yeon Sword Clan or some other schemer hiding behind a fake name. You’re just an unlucky prisoner who got caught by me. From now on, you do exactly as I say. Understand?”
“Understood.”
I took out the Flash Dagger and stabbed it into the center of the table between us.
Thuk!
The two men looked from the dagger to me, wondering what I meant. I pointed at the blade.
“That’s how we settle things where I come from. If words stop working, we settle it with that—by stabbing each other.”
Sungtae started to laugh, then caught my expression and shut his mouth instantly.
“I’ll give you one hundred and eight days,” I said evenly. “During that time, Ho Yeoncheong will pass on every martial art he knows—sword forms, footwork, inner cultivation—to Cha Sungtae.”
Ho Yeoncheong’s eyes widened. Sungtae looked alarmed. “Sir, how can I learn all that in only one hundred and eight days?”
“Sungtae.”
“Yes?”
I stared at him. “Do you have a death wish? I said it’s a life-and-death pact.”
“Ah… no, sir.”
“Good.”
I explained the daily routine. “This is Black Cat Hall, so you’ll both wake at the hour of the Rabbit—five a.m. Breakfast, then training. Lunch, then training again. Dinner, then rest. During rest you may meditate or recover your strength—but if either of you tries to escape or flee, I’ll apply the life-and-death pact myself. If you don’t like it, grab that dagger and stab me now.”
Silence.
“Ho Yeoncheong, your inner strength is still sealed. You can rest or cultivate as you please. You have one hundred and eight days. I’m not asking for mastery, but by the end of that time Sungtae had better be one hundred and eight days stronger than he is now.”
“How will you judge that, sir?” Sungtae asked.
“If I’m not satisfied, grab the dagger and stab me.”
“Just asking…”
Ho Yeoncheong finally spoke. “A hundred and eight days isn’t enough even to teach a single sword form.”
“Not my problem. Sungtae may be a fool, but he’s not stupid. Teach broadly or deeply—it’s up to you.”
He muttered, “Our clan forbids—”
“I don’t care about your clan. If you don’t like it, use the dagger and kill yourself.”
He shut his mouth and closed his eyes.
“There are worse things than death,” I told them. “If you don’t want to teach, die here. Sungtae, if you don’t want to learn, die here. And if you’re tired of both, draw the dagger and come at me—I’ll kill you myself.”
Sungtae tilted his head back and sighed. “I’ll do it,” he said finally.
I turned to Ho Yeoncheong. He hesitated, then said quietly, “I’ll teach him everything.”
“Finally, some sense.”
I drew the dagger, pricked my finger, and let a drop of blood fall into the wine bottle. Then I handed the dagger to Sungtae, who did the same, and finally to Ho Yeoncheong.
When all three drops of blood had mixed, I poured the wine into three cups.
“This wine holds the blood of three men bound by life and death. By this oath, for one hundred and eight days, Master Ho Yeoncheong will teach with all his heart and soul, and Disciple Cha Sungtae will learn with the same devotion. I, Lee Jaha, bear witness—should either man break this pact or show disloyalty, I swear before Heaven and Earth to end his remaining life with the Flash Dagger.”
Their faces paled. Both swallowed hard as I raised my cup.
“Do you swear to uphold this pact?”
“I swear.”
“I also swear.”
“Then drink.”
We downed the blood-tinged wine together. I set my cup down, smiling. “Good. Tomorrow your harsh training begins. Tonight, we have our last supper.”
“There’s no one left to cook,” Sungtae said.
“True.”
Most of the servants had gone to Ilyang County, and the rest were still at the Unwu compound. I leaned on my chin. I’d killed Su, killed the Old Dragon—and now couldn’t even manage dinner. Pathetic.
“I can go buy something,” Sungtae offered.
“And run off? No.”
Just then, the door slammed open and Hong Shin entered, holding something wrapped in cloth. Without a word, she lifted it slightly. “Senior Brother, have some dumplings. I bought them on the way.”
I hissed through my teeth, then started clapping. My serious applause made Sungtae nod and clap too.
“What’s with you two?” she asked.
“Brilliant,” I said, gesturing for her to sit. “Come, join us.”
She unwrapped the cloth, revealing plump, steaming dumplings. “I didn’t know what you liked, so I got half meat, half veggie. And there was a place selling sweet-and-sour beef, so I grabbed some for the drinks.”
I wiped an imaginary tear. “Magnificent. From now on, the Four Envoys will be Baekin, Cheongjin, Baekyu, and you.”
