1234567tea

[1234567tea]

Can I make a request to Chung Myung x reader?..Where did Chung Myung meet reader, his lover/wife after meeting again 100 years when they were reborn?..Chung Myung and his group had to meet a rich nobleman at the head to ask for their help so when Chung Myung heard a melodious voice because that voice did you ever sing to him while his head was on your lap?..When Chung Myung stayed with the group for a while and followed the voice to where the voice was..But he couldn't see your face because your face was covered..So the next night, you were still under the cherry blossom tree where Chung Myung sneaked out to make sure it was you.. I want some angst then extremely fluff😍💕💕

I'm sorry if I make too long..I don't know how to explain..I want to ask.. Does you read the novel?

My very first request, yay! I was so excited about it and I ended up writing it almost immediately, I'm not sure if I managed to write exactly what you wanted so I hope you tell me if there's something bad in there, I'm still learning y'know (; I honestly enjoyed writing this a lot yet maybe I added a little bit spices of mine, and I hope it's still good enough for you.

Edit: Ah silly me, I forgot to answer that last question ಠ⁠◡⁠ಠ yes I do read the novel, I haven't finished it yet though. I'm still stuck at Ch.1260 and it's hard to read super fast because 1st: I lack of free time and 2nd: the major events (almost all of them) got spoiled for me (AVOID SPOILERS AT ANY COST PUH-LEASE)

One More Thing to Regret

[Chung Myung x Reader]

Summary: He is given another chance to be a better husband for her, and so he will take it without hesitation.

WC: 8k

Note: the events take place after the spars or conference between Mount Hua and Wudang. No spoilers tho.

The chapter contains: a bit of angst, fluff, slow burn, tell me if I've forgotten anything because I'm horrible when it comes to warnings <:

Enjoy!

☆ミ

Despite the dark night that wrapped the outside world in shadows, this room was lit so brightly it could give someone a headache.

Add to that the excessive amount of alcohol consumed by disciples of all ranks, from the eldest to the youngest. Though the senior disciples didn’t indulge quite as recklessly as the others, the atmosphere was still overwhelmingly energetic.

Chung Myung chuckled as he watched some of the disciples who were nearly wiped out by drink. Baek Chun could barely sit upright or hold his cup steady while another disciple filled it for him. Soso was nearly hallucinating, and Yoo Iseol was struggling just to keep her eyes open.

He thought to himself: no matter how lively or energetic they were, they’d eventually hit their limit. Especially after facing Wudang — that fight wasn’t just physically exhausting but mentally draining too.

Still, he couldn’t help but feel entertained by the sight of them in such disarray.

The people in his past life had never been this weak with alcohol! Then again… it was hard to tell. Chung Mun had always been far too disciplined and never drank excessively, so no one could tell or know his limits.

He had shared drinks with Chung Jin sometimes times. While Chung Jin couldn’t quite keep up with him, he held his liquor surprisingly well. On the other hand, there was Tang Bo, who had been his drinking companion most of the time — the only one who could truly go toe-to-toe with him till the end.

Yes, for someone like Chung Myung who had only ever seen the world of Kangho — namely Mount Hua and Tang Bo — it was rare to find people this weak to alcohol. Not that being a martial artist necessarily meant you could drink like a fish, but perhaps it was simply the small number of people Chung Myung knew well.

‘Even a housewife wouldn’t be this bad...’

Suddenly, Chung Myung stopped drinking and took the jar away from his lips.

He rested his chin in his hand, elbow on the table, his eyes scanning the disciples behaving in ways that were far too ridiculous for their age or the dignity of their sect.

The image of his wife popped into his head unexpectedly, throwing off his senses and dragging him into a swirl of memories that dulled his awareness of the present.

Some of those memories were dear.

Others...

A faint smile crept onto his lips as the taste of alcohol in his mouth suddenly turned bitter.

He stood up quietly. Though a few disciples noticed him, he muttered some vague excuse and left the gathering that the disciples had completely taken over.

Though their voices still pierced the thick brick walls and thin doors, the outside was far quieter by comparison.

But it did nothing to ease the sudden, dull headache that took hold of him.

The alcohol jar now hung at his side, forgotten. Chung Myung's pinkish eyes wandered upward, to the dark sky dotted with scattered clouds.

Yet they failed to obscure the moon’s radiant glow in the darkness. Chung Myung pressed his lips together tightly as her face flickered into his mind.

His feet began moving down the corridor slowly, as if he had no destination — which wasn’t entirely wrong.

He’d come out to clear his head. Or perhaps because he knew he wouldn’t be able to, and didn’t want anyone noticing his discomfort.

Chung Myung had many things he regretted — his negligence, his mindset, thousands of choices in his past life.

Somewhere on that long list stood her, the woman people once referred to as his wife. One of the people he had wronged the most.

Any other woman wouldn’t have lasted a single day with him.

Scratch that — even their first meeting had been a disaster.

He closed his eyes and shook his head, but the memory of himself acting like a child in a tantrum refused to leave his mind.

~

He remembered it well. A blazing summer day when one of the elders made a life-changing decision — without asking him or getting his consent. Come to think of it, even if things hadn’t turned out poorly, didn’t he have every right to be angry about being forced into an arranged marriage without so much as a heads-up?

“Are you kidding me?!”

Chung Myung turned his glare away from Baek Oh, who seemed utterly unmoved by his outrage, and fixed his bloodshot eyes on Chung Mun.

“What is this nonsense?! Sahyung, say something!”

But Chung Mun only sighed. He turned to Baek Oh with a faintly composed expression — he too was deeply shocked by the sheer absurdity of what their senior had said, but couldn’t say it out loud.

“Sasuk… I don’t know what you’re thinking, but this feels a bit premature—”

“No, it’s not premature at all.”

The elder turned his gaze toward Chung Myung, and if looks could kill, Baek Oh would have been a pile of ashes from the glare Chung Myung gave him.

“You’re nearly forty, yet you still act recklessly and wildly, like no one ever taught you discipline.”

Baek Oh rose from his seat and walked toward the door, brushing past Chung Myung, whose clenched fists and grinding teeth seemed moments from shattering bone.

“Consider this the result of your unrestrained freedom all these years.”

He spat in disgust and shut the door behind him. Chung Myung slammed the table in front of him with such fury that it cracked straight down the middle. He stood and stormed out.

Chung Mun let out a long sigh in the silence that followed.

He had a very bad feeling about this.

Later, one could say Chung Myung had a full-blown panic attack. He ran to Sichuan like a madman, not stopping for breath.

“What do you mean he’s not here?! Where else would he be?!”

Two young members of the Tang family trembled at the gate, but impressively kept straight faces. Frankly, it was a miracle their legs hadn’t buckled yet. The look on Chung Myung’s face would terrify a demon.

They couldn’t even stop him when he vaulted over the gate and made a beeline for Tang Bo’s residence.

The wooden door flew off its hinges and smashed against the opposite wall. Chung Myung took one look at the hastily packed bags and then locked eyes on Tang Bo, who was plastered against the wall, drenched in sweat — apparently having dodged the flying door at the last moment.

