64
When the sword practice on the white snowfield came to an end, silence settled over the courtyard.Lee In-jung slowly slid the blade back into its scabbard.It looked less like a finishing gesture than like a hand motion calmly closing a line of thought that had been flowing.
Because he had come as an envoy charged with a task, the weight of responsibility must have been heavy on him.Park Seong-jin paused to choose his words before speaking.
"Since when have you been studying like that, General?"
Lee In-jung let out a long breath.His white breath scattered across the snow.
"Studying, huh. A good word. Mu—martial skill—was never meant to be a tool for fighting."
He nodded once and continued, his hand lightly brushing the scabbard.
"When I was young, I didn't know that. I believed the sword was something you drew to kill the enemy.But isn't it strange? After you cut someone down, your heart doesn't feel lighter.Even on the day you win, sleep doesn't come."
A brief silence passed.
"Why do you think that is?"
Park Seong-jin recalled the nights in Liaoyang.He knew the answer—the smell of blood and fire, the fallen faces.He spoke slowly.
"Because the one who kills and the one who is killed… aren't that far apart."
Lee In-jung lifted his head.A flicker of surprise crossed his face, then he smiled.
"So you can say that at your age."
He looked beyond the courtyard.
"The sword is not a tool for cutting down an enemy.It is an object that reflects my own mind.If the mind is unsettled, the sword will be unsettled as well."
He stared briefly into empty space.
"That's why I no longer fear battle itself.What I fear more is when my own heart slips out of alignment."
Park Seong-jin turned those words over in his mind for a long time.Voices he had heard in Liaoyang overlapped.
Carefully, he asked,
"Then… where is the Dao?"
Lee In-jung did not answer right away.He looked down at the snow-covered ground of the courtyard and spoke softly.
"The Dao. It's always beneath your feet."
"Beneath my feet?"
"Yes. The place you're standing right now. This very moment."
Lee In-jung nodded.
"People learn while fighting, and as they learn, they forget the fight.Don't try to see too far ahead.The path opens where you first set your foot down."
Park Seong-jin bowed deeply.
"Yes."
Lee In-jung lifted the sword, then lightly tapped Park Seong-jin's shoulder.
"The sword is only one choice.Those who take it up must never forget its weight."
In the middle of the snow-covered courtyard, the white breaths of the two men intertwined.The wind brushed past, and once again no trace was left on the snow.
The next day, more snow had accumulated overnight.It was still before anyone had risen.The courtyard was completely empty.
Park Seong-jin stood alone.
The word weight pressed down on his chest.He stood where Lee In-jung had stood the day before.Faint footprints remained on the snow.
He drew his sword.The sound of it leaving the scabbard rang louder than expected.
After glancing around for no reason, he steadied his breath and took his stance.
First, Pyeongmu-se (the level dance posture).He lowered the sword tip and loosened his waist.He tried to release the tension in his shoulders.
It was harder than he thought.The moment he told himself not to use force, strength had already crept into his shoulders.
The sword moved forward.He hoped it would flow smoothly.The tip brushed the snow, leaving a small mark.
The mark was rough.He didn't like what he was doing.
Park Seong-jin frowned.He took a breath and moved again.
This time it looked better.But at the instant he finished the posture, his center wavered slightly.His foot slipped just a fraction on the snow.
It's fine.He told himself that.
We are remarkably skilled at understanding and forgiving ourselves.
Next came Ungeom-se (the cloud sword posture).He let the sword flow left and right.He tried to keep his feet fixed and let only the blade move.
He knew it in his head.But at the moment the sword turned, his breath rushed ahead.The short inhale caught in his chest.
At the same time, the sword tip hesitated.The arc that should have continued broke off.
"Ah—this won't do…"
Park Seong-jin froze in place.The sword tip hung in the air.There was no presence around him.
His hand trembled—only enough for him to notice.
He clenched his teeth.He told himself it was the cold.
Last came Churak-se (the falling posture).He raised the sword.Slowly, as if pointing at the sky.
He recalled Lee In-jung's movement from the day before.
At that instant, flames flashed through his mind.The South Gate of Liaoyang.The explosion.Bodies flung into the air.Shadows falling through fire.
His breath tangled.
The sword came down—too fast.
The tip stabbed into the snow.Snow scattered.A sharp ache rang through his wrist.
Park Seong-jin stopped.The sword tip was embedded in the snow.
He couldn't move for a while.His breathing was ragged.His exhales were shorter than his inhales.
His hand began to tremble again.This time, unmistakably.
He slowly pulled the sword free.Dawn light reflected off the blade.There were no visible nicks.
He said quietly,
"Not yet."
He was not speaking to anyone.
He lowered the sword.He did not raise it again.
He looked at the footprints in the snow.Yesterday's tracks were straight.His own were scattered.
Park Seong-jin knelt in the snow.The cold crept up his legs.
He did not try to regulate his breathing.He did not try to become calm.
He simply looked down at his trembling hands—and stayed there until the shaking subsided.