Return of the Mount Hua Sect (HTL 1634+)

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"Answer me. You know, don't you?"

He must know. No, he has to know.

It wasn't about being unreasonable or trying to act coercively. The look on Cheong Myeong's face was closer to despair or fear.

Heavenly Demon had returned to life, despite Cheong Myeong being the one who had killed him. The memory of severing his neck was still vivid at his fingertips.

Heavenly Demon had crushed even the so-called 'death', the one fair end for all, and returned to the world.

That fact squeezed Cheong Myeong's heart. As if it would crush and tear it apart at any moment.

It wasn't fear of facing Heavenly Demon again. It was the terror that, even if he defeated him again, Heavenly Demon might rise once more, unaffected.

Because what happens once will inevitably happen again.

And if that was true… if Heavenly Demon, defeated with such effort, could resurrect again as though it were nothing, then what would become of the world?

How could a world without Cheong Myeong bear the weight of Heavenly Demon?

Everything might collapse. Everything Cheong Myeong tried to protect, achieve, and the legacies secured with bloodshed. All the disasters he barely managed to fend off might come crashing down at once.

That couldn't happen. It must be stopped. This time, Heavenly Demon's existence must be obliterated into complete nothingness [mu, 무(無)], so that he will never be resurrected again.

He didn't know how to achieve that, but....

Cheong Myeong stared intently at the young man in front of him. This inhuman [inoe, 인외(人外)] figure still sat with his eyes closed, his expression unfathomable.

Dalai Lama was certainly no ordinary being.

According to Potala Palace, he was a figure who had lived countless lives. Naturally, the breadth of his knowledge will be different from ordinary people.

So he must know. About the way to end that cursed being.

Sensing Cheong Myeong's gaze, Dalai Lama slowly opened his eyes.

"Siju..."

A flicker of emotion passed briefly through Dalai Lama's eyes, and Cheong Myeong recognized it too well.

It was sadness.

However, even though he could know, he couldn't understand. Why did Dalai Lama look at him with that gaze?

Then, Dalai Lama slowly shook his head.

"Siju. That is not my role."

It was indeed a serious answer. That's why the sense of rejection hit even harder.

Unconsciously, Cheong Myeong let out a faint laugh. Maybe because he had already grown attached to it—the words Dalai Lama would say, and the answer he would hear.

"It's not your role, you say?"

"Siju..."

"I understand. Not that you don't know, but that it isn't your place."

"....."

"Is that your answer?"

Cheong Myeong's voice had sunk to a low, calm tone, without a trace of hostility or coldness.

Yet just hearing it made Panchen Lama, standing nearby, shudder and look at Cheong Myeong. Then came a wave of deep confusion. Only now did Panchen Lama realize it was the weight of Cheong Myeong's voice that had instinctively drawn his attention.

'Me...?'

This should have been impossible.

Panchen Lama was Dalai Lama's closest aide. In all the world, what carried more weight than Dalai Lama's words?

Someone who lives by the sea doesn't marvel at a lake. No matter how vast a lake might be, it cannot startle one who knows the sea.

By the same logic, there was no reason for Panchen Lama to feel crushed by the weight of anyone else's voice.

Yet just moments ago, Panchen Lama had distinctly felt that weight. What on earth did that mean?

Cheong Myeong didn't give Panchen Lama time to continue his train of thought.

"Of course. Naturally, it's just as you say."

Dalai Lama's eyelashes quivered faintly at the sound of Cheong Myeong's voice. He continued speaking.

"There has always been a question I couldn't resolve."

Even after devoting himself to the Tao, and living as a Taoist for two lifetimes, he had yet to find an answer.

Cheong Myeong's gaze was as sharp as if it could pierce through Dalai Lama.

"Whether it's Taoism or Buddhism, it is the same. They tell you to cultivate to become an Immortal (sage) or a Buddha. To transcend the limitations of mere mortals who bleed when they are wounded and return to the earth when they die." 

"Siju…."

"The Taoist says. Through The Way of the Immortal [seondo, 선도(仙道)], you can escape the secular world and reach the highest level of enlightenment. The Buddhist monk says. Through meditation and asceticism, you can reach liberation. Then, you can become an Immortal and a Buddha, and you can finally open up new horizons by escaping the secular world full of filth."

Cheong Myeong's lips curled into a cold, twisted smile.

"But what meaning is there in that?"

"….."

"The lives of countless people are being trampled."

His heart trembled.

"While futures that should have continued are severed."

The pain cut deeply.

"While those who were forced to sacrifice in the name of 'good' [seon, 선(善]died innocently."

The memories of that day resurfaced before his eyes.

"Where were the Immortals and Buddhas then?"

"....."

"You just stand there watching, like a human gazing amusedly at an anthill filling with water."

"Siju..."

"You said that just moments ago. The path to enlightenment is lonely and solitary, that the self and others must inevitably differ. Being in agony and escaping from it are just the things of sentient beings who have not realized it."

Dalai Lama's face grew serious.

"Then, answer me."

"Siju..."

"What meaning is there in your Way?"

"Siju!"

It was Panchen Lama who burst out with a shout, unable to bear it any longer. But Cheong Myeong didn't even glance at him.

"You discover enlightenment alone, see a magnificent world alone, and remain great alone! So what meaning does that precious enlightenment of yours hold?"

"Siju, the noble purpose of Buddha is..."

"Shut your mouth. I'm not asking you."

Cheong Myeong cut off Panchen Lama's words sharply.

"Answer me."

"....."

"Spare me the lofty riddles and answer. What makes you any different? Between those who trample people like insects and those who watch it happen, what difference is there? If it's your lofty law to ignore the suffering of those who cannot achieve enlightenment, why should we call you great?"