“Hyung-nim… we can talk about this like civilized peop—”

“Civilized?! I’ll show you what is so civilized!!”

“Hyung— Gkkkghkgh—”

Tang Bo began turning blue as Chung Myung strangled him and shook him back and forth, shouting like he could spew fire at any moment.

“You knew about this arranged marriage crap! How could you let this happen?!”

“Hyung—!!! Gkkghh! No—!!… air!!”

For a moment, Tang Bo genuinely felt his soul leaving his body. To think he’d die at the hands of Chung Myung… and before he could even get him to acknowledge him as a friend!

He was saved only by the sound of approaching footsteps at the entrance.

“Bo-ya, I heard your friend came loo—”

Both men turned toward the door as a woman entered and looked at them with a blank expression.

A moment of silence passed before she turned around and walked out.

“My apologies for the interruption.”

“You—!”

“Nuna! Wait, help!!”

The two men scrambled after her — to fix the misunderstanding, and in Tang Bo’s case, to possibly save his own life.

Eventually, the misunderstanding was cleared up… somehow.

In front of Tang Bo’s house, the two men stood alongside the woman who eyed them both. Chung Myung was fuming, stomping the ground, though admittedly calmer than when he had arrived.

The woman raised an eyebrow.

“So… you were just fighting?”

“Of course! How could you even misinterpret it that badly?!”

Chung Myung was genuinely baffled. The broken door, the half-dead Tang Bo — it screamed ‘fight.’ Were her eyes broken?

He looked at her. She was glancing between the two of them thoughtfully, then sighed and shrugged.

“Well, good. I was just about to ask for the engagement to be called off.”

“Ah… yeah… wait, what?!”

Chung Myung stopped mid-nod and blinked in disbelief. His eyes looked as empty as a dumb fish.

He glanced at Tang Bo, who bolted and hid behind the woman in panic. What, did he think Chung Myung wouldn’t hit her just because she was a woman?

He looked back at her with narrowed, skeptical eyes. She had her arms crossed and stared at him without a hint of concern or hesitation.

“Engagement? Our engagement?”

“Yeah.”

“So you're...”

“Yup.”

A vein throbbed in Chung Myung’s forehead. So it was her. That damn brat. He wanted to grab her and bury her under her family's marble floors so she’d never set foot on Mount Hua ever.

“Tsk. As I thought. How dare they suggest this child—”

Chung Myung growled with pure hostility, but stopped when he noticed Tang Bo sneaking up beside him, risking his life. That meant he had something important to say.

“Hyung… Nuna’s not a child.”

Chung Myung stared at him, then looked back at her. He pointed a finger at her, but before he could say a word, Tang Bo whispered a number in his ear. Chung Myung’s mouth snapped shut.

“That... Tsk, still suspicious!”

He put one hand on his hip and kept pointing at her with the other.

“If she’s that age, why isn’t she married yet?! There’s definitely something wrong with her!”

“Uh… well…”

When Tang Bo hesitated, eyes shifting away, Chung Myung felt the urge to punch his face. But then Tang Bo whispered in an even more reluctant voice:

"She’s been engaged five times before..."

"What...?"

"The first broke it off. The second died. The third broke it off. The fourth died. The fifth broke it off. And the sixth..."

Tang Bo paused and cleared his throat awkwardly, then gave Chung Myung a look filled with heavy implication.

Chung Myung blinked slowly as realization dawned.

He was the sixth.

"What... I thought you already knew."

Chung Myung turned toward the woman in confusion. She was smiling—but it didn’t reach her eyes.

"Though the rumors never made it out of Sichuan, I figured that had changed. Isn’t that why you rushed here to cancel the engagement?"

A vein throbbed on Chung Myung’s forehead, but the woman kept talking like she had no concern for her own safety.

"I get it. No one wants to be the next. So they all run as fast as they can. Ah, I can’t even blame you."

"Run?? Me?!"

Chung Myung shouted, and Tang Bo barely managed to hold him back before his fists could land. But the woman only let out a mocking laugh.

"Aren’t you here to break off the engagement?"

Chung Myung faltered for a moment, and the words he thought would slip out smoothly—as if his tongue had been greased—suddenly evaporated without the faintest chance of reaching any ears.

"Am I wrong?"

When she tilted her head just so, her face suddenly looked like a punching bag. Was she asking to be hit now?

Chung Myung clicked his tongue angrily and stomped away. But before long, he returned, dragging Tang Bo along like luggage.

He couldn’t be the one to break off the engagement now. Not that it would make much difference, but he couldn’t let his pride suffer that kind of blow—not in front of that woman. And if word spread, all of Sichuan would say he “ran” for his life. Given his widespread reputation, that rumor would travel far.

Just imagining the Southern Edge disciples laughing about it gave him stomach pain. Literal stomach pain.

So the only way out of this mess was to get the Tang family to cancel the engagement themselves.

That’s why Chung Myung had been sabotaging every plan that involved them. If they scheduled a meeting, he’d vanish—or arrive late if the elders managed to force him to show up. He’d toss out every rude, arrogant, and wholly unnecessary comment in the book.

She was, surprisingly, more patient than expected.

But that didn’t mean he was getting off unscathed.

Like now...

"Oh, look who’s still alive. Fiancé."

Chung Myung felt his blood boil. That smug smile, that tone, the mere fact that she called him that—infuriating beyond words.

As always, he didn’t return the greeting. She didn’t care enough to be bothered. She turned to her handmaidens, giving Chung Myung a short moment to sneak a glance at her appearance.

It was the same as usual—whether at Mount Hua, the Tang household, or elsewhere. Dressed in expensive, green silk, decked in jewelry and ornaments practically everywhere, and so heavily perfumed it was like she'd been marinated in the stuff. It wasn’t a too strong scent that it's unpleasant, exactly—just very... noticable.

When she turned back to him, his expression had grown even more annoyed. That only seemed to amuse her further.

"What’s wrong? Won’t you say something to your beautiful fiancée?"

"Beautiful, my ass."

Her lips twitched, like she was about to hurl an insult in return—but she sighed and let it slide. Chung Myung rolled his eyes, disappointed and angry.

At least today’s meeting was in a restaurant. Not everything about this was awful—there was food.

The place had been chosen specifically for its private rooms. Of course, an engaged couple couldn’t be left alone, so one of her handmaidens stood right outside the door.

"What, you’re not eating this?"

"Oh, I am."

She snatched back the dish he’d tried to swipe, and they stared each other down like predators. Sparks flew between them.

"Then I assume you’re not eating this one!"

"You—!"

She couldn’t save that other dish. In a blink, it had disappeared into Chung Myung’s stomach with masterful efficiency.

"I can’t believe you! How can you eat all that in one go?!"

"Unlike you, I actually do so much effort everyday! I’m not some pampered princess who needs a servant just to get dressed!"

She gasped, clutching her chest like she’d just been mortally wounded. For a moment, Chung Myung actually thought she had been.

"How dare you?!"

She glared at him like he’d just stolen her fiancé — though, ironically, Chung Myung was the only one that title could possibly belong to. He raised a brow and replied nonchalantly while still chewing.

