WeTried Translations
Translator/Editor: ZERO_SUGAR
Discord: https://dsc.gg/wetried
Chapter 161: If I Hear the Dao in the Morning, I Can Die by Evening (1)
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Whoooooosh-
The pouring rain seemed to melt Dongting Lake.
Were the goosebumps rising across his rain-soaked skin caused by the cold water, or by the terror that had slithered beneath the lake?
Moyong Hyeok stood there, dazed.
‘What did I just see...?’
He was a peak-realm master of the Moyong Family, one of the Five Great Families. Over the course of his life, he had seen and heard of countless strange things. He had even experienced the strangest of them himself.
The calamity that had struck Liaoning.
The demon that had left its mark on the Moyong Family.
He had not eaten that eerily red fruit, so he had not taken that unsettling thing into himself. Still, he had witnessed every disaster from close by.
That was why he had believed it.
There could not be many things left in this world that would surprise him.
Had he not seen people who died of a strange disease come back to life, neither human nor ghost? Surely nothing could be more bizarre than that.
Yet...
‘A Flood Dragon...’
And young martial artists who had only just passed twenty, standing against such a creature.
Even compared to the bizarre incident in Liaoning, this was no less extraordinary.
And once again, Moyong Hyeok had been utterly powerless.
‘I couldn’t do anything.’
The person young family head Moyong Jun had repeatedly asked him to save. The Moyong Family’s benefactor.
Moyong Hyeok had been prepared to die for Yeon Sowol, yet before the Flood Dragon, that resolve had amounted to nothing.
‘I nearly threw my life away for nothing.’
In the end, it was their benefactor who had saved his life.
If not for Yeon Sowol’s force of presence, enough to make even a dragon wary, everyone here would have died today.
Filled with self-reproach, Moyong Hyeok trudged toward Yeon Sowol.
He had nothing to say, but he went anyway.
When he nearly reached the head of the young man lying spread-eagled on the ground, Moyong Hyeok heard him mutter.
“I want to become stronger... Stronger.”
Moyong Hyeok stopped short.
‘He wants to become stronger? Even stronger?’
When the Flood Dragon had appeared, every martial artist present had frozen.
Jin Hyeogo, victor of the martial arts tournament, Shin Si-ye of the Sword Pavilion, and even Moyong Hyeok himself had found their lifelong martial arts meaningless as their minds were suppressed, leaving them unable to move.
Only two young men had overcome that terror.
One had endured lightning.
The other had threatened the Flood Dragon.
Won Huiseung had been incredible for enduring the lightning, but it was Yeon Sowol who had driven the Flood Dragon away.
And that Yeon Sowol was saying,
“I want to become stronger...”
Moyong Hyeok did not know what he should say.
Just where was this boy looking?
No one could blame him if victory had intoxicated him, if his pride had swelled past self-respect into boundless arrogance.
Did he intend to surpass even that Flood Dragon?
At his age?
Right after a battle like this?
Countless words rose to Moyong Hyeok’s throat.
Yet he could not bring himself to say any of them. He only murmured quietly.
“Ha has a good friend.”
“Hm?”
Only then did Yeon Sowol notice Moyong Hyeok and push himself up. He was so exhausted that even his qi sense was no longer working properly.
“Ah, Great Hero Moyong. Thank you so much for today.”
Yeon Sowol sprang up and cupped his fist. Moyong Hyeok awkwardly declined the gesture.
“I am the one who owes you my life. I cannot accept such words. Besides, did you not come this far for Ha’s sake? The Moyong Family will never forget this.”
“Did you... know Ha well?”
Yeon Sowol’s gaze darkened. His voice grew slightly hoarse.
Moyong Hyeok understood that feeling well.
Moyong Ha had been that kind of person. Someone people could not help but love.
Everyone in the family had liked her.
“...I did.”
But Moyong Ha was gone now.
No. There was something in the family home that moved and spoke with Moyong Ha’s body, but Moyong Hyeok did not consider it to be Moyong Ha.
Many people in the family still held hope.
They hoped those things that had returned to life could truly be brought back. That they could be restored as the exact people they once were.
Moyong Hyeok did not believe that.
No, he even suspected it was a wedge an unknown demon had driven into the Moyong Family.
It pained him, but he believed there would be no peace in the future unless every one of those revived things was killed.
People coming back to life?
It was all lingering hope and delusion.
That was why Moyong Hyeok felt so low.
Yeon Sowol smiled.
He had sensed that sorrow.
‘They really were close.’
Some feelings, some bonds, could be proven without a word. A twitch of the face or the smallest sound of breath was enough.
Moyong Hyeok.
They had only met today, yet through Moyong Ha, Yeon Sowol could clearly feel that they were connected.
For some reason, it felt warm.
Warm enough to seep through the pouring rain.
That was why Yeon Sowol could still smile after everything that had happened.
