Return of the Mount Hua Sect (HTL 1634+)

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His mind went blank, as if struck by lightning. He had lived a long life, experienced more than anyone else, and shocks like this were rare for Cheong Myeong.

His pupils shook like a small boat caught in a violent storm.

'What did he just say?'

'Those who don't'. What could that mean?

[tl note: CM repeating Dalai Lama's words in the previous chapter "Between those who live only one life, and those who don't."]

He turned to Dalai Lama with wavering eyes. The reddish-faced young monk continued to stare at Cheong Myeong without any signs of wavering.

Cheong Myeong was bewildered by everything.

Did this young man even understand the meaning behind his own words? Was Cheong Myeong simply the only one shaken by words carelessly thrown out? And if he knew, how could he possibly know?

It felt as if everything in the world was becoming blurred.

The boundaries that had been built up became indistinct, and the carefully erected walls crumbled. The distance that once felt so distant suddenly became suffocatingly close, only to widen again repeatedly.

Within that, just, and just once more...

"Om Mani Padme Hum."

Suddenly, a clear and pure chant pierced Cheong Myeong's ears.

At the same time, everything that had blurred came into focus. Reality returned to him. He could feel the dryness of his cracked lips and the stinging sensation in his parched throat.

Cheong Myeong instinctively wiped his face. Cold sweat had already drenched his hand.

"You…"

"Even that makes no difference. We simply live."

Cheong Myeong firmly closed his mouth. He didn't mock anymore. He could no longer dismiss Dalai Lama's words so easily.

What should he ask?

There were far too many things he wanted to ask. Just thinking of them filled his mind to the point where he could pile them up like a mountain.

But Cheong Myeong knew that he had to set all of that aside. He also knew the most appropriate question to ask at this moment.

"What do you want to tell me?"

Perhaps he sensed that no matter what he asked, he wouldn't receive a clear answer.

Cheong Myeong had already experienced it. What it was like to face someone who had transcended. Asking for answers from such beings was like throwing a stone into the sea.

Nothing would return. Unless they willingly chose to give something back.

And in that moment, Cheong Myeong realized one more thing.

Even the things they willingly offered were not easily obtained by him.

"Siju, what did you see in me?"

Cheong Myeong's lips twisted slightly in displeasure.

"I asked first."

"That's not important."

"It's a matter of basic courtesy."

"The courtesies of human affairs is important, but also insignificant."

Cheong Myeong bit his lip and then sighed deeply. It was pointless to argue about such things with him. After hesitating, he parted his lips.

".... Something I've seen before."

"What is it?"

Dalai Lama asked again, but Cheong Myeong hesitated to answer.

Because he couldn't understand it himself. Why did it feel like this young monk in front of him was connected to "that"? It was impossible to explain logically or theoretically.

Yet Cheong Myeong's instincts were telling him so.

This small figure in front of him….. who seemed so insignificant that he could break his neck with just a flick of his wrist, resembled the most powerful being he knew.

The existence whose very name was terrifying and ominous to even speak.

"…. Cheonma [Heavenly Demon]."

At Cheong Myeong's difficult utterance, Dalai Lama gazed at him quietly. His clear eyes revealed no discernible emotion.

"I don't know why. It's just..."

"It's not right to call him that."

Cheong Myeong's eyes widened in shock, but Dalai Lama continued calmly, as if he hadn't noticed Cheong Myeong's reaction.

"Cheonjama [천자마 (天子魔)] (Heavenly Son Demon). Indeed, a being worthy of bearing such a name. Just by existing, one achieves liberation from the cycle of rebirth. However, even if the result is such, it cannot be said that his desires have reached that state of liberation."

[tl note: Demon god in Buddhist scriptures. He is called by various names such as Mara, Cheonjama (天子魔, often shortened to Cheonma)]

What was he even talking about? Not even Cheong Myeong could understand these words.

"That's why it's both an unfitting name, and yet fitting for him."

"What are you talking about...."

"Meaningless words, yes. But not to you, Siju."

