“It’s the wind. No matter how small the wind is, if it keeps blowing in the same direction, it can stir up enormous waves.”
“…Be it a typhoon or a landslide, it seems the great calamities always gather from the smallest of things.”
“Most of human history follows the same pattern. It isn’t the grand choices, but the accumulation of trivial decisions that yields the greatest consequences. Since we can never know what is right in the moment, we have no choice but to live without regret.”
As they spoke, the rhythmic pulse of the tide striking the shore filled the air. Black-tipped gulls cried out in swirling flocks, and a wind thick with the scent of salt and brine ruffled their clothes. Cho Yoon, momentarily entranted by the sea he hadn’t laid eyes on in fifteen years, turned his head to find Cheon-oh staring just as blankly at the horizon. Seeing jet-black strands of hair whipping across his disciple’s handsome face, Cho Yoon reached out.
“If it bothers you, why not trim it a bit?”
“It doesn’t bother me. Does it offend your eyes, Master?”
“It isn’t that.”
It’s just that even when I tie it back, the wind tangles it immediately… Cho Yoon had tossed the suggestion out casually, but the boy’s response was so laden with a grim resolve—as if he were ready to shave his head on the spot—that Cho Yoon hurriedly retracted the idea.
Cheon-oh’s tendency to react so extremely to every syllable Cho Yoon uttered remained unchanged.
Even though the boy had grown so tall that Cho Yoon had to reach up just to tuck a stray lock behind his ear, the sensation that he was ‘all grown up’ still felt strangely distant.
They say a person’s personality doesn’t fully settle until after twenty, so I hope he starts mellowing out soon.
Suppressing a sigh, Cho Yoon shifted his hand to his waist, deciding it was time to change the subject. He was still torn over whether to hand the thing over, but he felt he owed it to the boy to hear his opinion.
“You mentioned you were born four days after the Lesser Heat. Today marks exactly nineteen years since you came into this world. Were you aware?”
“…No. I didn’t know.”
“I’ve told you time and again: you shouldn’t be so indifferent to the day of your birth. Are the rice cakes and soups I’ve prepared for you every year to be for nothing?”
“…I apologize, Master. I lose track of the days and end up forgetting.”
Well, I suppose it’s understandable.
This wasn’t an era where one could simply check a smartphone for the date. One had to guess based on the Imperial calendar released each year or gauge the passage of time by the stars and weather. Someone with a keen interest in the date might keep a transcribed calendar at home, but the original ‘Cho Yoon’—a man utterly indifferent to the world—would never have kept such a thing in his study.
However, after realizing he could roughly track the twenty-four solar terms by the night sky using his lingering knowledge, Cho Yoon had made a genuine effort to celebrate his disciples’ birthdays.
He had held small celebrations for Sa-yeong and Sa-hyeon every year as well. To follow local tradition, he should have served noodles to symbolize longevity, but as disciples of a Immortal Healer, their long lives were practically guaranteed; thus, he stuck to the familiar tradition of making rice cakes.
He had wanted to serve seaweed soup as well, but dried seaweed was a rare luxury in the landlocked Qinling Mountains.
He made do with other broths, and even after sending them away for their studies, he never failed to send small gifts and medicines on their special days.
And today, I intended to give you a magnificent sword to mark your adulthood…
Cho Yoon unfastened the blade—this demonic thing, or whatever it was—that he had received from Hwang Chu and held it out to Cheon-oh. He spoke with blunt honesty.
“This sword was crafted for your frame by the man considered the greatest blacksmith of this era. I would like to tell you to use it without reservation… but after seeing the circumstances surrounding its birth, I find myself hesitant. Therefore, I will leave it to your judgment. Decide for yourself once you’ve heard the truth.”
“…Did you travel all this way just to grant me a true blade?”
“Did you expect to enter the Gangho carrying a wooden practice sword?”
Cheon-oh was a sharp lad, and Cho Yoon assumed he would have guessed the purpose of the trip the moment they sought out a blacksmith. Yet, the boy’s eyes widened slightly, as if the news were entirely unexpected. His gaze remained transfixed on the sheathed weapon held out to him before he reverently extended both hands. Cho Yoon placed the White Rainbow Cleaving the Sun… upon his palms, his own guilt prompting a stream of explanations.
“It seems he possessed a piece of meteoric iron that fell in Gansu Province long ago. He spent decades pondering how to forge it, only recently finishing the frame. Perhaps because the catalyst for its completion was so gruesome, the blade carries an ominous aura, despite being forged from divine iron. So, you decide. If it isn’t to your liking, I will find you another, even if it takes a little longer.”