“Then you are not an outsider to me either, Great Hero Moyong.”
Moyong Hyeok’s eyes trembled.
A young man who refused to treat him as an outsider simply because he had known Moyong Ha.
Rather than looking for something he might gain from a peak-realm master of the Moyong Family, he was declaring that he would look after Moyong Hyeok himself.
The breadth of his heart should have seemed absurd, but the feats Yeon Sowol had achieved made it deeply moving instead.
At that moment, a thought suddenly came to Moyong Hyeok.
Perhaps.
‘Perhaps, if it is this man...’
Could he truly make it happen?
Could he turn the lingering hope and delusion his family held into reality?
If it was this man.
There was no basis for it.
No brilliant theory.
He simply had that feeling.
“...Where will you go now, Young Master Yeon?”
A faint yet deep hope lingered in Moyong Hyeok’s voice.
“Now...”
Yeon Sowol looked around.
His gaze was full of regret.
Then he looked directly at Moyong Hyeok and answered.
“I am going to Wudang.”
“Ah.”
Wudang Mountain.
North reveres Shaolin. South respects Wudang.
Along with Shaolin, it was considered the root of martial arts under heaven. Like Mount Tai and the Big Dipper, it was a focal point of the martial world.
Moyong Hyeok fell silent.
He did not know why this young hero sought Wudang, but anything involving Yeon Sowol and Wudang could not be trivial. He could not dare add a word to it.
All he could do was make one last request.
“Someday. Whenever that day comes, please visit the Moyong Family at least once. The Moyong Family will... surely repay you.”
“Yes. I will.”
Moyong Hyeok watched Yeon Sowol nod readily, then turned away.
His eyes settled on the fragments of the pearl scattered across the ground.
“Young Master Yeon, that must be the wish-granting pearl the Flood Dragon was creating. Though it has shattered, the transformations within it should not have been exhausted.”
He reached out and gathered the fragments.
Strangely, whenever broken pieces touched, they slowly fused together as if they were red mercury, becoming whole again.
Moyong Hyeok carefully gathered every fragment of the wish-granting pearl from the ground.
Not a single piece was missed.
When he had finished, a red pearl the size of a fist remained.
“Please take it.”
“Hmm...”
Yeon Sowol looked uneasily at the pearl held out to him.
He had seen it clearly.
He knew very well what it had been made from, and what it had looked like.
It now looked like an ordinary smooth pearl, but he could not bring himself to touch it when he remembered that it had been formed by melting people together.
Moyong Hyeok spoke firmly.
“I know. It is an evil object created through an immoral method. But even something like this can be handled properly. Especially if you are going to Wudang, I am certain it will be useful.”
After Moyong Hyeok put it that way, Yeon Sowol could no longer refuse.
“...Thank you.”
Yeon Sowol carefully accepted it with both hands, tore a strip from his clothes, wrapped it carefully, and placed it inside his robes.
Moyong Hyeok watched him silently before suddenly speaking.
“Thank you for avenging Ha. She would surely be grateful as well. So please, Young Master Yeon, put down the burden in your heart now. I hope you can find even a little peace.”
None of it was Young Master Yeon’s fault.
Moyong Hyeok had heard a rough account from Moyong Jun. He could guess at the guilt Yeon Sowol carried.
That was why he said it.
But instead of answering, Yeon Sowol turned his head and sang a verse.
“After the guests depart and the wine wears off in the deep of night,
I lift a red candle again to admire the remaining flowers.”
Moyong Hyeok’s lips trembled.
After a long while, he finally spoke.
“Li Shangyin...”
Moyong Ha’s favorite poet.
The feeling of facing the flowers left behind alone at night, after everyone had departed from a flower-viewing outing.
Moyong Hyeok could say no more.
He only gave Yeon Sowol a deep bow and made one final request.
“Please... Someday, please come to Liaoning.”
If the flowers truly remained.
If that was really so.
Perhaps...
Moyong Hyeok swallowed the rest of his words.
* * *
The rain stopped.
The sky beyond the scattered clouds turned golden.
A sunset that seemed to set the whole world ablaze.
Yeon Sowol returned to Yuezhou by boat.
Everyone in Yuezhou had come out to the shore of Dongting Lake to watch him.
It was frighteningly quiet.
What could the citizens who had broken the travel ban and come outside, or the government troops who had guarded Dongting Lake under Yang Hoeam’s command, possibly say?
The waves of Dongting Lake where the Flood Dragon hid.
Yeon Sowol and the Jianghu martial artists gliding across them in their boats.
Citizens still pale-faced.
Officers gasping for breath.
Only their eyes darted anxiously between them.
Creak.
At last, Yeon Sowol stepped off the boat onto the paved stone road.
Everyone swallowed hard.
‘What will he say?’
It had been a long day.
An unbelievable day.
A day that still could not be believed.
What would the only person capable of placing a full stop on that day say first?
Would he declare their thrilling victory over the demon?