"Speak so that it's understandable. Stop spouting like a Zen riddles."

At this, Dalai Lama subtly lifted his head. His calm gaze met Cheong Myeong's, as if observing, contemplating, or even reaching enlightenment.

The weight of that gaze seemed to press down on Cheong Myeong's heart. Just as he was about to speak, Dalai Lama slowly opened his mouth.

"You already know, don't you?"

"….."

"That he has already set foot in the mortal realm [Impure Land (yeto)] [예토(穢土)]."

Cheong Myeong's breath caught in his throat.

The Pure Land (Jeongto) [정토(淨土)] refers to the world where Buddhas dwell.

But Yeto is the impure land, a world full of suffering— this world of humans.

"You.…"

"Siju, your body already knows, doesn't it?"

Cheong Myeong bit his lip hard. Suddenly, a hot lump rose up from his stomach. He quickly covered his mouth.

"Ugh!"

Foul-smelling black blood surged up his throat, no matter how much he tried to swallow it back down. There was no escaping this reality, no matter how much he wanted to ignore it.

Black blood trickled through the fingers covering his mouth.

"Cough!"

As Cheong Myeong coughed violently, Panchen Lama, who had been listening to the conversation, was startled and leaped to his feet.

"Dojang!"

He rushed over in an instant, but Dalai Lama stopped him with a silent, expressionless gesture.

"Young master?"

Without saying a word, Dalai Lama reached out towards Cheong Myeong. A soft golden glow radiated from his hand.

Dalai Lama's hand didn't even touch Cheong Myeong's body, but Cheong Myeong could feel the foul sensation that had been boiling inside him begin to calm. The pain that had been gnawing at him also slowly subsided.

Cheong Myeong looked at Dalai Lama in shock.

"What…. How did you do that?"

There was still no trace of martial skill from Dalai Lama. Even if Dalai Lama possessed unimaginable power, there was no way he could completely hide his strength from Cheong Myeong.

So what was this sensation Cheong Myeong was feeling? How could someone with no martial skill suppress his demonic possession? [ibma, 입마(入魔)]

Even though Cheong Myeong hadn't asked, Dalai Lama lightly shook his head as if he knew it all.

"It's not martial arts."

"....."

"Suffering born from anguish fades when the anguish is lifted. I merely pushed that anguish aside for the moment. But unless you overcome it yourself, siju, it will soon come back to haunt you."

".... Anguish? You're saying I have anguish within me?"

Cheong Myeong frowned as he asked.

Of course, many things were weighing him down. But it seemed that Dalai Lama was referring to something else.

"Human suffering always begins with a connection."

"….."

"Your body must have sensed the flow of that connection first, Siju. The encounter you can't avoid, that inevitable future."

His body.

Cheong Myeong clutched his chest. It felt as if his heart was being squeezed.

His stomach, which had barely calmed, twisted again. It felt as if his entire body was screaming that Dalai Lama's words were not wrong.

"Anguish…."

"Continued."

The Heavenly Demon.

He is coming back.

In that moment, the scene unfolded in Cheong Myeong's vision. The peak of the Hundred-Thousand Great Mountains. That horrific scene.

'Again…..'

The past he wanted to forget but could never erase.

The future he wanted to avoid but could never escape.

'Again!'

It was the finale [종막(終幕)] that he absolutely had to overcome, yet he still lacked the confidence to face this impending catastrophe [파국(破局)].

Destruction was approaching. But Cheong Myeong couldn't even control his own body.

If Cheong Myeong was plagued by anguish known as the Heavenly Demon, and if he had to stop the looming destruction….. Then there was only one place to start, by casting off the anguish that was called the Heavenly Demon.

"….How do I overcome this anguish?"

"Suffering and anguish are one's own. Escaping it is also the task of the living. That is why the path to enlightenment is lonely and solitary. In the end, the self and the other can never be the same, and you can't seek that path from anyone else."

".…."

"Others are merely observers. True suffering cannot be shared. Enlightenment is saving oneself. Do not forget this."

