#return of mount hua

[rathesy]

Trying different medias

Instagram tests

The posts has actual captions ;)

*Don't have actual dates or time lmao

[pettyrgeo]

read return of the mount hua sect NOWW!!!

[enihk-writes]

[hard to recall]

part of the [architect!reader] series can be read together with the other fics or as a standalone

pairing: pbss!chung myung x gn!they/them!reader

will be alternating povs from pbss!chung myung and mhdd!chung myung

summary: a hundred years and a few remnants later

word count: 5.50k

author's note: i got very demotivated towards the end but the og plot was supposed to be reader comes back from work to see mt hua in shambles and they tear down all the buildings they built just to secure funds and that's why the current sect looks so bare, and it's heartbreaking because reader is an architect and this was their life's hard work and cm knows that too and he realised there was virtually nothing left of that could remind him of them, like they put their soul into these structures and now it's gone type of thing,, and in the chaos of the aftermath when there was no one to lead the sect as the remaining elder they have to do it and everyone knows they tried their best and that they died miserable,, cm was supposed to find this out bit by bit through hyun jong and the other current elders... BUT like i said, i got suuuuuper demotivated towards the end because of writer's block so i scrapped the og idea... maybe i might come back to try writing it, but not in this story rn...

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what does it mean to be loved?

what does it take to be loved?

power? fame? money? or was it a good heart?

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they've always had a good head on their shoulders. some have said that it was a little too good. poised steady and head held high no matter the situation, had they been able to carry a sword like he, who knows what they could have accomplished?

but alas, they were not destined for such things.

the natural state of their qi clashed with the martial arts of mount hua. like water on fire, and it had left them weaker after each training session. they were lucky, having discovered this flaw early, or else they might have suffered more down the line.

talent is something you nurture to bloom.

he looks at them, eyebrows raised in questioning.

i'm going off to see what else i can do.

and just like that, they left. nothing much changed in his life. though, sometimes, he does feel as though it wasn't as noisy as it should have been. it's almost like there was a hard-to-ignore scratch on a perfectly polished marble.

the food tasted more bland now that they weren't watching over the cooks with an iron fist. the clothes didn't feel as crisp now, since the ones on duty these days didn't leave it out in the sun for as long as they used to. and dust was now left to collect in corners until it became too much to ignore, it wasn't like that when they were here — they would have gone down on their hands and knees to clean those annoying places obsessively.

he also might have missed that there was someone who talked to him like a peer, an actual peer, over most of the others who either talked to him like a child, their unreliable junior, someone to be feared and respected. it's nice to have someone your age to talk to, and he never really thought he needed that sort of companionship until they were gone.

well, he doesn't mind waiting. he was a pretty hard worker too, and wouldn't it be a little embarrassing for him if he had nothing to show for when they came back?

three years flew by so quickly, and he walks up to the front gates one unassuming day to find them reaching over to knock on the door.

he was a little shocked.

well, not shocked in the ah sense. but in the ahhhhh sense.

when they stood next to each other side-by-side, his mood went a little sour when he sees that they were still not much different in their height. he was hoping that he had grown more then they did.

welcome back.

mmh, i'm home~

he didn't ask about what they've been up to in the past three years while they were wandering across the country.

the elders seemed pleased when they all walked out of that long meeting, the elder in charge of the finance hall in particular looked a little happier than when he walked into the room.

huh. he would be lying if he said that this didn't make him wonder what happened to them in the past three years.

still, he kept his mouth shut, preferring to watch from the sidelines instead. grinning at them when they walked over in his direction, slinging an arm over their shoulders, annoying them like they hadn't ever left home.

dinnertime was noisy, the table where they sat was swarming with so many other disciples — all wanting to hear of their stories of the outside world. chung myung can't blame the others much, most of them weren't allowed to leave the sect grounds until they reached a certain age.

oh, him? he didn't get permission either, he just does it because he never cared about the rules. and it was this mindset that had all his seniors and other elders of the sect rubbing their temples in exasperation.

he watched from across the dining hall, chin propped in his hand, as the littlest ones tried to garner their attention by pawing at their thigh with small and chubby hands.

they laughed at the children's antics, carrying the youngest up from the ground, resting her on their lap as she was lulled to sleep against their chest. for a moment, they caught chung myung's gaze, looking at each other through the gaps between the crowd of people. they smile shyly at him, looking away when one of the older sect sisters asks them something.

chung myung's lips pull into a thin line, looking down at his half-empty plate of food awkwardly.

he wasn't sure why he wished for a moment that they were the only ones there in the dining hall then. maybe he wasn't used to having to share them with anyone, it was always just the two of them. with how chung myung was so quick to pick fights, nobody his age wanted to hang around him. only they had the patience to even try. and because of that, they slowly lost their friends — because if anybody wanted to be friends with chung myung, that person surely had something wrong with them.

he felt bad. knowing that he was the reason why nobody wanted to associate with them was a shitty feeling. he tried to chase them away in the beginning, never resorting to hurting them but he wasn't ever nice to them either.

go away!