Or, now that everything had been revealed, would he sternly rebuke the government troops who had stood with the wicked Yang Hoeam and obstructed him?
Yeon Sowol whispered to one of the White-Robed League members.
The man immediately ran off, then hurried back while pulling a cart.
The cart was piled high with...
“Wine?”
Was he going to celebrate their victory with drink?
Yet Yeon Sowol was quiet.
There was not the slightest sign of excitement on his face.
When the cart piled with wine jars arrived, Yeon Sowol filled a large cup.
He held it in both hands and raised it once toward the sky before pouring it over the waves of Dongting Lake.
Once.
The next cup went toward the east.
Twice.
Then toward the west.
Then south, where the buildings and people stood thickest.
Four times in total.
During that time, the White-Robed League members moved busily and placed various items in wooden boxes.
Bloodstained clothing. Swords melted by lightning. Wooden plaques. Final letters.
Anything their hands had touched while they were alive.
The belongings of the White-Robed League members and Hunan martial masters who had died in this battle.
Yeon Sowol stopped before every box laid out like a gravestone and filled a cup.
He poured the full cup before the box.
Then he filled it again and drank it in one gulp.
One cup.
Two cups.
Three cups.
Four cups.
He did not leave out a single one.
Before every death, he offered a cup and drank one himself.
They had only just finished a fierce battle.
He did not use internal energy to drive away the intoxication.
The wine should have gone straight to his head.
Yet although he smelled of drink, Yeon Sowol stood straight without staggering.
He lowered his head before the dead in silent tribute.
“...”
“...”
“...”
No one spoke.
To be honest, it was an unfamiliar custom to them.
It resembled the customs of Yeon Sowol’s homeland, Korea, more than anything in this world.
Still, its meaning reached all their hearts.
Then Yeon Sowol began walking.
Step. Step. Step.
Flinch!
He stopped before the government troops huddled together in one corner.
They drew their necks in even further before him.
They looked no different from defeated soldiers.
Now that they had seen Yang Hoeam’s true nature, none of them had anything to say.
They could not lift their lowered heads.
Yeon Sowol stood before them.
He looked at the wooden coffin placed among them.
The commander’s banner draped over it revealed its owner.
The coffin of Prefectural Inspector General Shin Gilrip.
“...”
Yeon Sowol placed a full cup on top of it.
Unlike before, he did not pour it onto the ground. He gently set it down.
Nor did he drink before it himself.
He only bowed his head silently, then turned away, leaving the brimming cup behind.
The martial officials and soldiers moved aside one after another, clearing a path so as not to block him.
Yeon Sowol paused for a moment, then murmured,
“...Let us rest for today. It has been a long day.”
Perhaps because the surroundings were so quiet, everyone heard him despite his soft voice.
Trudge. Trudge.
Yeon Sowol walked on.
The smell of wine followed him.
Won Huiseung, blackened by lightning. Jin Geol in tattered clothes. So Hye staggering. Ha Jeop, Namgung Ujin, Hwangbo Hwi, and his friends, all still dazed.
Only they followed behind him.
The White-Robed League members silently gave deep bows. The veteran martial artists of Hunan quietly cupped their fists.
The martial officials offered military salutes, pressing down on their sword hilts with one hand and bowing their heads.
Countless gazes followed Yeon Sowol, but no one dared chase after him and make a disturbance.
Only one person ran out and stood beside him.
He was a very wealthy man, famous throughout Yuezhou.
The man trembled nervously as he said something. Yeon Sowol watched him for a moment before slowly bowing his head.
“Thank you.”
The wealthy man could not hide his delight despite his trembling. He quickly led Yeon Sowol to his magnificent home.
A little later, the wealthy man and his family emerged from the house with armfuls of luggage. They moved into a nearby tavern.
When people asked why, the wealthy man cried out with a reddened face.
“The hero is exhausted. How can I let him sleep just anywhere? I have emptied my home and left only the servants behind, so Young Master Yeon may stay as long as he wishes, until he has fully recovered from his fatigue!”
Pride shone brightly on the wealthy man’s face.
“Ah...”
“I envy him. If only I had a house like that...”
“You have done a truly great thing.”
“As expected of a great man.”
Everyone who heard him sighed and secretly felt jealous, but each bought wine and food and placed them on the wealthy man’s table.
The wealthy man never refused as he ate and drank himself into a stupor throughout his stay at the tavern.
Several days passed like that.
While Yeon Sowol and his companions did not step outside and rested at the wealthy man’s home, the veteran martial artists of Hunan gathered every day to look over Dongting Lake and discuss what should happen next.
Then,
Clatter! Clatter!
A martial official with a grim expression left through the city gate.
A memorial detailing everything that had happened was tucked inside his robes.
“Hyah! Hyah!”
He rode toward White Flower Palace, where the Emperor resided, toward the center of the world.
Footnotes:
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