91
What Remains After the Snow
Snow began to fall again, fine and unceasing, filling the sky.Park Seong-jin lifted his head and looked upward.Between the white sheets pouring down, he saw again the black-clad warriors from the South Gate that day.
A handful overwhelming the many—he wondered what it would have been like, had he possessed even a fraction of their force.If they had stood beside him, would this blizzard have felt less cold?
He murmured quietly,"We are still in Liaodong."
He paused.His breath scattered white.
"But… my heart has already lost the place it could return to."
There was no anger in the words.No resentment.It was closer to a confession—the kind only those who have walked a battlefield long enough come to know.
Footprints left on snow are soon covered again.Burned camps and fallen bodies vanish once winter passes.
But the single scene he saw at the South Gate would remain.He knew this.
The line the sword drew.The breath that flowed without hesitation.A world where a blade need not be swung merely to survive.
That place did not belong to the grain of Liaodong.Nor did it rest within the grain of Gaegyeong.
Park Seong-jin slung his frozen bow across his back and turned slowly.His steps sank heavily into the falling snow.
The war was entering a phase of reckoning.His own steps, however, were only touching the first page.
The losses were severe.Those who remained were barely breathing enough to fill the spaces left by the dead.
High command halted further mobilization.A few days of rest were granted—offered like a reward.
There was no new supply.No fresh orders.Only silence, meant to gather breath, meant to gather tears.
The camp was quiet.Midwinter sunlight lay thinly over frozen ground.From afar came the occasional crack of splitting ice.
They threw the youngsters out as bait, and now they tell us to rest.Next time I catch them, I'll kill them for it.
Park Seong-jin did not waste the pause.While others lay down, he rose alone and took up his sword.
It was a struggle not to be caught the same way again.A yearning—to become like the Joui Seonin.
Footprints were drawn across the snow.Breath flowed along those lines.
"Inhale…hold…release…"
Breath and blade moved together.The drawn breath pushed the sword forward.The pause fixed the stance.The released breath emptied the space the cut passed through.
Even in the blizzard, his body did not waver.He was stepping beyond training, entering the ground of cultivation.
That was when he felt it.
Someone was watching from a distance.
One of the Joui Seonin—one of those who had appeared in black at the South Gate.
The man approached without a word and studied the tip of Park Seong-jin's blade.Frozen breath leaked into the air.His eyes were deep and still, like stone.
"What is your name?"
"Park Seong-jin."
"I heard of you from Jungnangjang Yi In-jung."
"He taught me Heup–Ji–Pa."
"You are young."
The man tilted his head slightly.
"There is thought in your movement.You are not trapped in the form you learned—you are searching for breath."
Park Seong-jin straightened, startled.To see so clearly from a glance—
"I only dared to imitate."
"Imitation."
The man nodded.
"Imitation, too, is study."
He looked at Park Seong-jin for a moment longer, then slowly opened his scabbard.A blade of ink-dark steel showed itself briefly.
He swung once—lightly.
"The sword does not cut. It connects.Like this.One line joined to the next.As thread follows a needle—do not sever the breath.Go with it."
His voice was low, but its resonance was deep.
The words did not settle at once.Yet they did not scatter, either.
Silence passed.
"The Heup–Ji–Pa you learned already lives in your body.Now, look at the emptiness between the three."
Park Seong-jin swallowed.There is emptiness… even there?
"Between inhale and hold, there is emptiness.Between hold and release, there is emptiness.When you know that space, the sword follows you."
He could not grasp the meaning fully.It was unfamiliar—yet it struck directly at the deepest part of his chest.
The Seonin closed his scabbard.
"When the war ends, seek the Seonin.And learn."
He looked up at the sky.
"Mount Guwol.Beneath the great flat rock, where three black pines stand.If you go there, someone will receive you."
With only that, the Seonin dissolved into the wind.No footprints.No shadow left behind.
Park Seong-jin stood there for a long while.
The emptiness between breath and blade.And Mount Guwol.
Could he go?
Would that day even come?
If it did—could he truly leave everything behind and seek a master at Guwol?
So many things in this world clutched at his steps.
It sounded like a distant dream.Like telling a grub crawling along the groundto rise and fly.
He lifted his sword again and resumed his forms.There was a different grain now in his movement—not yet captured by words,but unmistakably alive.
From that day on, Park Seong-jin thought of the black-clad warriors every dawn.And he carved one promise into his heart:
When the war ends, I will go to Mount Guwol.
So that he would never againbe pushed back like this.
Brief Notes for English Readers
Joui Seonin (皁衣仙人):Literally "Black-Robed Immortals." Semi-legendary warrior-ascetics who appear in times of upheaval. They hold no official rank, sometimes move by royal command, sometimes as monks or wandering swordsmen. Their presence blurs the line between history and legend.
White Lotus / Honggeonjeok (홍건적):Millenarian rebel movements active during the late Yuan dynasty. Often composed of peasants, refugees, and defeated soldiers, they mixed religious belief with armed resistance. Remnants frequently survived as scattered bands after major defeats.
Northern Yuan (북원):The continuation of Mongol power north of China after the fall of the Yuan dynasty. Though weakened, its military remnants and supply routes remained a destabilizing force across Liaodong and the northern frontier.