"What? I didn’t say anything false."

"You didn’t?! You’re the one who overslept until noon and showed up late!"

Chung Myung choked on his food and thumped his chest until he recovered. Then he jabbed his chopsticks at her.

"It's not my fault that sleeping sounds more productive than spending the day with you!"

"Oh really?!"

Her patience snapped. She grabbed a bowl of soup and hurled it at him, but Chung Myung casually tilted his head and caught it without spilling a single drop.

"Hey! Don’t waste—"

He didn’t finish. He had to catch two more dishes. He glared at her as he set them back down, but she had already started eating—aggressively, even.

Chung Myung, who didn’t know a thing about women’s etiquette, could still tell this was not proper.

"Fine. Keep watching while I make sure you don’t get a single grain of rice."

A vein pulsed in his forehead, and he dug in like they were racing against time.

And yet—even after this utter disaster of a date—Chung Myung didn’t receive any news of the Tang family canceling the engagement.

Not even when the day of the wedding came—as if it were a death sentence for his poor freedom—did he give up. He suffered as they replaced his bed with a double, as he watched himself cloaked in blinding red robes, and as he saw her dressed in matching red.

To be honest, Chung Myung would be lying if he said she wasn’t beautiful. It would be stupid to say otherwise. She had been pretty even the first time they met—without all the glitz and glam—so of course she looked stunning now.

But that didn’t matter to Chung Myung. He wasn’t the kind of man swayed by a pretty face, nor had women ever really been a subject of interest to him. That wasn’t going to change.

And of course, the wedding did not go smoothly—at least not for either of them. Lord Tang nearly cried, thrilled that his daughter finally got married and that Chung Myung had broken the "curse" or whatever nonsense plagued her previous fiancés.

They stepped on each other’s feet multiple times during the ceremony, which Chung Myung considered idiotic to begin with. Looking back, he’d acted like a sulky child. Then again, she wasn’t exactly the picture of grace either.

Naturally, their wedding night wasn’t normal either. Chung Myung never even stepped inside his– sorry, now.. their house. He disappeared at some point and ended up sitting quietly on the rooftop, a bottle of liquor in hand.

He nearly choked when he heard footsteps approaching. He turned in alarm—only to see her climbing up, making her way toward him.

He tried to get up and flee, but somehow she reached his side in an instant and yanked him back down by the shoulder.

"Ah! What do you want from me?!"

For some reason, sitting beside her now made him uncomfortable. The reason was obvious, really. But she didn’t seem to care. She sat beside him, leaving more space between them than any married couple should.

"Stop running. It’s already over."

"Tsk."

Chung Myung clicked his tongue and looked away, chin resting in his hand.

"I’m not going back inside."

"You think I came here to ask that?"

For some reason, those words gave Chung Myung a strange sense of relief. But also curiosity. He glanced toward her—just enough to get a look.

She’d showered and changed. Her usually styled and ornamented brown hair was damp, hanging simply down her back. No makeup, no red wedding dress in sight.

"Honestly... I’ve been nervous since yesterday."

That puzzled Chung Myung a bit. It is natural, really—even he had been on edge. So he didn’t get why she had to say—

"...I’ve been expecting news of your death at any moment."

She smiled slyly, and his hand clenched into a fist. He fought the urge. Chung Mun had already threatened him for three hours that morning not to do anything stupid tonight.

"Tch, you believe in that superstitious crap?"

"The superstition crap started with me, Chung Myung."

She sighed helplessly. Chung Myung nearly leaned back when she looked at him with an unreadable expression.

"I know you don’t want to be tied down with the duties of a husband or whatever. Isn’t that your real reason for refusing marriage?"

Chung Myung’s eyes widened like she’d just said the last thing he ever expected. But he quickly collected himself and glared at her with furrowed brows.

"How did you..."

"A little bird told me!"

Chung Myung swore he wanted to gouge her eyes out just to make her stop looking at him with that infuriating stare. But he remembered Chung Mun’s threat again—and decided to hold himself back.

"And then?"

"I won't stand in the way of your freedom. In fact, I'd never to try to force you into something you hate."

That was pathetic in her opinion, and for a prideful woman like her, she could die before she asks for his attention.

And it's not like she needed it anyway.

His lips trembled for a moment, but he pressed them tightly together, saying nothing — because he had the sinking feeling she was about to say something worse.

"I won’t wait for anything of you. Let’s just live as housemates."

She turned to look at Chung Myung, her gaze unwavering. She had always acted either provocatively or ridiculously around him, so this was the first time he ever felt a faint aura emanating from her—one that radiated the dignity worthy of the famous Tang name.

She didn’t need extravagant jewelry, clothes, or perfume to give off that impression. All it took was the intention to carry herself that way.

"So…"

Her lips parted again, and her brows were slightly lower than usual.

"Stop looking at me like I'm a parasite."

After throwing those words at him, she went silent for a moment, then stood up and walked to the edge before leaping down.

"Feel free to come in whenever you want. I won’t be waiting."

Chung Myung heard the door close behind her. From the outside, he may have seemed absent-minded—but in truth, a storm of thoughts was ripping through his head.

He was sure this would end badly. Thankfully, his gut was wrong this time.

So why did he still have this ominous feeling?

Of course, the one who was most upset was Baek Oh, since it was obvious that even after getting married, Chung Myung was still far too free-spirited.

But for some reason he became less complaining.

So, perhaps this could be counted as a good thing.

Despite the fact that her presence should’ve felt completely unnatural, she blended into the space so easily—as if she'd always lived in his house. It wasn’t nearly as tense as he’d imagined.

Their time together mostly boiled down to bickering. Sometimes he’d yank the pillow from under her head, and she’d retaliate by pulling out his chair. Occasionally, they’d sneak into the kitchen to make something to satisfy their midnight cravings — sometimes they got caught, sometimes they didn’t. Chung Myung still remembered his surprise the first time he found out she could cook. For a woman of her status, you wouldn’t expect she’d seen a kitchen more than a handful of times in her life.

He remembers how it seemed like she enjoyed it a lot.

Still, Chung Myung didn’t complain—except when she cooked only for herself and didn’t save him a portion. But she’d usually grumble that she hadn’t expected him to come home that night anyway.

Chung Myung had expected a much worse life than this.

But it wasn’t so bad. In fact, it wasn’t bad at all.

For many years, Chung Myung had thought everything was going a little too smoothly.

~

And… he hadn’t been wrong.

Chung Myung was away from the sect most of the time. And every time he remembered how little thought he’d given it all, he felt like he hated himself a little more.

He stared at the bottle of liquor in his hand, then brought it to his lips, hoping to drown in it.

He didn’t think about the judgment or the accusations she must’ve endured. Sometimes, he forgot she was even his wife. Why wasn’t he home most nights? Why didn’t they have a child yet? Why couldn’t she—as his wife— manage to keep him at home like other men?

Of course, in cases like this, it was never the husband’s fault. No, people always blamed the woman... She’s wicked. Disobedient. Difficult to live with. So incompetent her husband prefers wandering the streets at night over coming home to her—

Chung Myung slapped a hand over his mouth as nausea surged up his throat. He leaned against one of the pillars that supported the corridor roof overlooking the courtyard.

