It’s Time To Wake Up From The Dream. (2)

Long eyelashes trembled subtly.

After a moment the trembling subsided, and the eyes that had been tightly shut slowly opened.

Those strange eyes, seeming either clouded or refusing to accept anything, were intoxicating just to look at.

They were gazing upward.

The ceiling of the lavish carriage, lavishly adorned with rare precious treasures that most people would never see in a lifetime, came into view.

The silk draped across the ceiling like waves was of the finest grade even among the best celestial silks, a rarity that made gold seem pale.

The silk was decorated with carved precious jades, and the cat’s-eye gems set between them were so valuable that a single one could buy a vast estate.

And that was not all.

The low table within reach was carved from the finest sandalwood said to be fit for kings; even the small cup on it was a craftsman’s carving from a single piece of jade.

Within reach, underfoot, and draped over the body—nothing there was without value.

Yet in the man’s eyes, who held and wore all of it, there was not a trace of desire or pride.

To him, the gaze people cast on these endlessly precious things was merely bored and empty.

Do those things truly have that value? Do they hold value equal to their price?

A small sneer curved the man’s red lips.

“Of course not…”

It’s utterly laughable.

Silk is nothing more than a slightly tougher, more presentable cloth. What real difference is there between someone wrapped in silk and someone in rags?

Those precious gems? They’re not much different from stones on the roadside—merely rocks that glitter a bit more.

That sandalwood, supposedly only for emperors and kings—it’s just wood with a different hue.

Would beasts that are not human distinguish gems from stones? Would they care about the difference between straw and silk in their nests? Would they notice the color of the wood as they climb trees?

They would not.

Only humans assign value to these meaningless things and then believe those values they invented.

Wealth, honor, righteousness, faith, bonds, ideals… so many endless, worthless things.

“Heh heh heh.”

A faint laugh escaped.

In the end, value is what people arbitrarily stick onto things. It can be peeled away at any time.

But people forget that they created those values, and they cling to them, even wagering their most precious lives.

The man picked up the wine bottle on the low table and tilted it slowly; amber fine wine flowed into the jade cup.

“Foolish… and stupid.”

They mock the moths that rush blindly toward the flame, while believing their own act of sacrificing themselves for the worthless is noble.

How could he not laugh? The world is a vast comedy filled with tragedy.

Savoring the rich aroma, the man raised the cup. His reflection trembled faintly over the amber wine.

He stared at himself, draped in costly metals, painted in heavy makeup, wrapped in red and white silk—and he laughed.

Jang Ilso mocked everything—but most thoroughly, he mocked himself.

The many who lived outside this carriage chased what each believed to be valuable—but though Jang Ilso knew it was all meaningless, he refused to let go of any of it.

Even if he could not feel the difference between coarse cloth and silk, he wrapped himself in the finest silk; even knowing cheap liquor and expensive wine are the same once swallowed, he forced only the rarest into his mouth.

“Heh heh heh heh.”

Jang Ilso drained the cup at a gulp.

If risking one’s life for the worthless and clinging to the meaningless are conditions of being human, Jang Ilso was the most perfect human of all.

His gaze turned to the small, square window.

They gather, each holding their own ideal.

Someone seeks alliance, someone power, another loyalty, and someone else peace.

All with different aims converge in one place. Their thick, suffocating desires will swirl together.

Jang Ilso’s lips, red as blood, moved.

“It’s about time… to prepare to receive them.”

A whirlpool will form.

On the board he created—Shaolin, the Nine Great sects, Mount Hua, the Heavenly Friends Alliance, and even the Four Sects Alliance.

What will perish in that terrible whirl are not people or lives, but ideals—illusions someone believed worthy to pursue.

To those intoxicated by ideals, the world will taste sweetest—like moths enchanted by the flame, unaware their wings burn.

But now…

“It’s time to wake from the dream.”

A radiant smile spread across Jang Ilso’s lips. Soon the world would be painted with blood.

❀ ❀ ❀

“Hoo… hoo…”

No more sweat flowed. His pallid complexion, devoid of any color, made Geum Yang-Baek’s condition unmistakable.

But his feet did not cease for a moment. He would run until his last breath left him.

Glancing at Geum Yang-Baek’s state, Hyun Jong quietly addressed Tang Gunak.

“Tang Family Lord…”

“It’s impossible.”

But Tang Gunak, as if already anticipating Hyun Jong’s words, shook his head without hesitation before Hyun Jong could finish.

