By Zephyria 
Since his voice had grown quiet, Young-pa urged him to speak louder.
“I’m sorry for tormenting you, Dallae! It was all my fault!”
The stepmother’s voice rang out loudly, echoing through the mountains. Deciding that was enough, Young-pa threw the broom aside. Beside him, Dallae wore a look of immense relief.
“Now, all that’s left is for you to marry that fellow Suryeong.”
Suryeong, who had been staying in a corner as if dead, turned pale and leaned against the wall for support. Dallae gazed at him blankly before whipping her head away.
“No. I’ve changed my mind.”
“Why?”
“I thought Lord Suryeong was the most handsome man in the world, but after seeing the brothers, I realized he isn’t.”
Young-pa inwardly felt relieved. Even in his eyes, Suryeong wasn’t much to look at, and his vacant expression didn’t sit well with him.
“Do you have a place to stay from now on?”
“I am an orphan. If the brothers would take me in, I will follow you and do the chores.”
Young-pa shook his head.
“You’ve suffered enough. From now on, live however you wish.”
“But… how?”
Young-pa summoned Suryeong and ordered him to provide the finest palanquin and strong bearers. Overwhelmed by his presence, Suryeong did as told without knowing why, and Young-pa took out jewelry and distributed it among the bearers.
“The Pacheondang hall is in Nazgol. Do you know where that is?”
“Of course we do.”
“The person you will escort is an important guest of that place. Once you arrive, the clan head will pay you ten times this amount.”
“Understood, my lord! We shall depart immediately!”
Young-pa summoned sorcery and shredded a nearby bundle of straw. Seeing this, the bearers’ faces turned ghostly white.
“I will be watching you with sorcery. If the palanquin tips, stumbles, or if any mishap occurs, your lives are forfeit.”
“There shall be no such thing!”
With Young-pa’s assistance, Dallae climbed into the palanquin. Once seated, she asked Young-pa.
“Pacheondang… isn’t that a famous place?”
“Yes. Once you arrive, look for a man named Wudam. Tell him you are a guest I sent, and he will understand.”
Dallae’s eyes widened, and she nodded slowly.
“Um….”
“What is it?”
“The broth—no, the masters… did my ancestral deities truly send you?”
Young-pa looked toward a distant hill. At the summit, a large, shading tree was faintly visible.
‘No matter how cruelly you acted, I am your friend. It is useless to say things you do not mean.’
A heart that could never be repaid. Young-pa let Yeogo’s voice, echoing in his ears, drift away. Then, he met the eyes of the maiden with crescent-shaped eyebrows.
“Yes. Your ancestral deities said they wish for you to be happy.”
Before Dallae could answer, Young-pa closed the palanquin door. The bearers, sensing his mood, departed immediately, kicking up clouds of sand as they exited the main gate.
“Aigoo, aigoo… I’m dying….”
The stepmother and daughter collapsed on the ground, wailing, but not a single villager approached them. Young-pa stretched luxuriously and looked at Biryoo.
“Do you like this outing?”
“There has been no time to be bored.”
Young-pa gave a thin smile.
“There is one last place to go.”
“How many more are there?”
“This is the last one.”
Biryoo followed Young-pa in silence. As they disappeared beyond the gate, the villagers whispered about what kind of harmony had possibly occurred.
≋ ≋ ≋
Young-pa took Biryoo to a rugged sacred mountain.
It was called Baekun Mountain. The slopes were so steep, as if carved by a deliberate axe blow, that it had been a place sought only by practitioners since ancient times. Seeing the empty huts halfway up the ridge, it seemed even the few who remained had departed.
Upon reaching the high peak, a flat and wide clearing appeared. There had once been a deserted thatched-roof house, but now only the foundation remained, the rest having rotted away.
‘Do not even think of crawling back in until you have moved all one hundred rocks!’
Standing before the house site, the stern voice of an old man seemed to echo. Young-pa brushed his fingertips against the overgrown weeds and surveyed the surroundings.
