Chapter 1783 – Return of The Mount Hua Sect
“Master!”
Panchen Lama
quickly caught up to Dalai Lama, who was striding far ahead.
Even though Dalai
Lama’s pace was unexpectedly swift, it wasn’t hard for Panchen Lama, who had
mastered martial arts, to catch up. Yet, even after easily reaching him, Panchen
Lama couldn’t bring himself to speak right away.
Dalai Lama, who
continued walking forward without so much as a glance back, appeared unusually
lonely today.
Loneliness and Dalai
Lama. Could there be two words more ill-matched?
And yet, on the
other hand, it somehow suited him perfectly.
The world often
envisions a great and majestic Buddha adorned in golden splendor, but in
reality, Dalai Lama resembled a withered old tree.
Panchen Lama
watched Dalai Lama’s back for a moment before finally parting his heavy lips.
“Where are you
headed?”
“I am returning
to where I came from.”
“Right now?”
“My task here is
complete. It’s time I return.”
Dalai Lama’s
voice remained calm and composed, as always.
“....It’s far too
dark. Would it not be better to wait for dawn?”
Panchen Lama
voiced his concern, gazing at the pitch-black world surrounding them.
“Your body has been
weakened. There is no need to rush.”
“Just as the full
moon will inevitably wane, dawn will come once the night deepens. But there are
times when waiting alone changes nothing.”
“..…”
“In those
moments, one must bring forth the dawn themselves.”
His voice stayed
gentle, yet it harbored an unyielding firmness, leaving no room for
negotiation.
Panchen Lama let
out a deep sigh. Once Dalai Lama made up his mind, there was no choice but to
follow, even if it seemed reckless in Panchen Lama’s eyes.
Dalai Lama’s
grand vision lay beyond what Panchen Lama, still on the path of spiritual
practice, could comprehend. So rather than struggle to understand, he could
only inquire.
“Then, have you
achieved the purpose of coming here?”
Dalai Lama, who
had been walking without pause, finally stopped.
Then, slowly, he
turned his head. He looked back at the distant tent, huddled alone in the
darkness. A small light still flickered faintly from within.
“I have delivered
what needed to be said.”
“....”
“And I have also learned
what I needed to know.”
“....What is it?”
Instead of
answering, Dalai Lama shook his head.
“It is not
something that concerns you, Lama.”
Panchen Lama let
out a low groan of frustration. His gaze, too, fell on the tent, where the
small light still shone.
“Did something
change as you had hoped?”
Dalai Lama lifted
his head to the starlit sky and answered.
“Nothing has
changed.”
Panchen Lama was
visibly taken aback.
“Master. Then why
did you make this long journey? Did that Taoist of Mount Hua respond in a way
you didn’t expect?”
That would have
been surprising enough, but Dalai Lama’s reply was even more startling.
“I knew all
along.”
“....Pardon?”
“….”
“You knew... that
nothing would change?”
Dalai Lama slowly
nodded.
“Then why did
you....”
When Panchen Lama’s
voice trailed off in shock, Dalai Lama gently closed his eyes.
“Some call me a
living Buddha. Others claim I’m a devil deceiving the world.”
“….”
“But I am just a
human.”
“Master…”
“Perhaps that’s
why.”
Suddenly, a clear
tear rolled down one side of Dalai Lama’s face.
“Because I am
still a human trapped in the fetters of worldly desires, I couldn’t just sit
back and watch.”
Panchen Lama did
not understand Dalai Lama’s words. He only felt an inexplicable ache in his
chest.
“Even if it’s in
vain, even if it’s meaningless... shouting until the end, grieving and
yearning. That is what it means to be human.”
It was difficult
to grasp. The world was on the brink of being engulfed by dark clouds. Even Panchen
Lama knew that much. He had assumed that Dalai Lama’s journey to the Central
Plains was part of an effort to stave off the encroaching darkness.
But his master
had come simply out of compassion for one solitary soul?