nuh-uh!

that was always the way they greeted each other back then. he would hide from them in the tallest cupboards in the kitchen or in the trees or even the rooftops but they must have learnt something from his chung mun sa-hyung with how they still caught him each time effortlessly.

right.

this is how it's supposed to be. seeing them surrounded by so many people, all looking at them in awe and wonder. this was how they should have lived all this time.

the usual appetite he had vanished. pushing the food away, chung myung gets up to leave, slipping away into the cold night and away from the action.

white puffs of air float upwards at each exhale, gravel crunched under his feet as he drags them to bring him back to his room. he doesn't make it far though — there was a pitter-patter of light footsteps coming his way. he sighs and chuckles to himself.

he would know that sound of footsteps anywhere.

looking over his shoulder, he sees that the toddler sleeping soundly in their arms. it was amazing, how they managed to carry the child running without waking her up from all that shaking. he wonders for a moment if...

chung myung-ah.

he tilts his head.

let's put her to bed. she must be tired from staying awake for so long, poor baby.

he listens to them coo softly over the little girl's nose scrunching up from the cold. chung myung curiously pokes at the mounds of fat stored on the child's cheeks, snickering when the kid frowns in their sleep, grunting in protest.

they gasp and slaps his hand away.

hey! don't do that!

they whisper-yell, cradling the fussing baby's head closer to their chest, shushing her cries. rocking their arms, hoping the child would go back to sleep, which she thankfully did.

chung myung only looks away from their accusatory gaze.

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there used to be a nursery a little aways from the main dorms.

it wasn't there anymore. much like most of the buildings that used to stand here in mount hua back in its heyday.

it was just one of the many little things that had been torn down from trying to salvage sellable materials. that was nothing more than a product of time, and the actions taken by a sect struggling to feed the mouths living there.

it's been a hundred years, after all.

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why would you do something this pointless?

chung myung couldn't understand them. he leans against the wall with his arms crossed, talking to them through their window, with him on the outside as they were drawing out lines on a parchment paper by candlelight.

hm... but i don't think it's pointless though?

they state simply, not once looking up from their work. feeling neglected, chung myung whines a little. they were finally back after a good few years and now that he wanted to spend time with them, they're too busy? please look at me. he wants to say, beg even.

you're awfully clingy these days.

he hears their breathy chuckle. and the corners of their eyes crinkle up, lips barely hiding that wide toothy smile he'd missed seeing. though, it looked less childish than he last remembered. that's right. they're both grown up now, they're both adults now.

he wishes that they could be kids forever.

mostly because kids don't think too hard or dwell too long on things that hurt their brains. and whatever new winds that have begun to sail on the ship since they've returned to mount hua, was bringing them to a different destination than he thought they'd end up. he wasn't going to gamble on the possibility that they might have taken notice of this subtle change like he did too. all these thoughts hurt his head.

he listens to the sounds of the calligraphy brush dragged across the paper, tingles travelling up to his brain. it was late, he should be back in bed... but...

ahh...hnn...

chung myung yawns, not bothering to be polite around someone he's known his whole life. he hears them giggle again, but this time, they set their brush aside. leaning across the table, their fingers fiddled with something, soft clanks of wood bumped into each other for a moment before the window was finally thrown open.

come inside.

they call out to him with that same soft smile.

woah there! you shouldn't be inviting a man into your private quarters so easily like this! what if he misunderstands something... this is so intimate you know...

he gasps dramatically, even if this wasn't his first time in their room, this was his first time in their room as an adult. it was very much a significant thing to him.

they laugh again.

...you jest. we're friends, what's there to misunderstand?

ah. of course. they were only friends. nothing more, nothing less. what was there to get confused about?

he wordlessly climbs in through their window. taking off his boots before putting his foot down on their pristine floorboards. it's hard to forget about that time they scolded his ear off for dirtying the floor they had freshly cleaned.

you still remember to take your shoes off huh?

they mumble quietly.

you don't have to do that anymore though. i'm not as nit-picky as i used to be. i can always clean it up again.

he thinks they've certainly changed quite a bit.

his thoughts wander more, but his gaze never once leaving the drawings that came into being on the paper. thin and thick lines that formed into what he recognised as the entire scale layout of the current mount hua seen from above. he marvels at their small drawings of furniture in each of the miniature rooms.

he moves to stand behind them, eventually sitting on their bed after changing into the spare set of sleeping attire they've kept in their wardrobe just for him.

as the night wore on, he finally succumbs to his tired state, burrowing under the covers of their bed. he calls out to them to go to bed too, but it seems they've chosen to ignore him in favour of their work. he didn't have half the mind to try again — not when they had that look in their eye. it was almost like a possession, some innate obsession that they'd somehow unearthed within themselves in the three years they were gone.

he doesn't remember them ever being like that. if anything, they were the most laid-back person he's ever known. with no particular ambition, no wants beyond what they needed... not much plans for their future. he didn't know what happened to them before they decided to leave, he still hasn't asked them about what happened in the time they were away. they've changed, and deep down he feels a little bitter for getting left behind, falling asleep with those thoughts running in his mind.