Just the thought of all the times she must’ve heard that kind of talk — those venomous words that insulted her dignity and honor — without being able to say a word in her defense. All the times Baek Oh scolded her in his place when he couldn’t find Chung Myung. She was the perfect punching bag for his frustration. All the times she sat alone in that empty house, preferring loneliness than dealing with people's stares and gossip…

The more he thought about it, the more he understood why she’d eventually asked for a divorce.

Chung Myung bit down on his lip bitterly, trying to hold down the liquor rising up his throat again. His lips parted with hesitation, he whispered her name softly, like he was confessing every sin he’d ever committed — as if he didn’t deserve even this small act.

And just as he was drowning in the monstrous chaos of his thoughts, a sound tore him out of it.

He lifted his head, glancing around with faint panic. His expression shifted as though he was doubting his own hearing. Then he froze when he heard it again.

It was a melody—a faint, familiar one. Barely audible, but to a martial artist with sharp senses like him, clear enough to recognize.

Chung Myung laughed. A dry, hollow laugh — not from the heart. His feet moved forward, taking him deeper into the corridor.

"It’s just a damned song..."

A folk tune. It wasn’t even something she made up. She must’ve heard it from someone. If someone taught it to her, then surely others knew it too.

So… why now?

What kind of ridiculous coincidence was this?

Why only when he thought of her?

His walk turned into a jog. Then a run. But it wasn’t nearly as chaotic as the pounding in his chest — every beat of it whispering her name like an accusation.

His eyes widened when he realized he could no longer hear the tune. It had stopped.

Chung Myung slowed down, the energy draining from his limbs as quickly as it had surged in. His face twisted uncontrollably, and his teeth clenched hard, as if trying to suppress his rising frustration.

'Was I imagining things?'

Had he drunk too much? Was grief tricking his mind into hearing things that weren’t there? First Chung Mun’s voice… now this?

He couldn’t even begin to describe the frustration eating at him.

He turned around, ready to leave and stop acting like a fool.

But he froze when he heard a door creak open from the direction he had just come from.

And suddenly—the melody returned.

No. This time it wasn’t the tune that knocked the wind out of him.

It was the voice humming it.

Every ounce of energy that had filled him moments before vanished. Cold sweat drenched his back, and his fingers stiffened unnaturally.

He turned slightly, glancing over his shoulder — and saw a girl's back. She was walking away toward the courtyard, where plum trees bloomed.

Chung Myung swallowed hard. He wanted to slap himself or rub his eyes to make sure this wasn’t a dream. But he was too scared to confirm it.

The moonlight glinted off brown hair tied into a bun. She placed a dish beside a tree trunk, and several small cats approached, drawn by the scent of food.

He didn’t even realize his feet were moving until he was already walking toward her, half-believing she would vanish like a mirage the moment he got too close.

She froze before she could pet one of the cats, as she heard her name being called by him. She stayed like that for a few seconds before slowly turning toward him.

Though the lower half of her face was covered by a white cloth mask, his heart sank when he saw those eyes. They weren’t the same jade-green they used to be — but those lids, those lashes — he’d know that shape of eyes anywhere.

"You—"

She stood up before he could say anything more and turned as if to leave. But Chung Myung couldn’t even imagine letting that happen. He lunged forward so fast the kittens scattered into the trees, but he only cared about grabbing her.

His hand clamped tightly around her wrist. She turned, her brows furrowed in mild hostility — but when her eyes landed on his expression, something shifted. Her gaze grew more complicated.

Chung Myung’s lips trembled as if he wanted to say something, but no words came. Yet she didn’t wait.

"What are you doing here? Guests aren't allowed in this area."

She tried to pull her hand away, but Chung Myung didn’t care. The world was playing tricks on his mind, and it wasn’t funny — not when he could hear that voice again and wasn’t sure if this was real or not.

"Don’t you recognize me?"

He asked slowly, his voice oddly calm, completely opposite to the chaos inside. He shook his head faintly, unable to look away.

"No, you did recognize me… just now… you know me."

Chung Myung felt his eyes sting. Odd.. it was like they were too dry. He saw her expression grow even more conflicted.

"You’re just drunk…"

She muttered, trying to move past him. But his grip wouldn’t release her. She looked at him firmly, but there was softness in her eyes she couldn’t hide.

"Come on, now."

She murmured more gently and took his other hand.

Chung Myung’s grip on her wrist loosened when he felt her smaller hand wrap around his rough, calloused one — scarred by years of swordplay and hardship. And maybe… just maybe… he felt some warmth push aside the bitterness in his chest.

She led him back to where she had come from, and they entered a room together. When he looked around, he realized they were in a large kitchen. The scent of food from the dinner the guild had prepared still lingered faintly.

When Chung Myung turned his attention back to her, he found a glass of water waiting for him.

He drank in silence, downing it all at once. The cold water washed away the bitter, foul taste in his mouth, clearing his head just a little.

“Sit.”

She gestured toward a chair by the table in the middle of the kitchen. Chung Myung scowled in annoyance and looked at her, but she rolled her eyes.

“It’s not like I could run away even if I wanted to. I’m not a martial artist, after all.”

When he thought about it for a moment, Chung Myung realized she wasn’t wrong. A regular person had little to no chance against a martial artist—let alone someone like him.

He let go of her hand, a trace of hesitation still lingering. And he didn’t flinch when she patted his shoulder in passing. No—he almost did, but he didn’t.

He slowly pulled the chair back and sat down. His eyes followed the ghost-like figure in front of him—though she felt more real now than ever.

She moved between cabinets, preparing tea for him, it seemed.

Tea... yes, tea would help his headache, especially...

Chung Myung felt his chest tighten again.

„What? Did you drink too much again? Goodness.“

—

Those eyes—he remembered them—always looking at him with a mix of helplessness and weary familiarity. He used to face those eyes every time he came home from a drinking session with Tang Bo.

Really now, he wasn't drunk just because his face was a little flushed!

“I’m not drunk.”

Chung Myung muttered in irritation as he stepped away from the doorframe, rolling his eyes at her muttered complaints.

In fact, he usually drank more with Tang Bo. But for some reason, tonight, he had brought several jars of alcohol home.

Why… Did you ask?

Because Tang Bo had been genuinely shocked when he found out Chung Myung had never drunk with her before.

Even Chung Myung himself had found it strange, if only for a moment, when he realized he’d never thought of it before. It would make sense, wouldn't it? For someone who loves alcohol like he does, to want to share a drink with everyone important in his life.

He froze mid-step just before passing her. She looked at him, puzzled. He lowered his gaze toward her.

Important?

An important person?

Yes—it should’ve been easy to call her that. After nearly fifty years of living together, how could she not be important to him?

But why did using that word for her stir something strange inside him now?

A bead of sweat slid down her cheek. She blinked but didn’t look away. She didn’t break eye contact.

“Are you coming in or...?”

“Ah... yeah.”

"C'mon, I'll make you some tea."

