Return of the Mount Hua Sect (HTL 1634+)

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"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 wine 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.