the next time he woke up, it was the beginning of daybreak. the room was still dark even with the sky slowly turning into a pale violet. he felt the covers lift and they climbed into bed as quietly as they could, not realising chung myung was very much awake.

ah!

they gasp, startled by the red of his irises staring right at them from under the blanket's dark shadows.

you scared me...

they mumble and whine tiredly, falling into his chest, his outstretched arms circling their waist, pulling them closer.

m'sorry...

his lips ghost on the crown of their head, a hand hesitates to cradle the back of their neck. what if that was too much? sure, they've huddled together under the covers on cold mornings like this countless times before... but they were younger then. now, things have changed. but maybe it's more him than they, or it was both.

he could think about that later. right now, he feels so warm and relaxed he feels himself drifting back to sleep again.

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that day when he had dug into the ground to find the secret vault for the ledgers, he just barely missed the pile of scrolls sitting on the bottom of the bookcase.

he got curious, opened them and saw a set of familiar drawings.

the lines were faded from a vibrant black to a faint grey and the parchment had also turned a little yellow on the edges. his fingers traced over the writing at the corner of the paper. it was a signature of that person's name. he tries and fails to remember the way their hands held onto that brush they'd often used.

it's been a hundred years, after all.

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recently, the elders have been discussing about what to do with some of the main halls.

you see, they've neglected the management of the buildings in favour of setting aside the budget for other matters like investing in expanding the local businesses or other miscellaneous affairs. they'd figured there wasn't really a need to keep up with building maintenance, not when these halls have been standing well and good for the past few centuries.

though the main issue now was that there was a wee bit of a nothing-too-serious case of termite infestation going on in the wooden frames on a select few of the said buildings. ugh, more work everyone around.

oh! but it's not for chung myung though!

he remained blissfully unaware about the current plight of a certain person until he comes across them slumped against the outer walls of the back gates, head in their hands.

hey...

there was a slight hesitation in his voice.

hm?

they look up to meet his worried gaze with a confused, sheepish smile. loud growling of their stomach interrupting the moment.

he feels his irritation grow. seriously! they were old enough to take care of their own needs! no sane person would choose to ignore those needs to keep on working!

nausea hits them hard when chung myung pulls them to their feet, the world around them spins as their knees grow weak and buckle. thank god for his reflexes, catching them before they fall to the ground — but now what?

he does what chung myung does best.

throwing the poor and sick, now his supposed patient, over his shoulder like a sack of rice.

they don't even bother fighting back instead, they fade in and out of the intense feeling of wanting to throw up on chung myung or passing out — wondering to themselves if this guy was genuinely trying to put them to an early grave.

put me down...

nuh-uh. you need to eat.

they groan in exasperation.

and they passed out soon after.

in the days following that fainting scare, everyone agrees to take a step back. probably feeling guilty that they were driving one of their own like a workhorse. but that isn't enough to stop someone who's a known workaholic. chung myung doesn't remember them being like this before.

though a friend was a friend, and he shoves down the ugly feeling slowly brewing in the pit of his gut to take care of them. he was dependable when he wanted to be. just don't expect it to happen every time.

he knew the corners of the sect they liked to be, and in each of those corners, he'd put down his clumsily made step-stools — uneven and shaky, made from scrap pieces of branches and logs he found. it wasn't the best workmanship in the world, though they were delighted that he did this for them nonetheless.

not long after, there was a second, more polished and well-made stool that stood next to each and every one of those misshapen ones. and in the duo's later years, a third one was added to the lineup.

it was a common sight for the younger disciples to see two of their elders and another guy hunched over, roasting water chestnuts by the back gate like a bunch of delinquents until sect leader chung mun would drag their two elders by the collar as the third person trailed behind sheepishly.

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the back gates once made out of brick and stone had been torn down with only a low fragmented outline left behind. chung myung walks around that area until he stumbles on a mound of dirt by a wall still standing.

curiously, he kicks off the top layers of soil, revealing a splintered and rotting piece of wood. the more he unearths, the more the mound begins to take the shape of three step-stools.

his mouth waters at the smell of roasted chestnuts wafting from the kitchen. he hasn't had that in a while.

it's been a hundred years, after all.

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loud banging noises from dawn till midday were the norm this past week.

almost everyone bit their tongues from complaining. it was a necessary process, after all. even the elders held back from commenting on the ruckus. of course they did, this whole mess was their fault! who asked them to neglect building maintenance!

they were perched on a bamboo scaffolding, mumbling curses under their breath. straining to pull out rotted wood, trying not to squirm at the disgusting look of wet mold. cleaning out the gaping holes and filling them out one by one was a cheapskate way really — but what the elders ask for, they had to deliver. no matter how tiresome the job was, they have to prove themselves.

somewhere in the back of their mind, a voice was always condemning them. telling them over and over on repeat how useless they were, not being able to pick up on the basic skill of using a sword in a martial arts sect. the odd one out, the nail that stuck out, the stubborn thorn that got on the soles of one's foot. all descriptors that applied to them. their master, a man whose name they didn't want to speak of, was a cruel one. they always felt like a freeloader, taking and taking like a parasite, his words, what use did they have other than being another mouth the sect had to feed?