Chung Myung nodded. As she moved to close the door behind him, he watched her every motion intently.

Tang Bo’s surprised face still hovered in his mind, forcing him to think about things he’d never bothered to consider before.

„You’ve never shared a drink with her?!“

That was the first accusation ever directed at Chung Myung in this relationship.

And it opened the floodgates for more questions to trickle in—

About intentions, thoughts, experiences, desires, emotions, dreams... What did Chung Myung know?

What had he ever known? Had he even tried?

His hand moved on its own, resting on her shoulder to stop her from walking past him. He was startled — it wasn’t something he ever did. But let’s just blame the alcohol.

She looked at him, puzzled. He spoke with a nearly flat voice, holding up the rope in his hand. Tied at the end were the jars of alcohol he’d brought home.

“Let’s drink.”

~

Tang Bo hadn’t lied...

The thud of pottery cup hitting the wooden table echoed softly. Her eyes were still calm and focused even after the third jar, though her cheeks had taken on a faint blush.

Chung Myung watched her with unnerving focus for a man who’d drunk enough alcohol to kill an ox. Of course, he wasn’t entirely conscious — if he had been, she wouldn’t have caught him staring at her.

Judging by her expression, she wasn’t completely unaffected either. There was a haze in her gaze, and her features were more relaxed than usual.

How did Chung Myung even notice the difference, being someone who didn’t care about such details? Don’t ask — he’s confused too.

Yes, maybe he was a little interested. But why? Was her reaction unusual? No—people often relaxed after some drinks. He’d seen it countless times with his comrades.

But for some reason, he felt obliged to pay attention. No, it was the least he could do.

Or no... maybe it was just a way to dull the ominous feeling gnawing at his chest.

No, no...

That wasn’t right.

Each time she set her cup down — each thud on the wooden table — it got worse.

Chung Myung didn’t know when it had started. He didn’t know why his shoulders were tense or why his expression had grown so unreadable.

In bars, you see all kinds of drunkards.

The angry, the dreamy, the emotional, the cheerful.

Chung Myung had dealt with most of them. But someone whose face grew darker with each cup? That was a first.

She picked up the jar again, refilling both their cups. Again. And again. The silence was suffocating. For some reason, Chung Myung couldn’t bring the cup any closer to his lips. He couldn’t break the silence. He could only wrestle alone with the storm of thoughts swirling inside him.

Finally, when she saw his hand freeze mid-reach, she stopped too, gently setting her cup down. She sighed softly through her nostrils — he noticed it.

And nothing could describe the crushing feeling inside him when she looked at him again, and that strange face — the one he’d never seen before — vanished.

Why? Was he not trustworthy enough? Was he so worthless that she had to fake her emotions around him? After all these years, didn’t he deserve at least one honest look? One real attempt to understand?

Chung Myung didn’t know why, but her simple look felt like a shove, pushing him away.

Then she opened her mouth, and the words fell from her lips, taking his heart with them as they dropped all together.

“Let’s get divorced, Chung Myung.”

“…”

The cup slipped from his fingers, rolling across the wooden table. The strong-smelling liquor spilled onto the smooth surface.

“What...?”

Once, Chung Myung had tried desperately to keep this woman out of his life — fearing she’d change it, take something from him.

Then one day, he discovered she wouldn't take anything at all. And he’d been grateful, because it meant her presence made no difference to him.

He was supposed to feel nothing. She was supposed to have no impact. Her presence — or absence — shouldn’t have mattered.

“…Divorce?”

Chung Myung muttered as though he’d just uttered a vile curse. As though he'd just been stabbed in the back, deeply.

“You can’t just say that… like it’s nothing.”

His voice was rough, but quiet. Steady, but barely hanging on.

Bitterness exploded inside him when she looked away. A strange burn, a tightness, a bitter knot in his throat. It felt like barbed wire was wrapping around it, biting into his skin with every breath.

“Why?”

He hissed. His large hand gripped her face, making her look at him again. He moved slightly, but even that small movement showed just how tense every inch of him had become.

She didn’t bother to hide the tension anymore. It would’ve been ridiculous to stay calm in such a moment.

“Chung Myung-ah…”

“That’s bullshit!”

He let go of her face, only to grip her shoulders immediately after. His hold wasn’t gentle — but not painful either. Just firm. Just urgent.

“Why the hell would you say something like that?!”

She clearly hadn’t expected such an intense reaction from him, not over this. She hadn’t thought divorce would matter to him so much, since neither of them had ever considered themselves a real couple.

“I was joking.”

She spoke quickly, trying to brush it off. His grip slackened for a moment. She forced a crooked smile — but even in his drunken state, he saw the lie in it.

“I didn’t know you’d react like that, hehe~ Since when can’t you bear to part from me?”

When she tilted her head and asked that, Chung Myung tried to hold his expression. Told himself to stay angry. To demand answers. But in the end, his expression twitched, betraying him.

“Shut up.”

“What? Ignoring the question, huh?”

“Tsk.”

He clicked his tongue, discomfort still gnawing at him. He finally let go of her shoulders and turned away. Rested his head on the table, refusing to look at her.

“Don’t talk to me.”

“Oh? Acting like a child now? That suits you.”

He didn’t respond, though he was provoked enough to. His mind was too tired, too tangled with thoughts that refused to leave him alone.

Then he felt a soft touch on his head. His eyelashes fluttered, heavy with sleep. A shiver ran down his spine as her fingers removed his hair tie and ran through his hair twice before toying gently with random strands.

A humming sound echoed faintly in his ears, growing clearer with each passing moment. Still gentle. Still quiet.

And yet, the storm inside him remained.

~

The crackle of fire, the boiling water, the hush of nighttime sounds.. they all disrupted that melody. Or maybe… they gave it a haunting beauty.

But the point is — it stirred something strange and aching in him.

So much that Chung Myung felt…

She turned toward him in surprise at the sudden voice of his head hitting the table. Sighing softly as she poured the tea into glass cups.

The day after that night — or rather, in the tense days that followed — Chung Myung did not leave the sect grounds. Not even once.

He wasn’t foolish enough to believe such a blatant lie. From her reaction, he knew the problem wasn’t him, not really.

Even if he assumed she wanted a divorce over something trivial, maybe she was bored of their life together, or perhaps she wanted something else... he had no idea, not even a guess.

But that look in her eyes — that heavy, dark impression — couldn’t have come from nowhere.

And so, Chung Myung took it upon himself to understand everything. Even when she told him nothing was wrong, he knew it was a lie. She was just too stubborn to ask for help — let alone for even the slightest bit of attention.

He had forgotten all of it over the years, or maybe he simply thought everything was fine. That he would notice if something ever went wrong.

Turns out he was wrong. And she had been more stubborn than he ever imagined. If she lived by the rule that attention should never be asked for, who knew how many years she kept that silent request buried within her, never letting it surface?

Chung Myung still remembered the shock of realizing that the peaceful, lazy life he imagined was nothing more than a figment of his own mind — an illusion, far removed from reality.