Everything he had known was demolished and gone. The modest house and storehouse, the wide wooden platform, the clutter that used to be strewn before it. The stump where he used to pile and chop firewood and the fence surrounding the area had vanished without a trace.
‘Ugh, I’m bored to death… how much longer do I have to do this, senior?’
The open space where he had practiced handstands on one hand with Wubaek, the clearing where he had fought bears bare-handed, and the stone wall where he had practiced wall-climbing, falling incessantly—all were covered in weeds and vines. Only the hieori trees, whose fruit Yeongparang used to pick as a child, flourished with lush leaves.
Possessing strange talents from a young age, Yeongparang had been a troublemaking orphan from Hanbat. While serving as a slave in a wealthy household, he used his talent and brilliance to oust the biological son and pass himself off as the heir.
When he turned seven, Master Se-mok recognized his talent and brought him to Baekun Mountain to raise him. He spent seven years training his body and seven years training his special ability, and having nothing left to learn, he descended the mountain at twenty-one.
‘Even if people call you a genius who appears once in a millennium, you must not be arrogant. The more you achieve, the more humble you must be; keep my words firmly in mind.’
Master Se-mok had seen through Yeongparang’s arrogant nature, his love for fighting, and his despicable cunning from the start and remained wary. Thus, he had never treated him with warmth. Later, when Yeongparang stepped forward to exorcise the four spirits, Master Se-mok tried to block his path and died by his hand.
‘I… I… have raised a monster!’
While people outwardly spoke of the pupil surpassing the master, behind his back, they pointed fingers at the wicked and ominous event. After Yeongparang left, Wubaek stepped forward to collect the master’s remains.
Young-pa moved his steps behind the house site. There wasn’t even a small headstone, but he knew Wubaek had buried the master there.
He cast his eyes down and muttered darkly.
“The existence you were so determined to erase from this world—that is me. Yet you have rotted away, and only I remain.”
As Young-pa suddenly dashed off, Biryoo followed behind like a shadow. They leaped over rugged mountain ridges and pushed through brush that grew as high as their waists. Young-pa stopped when they reached a dizzyingly high cliff.
“This is where I wanted to come.”
As Young-pa perched on the edge of the cliff, Biryoo sat a short distance away. They looked down at the distant depths below. Beneath the precarious and dangerous rocky mountain, red fragrant flowers were blooming in profusion. The flower field was so vast that the end was invisible, and a subtle scent wafted up to the cliff.
“Rose of sharon,” Biryoo murmured, and Young-pa nodded.
“It was a flower I liked. Whenever my heart felt lonely, I would come here and look down.”
On days when Yeongparang was severely scolded by Master Se-mok, he would sit here until the stifling feeling in his chest vanished. He came here on the day he was rejected by Seolji, and on the day Yeogo died. It was also here that he first vowed to kill all the four directional gods.
Whenever Yeongparang visited this cliff, he came alone, leaving behind even Yeogo, who was like a brother, and Wubaek, who was always by his side. This was the first time he had ever brought someone.
“There is something I want to ask, Biryoo.”
Biryoo did not answer, but Young-pa knew he was listening.
“I am the dregs of Yeongparang, with all the good parts stripped away, right? Then… where is the one made only of the good parts?”
Biryoo looked at Young-pa. When Young-pa made a puzzled expression, Biryoo finally spoke.
“He is someone you have met.”
A certain figure naturally came to mind shortly after; Young-pa remembered that the man also had a mole on his chin, just like himself.
“I knew it. I didn’t like him from the moment I first saw him.”
Feeling a hollow void in his heart, he chuckled intentionally. Biryoo merely gazed into the distance and said nothing.
As wispy clouds covered the sky, the world grew dark. Young-pa remained lost in thought until the sun dipped low in the west.
He thought that once he regained his memories, everything would become clear. But Young-pa still did not know who he was.