just as the rest of the world faded into a blur, a familiar voice cuts through the fog of their spiralling thoughts.

he calls out to them, face red from a combination of alcohol, running away from the seniors and the heat of summer. he clamours up the scaffolding with a small basket and a bottle of wine, trying to hide himself from view.

you aren't expecting me to hide you from our seniors... are you?

chung myung laughs nervously.

i'm not going to lie to someone to cover your ass.

urgh... you sound like those shaolin monks talking about the five virtues of righteousness...

they were about to snap back when a flurry of footsteps came their way — chung myung retreats further into the shadows, stilling from making any more noise. they glance over at him, before turning over to continue with their work.

a few of the junior brothers stop at the foot of the scaffolding, panting a little. the boys look up to their senior, nudging amongst themselves to ask the whereabouts of their other runaway senior.

uh, senior... have you seen...

the timid voice of the junior was interrupted by the loud banging of the hammer against the wood. and every time there seemed to be an opening, the banging quickly resumed again.

the boys decided to just give up and report to the elders that they'd lost track of their runaway senior. grumbling amongst themselves about how they've wasted their time.

chung myung remained in his spot, only coming out when the coast was completely clear. all while they were still hard at work, pulling out the wood, and filling out the holes.

he reached into the basket, plucking out a kumquat from the bunch. he blows the dust off it and wipes it clean before nudging the fruit to the other's lips.

open your mouth... ahhh...

the kumquats were just as sweet and tart as expected. they chew on it thoughtfully, gathering the seeds under their tongue to spit it out. chung myung's hand moves to hover under their chin, and they raise an eyebrow in question.

you can spit the seeds on my hand.

ew. that's so disgusting. what are you? a pervert?

the man looks at them indignantly. urgh, they were so rude! it's even worse than when they first left mount hua! to have believed life outside shaanxi would have changed this block-head potty-mouthed person was a pipe dream after all!

you... you're cussing me out, aren't you?

chung myung shakes his head quickly, knowing they weren't above tattling to their elders if he pissed them off. he's known this first-hand since childhood, and it doesn't seem like things were going to change in adulthood either.

you can buy my silence with some of those mooncakes you have or with the mandarin oranges in the basket.

he sucks in a breath. they were asking for his favourite mooncakes... they were so cruel... evil, evil bastard! what friend? this was clearly the devil in disguise, maybe he should have brought talismans to test that theory...

oi.

he grumbles in defeat, getting to work by diligently peeling the skin off the mandarin oranges, splitting the fruit into its little segments, and feeding it to them piece by piece with slices of mooncake in-between each fruit to cleanse their palate.

mmh... our chung myungie can be such a good boy too eh~

shut up!

they cackle and drown out his insults with the loud banging.

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the sect had been gifted a few carts of mandrin oranges by the merchant guild. chun myung had taken a few to snack on in his free time, and as he peels the skin off the fruit, he thinks about how nice it'd be to have someone to share these little slices with.

he bites on a piece.

it was sweet, but not like he remembered. and there was also a bitter aftertaste that left him feeling emptier than before.

it's been a hundred years, after all.

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war was such a devastating thing.

beyond the obvious loss of lives, there was also the grief gained from seeing someone who is still alive and kicking lose all that made them... them.

chung myung hasn't been himself in a long, long time. he barely remembers through the haze of liquor-induced stupor the type of person he used to be before this endless bloodshed. he smiled less, got agitated more often, and even for someone who had always seemed to attract wayward troublemakers this was all too much. he wonders what went wrong, did that person also notice something was wrong with him?

no. that person surely noticed. they were an architect for god's sake — being observant was part of their job description. he wanted to ask them why they hadn't been so hard on him like everyone else. the tension hanging in the air had made the sa-hyungs lash out at him, he somehow became the scapegoat that took on the blame for the smallest errors. not that he minded, he understood they didn't mean it, but it doesn't make it any less hurtful.

myung-ah.

he looks up, eyes clouded over and dazed. a vaguely familiar figure makes their way towards him, talking with someone, presumably the tavern owner, in hushed voices before a hand caresses his head gently. chung myung leaned into the touch, it was as comforting as it always was. he hasn't been seeing them as often as he'd like these days... he frowns at the realisation.

myung-ah. let's go home.

he groans as he feels them lean him against their shoulder. he's been told he smells like plum blossoms, most of the other swordsmen that practised the plum blossom divine arts did too — but they didn't, and he becomes curious about what they smell like. nuzzling his nose into the side of their head, he catches a whiff of what could only be described as laundry left under the sun.

this person... how was it possible for someone to be this comforting in every aspect of their being? it doesn't make sense, they were human were they not? how was someone able to have such a clear mind at all times? even chung mun sa-hyung slipped up once in a while, losing his patience, just like he did earlier today when he chastised chung myung for not taking things as seriously as he should have been.