Even Panchen Lama,
who revered Dalai Lama as his master, found this hard to accept.
“Master, weren’t
you trying to stop a great evil? Wasn’t your intent to gather the will of the Central
Plains to confront him?”
Dalai Lama did
not answer. Nothing was clear, and the frustration that had built up made Panchen
Lama raise his voice despite himself.
“You know, don’t
you? He will only grow stronger. No, he is
growing stronger. If we don’t prepare properly, this time—”
“That’s not it.”
“....Pardon?”
Panchen Lama
questioned with a perplexed expression.
“Existence arises
from purpose. But sometimes, purpose arises from existence.”
Dalai Lama’s
words were still shrouded in mystery. He did not attempt to explain further, as
if the explanation itself was beyond reach.
Once more, Dalai
Lama’s gaze fell on the tent.
Rather than
gazing into the far distance, where those lost in the sea of suffering could
not reach, he chose to focus on the near, within reach of their hands.
“He has already chosen
his path. No one’s words will sway him from it.”
“Is that wrong?”
Dalai Lama
lowered his gaze.
“That is
absolutely correct. But it’s also incredibly regrettable.”
“…..”
“It is a path
full of thorns. A path where he will endlessly scar his own soul with marks
that will never fade.”
“A path of
suffering….”
“It is only a
hope.”
Now, tears began
to flow from both of Dalai Lama’s eyes.
“When the day
comes when he grows weary of that suffering, when he wants to let everything
go... I hope that the sincerity within those rough words will become a guiding
light on his path.”
It was all too
ambiguous, yet Panchen Lama felt he was beginning to understand.
Dalai Lama was
too grand a being to be moved by mere personal affection. But here he was,
speaking from a place of deep, human compassion.
So, one should
not interpret these words literally. What the Dalai Lama seems to be suggesting
is that the key to overcoming the hardships approaching this world lies in the
human connection and personal ties.
‘But then....’
Panchen Lama’s
gaze wavered slightly.
‘Does my Master
truly believe that dojang will become the key to saving the world?’
If that’s the
belief, it could explain these strange actions.
But...
considering the scale of the disaster approaching this world, the key seems far
too small and insignificant. Is this truly the intention of the Dalai Lama?
The Dalai Lama
began to walk again.
Looking at that
composed and unwavering back, Panchen Lama realized there was nothing more he
could learn.
Even if the Dalai
Lama might have done everything he needed to, there remained matters that
humans must face.
“Then, Master,
what should we do?”
At that moment,
the Dalai Lama turned to look at Panchen Lama.
Panchen Lama
could not hide the sense of distance he suddenly felt. An immeasurable gap,
vast and unreachable.
Still, he waited
for an answer.
“We must prepare
for what is to come, and also have faith.”
He quickly
understood the part about preparation. What they needed to do was to brace for
the difficulties that would inevitably arrive.
For themselves,
for the world, and for all living beings in this world.
But the mention
of faith was not as easily comprehended.
“Faith... in
what, Master?”
The Dalai Lama’s
deep gaze grew contemplative.
“We must believe
that even though people may be hurt by the world, shaken by relationships, or
betrayed, we must believe that the human will ultimately does not falter.”
“Do you mean that
about Cheong Myeong dojang?”
The Dalai Lama
fell silent for a moment. His gaze seemed to reach the far-off sky, or perhaps
something even beyond that.
“Yes, but perhaps
also....”
His eyes were as
calm and deep as a tranquil lake.
“Perhaps these
are words meant for a will that has lost its direction.”
❀ ❀ ❀
Sraak.
Ho Gamyeong
lifted the curtain hanging at the entrance of the tent with one hand, a frown
appearing on his face.
Despite being an
improvised setup, the inside of the tent, which was extremely luxurious, was in
utter disarray. Empty liquor bottles were scattered everywhere, and the strong
stench of alcohol mixed with the smoke of incense burned across the tent,
causing a choking smell strong enough to make one cough reflexively.
Though Ho
Gamyeong was familiar with such sights, the situation was worse than usual
today.