No one needs such Immortals. No one needs such Buddhas.

Rather, he would scorn, revile, and mock them. For if the powerlessness of the weak is sad, the indifference of the strong is cowardly.

Perhaps it was the sheer weight of Cheong Myeong's gaze, or maybe Dalai Lama had his own words to say. After a long silence, Dalai Lama finally spoke.

"I am…. no different..."

A short sigh escaped, a sound unfitting of someone called a living Buddha.

But soon the expression on Dalai Lama's face vanished, as though affirming that he was indeed a being beyond the realm of humans.

"Even if we look upon the same things, each person understands them differently. If that is how you feel, then you are not wrong. I may not be different from 'that' either."

A faint sound of resignation escaped Cheong Myeong's lips.

In the past, people had feared Heavenly Demon and shuddered in terror, but they didn't seem to hate him. The only one who truly hated Heavenly Demon with every fiber was Cheong Myeong himself.

Cheong Myeong found it strange that others didn't share his hatred, but they, in turn, regarded him as strange. Back then, he couldn't understand where the difference stemmed from.

Now he thought he finally understood why Heavenly Demon's existence mattered so little to everyone else.

People don't resent mountains or hate the sea.

Vast, indifferent, and beyond human control. No matter how one screams or rages, nothing comes back. Now, Cheong Myeong finally understood the despair that a fragile human feels standing before it.

Dalai Lama stared directly at Cheong Myeong.

"Just know that my answer is not a mere excuse. I meant it as I said it. That is not my role."

Cheong Myeong's eyebrow twitched faintly.

He didn't ask further because he already knew the answer—whose role it was.

Even if Dalai Lama's intention differed, Cheong Myeong had no intention of entrusting that role to anyone else.

"Then…"

Cheong Myeong spat, laced with contempt.

"Why did you even come here?"

"I already told you, I came to talk about your regret."

"Regret?"

Cheong Myeong scoffed bitterly.

"Why? Do you plan on consoling me since I'm feeling regret?"

"No."

Dalai Lama slowly shook his head. Cheong Myeong clenched his jaw as if he had no need to hear another word.

"Leave."

"....."

"Even if I drown in my own regret, I have nothing to discuss with you about it."

Dalai Lama's eyelids trembled ever so slightly.

"I am human. An ordinary human, one you look down on."

"….Siju."

"And as a human being, I'm not interested in scraps thrown out of pity by a so-called great figure like you. So leave. I don't need your help."

A small, melancholic shadow crossed Dalai Lama's eyes again.

In that instant, a memory came to Cheong Myeong's mind, stopping him in his tracks.

That look—it was the same as when he had met Dalai Lama in the past.

At that time, Dalai Lama was far less human-like than now, muttering words he could hardly understand.

Three Innumerable Kalpas. [Samaseungjigeop, 삼아승지겁(三阿僧祗劫)]

He wonder why those incomprehensible words, which he will never be able to hear a detailed answer to, came to his mind now of all times.

"You misunderstand, Siju."

"Misunderstand? Ah, are you asking me to acknowledge your supposed compassion for humanity?"

Cheong Myeong sneered, but Dalai Lama calmly shook his head.

"The regret I'm talking about isn't the one you're carrying in your heart right now."

"…. What?"

"It's the regret you have yet to face." [tl note: this chapter title]

Cheong Myeong closed his mouth. After a long silence, he spoke softly.

"Regret? I've had enough of it. Even if I suddenly find something new to regret…"

"Samsara is filled with suffering. And in its depths, that suffering is named regret. Sometimes, regret taints this world with a pain worse than the pits of hell itself."

Cheong Myeong looked directly into Dalai Lama's eyes.

"So?"

"If things continue as they are… you will experience a living hell, Siju."

Dalai Lama seemed incredibly serious. Cheong Myeong gave a wry smile in response.

This is why he couldn't talk with those who think so highly of themselves.

A living hell? He had already endured it more times than he could count. Perhaps he was in one even now.

"If you're done talking, leave."

"Siju."

Dalai Lama spoke again. Unlike so far, it was a voice that felt desperate.

"Don't dismiss my words lightly. Many are entangled with you, and the regret you will experience going forward will be unlike any you've ever known. Your soul will shatter, plunging into an endless darkness…. an agony beyond enduring."

"..."

"That's why I came here—to prevent it."

Cheong Myeong's eyes, once firm, were now shrouded in darkness.

It was meaningless, not worth listening to. And yet…

"You think it can be prevented?"

"Yes, if you are willing to make a choice."

For a long time, the two stared at each other, the tension thick as smoke, intense enough to burn at a touch. Finally, Cheong Myeong spoke.

"Go on, then."

"....."

"I'll at least hear you out."

Dalai Lama let out a short sigh before speaking. He had come here solely to deliver these words.

Even so, he hesitated, knowing that Cheong Myeong would never accept it and that saying it might drive Cheong Myeong further into pain.

But he had to speak. Even the slightest chance of saving him could not be wasted. This would be the salvation of this world.

"Think of the name you hate the most, siju... the name that is most hated in the world."

As soon as Dalai Lama finished speaking, a face flashed in Cheong Myeong's mind.

Cheong Myeong, caught off guard by this memory, murmured to himself.

That face wasn't the Heavenly Demon's.

Was it because of his conversation with Dalai Lama? Or, like everyone else, could he not fully see the Heavenly Demon as a true object of importance? Or perhaps…

No, that didn't matter now.

"So, what of it?"

"That person…"

Dalai Lama's lips trembled slightly, his hesitation plain.

After a great deal of effort, the words he had come to convey finally spilled out.

"The person you're thinking of right now.... must not be killed."

In that moment, a chill colder than the glaciers of Northern Sea formed in Cheong Myeong's eyes.