“Just like that?”
“Eat.”
As I bit into a dumpling, I turned to Ho Yeoncheong. “Eat.”
“Yes.”
He reached carefully for one.
“If the results are poor after one hundred and eight days,” I said casually, “I’ll kill you both myself.”
“Got it,” Sungtae said with his mouth full.
“Understood,” Ho Yeoncheong echoed.
I ate like a starving beggar and asked, “Hong Shin, you know how to make noodles? There should be ingredients in the kitchen.”
She replied confidently, “Want me to? I’ll finish these and cook some.”
I nodded eagerly. “Please do.”
“Alright.”
Sungtae bowed slightly. “Make mine too, please.”
“Might as well make enough for everyone,” she said, standing.
The three of us turned to Ho Yeoncheong. Being a prisoner, he couldn’t ask for anything. Still, we waited silently until the pressure forced him to speak.
“I’m fine,” he muttered.
“Nonsense,” I said. “Hong Shin, make enough for all of us.”
“Got it.”
I gave her a thumbs-up as she left. A world of men only breeds misery; a single woman changes the air entirely.
Ho Yeoncheong suddenly choked on a dumpling and gulped down wine, tears streaming down his face. I shook my head. “Crying over dumplings now? They’re that good?”
Sungtae tried to joke along but fell silent. Hard to mock the man who’d just become his teacher.
“That’s not it,” Ho Yeoncheong said quietly. “I’ll do my best to teach.”
I tormented them both a bit more while waiting for the noodles, wondering if there was truly a demon in me. If I’d been born a better man, they’d call me Sword Saint—but my nickname had always been Mad Demon.
“Sungtae,” I said.
“Yes?”
“Your good days are over. Hahaha!”
Later, the four of us ate noodles together. Dumplings, then noodles—the warmth filled the hall and dulled my senses. I finished the broth and stood.
“I’m going to sleep.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Where are you going?” Sungtae asked.
“Outside.”
“Why outside?”
“Because I want to.”
I stepped into the courtyard and lay beneath the plum tree, its petals scattered across the ground. The sun was sinking, but night had not yet come.
The sky glowed faintly violet—Zi Xia, the same hue as my name. Neither bright nor dark, suspended between the two. Time passed softly under that color. I closed my eyes before the sky grew too dark.
To the ones I missed, I sent my regards ahead of time. Meeting them in dreams would only hurt.
Everyone else could come if they wished—the ones I wanted to beat senseless, the ones I despised, Gwangseung, Gwangmyeong Left Envoy, the Lord of the Alliance, the Three Talents, even those cheap bastards who’d beaten me in gambling duels. Let them all crowd my dreams if they pleased.
The ones I truly missed—I hoped they wouldn’t appear at all.
With that thought, I drifted into sleep. Memories—or perhaps dreams—passed like a brief sunset.
“I’m giving this to you.”
“Why?”
“Because I no longer need it.”
It was Gwangseung, holding out his monk’s staff.
“I’m no monk,” I said. “What would I do with that?”
The staff’s head had a crescent blade attached. He twisted it off and removed the metal crescent entirely.
“If you’re giving it away, why take that off?”
“Because you’re soaked in killing intent. No blades for you. The shaft alone is a fine weapon—call it an unbroken conviction.”
“So it’ll never break?”
“If your conviction breaks, you’ll already be dead. So don’t worry.”
“What does that mean?”
“Exactly what it sounds like.”
I took the metal staff from him, feeling its heavy weight—nearly sixty catty, a weapon only a martial artist could wield.
“Where are you going?” I asked.
“Back.”
“Back? Now?”
“A traveler goes home because he has a place to return to. I’ve filled myself enough—it’s time to empty again.”
“And what if there’s nowhere to return to? Like me.”
He laughed. “You? You’ll always have a place. Come anytime, and I’ll shave that ugly head of yours. Don’t like that, do you? Then don’t die in some gutter. If your chest grows heavy, come find me again. Goodbye, foolish boy.”
He vanished into a swirl of dust.
I wasn’t even surprised; he was always impossible to grasp. Still, when someone you’ve dragged around disappears, the emptiness that follows is vast.
I looked around. All that remained beside me was the cold metal rod—a weapon he’d called an unbroken conviction.
I slung it over my shoulder and stood alone in the wilderness, turning in slow circles. I had nowhere to return to.
My heart was as empty as the plain, so I started walking back toward the martial world. I had no home to go back to—but plenty of bastards left to kill.
The sky was growing darker.