do you... do you also think i haven't been doing my best?

he mumbles under his breath, voice strained and cracking just a little. he felt his stomach drop, out of nervousness or dread, he wasn't sure. maybe it was even both.

the two stop walking. they were at the foot of the steps leading up to the front gates. he looks at them, afraid to hear what their answer would be. he tries to laugh off his question, peeling himself off them and was just starting to go up the steps when he feels their hand grip at the back of his uniform.

they pull him back towards them and hesitantly pushed him to sit. chung myung watched the expressions on their face morph through the gaps of his hair hanging over his eyes. he was the most terrified he had ever been in his life — ever since he'd come to terms with the fact that he saw the person standing before him as someone more than a family or a friend, any prospect of them thinking of him in a negative light was enough to have him running with his tail between his legs.

he dare not say he was in love with them. not when he held so much unresolved resentment towards them for leaving him behind. he wished, still to this day that they hadn't gone off to find what they were good at. they should have stayed within the walls of the sect, they should have stayed here with him, where they would have never bloomed their talents and made everyone want to take them away from him. they could have been all his if they stayed, and he could have held them as close as he wanted, envelop them with his whole being. his love, all his, his, his.

chung myung-ah.

he tried not to make a face.

our chung myung works hard in his own way. i don't know about the others, but i do. i know you have your own ways of working hard.

they brushed his hair back, tucking some strands behind his ear. he hated it. he hated how it made him melt under their fingertips, hated how even after all these years he didn't have the courage to admit to something this simple.

they didn't know all of him. if they did would they still touch him this tenderly?

his hands find their waist, and then their hips. musing at the way their pupils dilated and shook, he tugged them towards him. they stumble over their feet, falling into his chest. there was a stupid grin plastered all over his face as the other tried to get up from the embarrassing position. his arms circle around them, pulling them in once more, setting them on his lap.

...you're drunk. you know that right?

they push away his face that had been inching closer. he holds their hand covering his mouth, pressing his lips against the inside of their palm — kissing it once, twice, a few more times until he felt satisfied, before moving their hand to rest on his cheek. he rubs his sand-papery jaw against their smooth palm, the tip of his nose tracing their wrist, thumb pulling down the long black bracer so his lips could reach the thumping vein lying under the thin layer of skin.

their breath hitches as his teeth grazes over their wrist, he ponders for a moment before biting down on the flesh. hard enough that they wince, whimpering softly, but not enough to draw up blood. they feel the back of their ears grow heated, not really wanting to find out whether it was from embarrassment or arousal. hitting at his shoulder with their free hand, they chide him for doing something so indecent out in the open, where anyone could see.

do you hate it?

that's not the point!

but... you don't hate this... right?

they turn away from his prying gaze. he wasn't wrong, they didn't hate that he was doing this. it's just... what if...

chung myung clicks his tongue. with a snap of his fingers, the alcohol in his system leaves completely in a translucent haze. he scoffs at the way their nose crinkled in disgust from the overpowering smell. he cradles their face into his chest, saving them from their little predicament. now sober, he agrees that he had been a little too carried away, so he digs his heels to the ground and kicks off into the air — still carrying them in his arms, jumping on rooftops until he reached the front of his private residence.

he refused to let them down even as he walked inside, despite their balled fist thumping on his shoulder. using that same scolding tone, still said in a soft voice, not once raising it in annoyance or anger.

with wide strides and feet falling heavily on the wooden floorboards, he locks every door and window in the residence — just in case someone becomes too nosy. tense body only relaxing in an exhale when they were both in the privacy of his bedroom. setting them down on the soft covers, he kneels at their feet, resting his chin lightly on the plush of their thigh, mumbling about how sorry he was for the roughness earlier.

it's okay.

their hands work their way through his hair, nails scratching lightly at his scalp, cupping his cheek and turning his face up towards them.

chung myung was a beautiful man.

he knows it, but their look of quiet admiration made the blood rush to his face. he wasn't used to seeing someone look at him so lovingly, not when men and women would throw themselves on him from the lust they felt, not when most people closest to him always had a furrow on their brow from the antics he pulled. this was so new to him, he didn't dare move, lest it broke this tender moment.

have they ever looked at anyone like this?

probably not, he thinks, closing his eyes to savour the smooth pad of their thumb drawing circles on his cheek. smile tugging up the side corner of his mouth as the scent of the sun grows a little closer, their lips brushing over the hard lines on his face, his sun-kissed skin.

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he doesn't have a lot of joys in this second life.

though there was one that everyone around him seemed to have picked up on. it was strange that someone as seemingly money-hungry as he was found content in the simplest things — his bedding washed in plum-blossom-scented soap, freshly dried to a crisp under the blazing sun.

what the others don't see was how behind the closed doors of his sleeping quarters he would hold onto the sheets so tightly in his grip his knuckles turned white. burrowing his face into the fabric, he breathed in deeply, trying to recall the face of his sun.

a hazy figure, a blurry visage.

it's been a hundred years, after all.