"…. It cannot be shared."

"That's right. However...."

The Dalai Lama pulled a white cloth from his sleeve and offered it.

Cheong Myeong stared blankly at what the Dalai Lama handed him. It was just a plain white cloth, with nothing inscribed on it.

"Simply observing is not all we can do."

A small smile bloomed on the Dalai Lama's lips.

Watching that smile, Cheong Myeong let out a short breath. He took the cloth and wiped his mouth. The white fabric quickly became stained with black blood and a foul stench.

"It's stained. Should I wrap it for you?"

"No need. It's just a stain, after all."

"….."

"Even if it's stained, torn, or frayed, a cloth is still a cloth. Its essence does not change. So what does a mere stain matter?"

It throbbed. He didn't know what was aching, but Cheong Myeong took a deep breath.

'I think I understand now.'

Inoe (Outsider/Inhuman) [인외(人外)]. The beings that are beyond human.

Those that the world calls Buddhas, immortals, or even demons. They take on human form, but can't be called human. That is why they are revered, considered sacred, inspire awe, and also feared.

They don't give the answers humans desire. But Cheong Myeong knew it wasn't their intent to withhold them.

A being that is not human can't speak like a human being. No matter how hard you try to turn mismatched gears, they will never fit together perfectly.

What humans can hear is merely the brief truth that emerges from the countless misaligned gears turning together for a fleeting moment.

This lies in the realm of 'laws' beyond intention and effort.

Cheong Myeong understood this not with his mind, but with his senses. He quietly observed the Dalai Lama.

Why had the Dalai Lama come all the way here, enduring a journey that was almost like asceticism? It must have been to deliver a message to Cheong Myeong.

But delivering that message wasn't something that could be done solely by the Dalai Lama's will. The key must lie in....

"Answer me."

"....."

"The Heavenly Demon.... is it true that demon has returned?"

"It is true. And it was heard."

Cheong Myeong's eyes narrowed.

"Then let me change the question. Is he breathing in this earth right now?"

This time, the Dalai Lama nodded without hesitation.

"Since when?"

"Five months and ten days ago."

"....."

"Perhaps three years and four months ago. Or maybe twenty-three years and two months ago."

"....."

"Or even longer ago. Eighty-seven years. Or further, countless..."

"Enough."

Cheong Myeong irritably waved his hand, his breath escaping.

He couldn't quite understand, and yet, at the same time, he could.

Cheong Myeong didn't press any further. In fact, he couldn't. The worry boiling inside his chest swallowed everything like a storm.

"Why."

"....."

"Why does he keep coming back? Why!"

"....."

"So many sacrifices were made to kill that bastard! So many people died! And yet, why is he calmly returning again? Is this the way this cursed world works? Answer me!"

Cheong Myeong's voice, filled with desperate fury, echoed like he was about to spit blood.

The Dalai Lama closed his eyes. In that small movement, Cheong Myeong felt indescribable pain. And sadness too. It was as if the Dalai Lama had been asked to explain something inexplicable.

Cheong Myeong's eyes burned with a fierce rage.

"No. No! Rules, methods—I don't care about any of that."

Cheong Myeong found it. In this blocked-up sea, he discovered the one value he could hold on to.

"What should I do?"

"....."

"Answer me. You know. So tell me."

Cheong Myeong bit down hard on his lower lip. His lips, already torn, split further and bled, but he didn't feel a thing.

This question was the most important, and the answer that would soon come was even more crucial.

Perhaps Cheong Myeong's second life had been entirely for this moment.

"How do I kill him completely?"

"....."

"So that he never resurrects again. Forever! Really forever!"

His emotions poured out like a waterfall and surged like a raging current. The pure hatred that was so intense was completely revealed.

Watching him, Dalai Lama's eyelashes quivered.

Cheong Myeong, waiting for an answer, was endlessly wavering as well.

The light named Cheong Myeong, floating alone on the sea called the world, drifted without knowing its path. Truly lonely and pitiful.