His brow twitched when he heard the clink of the glass cup placed on the table. It wasn’t loud, but to his ears, it rang sharp like a knife. Perhaps it was because his head rested on the table, but it also struck him with a strange sense of deja vu.

“Your tea will get cold.”

She murmured as she sat down in the chair beside him. She knew he didn’t like tea that much anyway, not enough to worry about it cooling, but she needed to break the silence with anything she could.

She reached up and untied the knot securing her mask, removing it and setting it aside — it had lost its purpose now that he'd recognized her. She lifted the cup to her lips, and in that moment, Chung Myung turned to look at her. A faint flicker of familiarity sparked in his eyes when he finally saw her face.

He didn’t know how old she was in this body, but her face was unmistakably the same as in her past life — only younger, healthier too maybe.

“How is Mount Hua?”

She asked with a hint of curiosity, resting her cheek against her palm. Chung Myung felt a strange stirring deep in his gut at the eye contact — something he never experienced when looking at any other disciple or elder.

He didn’t answer her question. As if he hadn’t heard it at all, he suddenly lifted his head off the table and turned to her. Her attention returned to him instantly.

“Mount Hua...”

He began hesitantly, as if he hadn’t planned what to say, as if the words were difficult to arrange. Yet his tone remained steady and composed.

“Come back to Mount Hua with me.”

“...”

She stared at him in silence, her expression unreadable. When she turned back to her teacup, he continued.

“It won’t happen again. I swear. Just trust me—”

“That had nothing to do with you, Chung Myung-ah.”

She cut him off firmly, as if she saw no point in hearing the rest. She already knew what he was about to say.

“I chose that life, and I’ll never place the burden of my own decisions on you. Don’t even think about it.”

Chung Myung frowned at her words and, with firm resolve, scooted his chair closer, loud enough to cause some unnecessary noise. She instinctively leaned back for a moment, but he caught her arms before she could retreat.

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

His tone was a mixture of annoyance and certainty.

“I’m not saying this to feel better about what happened. I just want you by my side.”

As soon as the words left his mouth, Chung Myung felt like something was off. A silence fell, and she looked at him like he had grown another head.

Sweat gathered on his brow when he saw the sly smile forming on her lips.

“Oh ho~? What’s this? Are you proposing to me again in your new life? Isn’t that just romantic?”

Chung Myung sputtered out some incoherent nonsense and turned away. She laughed, so there was no doubt his expression had given something away. His grip on her arms wavered — but he didn’t let go.

“Tch. This evil woman...”

“Aw~ But you love me, don't you~?”

“You—!”

He looked at her, clearly flustered, but froze when he saw her smile.

Her eyes were so lively. There was a glimmer in her irises beneath the moonlight, it expressed a feeling that words couldn’t describe.

Her lips shaped a tender curve, and Chung Myung felt his heart seize as he took in the sight, still struggling to process it.

“Do you really need me by your side, Chung Myung-ah?”

“...”

“Is that what you truly want?”

As the question sank into his mind, Chung Myung nodded without hesitation. There was no reason to delay.

Her smile widened more than before, and he didn’t miss the faint blush coloring her cheeks. The sight was nearly dizzying.

“I see.”

She hummed, gently patting his cheek like she was waking him from a dream. But to Chung Myung, reality felt more intense than any dream.

One moment, there was a quiet, amused chuckle from her lips—and in the next, their lips were sealed together, stealing her breath.

Without hesitation, but slowly, she wrapped her arms around his neck, tilted her head, and ran her fingers through his black hair, occasionally tangling in his long, thick ponytail.

It wasn’t just a first kiss. It was a silent apology. A confession. A warm, longing welcome.

—

“Who’s… coming…?”

“Yes, I’ll be joining you on the way to Huayin. I hope that’s alright?”

“Ah! No, wait.. we have to ask the sect leader first, but I doubt he’d refuse…”

Baek Chun glanced back nervously, receiving a confused nod from Hyun Jong before turning to her again.

“Ah, looks like he’s not refusing.”

“Excellent!”

They both smiled—hers warm, his more awkward.

“Um… pardon me…”

“Yes? Please speak?”

As the girl tilted her head in innocent curiousity, Baek Chun glanced at the stiff man she was clinging to his arm, as if they were... well, something.

“He... uh… hmm…”

Baek Chun couldn’t find the right words. He waved his hands helplessly in the air. The other disciples watched, equally confused, hoping for clarity.

“Miss… what’s your relationship with Chung Myung?”

“Oh, Chung Myung-ah?”

It was like the disciples’ ears doubled in size hearing the familiar, affectionate tone she used. Their eyes widened even more when Chung Myung didn’t so much as flinch — like he was made of stone.

No… even that paled in comparison to when they saw her hans — no, just the fingertips — brush feather-lightly along his right biceps.

“Although it’s not official on paper, I suppose you could say I’ve finally found the husband I lost years ago.”

Silence. No one dared to comment. She laughed and released his arm.

“Well then, I should go resign from the Guild. Excuse me!”

The disciples stared in stunned silence as she walked away. Then all eyes turned to the man she’d left behind.

“He doesn’t seem…”

Jo Gul mumbled, lightly tapping Chung Myung with a finger, as if checking whether he was the real Chung Myung or an absurdly realistic statue. Frankly, the latter would’ve made more sense.

But Chung Myung toppled backward at the gentle poke. The disciples panicked — and Jo Gul was kicked aside as Soso stepped forward to handle the crisis.

“Hold yourself together, sahyung!”

The woman knelt beside him. She heard him mumbling something incomprehensible. When she placed a hand on his forehead, she quickly withdrew it, rubbing her palm like it had been burned.

“He’s just delirious.”

The disciples swore, if they could, they would each drop their jaws and leave for Mount Hua without it.

This — this time — was not an ordinary morning for the disciples of Mount Hua.

☆彡

A little addition~: Chung Myung tried his best to understand the problem after she asked for a divorce, and made sure to cause a stir in the sect when she went to visit her family. Especially against Baek Oh.

Unfortunately, it was the time that the Demon Cult showed up for the first time and attacked the Tang Family, and she was one of the first victims of that attack.

That's why Chung Myung didn't have the chance to be better to her.

Ending <3

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Ch 1433 spoilers

GUNS???? GUNSSSSS? WTF

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Coping theory:

Chung Myung defeats the heavenly demon for the second time and does time travel back to 100 years ago and saves everyone

Instead of being annihilated at the hundred thousand mountains the disciples of mount hua sect will return to mount hua sect!!! It will be return of the mount hua sect

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Im Sobyeong is my favorite fr, whenever he’s talking I’m like “let him cook”

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On my hands and knees if anyone is on the fence about reading Return of the Mount Hua Sect or it's comic adaptation Return of the Blossoming Blade please please please please read it it will genuinely change your life

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Blacksmith [PBSS!CM]

Blacksmith, blacksmith, forge me a blade.

THE DEPARTURE.

You were at the gates of Mount Hua, your belongings packed into a simple bundle, the crowd or early risen disciples watching in complete silence. They watched as you walk with quiet dignity, forcing your expression to be unreadable.

Chung Myung broke through the crowd, his anger momentarily melting into desperation. "You don't have to go."