[fir-green]

[iicomet]

How do you think Cheongmyeong would be when jealous someone has his crush/so's attention?

You're laughing.

You're neglecting your training and laughing with your sect brothers and sisters who are definitely enjoying the rare attention from you. After disappearing for training, missions, and literally every work in this world, you finally have some free time.

So, of course you'd spend it with your fellow disciples, catching up with each other and learning of their daily experiences that never changed since you left. Nevertheless, you drank up everything they said with a smile, enjoying their company that you had sorely missed.

Cheongmyeong understands. You have other people around you too. You've lost so many, so you're cherishing the ones you have left. It's not like you're his possession to be kept in a dark cave somewhere forever with only him as your company; that would be cruel to a free soul like you. Plus, he much rather see you smile with the people you love.

Even so, he's a little impatient. Can you blame him, though? He wants to pretend to drag you to train and spend time with you too. He hasn't seen you for such a long time, so it's obvious he misses you too. (Though he denies it every time -- the divine dragon still has his pride, you know.)

Thus, when he returns from training, hoping to take his mind off of it, he can't help the frown that appears when he sees you talking to someone else again. He almost couldn't help the disbelief on his face when he sees you praise them so nicely for their accomplishments; accomplishments that only happened because he trained them. Plus, he remembered that disciple's arms were one inch too low during sword swinging training, so do they really deserve your praise?

He calls out your name, and as always, you turn around with that bright look in your eye. Sure, you look at everyone the same way, but he swears you look much more nicer when it's directed at him. Seeing Cheongmyeong, the other disciple knew it was time for them to go, excusing themselves from your conversation.

Good. At least they know when to leave.

He walks over to you, and you invite him to take a seat next to you. He's a bit childish at first, criticizing that disciple for his neglectance during training, but soon softens up after basking in your presence long enough.

Of course, you know what to do, too.

Giving him a cup of tea, you give him a pat on his head, wiping the sweat off his forehead with a clean handkerchief; thanking him for his efforts and praising him. He enjoys the compliments, nodding smugly as he pretends to brush it off, but the cheeky smile on his face betrays his futile attempts of humility.

He stays a little longer next to you, warding off any other disciples who wished to talk to you, listening to you talk about your day and experiences. It's his turn now, the others can wait. After all, he thinks he deserves to spend some time with you too, especially since he has been so patient.

[koiiori]

rendering <33

[pospoets]

Cho Sam deserved another life and that is to be reborn as the cat-fied mini carbon copy of Chung Myung

Everyone went: 😦😦😦 when they saw him.

[warmdrpepper]

my favorite favorite favorite thing cm does is when he defeats someone and says “next” LIKE im not sorry this dude is cool and badass as hell

[momochr0me]

Who wants titties?

Presenting-

Pepaw sword saint with his bondakers

(return of the mount hua sect- novel/manhwa)

(return of the blossoming blade)

Inspired by this lol

[an0nym0uscowboy]

I had to rub out majority of his boobage, I bet they have milk in them

[neominthe]

Practicing character design with some novel's MCs. Here are my headcanons:

Cheong Myeong

Bulky and beefy body. Big arms and hands, which can't be seen as his robes are too big on him

Tanned skin as he trains in the sun a lot, but only on the hands, face and neck since they aren't covered by his Mount Hua robes

I headcanon him as short since he started exercising from an early age in unhealthy amounts, stunting his growth

Super curly hair which Cheong Myeong keeps constantly in a ponytail. At one point in time he will pull in a bun to keep it from tangling

Sharp eyes with extremely long eyelashes

Han Yoojin

I'm a sucker for gaining weight representing character is in a safe and happy place for them

His nose is like a button, a feature he shares with Yoohyun

Yoojin has curlier hair than Yoohyun, though does not care for it. As a result, it's constantly messy and tangled, adding to the 'single mother who has two jobs' look

In the novel (I can't remember which chapter) it is mentioned that Yoojin gained a bit of skin color, making him look healthier. I followed the webtoon skin color (which was like white paper) and darkened it a bit, to look healthier but still very light

Yoojin has pieces of Sung Hyunjae's wardrobe on him. The guy has a lot of money, surely he won't be missing his 100k dollar suit right? (Hyunjae allows it since it is Yoojin stealing and it kinda "marks his territory". You know, like a dog)

Park Moondae

After receiving Idol Inc' sweather, he always wears it as Moondae is too lazy to go buy his own clothes (and to save money)

He got the shoes from Seon Ahyeon, which were one size bigger than his. Moondae doesn't bother telling Ahyeon he got the wrong size, so wearing it causes blisters

Moondae has "dead fish eyes" and a small mouth, making him look like the emoji '-' Fans find it adorable, though

He got a soft jawline and a thin face, as well as a pointy nose

It's possible to determine Moondae's emotion by the glint of his eyes, but only his close friends can do it precisely

Kim Dokja

I didn't intend to make him look like a corpse, but as I kept drawing it felt more and more right for him to be that way. He was an office worker and only had one happiness: a webnovel