‘This much….’
The incense smoke
was so thick that it obscured visibility. Even Jang Ilso, who used to personify
the term ‘debauchery’ in Guizhou, never smoked this much incense.
And now the
situation was worse, as they were on a battlefield where an attack could occur
at any moment.
Biting his lips
to suppress a sigh, Ho Gamyeong strode inside. Every step kicked away something
on the ground.
The tent was so
vast that it couldn’t be called a mere room, but there was an area suitable to be
called a makeshift bathroom.
As he approached,
he could see white steam wafting out. It wasn’t the usual incense smoke. Ho
Gamyeong coughed slightly before speaking up.
“Ryeonju-nim, I
have a report.”
Although there
was no response, Ho Gamyeong dutifully continued his report.
“The leader of
Hao Sect infiltrated the enemy camp and encountered the Mount Hua Chivalrous
Sword. After a fierce struggle, he barely escaped and returned.”
There was still
no response.
“We managed to
sow some seeds of distrust among them, but overall, the operation was
unsuccessful.”
He paused,
waiting for any sign of acknowledgment, but there was none. Ho Gamyeong felt a
sudden urge to tear the curtain away and shout.
“The peculiar
part is Hao Sect Leader’s report… He says the Mount Hua Chivalrous Sword,
Cheong Myeong, appears to have suffered severe internal injuries. If that’s
true, now is our best chance to press our advantage. Yet, how trustworthy his
account is...”
He trailed off,
lips dry and throat parched. The gravity of his report required no elaboration.
Yet Jang Ilso showed no reaction.
“Ryeonju....”
Unable to hold
back, Ho Gamyeong was about to raise his voice when—
Swish!
The curtain in
front of him was suddenly drawn aside, and a cloud of white steam poured out.
“Hm....”
Emerging slowly
from within the mist was Jang Ilso.
Water dripped
from his long, damp hair, and countless scars from over the years marked his
body.
“It must be true.”
“Ryeonju-nim...”
Ho Gamyeong found
himself momentarily at a loss for words.
Contrary to
expectations, Jang Ilso looked unusually serene. He was not drowsy from the
narcotic smoke.
“How reliable do
you think Dam Yeohae’s words are....” [tl note: Dam Yeohae is thousand faced real
name if u forget]
Step. Step.
Jang Ilso,
dressed only in a long cloth wrapped around his lower half, walked past Ho
Gamyeong and grabbed a large cup on a table.
“It doesn’t
matter, Gamyeong-ah.”
“....Ryeonju-nim?”
“It doesn’t
matter if it’s true or not, if that guy is injured or not. None of that
matters.”
Jang Ilso’s lips
twisted into a mischievous smile as he stared at the large, polished cup. His
reflection smiled back, more confident than anyone.
“What matters isn’t
him but me, isn’t it?”
With a wave of
his hand, the heavy incense smoke inside the tent was swept out in one great
gust.
“Ryeonju-nim...”
“I feel
extraordinarily good. My mind, which had been shrouded in fog, has finally
cleared.”
Ho Gamyeong
shivered briefly. He could tell, from that gleam in Jang Ilso’s eyes, that
these words were not meant to reassure anyone.
Up until
yesterday, things had been different. The hazy, indistinct something that had
enveloped Jang Ilso was gone, replaced by a piercing clarity.
“Ryeonju-nim!”
For a moment Ho
Gamyeong filled with worry, strode toward Jang Ilso.
“There’s no
reason to drag this out any longer.”
Jang Ilso emptied
his cup in one swig and tossed it aside.
Clang!
The bronze cup
rang sharply as it rolled across the floor.
“Before this good
feeling fades... let’s end the war. We’re ready now.”
Everything was
vividly clear. Even if, at the end of it all, nothing remained.
If he couldn’t
hold it in his hands completely, then at the very least, he would not yield the
right to shatter it. That resolve burned unshakably in Jang Ilso’s eyes.
❀ ❀ ❀
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