You shook your head, your calm demeanor masking the pain in your eyes. "Yes, I do."

"You're just going to let them do this?" he asked, his voice breaking slightly.

Don't let them win, don't let them trample over you.

You're stronger than this.

"It's not about letting them," you respond softly, as if anything else would make him burn brightly and unforgivingly. "It's about what's best for everyone. Staying will only make things harder---for you, for me, for the sect."

Chung Myung reached out, gripping your arm. "This isn't right."

His gritted teeth made a sizzing sound, like a snake's curse.

"I know," you say, appeasing, your voice barely above a whisper. "But sometimes, we have to accept what we can't change."

But it could've been prevented. This is a mistake, and you're the scapegoat. It isn't fair. He bites his lips until all he tastes is metallic taste.

He lets go, his hands falling to his sides and you step past him.

As you disappeared down the mountain path, the disciples stood in stunned silence, their hearts heavy with unspoken protests.

A PURPOSE.

Your departure from Mount Hua has left you untethered, wandering with no clear destination. The sting of your expulsion still lingered, but the ache of uncertainty was worse. You needed a purpose, a way to life instead of becoming a mourning ghost.

Your wandering eventually led you to a small, unassuming village nestled between two rugged hills. The sound of hammering drew you to the outskirts, where a blacksmith's forge stood, smoke curling lazily into the sky.

You paused at the threschold, your gaze drawn to the man within. His movements were deliberate, his hands steady despite the bandages covering his eyes. He worked as if the metal were an extension of himself, each strike of the hammer resounding with purpose.

"Are you going to stand there all day, or do you have something to say?" his voice rang out, startling you. A raspy heavy sound.

"I'm looking for work." You are sincere and curt.

Without seeing, he seems to scrutiny you.

"And what does a young lad like you know about smithing?"

"Nothing," you admit. "But I learn quickly." Because there is nothing else waiting for you. Because one always starts from a scratch.

He chuckled, a low, gravelly sound. "Quick learning won't fix a blade or temper steel, but I could use an extra pair of eyes. Seems mine have given up on me." He gestured to a spare room at the back of the forge. "You won't find anything close by to stay. Food, a roof, and payment if you're useful."

"I won't disappoint," you say firmly.

You threw yourself into the work with the desperation of someone grasping at straws. You start with simple tasks: fetching water, stoking the forge, organizing the tools. Your eyes never stray far from the blacksmiths form, you observed him work closely, noting the rythm of his movement, the way his hands seemed to see what his eyes could not.

"Watch the color of the metal," he told you one day, his voice calm as he hammered a piece of glowing steel. "That'll tell you if the heat is right. Too bright, it's ruined. Too dull, it won't take shape."

You nodded, focusing intently on the changing hues of the metal in the fire. Under his guidance, you began assisting with smaller tasks, getting closer to the goal: holding pieces steady, filing edgees, even shaping simple tools.

Your progress surprised him, looking at you favourably. "You weren't lying about learning quickly," he said one evening as they sat by the forge.

"Maybe I've hidden from you the messes I made."

He snorted. His blindness made him notice more than those who depend on sight. There isn't a thing that escapes him. He knows of your screw ups, but that's a part of learning. Making less mistakes reveal determination to improve.

THE FLAME.

"You're not just any blacksmith, are you?" you ventured one day, as you watched him shape an intricately curved dagger.

He puffed his chest a bit. "I have a knack for the unusual. People come to me when the ordinary won't do."

"Why did you take me in?" you press on. He could've had more than you. Maybe there were people wanting to learn from him more qualified than you. "Surely there were others more skilled."

The blacksmith paused, his hands stilling over the anvil. "Skill can be taught. Determination can't. You walked in here with fire in your voice, with a purpose in mind. That's worth more than knowing how to swing a hammer."

That was the closest thing he ever said to admiting your presence was welcomed company, drowning any voice in your head that made you feel like an intruder.

You became indispensable. Your sharp eyes and steady hands complemented the blacksmith's expertise, allowing them to tackle commissions that would have been impossible for him alone.

You learned to read blueprints, measure with presicion, and even design your own modifications. Customers began to notice the improvements in the forge's work, praising the flawless details and ingenious designs.

The blacksmith, for all his gruffness, seemed proud. "You've got a good head for this," he said one evening over a simple meal. "Keep at is, and you'll surpass me one day."

You laughed a bit breathless. Compliments were as scarce as water in a desert from him. "I doubt that," and it rang true, you were full of shortcomings in front of his lifetime of experience. You learn from him, you calk his work and make it yours slowly. That's enough.

You have time. What more can you ask?

The spare bedroom was modest but comfortablee, and the meals were simple and filling. The payment wasn't much, but it was enough to buy new clothes and save a little. For the first time in months, you feel a sense of stability.

You miss Mount Hua like you'd miss a limb, but the forge has given you a new purpose to not lose yourself and wallow in misery. Each strike of the hammer, each piece of metal brought to life, was a step forward--- a way to prove yourself that you're more than what you've left behind.

And perhaps, you thought, watching the blacksmith expertly guide you through another project, you'd found a place where you can belong.

You only hope it won't be ripped from you again.

Another time would definetly kill you. One can only be so strong.

THE COMMISSION.

It was a quiet morning in the forge when a new commission arrived, brought by a courier who left as quickly as he'd come.

You took the note, scanning through the details: a sword with a handle carved to resemble plum blossoms.

Your breath caught. Your hands trembled slightly as you placed the paper on the workbench. You hear your hearts beating boiling on your ears. You didn't have to ask who it was for--- there was only one person who would request something so symbolic, only one who would go so far as to find you in such remote place.

You made him sweat a bit, didn't you? He is such a fool...

The blacksmith, sitting nearby, seemed to sense your unease. His sightless eyes turned towards you, his expression unreadable. "A special commission, is it?" his tone casual but probing.

From a speacial someone. A part from a not far off past is catching up to you. Will you welcome him or hammer him into the ground?

"Yes. I'll handle it," your voice tight.

Before you could steel youself further, the door creaked open.

Damn you, what was the courtier for, if you were never one to be patient? You're a Taoist unable to meditate...

The air shifted as a figure stepped into the forge, hisi presence filling the space like an uninvied storm. You didn't need to turn around to know who it was. You had memorized his footsteps, the way his energy seemed to draw attention effortlessly. For better or worse.

... Chung Myung.

"Excuse me," the voice came, familiar and sharp, thought tinged with something softer. "I'm here about a sword."

Your grip on the workbench tightened. Slowly, you turned to face him.

Chung Myung stood in thhe doorway, his usual confident smirk dimmed by exhaustion. His clothes even if pristine, were travel worn, his face slightly gaunt, but his eyes burning with the same fire. When he saw you, his expression faltered, a flicker of relief breaking through his guarded demeanor.

"I've finally found you," he breathed out, his voice barely above a whisper.

You'll have none of that.

"Are you getting dumber by the day? What, you sent a courtier asking for a sword and you enter less than five minutes after? Not even the best blacksmith can create a sword out of damn thin air. Get out."