Dokja spends most of his time indoors, so he is very pale and lacking of vitamin D. As he became a constellation and Demon King, his complexity worsened and looked inhumane, turning grey ash

He is able to retract his wings, but not his horns. They are constantly out and a burdensome, since Dokja often forgets they are there, making him hit the doorframe several times

Dokja's hair covers a part of his face (an ode to the damn censorship Bihyung added) and is choppy because he cuts his own hair. If cared and brushed almost every day, it would be like his mom's: flowy and soft

He has long eyelashes, especially on the lower lid, and downturned eyes, which makes him look gloomy and teary-faced

I imagine Dokja having a bit of a hunchback from all the time he spends in his phone and working in a computer

Dokja also has long legs, which he keeps hidden under his tattered coat

Cale Henituse

The man has a thin and tall body, to the point he seems both elegant and fragile at the same time

Cale has light skin due to his time spent indoors or under every shade he can find whenever he has to go out

Cale's features are mostly pointy, with sharp angles and straight lines running down. His nose is upturned, has arched eyebrows and sharp eyes

The straight hair was inherited from Deruth's parents, Cale's gradparents and red obviously from Jour

[rathesy]

I made a text between you and Chung myung

Yeah this is probably occ but I did it‼️

Should I do more??

[tamavonpineapple]

Little headcanon I have.

[enihk-writes]

im here to break my silence

[everychungmyung]

meme inspired by this quote from chapter 437

[iicomet]

(pre-reincarnation!chung myung & reader)

(In which you meet him for several times.)

The first time you met him, you remember thinking one thing.

‘What a small child.’

Cold autumn air pricks at your skin, puffs of condensed air surrounding your lips, your warmth sourced from the bundles of scarves you had wrapped around yourself. Curious eyes watched the wrapped child being held in your elder’s arms; small hands, already so beaten and bruised at a young age, held back the temptation to hold him and fascinate in awe over the smaller being.

Despite being one of the older children, bearing witness to the numerous people who had joined the sect, you were still so fascinated at the younger ones being brought in. Even as you grew up in the walls of the esteemed sect, hearing people come and go through the wide doors, red painted wood opening and closing with a loud creak— You always seemed to miss the exact moment of their entry and departure, always so caught up in the swings of your wooden sword; each swing harsher than the rest, each stroke softer than before. Gaze boring into the tip of the blunt weapon as if it had wronged your entire bloodline; your mind dazed as you watched your own body be controlled by the memories of a practiced dance, over and over again. It was like you only had eyes for the sword, and nothing else. 

Yet this time, you caught a sight of something else for the first time.

And that just so happens to be the first time you met that child, on October 10. Blue skies tinted with a yellowish hue, the clouds passing through the gates of the sect, watching the newest addition to the family you had grown to love over the years. Hiding above the tall pink trees that decorated the grounds, you didn’t dare to reveal yourself despite the waging curiosity and interest in your heart.

Perhaps you were afraid of dealing with a younger child, afraid of hearing it cry so suddenly in your presence; or perhaps you were afraid of being found by your seniors for slacking off, the height of your rebellious stage beginning to peek through the cracks of your innocent exterior despite being years away from reaching the peak of your adolescent adventures. They had always said that the quieter ones were the most unexpected ones, after all.

So, you continued to watch from afar, the scent of plum blossoms beginning to feel overwhelming as you surrounded yourself in it, drowning your shadows in a pink sea.

–

The second time you had met him, it was when you were assigned to take care of him, when he could barely even walk. You had wondered what kind of person he will grow into, holding chubby little hands in your bigger ones, squishing the flesh with an amused smile. He was so weak, so defenseless. Even though you were the same, merely a few years difference between the both of you, you still felt a sense of protectiveness over the boy, wanting to shield him from the harm the world could ever bring him.

At that moment, you allowed a promise to be made, to swear by a self-inflicted oath to protect the child before you. Why would you do something for someone you had just met? A child, whose only life was behind the guarded walls of the sect and surrounded with the warmth of a family, had no idea how valuable a life was.

Even so, you gave yours to him. 

You gave yours to them.

A sudden tight pinch alerts you from your thoughts, flinching slightly from the death grip this child has. You tried prying off your fingers, fearing it might break, but his grip was too strong, and you didn’t want to hurt the child.

You sighed. You were never expecting a younger child to have such a monstrocious grip strength. 

Maybe, you didn’t need to protect him after all. Maybe, this child was someone who might be the one to protect you in the future, instead. 

You chuckled. 

As if. 

Even if this child grows up to be the savior of the world, you were still his senior. As his older senior, you would do your best to accompany him, so he wouldn’t be lonely. As his older senior, you had a duty to guide and protect your younger sect members. Just like how your seniors did to you, and just like how their seniors did to them.

You were his senior. You had a duty to fulfill.

–

The one hundred sixty-eighth time you had met him, he was running from his sect brother. You, who remained diligent in your training, bumped into him after a long time. Or, well, he bumped into you, causing the little findings in his hands to drop and spill onto the ground.

“Ah– There you are.”