Half of the recovered memories belonged to someone else. Among them, the acts of being cold and despicable that led to public scorn—ousting the homeowner’s son, deceiving others, lying, and the scene of killing his master—were the only parts that belonged to Young-pa.
‘Noble Immortal Flower has defeated the monster! He saved Granny Yong-hee.’
‘I’m so glad Noble Immortal Flower protected our village.’
‘Indeed. He is as strong as he is beautiful… How wonderful it would be if we could see him every day.’
While he had been held underground for three hundred years, it was someone else who had played the role of the righteous hero.
Young-pa looked down coldly at the swaying rose of sharon. Even sitting in the flower field he had loved most in the past, he felt only melancholy and could feel no joy. It felt as if even the capacity to love flowers had been torn away from him. Young-pa knew he would never visit this place again.
“That will be all. Let’s return to Nazgol.”
Though Young-pa stood up without lingering, Biryoo did not move. The day had grown dark in the meantime, and deep shadows fell over a face that looked as if it had been carved from gold and jade.
“Before we go back, would you like to go on one last outing?”
Young-pa asked back, confused.
“A last outing? Where to?”
Biryoo’s expression was, as usual, hidden within the clouds.
Young-pa only knew that Biryoo had a secretive and taciturn personality, disliked being touched, and enjoyed alcohol; beyond that, he knew almost nothing. Naturally, he felt curious.
“Sounds good. Lead the way.”
They descended Baekun Mountain as if flying and entered a dense forest. Biryoo sprinted through nature where no paths existed, far from where humans traveled. Just as Young-pa was about to complain about what could possibly be in such a place, the trees thinned out and a river appeared.
The place, entirely unknown to Young-pa, looked like the lower reaches of the Seomjin River. To the left was a forest of oaks, and to the right, low mountains sat like a painting. Between them, a thick river wound its way.
“I’ve lived in this neighborhood my whole life, but I never dreamed such a place existed.”
Young-pa instinctively turned his head toward the western sky and let out a gasp. The evening glow was at its peak, and a red vortex tore through the darkening sky, spreading deeply. Every shade of red in the world gathered to hold a magnificent festival. Crimson, deep maroon, carmine, scarlet, and saffron. Along with them, deep purple and bright yellow blended together, dancing like flames atop the colorful clouds. While Young-pa had been trapped underground, such things had been happening every day in the world.
“It’s beautiful….”
Young-pa spun around once and then walked close to Biryoo. His pace was slow, allowing him to leisurely admire the mountain ranges and the river bathed in the sunset.
However, breathtaking views were not found only in nature. Young-pa glared at the bamboo hat casting a shadow over Biryoo’s cheek.
“Can’t you take off that hat?”
Even after being ignored, Young-pa did not give up. He turned his entire body toward Biryoo as he walked.
“I know you’re heartless, but this is too much. Is it really that hard to take off a mere hat? Do I have to pounce on you and rip it off by force?”
“If you pounce, do you think you can even take it off?”
“I’ve already done it once; why wouldn’t I be able to do it a second time?”
Young-pa smiled wickedly and clenched his fist as if he were about to attack immediately. Biryoo clicked his tongue as if annoyed.
“Stop chattering and just look at the sky.”
“The sky is the sky, and the hat is the hat. You’ll be leaving after today, won’t you? Consider this my final request and grant it.”
Biryoo’s footsteps stopped. He looked down at Young-pa with an inscrutable gaze, then slowly untied the knot under his chin.
As the bamboo hat fell onto Biryoo’s back, the low-burning light dyed his face in warm tones. Shimmering crimson waves slid over his black hair.
Was this the same feeling he had when he first saw Seolji? Young-pa’s heart grew hot, but fearing that Biryoo would be disgusted and run away if he showed even a hint of sweetness, he quickly looked ahead.
They walked along the riverbank. The whole world was silent; the only things moving were the two of them. Even the river water flowed in mere ripples, making no sound.