“…May I draw it?”
“Inspect it to your heart’s content.”
Granting permission, Cho Yoon watched as Cheon-oh turned slightly, gripped the hilt, and slowly unsheathed the blade. The leather-wrapped handle seemed to melt into the boy’s grip instantly. The sharp, metallic hiss as the steel slid from its scabbard was keen enough to grate against the eardrums.
Finally, White Rainbow Cleaving the Sun… stood revealed, gleaming fiercely under the coastal sun.
True to its name—the one that claimed to pierce the sun—a soft, rounded halo seemed to shimmer at the very tip of the blade.
Yet, in stark contrast to the pure white body of the sword, the wavy patterns along both edges appeared unnervingly black.
It was clearly honed to an edge that could split a falling hair, but the brilliant flash of light reflecting off the steel sent an involuntary shiver down Cho Yoon’s spine. He couldn’t tell if this was truly a sword of holy iron, or a weapon saturated with a blacksmith’s resentment.
In truth, it was both.
I checked it once at the forge, but it feels different out here in the open. Maybe I really should have it reforged and find him something new.
Cho Yoon looked up at Cheon-oh’s face with a sense of unease, but he was immediately met with a different kind of obstacle.
Cheon-oh’s eyes were sparkling with the pure, unadulterated joy of a child tearing open a gift under a Christmas tree.
Right! He’s still only nineteen! And this is the first true sword he’s ever received that is explicitly his! Why would he hate a blade with a dark backstory? He’d probably love that kind of setting!
It was a painful miscalculation on Cho Yoon’s part.
To a boy brimming with youthful vigor and sensitivity, a high-quality blade with a dramatic history was impossible to refuse. Cho Yoon had meant to offer a nuanced, objective argument, but Cheon-oh, after testing the weight with a few delicate swings through the air, turned back with a question.
“Does this sword have a name?”
…It seemed words would be useless now. Of course, Cheon-oh would obey if Cho Yoon commanded it, but taking a gift back from a disciple who looked so genuinely thrilled was a cruelty he couldn’t commit.
Cho Yoon suppressed a sigh and pushed aside his lingering discomfort. The man hadn’t called it a complete demonic sword, after all. As long as Cheon-oh continued to grow as he had, there shouldn’t be any major issues.
Right, the name was…
“It is… White Rainbow.”
How could he tell the boy the full name—one that combined two omens of a nation-toppling disaster?
Fortunately, because Cheon-oh had been raised by Cho Yoon, he didn’t view a rainbow as an ill omen.
Upon hearing the abbreviated name, a faint smile touched the boy’s lips. “Master, I like this sword.”
“…Even though it’s far from ordinary for your first blade?”
“Did I not learn the sword for the sake of vengeance? A blade with this much resentment will make for a fine companion. And besides… a rainbow always follows the rain.”
The roar of the waves was constant, yet Cheon-oh’s voice cut through the air as clearly as if he were whispering directly into Cho Yoon’s ear. It was a low, resonant bass that had settled into a weight capable of pressing against a listener’s chest.
Cho Yoon was likely the only person on earth who wouldn’t find that tone chillingly indifferent.
Well, there’s no helping it now.
It had been so long since he’d seen Cheon-oh this excited; what did a little resentment matter? If he’d known it would go this way, he would have put it in a proper gift box with a grand ribbon.
That’s right. My boy isn’t some minor character from a novel who loses his mind to a demonic sword, goes on a massacre, and gets taken out by the protagonist.
Nodding to himself, Cho Yoon cleared away the last of his hesitation and turned to leave. Cheon-oh sheathed the sword and followed without a word.
“We’ll head down the coast toward Guangdong Province. I hear Fujian Province is famous for its fresh seafood and medicinal mushrooms, so let’s take our time and look around, even if it lengthens the trip.”
“Yes, Master.”
He had already sent word to Sa-yeong in Guangdong and Sa-hyeon in Hebei months ago. Since Sa-hyeon was also traveling down to Guangdong, this would mark their first reunion in eight long years. While one might expect him to hurry for such a joyous occasion, Cho Yoon had a reason for choosing a slow, deliberate journey.
It was time for Cheon-oh to become independent.
Cho Yoon had nothing left to teach him, and he had a premonition that if he held on any longer, he would miss the right moment forever.
Once he finished making arrangements for the children while Cheon-oh established himself after descending the mountain, Cho Yoon would have only one task left.
This was intended to be Cho Yoon and Cheon-oh’s final journey together.