You picked him up like a stray cat, his expression morphing from a mischievous glee to a nervous smile. He still greeted you as always, his voice abnormally innocent and kind. Cheeky little one, you bemused. As an expert is able to discern an amateur's lies, you weren’t a fool to trust his facade, having experienced the same scene that played before them over and over again while still in their youth.

It was like you could hear the sighs of your fellow sect members, shaking their heads as they hear you speak like an elder despite your young age. They would joke that perhaps an older spirit had possessed your body, causing you to act like a matured grandpa whilst adorning a teenage face. You, in turn would just solemnly nod and bemoan out loud whenever it rains, complaining about your aching knees and tired back to run from training. At first, it would work, but people soon stopped believing your act of compliance towards their jokes and forced you to return to sword swingings. What a pity.

Of course, as the kind and mature senior you were, you were about to give him advice on how to act better and let him off if he were to share with you his findings, but was unfortunately disrupted by the voice of another sect brother who came running towards the both of you, obviously exhausted. You pitied him, for a moment, deciding to continue your mask as the reliable senior instead.

To be honest, you pitied yourself more; for losing the opportunity to share a drink underneath the moonlight with your fellow disciples. 

You smiled at him as he spoke words that flew from one ear to another, your mind too occupied with the devastating fates that separated you and your beloved wine. Disappointment leaks through your expression, causing your juniors to freeze.

Chung Myung-ah, you should’ve ran faster.

Placing him down, you acted as nonchalant as possible, seeing another opportunity to grab and pick up the bottles, leaving the both of them behind. You silently applauded yourself for the genius idea that appeared in your mind in the spur of the moment as you walked away, promising yourself to pay your junior back for giving you such a wonderful chance.

–

The five hundred and twelfth time you had met him, he was working hard in the training grounds you once found yourself in nearly every day, taking your place in his diligent training. You were merely passing through, taking a break from your own practices when your eyes caught the familiar tuff of black hair, standing amidst the neatly arranged crowd of disciples. Wooden sword in his hand, it reminds you of the ones you broke countless times during your past, before you were sentenced to cleaning the halls because of one too many losses.

It’s not your fault the wooden sword couldn’t handle your strength, you thought, pouting slightly as you mopped the floors clean. Unfortunately for you, the elders thought otherwise. Maybe that’s why they had you banned from using the wooden swords for a short period of time, and why they decided to exclude you from the practices right now.

…No, that’s not it. You were clearly just slacking off by telling your instructor that you had to grab the specialized sword that the sect elders made for you just to stop you from continuing to cause any more losses to their savings. Obviously, you did grab it, but you just went for the longer route to go back to your training. If they asked, you would just blame it on your weak knees.

Your attention returned to the shouts of your junior brothers as they swung their swords, eyes filled with determination to perform the best in their group. You smiled, watching the younger ones repeat the same dance you had forced yourself to do a few years back, the same fire burning their limbs underneath the sun after hours and hours of non-stop swinging.

As you walked away, footsteps softly resounding across the cobblestone pathway, the already quiet paddings underneath your feet deafened by the passionate yells from your juniors, you wondered how long it would take for him to grow stronger and become like you. 

You silently hoped that it would never come. 

—

The five hundred twentieth time you had met him, it was night. The moon shone above the both of you, the birds long returned to their homes and quietly entered their slumber, just like everyone else in the sect. So, why were the both of you staring at each other wide-eyed, hands holding something the both of you shouldn’t be holding?

A look of recognition was passed between the two, a silent nod and approval of each other’s action. Who would’ve thought that the senior that everyone thought was a stickler for rules was such a troublemaker? Who would’ve thought that the growing prodigy in the sect was such a troublemaker? (The latter was quite a known case, but the former was still quite a surprise to those who were not of the same generation. What a well-kept secret, indeed.)

Before the two could even do anything, a sudden flicker of light appeared from a corner, causing them to bolt into different directions, the shouts of an elder close behind them. The younger one, who was nearly caught, found himself being grabbed by the back of his neck and pulled towards a secluded place, where another senior looked at him in surprise.

Three of them stayed quiet behind the walls, their breathing soft and quiet despite the harsh beatings in their heart, the bottles in their hands nearly breaking from the sheer pressure. The seconds felt like years, the stress from being caught causing them to age several years, but it was by luck that the elder was too tired to look closer. Perhaps if he did, he would catch three delinquents with one too many bottles of wine in their possessions, staring right back at him.

‘Maybe this is why senior was always complaining about having grey hair,’ Chung Myung thought.

A soft sigh escapes your lips, the feeling of relief flooding your veins as you slowly slide down the walls and sit on the floor. Nervous hearts pounded with blood, before the adrenaline rush dies down and you find yourself chuckling, giggling softly at the excitement this brings.

It’s true when they said that laughter was contagious, for the small corner was soon filled with childish sniggerings, three unruly disciples enjoying the stolen fruits of their labor in the night together. Underneath the moonlit gleam, you shared a drink with your fellow disciples, raising your glass high in the air, cheeks red from both the alcohol and joy.

-