When you get nervous or caught off guard you ramble and you bristle like a cat in danger.

What angers you more is that his whole body relaxes like falling into a well known familiar routine. No, no, no.

"Get. Out." you repeat forcefully.

"I've walked a lot to..."

"Go walk a bit more. Out."

"Not even a cup of tea?"

"As if you'd know the taste of tea, you raging alcoholic. Out. Now."

His smile is infuriating. You hear the little jumps he does out of sight, the lively rythm his steps have.

He makes you lose your temper so fast that... you look back at the blacksmith. He is definetly holding back his laughter.

"You're rougher with your loverboy than when moulding metal."

"He is not...!" you gulp down another anger-nervous-induced ramble.

"And he listens better to you than the steel does your hammer. Go to him, go discuss... the sword." He nudges you to the door and disappears inside with surprising speed for a bling man.

Was this old man hidding such a side all this time? I feel more drained now than after a rigurous spar. Ugh...

THE CONFRONTATION.

You crossed your arms, your face a mask of calm despite the storm raging inside you. For your own sanity, just forget the slip up you made when seeing him for the first time. You can't let youself fall into the familiar banter and let yourself be dragged by the flow. "You shouldn't be here."

Chung Myung stepped closer, his gaze locked on yours. "I've been looking for you. You didn't make it easy."

"Didn't it cross your mind that maybe I didn't want to be found?"

"Couple times. Yet, here I am." His voice firm but not unkind.

"Ignoring the voice of reason. Do you even have it?" A jape. To hide your inner turmoil more than anything. He doesn't look pleased.

"Do you have any idea how far I've traveled? How many villages I've searched? How many dead ends I've hit?" Bordering desperation, his voice tinged with a silent plea. What if I didn't find you?

You looked away, jaw tightening. "You didn't have to look for me. I'm doing just fine. I've found a place here."

"Do you really believe that?" his question a tad softer, a tad incredulous. He didn't buy it. "Or are you just telling yourself that because it's easier than facing the truth?"

You turned back to him, your eyes flashing dangerously. "And pray tell me, what truth is that?"

"That you belong with us. With me." At Mount Hua.

The words hung in the air. What a selfish prick he is. As if leaving was easy, as if you truly had a choice in the matter, as if you hadn't left behind all you've worked for. Home. You lost home once, you are trying to make another here.

His timing is a terrible form of a joke.

You shook your head, your body shivering, your voice trembling. "I was expelled. Cast out like I was nothing. You can't just pretend that didn't happen. Nothing can go back as it was." You wish. You hope. It's a cruel fantasy, one you won't be indulging in anymore.

"I'm not pretending," he said, stepping closer. "You didn't deserve that. None of us agreed with it. The Elders made a mistake."

"A mistake that cost me everything," you spitted bitterly. "I've rebuilt my life here. I'm learning a craft, everyday better, I'm contributing. What more do you want from me?"

It felt like your heart was rippen out. What more can you give? You are surviving everyday by a hair's breath.

"I want you to stop running," his voice rising slightly; the heat of the moment was getting to him too. "You think this place will give you peace, but I know you. You will never be satisfied with this. You running only gives them the power to decide your worth."

"And what, have everyday all I ever wanted to be, all I could achieve at arm's reach to never quite close the distance? That's a fool's form of torture. I will not put myself through this."

"You're stronger than this."

"I was stronger. They turned me into a scapegoat and now I am broken." Your defenses wavered, but you stood firm.

I won't go back. It was clear in your eyes. That would be dying everyday. Here you die slowly and ultimately, as a natural development. Like an old ache growing impossible to ignore.

Going back is a violent death, one you'll relive in every corner. Once is enough.

Chung Myung's shoulders slumped a bit, and he looked up at the sky, searching for an answer to fall in his hands. The sky is silent. His determination is waning. You are more stubborn or maybe he's always been softer when it's you.

"Then I'll stay." Chung Myung smiled faintly, a bit resigned and not quite satisfied with the outcome, but showing the first real sign of warmth since he arrived.

"Don't you dare. I'll grow sick of you."

"Aren't you already? How tolerant you've become. I'll linger a bit longer to test your limits."

THE SWORD.

The silence between the two was broken only by the soft crackle of the forge's fire. You looked at the sword sommission sitting on the workbench, the plum blossom design sketched out in careful detail.

"You knew I was here when you sent this request, didn't you?"

Chung Myung shrugged, his smirk returning. "It was the best way to draw you out. You don't exactly have a low profile."

You huffed a laugh despite yourself. So he already knew about your wereabouts and still put up a scene with the courtier, his ragged looks. So dramatic. "You're infutiating."

"Maybe," he drawled, his tone light. "But I'm also right."

You exhaled deeply, the weight of your conversation settling in your chest. You picked the note, holding it tighly. "If I make this sword for you, will you leave me alone?"

Chung Myung tilted his head, his eyes narrowing and softening at the same time. "If that's what you really want... but I don't think you wish for it."

Cunning bastard... you didn't respond, your eyes loud enough. His smile widened and you turned back to the forge and lighting the fire. As the flames roared to life, you silently resolved to face your past--- no matter what it meant for the future. No more running.

Chung Myung had too many things on his mind. You're surprised by his capability to stay quiet for once. He changed a bit too. People never stay as frozen as memories in one's head. He waited all day, watching as you worked, the broken bridge that became your bond growing stronger with every strike of the hammer.

This is enough for now.

✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

DON'T ask me what this is. I also don't know. I've never published anything I've written until know because I am my worst critic. English is not my first language and I know I messed something, but I am not going to read it because this feels like eating whatever I've thrown up. I made this in one go for whoever is starving and wants more content. If there's something weird is maybe because I've written this with an OC of mine (I can't draw for shit so they life rentfree on my mind) and I just changed "her" to "you" to make it gender neutral too. God please give me a signal if you want to see more of this or anything else, appreciaton makes me feel less shitty and conscious of my own skin, ty

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Hwagwitober days 1-9

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An art dedicated to my oneshot :D Part 1 Part 2

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some hwagwi doodles

dowi pose reference here

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twitter/x rotbb doodle compilation

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CHUNG MYUNG IS A CHARACTER THAT HAS LOST SO MUCH YET LOVES DESPITE IT ALL IN THIS ESSAY I WILL- *gets shoved off stage*

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u know what lemme post it here too

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Tang Soso

Omg!!! 😫🥹🥹🥹 I've been waiting for this for so long

(And Baek Cheon lmao)

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ch 134

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TANG BO TANG BO TANG BO

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When I start posting the drafts of the rotbb ocs, you know there's nothing left in the backlog 🔥🔥.

More ROTBB!OC Content Below (no context) ->

I'm drafting a little comic for CM's Sword Saint era, but until then, have some drabbles from a few months back (to show that I'm still alive in this fandom) :')

Everything is still subject to change (on that note, I'd love to talk with others about their rotbb oc, I'll even draw them fanart 🥹💕)

Note: The confession didn't work out, better luck next time Dreamju 😔

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you still crave wine, but the taste doesnt satisfy you as much as it used to. you still crave summer, but you mean summer, one hundred years ago.