After walking for some time, the sun was dragged down below the mountains, and the world grew dark. A round moon poured a pale silver light over the land, and stars twinkled like scattered jewels.
Young-pa glanced at Biryoo. His gaze kept getting caught on Biryoo’s profile, causing his pace to slow repeatedly.
Dark eyes that revealed nothing and a deep gaze. A neat forehead and a straight bridge of the nose. A mouth that didn’t look easy even when smiling. Even the way his alluring hair fell over his shoulders and down to his chest drew the eye.
Young-pa realized he had momentarily forgotten to breathe. Despite being stared at so intently, Biryoo either didn’t notice or pretended not to, gazing instead at the distant mountains. Then, the lips that seemed to pull Young-pa’s gaze like a tied string moved.
“Strange. There is no wind today.”
“It’s nice and calm, but is there a reason why the wind should blow?”
Biryoo looked at Young-pa in silence. Young-pa seemed to have grown accustomed to his habit of answering with silence.
“I get it.”
As Young-pa stretched both arms toward the sky, a subtle breeze flowed from his fingertips. The soft wind swept through his clothes and braided hair, then ruffled Biryoo’s hair. Ripples formed on the river, and tree branches swayed.
“Ah….”
Young-pa realized why Biryoo had asked him to call the wind. As the Pure Wind, imbued with power, touched the foothills, the wild flowers blooming densely there swayed, and white petals floated into the air. Then, they began to flutter like sleet.
As if an invisible giant had breathed upon the flower field, countless flowers flew into the sky. Delicate petals slid upon the wind, swimming through the air before slowly descending in curves.
For a while, Young-pa stared upward with a blank face. Once he adjusted, he ran out and let the rain of flowers wash over his entire body. The petals swirled in vortices or danced softly according to the flow of the wind. No matter where he looked, it was utterly beautiful.
Young-pa summoned a single stream of gentle wind and played with the flowers in mid-air. As he nudged them, the white flowers danced, closing and opening their buds. When he withdrew the sorcery, a flower slowly landed on his palm.
“What is this weed?”
“Humans call it the wind flower.”
“Then it is my flower.”
Young-pa smiled and twirled the blossom with his finger. Meanwhile, the fragrant flowers continued to fall endlessly upon the river. A few landed on Young-pa’s head, and one landed on Biryoo’s shoulder. Young-pa and Biryoo walked along the riverbank together, bathed in the rain of flowers.
They sat in the grass by the river. Biryoo sat upright facing the river, but Young-pa took off his outer robe and jacket and lay down bare-chested.
He forgot his troubling thoughts and immersed himself in the scenery. The majestically unfolding night sky made his heart race. Wind flowers were scattered all around. Having followed Biryoo to see such an atmospheric sight, it was a more than satisfactory outing.
Young-pa turned his head to offer some trivial chatter to Biryoo, but he couldn’t easily find the words. Biryoo, staring at the distant sky, exuded an energy that suggested he should not be disturbed.
An arrogant man who acted as if the whole world were beneath his feet. A secretive person who rarely revealed where he came from or where he was going. A man who was terribly indifferent yet occasionally showed an incomprehensible kindness.
Looking at Biryoo’s profile, Young-pa thought about the things he hadn’t asked.
‘Who are you? For what reason did you come to me?’
Was he this indifferent and taciturn as a child? Where was he born, and from whom did he learn martial arts? Why did he carry a treasure used hundreds of years ago, and from which bird did he hear news of the underground? Whether it was a wife or a lover, what had happened with the person who died long ago that he still yearned for them… Various curiosities flashed through Young-pa’s mind.
“How old are you?”
What actually came out was a completely different question. To the abrupt inquiry, Biryoo answered indifferently.
“I stopped counting a long time ago.”
“Let me see… I became like this when I was twenty-seven, so let’s see.”
Young-pa tried to calculate using his fingers, but since he wasn’t sure exactly how many years he had spent in the snake cave, he gave up.
“I suppose I’m around three hundred and thirty years old.”