“His dantian is shattered and his innate qi is flowing backward. Even the Tang Family’s medicine cannot save him.”

“…Isn’t the Tang Family the one who even saved that half-dead Chung Myung?”

“Alliance leader. I fully understand your sorrow, but we are neither Hua Tao nor immortals. There are things we can do and things we cannot.”

“…”

“We could save the Mount Hua’s Sword Saint because he could endure treatment. But not Sect leader Geum. A broken cup, no matter how carefully glued, cannot hold water.”

“Hmm.”

Even as he listened, he couldn’t readily understand.

For outwardly Chung Myung’s wounds seemed far worse. Yet Chung Myung could be saved while Geum Yang-Baek had no remedy.

But Hyun Jong did not press further. He was no expert in medicine, and Tang Gunak was one of the foremost—who was he to argue medicine with him?

He glanced toward Tang Soso with a hopeful heart, but Tang Soso only shook her head as well.

As Hyun Jong secretly sighed, Geum Yang-Baek, struggling to keep up, suddenly staggered and spat out a mouthful of blood.

“Sect leader!”

The startled disciples rushed toward Geum Yang-Baek, but he waved them off and opened his eyes wide.

“Keep going! Don’t worry, just run, now!”

The faces of the Southern Island Sect’s disciples drained of color, but they could not disobey the stern Sect leader’s command. Gritting their teeth, they started running again.

At that moment Gwak Hwan-So approached Geum Yang-Baek’s side.

“Sect leader, let me carry you!”

But Geum Yang-Baek stubbornly shook his head and ran on in silence. Anxious, Gwak Hwan-So caught up and grabbed his arm.

“Then let me at least lend you my qi…”

“Don’t do pointless things.”

Geum Yang-Baek sharply rebuked him and freed Gwak Hwan-So’s hand from his arm.

“Sect leader! This is no time for stubbornness! At this rate…”

“I’ll die?”

“…”

“Is that what you wanted to say?”

When Gwak Hwan-So fell silent, Geum Yang-Baek snorted a laugh—not mocking. Despite his firm, cold gestures, his eyes showed warmth toward his disciples and Gwak Hwan-So.

“I too know the value of my life. If being carried would save me, I would have done it already.”

Geum Yang-Baek said, panting; yet his tone remained calm, making Gwak Hwan-So bite his lip.

“But if it won’t help me a bit, don’t waste your strength on me. We haven’t reached the Northern lands yet, have we?”

“Don’t say that! Why would Sect leader die? Your disciples are still alive—so you must live too! You must live to reestablish the Southern Island sect’s foothold in the Northern lands!”

Gwak Hwan-So’s voice trembled with tears, but Geum Yang-Baek only smiled and did not reply.

Gwak Hwan-So knew too how hollow his words were.

“Hwan-so.”

“…Yes, Sect leader.”

“I’m glad you’re here.”

Gwak Hwan-So’s shoulders trembled. Geum Yang-Baek coughed and turned to him; his face was so pale it had a bluish cast.

“If you weren’t here, even in death I wouldn’t have closed my eyes. But… with you here, dying isn’t so frightening. Haha.”

“Sect leader…”

A crooked laugh escaped Geum Yang-Baek’s mouth.

He had come to die. With no way to live, he thought a final sword dance would suffice—his last duty as the Southern Island’s Sect leader.

But they were still alive. Perhaps, crossing that river, they could carry the Southern Island Sect’s name forward.

So why fear death now?

Geum Yang-Baek quietly looked at Gwak Hwan-So. Would it be strange to say he found his attempt to hold back an impending sob reassuring?

‘You’ve changed a lot.’

Gwak Hwan-So no longer exuded recklessness. Though still young to lead a sect, he would not lack in fulfilling his duties—indeed, he might do far better.

And so…

Yet Geum Yang-Baek swallowed the rising blood in his throat.

‘But not yet.’

They had not reached safety. There were mountains to cross. The only reason he clung to this stubborn life was simple: even a broken life was still needed for now.

If only he could send them to the Northern lands.

If his disciples survived and the Southern Island Sect’s name lived on, he could laugh without regret even as his body was pierced by a thousand spears at the moment of death.

‘Now I understand.’

He looked at the Three Waves emblem engraved on his chest, then planted his feet and struck the ground with force.

“Summon your last strength! Just cross that river now!”

“Yes, Sect leader!”

Hearing his disciples’ tearful replies, Geum Yang-Baek smiled.

‘There are things more important than life.’

And that thing stood by his side now, steadfast and resolute.