People on the Cliff
The most experienced men of the village gathered at the cliff's edge. Even the youngest among them was over forty.
Younger men had volunteered to help, but the elders refused. They argued that fellows who had never built so much as a narrow ledge, let alone a suspension bridge, would only get in the way.
But the truth was different: they simply didn't want to push the dangerous, grueling work onto the young.
Among the men on the cliff, the oldest was Elder Bang.
He muttered as he gazed at the opposite cliff:
"I never thought I'd set foot here again."
For a very long time, Elder Bang had avoided this place. Coming here only dragged up bleak memories.
He had been part of two attempts to build the cloud bridge. Both had ended in failure.
Yet he still remembered the distance between the cliffs.
Fifty jang. If one had to detour along other paths, it would take several hours, but if it were flat ground, even a child could cross it quickly.
And beyond those fifty jang was not simply another cliff face.
Beyond it lay the outside world they had only heard of in stories— the ancestral homeland where their forebears had once lived.
That was why people had risked their lives for the cloud bridge. All they had were thick hemp ropes, a handful of sturdy planks, and a few iron stakes.
They had nothing more, but needed nothing more—if only there hadn't been interference.
Both attempts had ended in bloodshed, and the villagers abandoned their dream.
At that time, Elder Bang hadn't yet reached forty.
Some people grow old without a single white hair. Others become old before their hair ever grays.
Elder Bang considered himself old from the day he gave up that dream.
He heard murmurs among the men.
"I still don't know if this is right."
"Why?"
"Life's been decent lately. Bellies full, children's lips greasy with fat. What if we stir up trouble and ruin the good times?"
Elder Bang stroked his sparse beard. Good times? Was that what this was?
"And those two young men have nothing to gain. Why are they leading this? Aren't they scheming something?"
"Scheming? From us? We've got nothing to swindle."
"True enough… but it still feels strange…"
At that moment, Nogun Samgeom appeared with the two young men—Physician Tang and Young Hero Myeong.
Unexpectedly, it was the younger Physician Tang who seemed to have taken the lead among the five. He approached Elder Bang first.
"I was told you know this work best, elder."
"I know no great secrets. Building a cloud bridge isn't complicated—only dangerous. You set strong pillars on both sides of the cliff, stretch the thick ropes, then lay the planks one by one. That's all. Simple, but perilous."
"Drilling holes into the rock for the pillars alone sounds daunting."
"That part's fine. The old holes are still there."
Elder Bang pointed to a spot nearly five jang from the cliff's edge.
It was the firmest ground, the hardest rock. Nearby grew a sizable tree. If they lashed the ropes to both tree and iron pillars, the bridge would hold firm.
Tang Mujin checked the hole. However it had been drilled, its depth was remarkable. Dust had gathered over the years, but that could be cleared out slowly.
Elder Bang said:
"Anyway, the first step is the pillars."
From the path below came clattering sounds—villagers bringing every scrap of iron they could find to use as pillars.
But their shapes and sizes varied. Nogunsan had no iron mines, nor any blacksmiths. They had to make do with whatever iron rods had trickled in.
Many were rusted, too long, or too short. Elder Bang picked out the two thickest, sturdiest-looking pieces and instructed the men:
"Set these into the ground. Fill the gaps with oak wedges, then cover with packed earth and sand."
"Yes, elder."
Just as the men lifted the rods, Tang Mujin asked:
"Is there a reason you chose those two in particular?"
"They're the thickest, in the best condition. Do we need more reason?"
Tang Mujin tilted his head.
"Wait. Hand them to me."
The man glanced at Elder Bang, then reluctantly passed them over.
Tang Mujin ran his hands over them, then shut his eyes and tapped them lightly. A dull ticking echoed—light, but heavy in tone.
He seemed to listen to the sound, or perhaps to feel the vibration.
Then he shook his head and placed the rods back on the cart.
"Don't use these."
He went on to tap the rest, one by one. To others, it looked like nonsense.
After testing them all, he chose several.
"These will serve best as pillars."
The men hesitated. The rods he picked looked unimpressive—not particularly long, only about two fingers thick. Stout enough, but there were thicker ones. Elder Bang's picks still looked sturdier.
The villagers respected Tang Mujin. But being a skilled physician or carpenter was one thing; iron was another.
Elder Bang interjected, reluctantly:
"If the pillars fail, nothing else matters. We must use the strongest rods for the pillars."
"I understand. That's why I chose the strongest ones."
The men's faces showed doubt. So Tang Mujin decided to prove it.
"Those rods look thick, and cutting them would be hard. Let me show you with thinner ones."
"Show us what?"
"The quality of the iron."
He took two slender rods, no thicker than a thumb, and clashed them together. Even by touch alone, he could tell their properties.
"What do you think will happen if we strike them hard?"
"The thinner one will bend."
"Correct. But the thicker one will crack. Best if someone else tries."
He handed the rods to a nearby man.
The man wedged one into a rock crevice and swung the other.
The thin rod bent slightly. But as Tang Mujin predicted, a sharp crack split the thicker rod.
It was a startling sight. Iron usually bends long before it breaks.
Tang Mujin picked up another rod, tapped it, and showed them:
"This one looks ordinary, but the rust runs deep. It's no good either."
The iron rods gathered here were all rusted. In contrast, the rod Tang Mujin picked up seemed less corroded than the others.
But Tang Mujin lifted it and struck it hard against a rock. If the rod didn't break, his palm would surely tear open. Yet there was neither hesitation nor fear in his eyes.
As expected, the rod snapped apart pitifully, revealing the deep, reddish rust within.
Tang Mujin brushed his hands calmly.
"Not all iron is the same. To the eye, they may look alike, but some are crudely made and break easily, some are too soft and bend at once, and some—like this one—are rotted through with rust."
"Hmm."
"If you use the rods you first showed me, the pillars will bend before long. Of course, you'll think of ways to patch it up, but it's always better to use something solid from the start."
Elder Bang nodded, and those listening nearby murmured among themselves.
"These physicians, they must learn tricks to see inside things without looking. The last one we had was the same, and now this Physician Tang as well."
"It's one thing to see inside the human body, but how could a physician see inside iron?"
"Why not? Peering into a man's body is harder than peering into iron."
"That's true enough."
A look of wonder spread across their faces.
Elder Bang mulled over Tang Mujin's words with satisfaction, but then, embarrassed by his own reaction, he barked in anger:
"We haven't even started the work yet, and you're already dawdling? Move!"
The men scattered at his command.
***
The work of driving the pillars for the suspension bridge was finished in just three days.
Tang Mujin went back and forth across the cliffs, testing the iron stakes with all his strength. His mindset was simple: better they come loose now than later. But the stakes did not so much as quiver.
Elder Bang, watching, laughed with satisfaction.
"If these shook, our lives would be the first to fly. Do you think we drove them in carelessly?"
"True enough."
While the work advanced atop the cliffs, young men and women gathered in groups, twisting ropes.
They soaked hemp strands in water, then twisted them into cords as thick as a finger.
That alone was strong enough to hold a man dangling all day, but the villagers did not stop there.
They braided several cords into thicker ropes, then braided those into even greater cables.
They knew if the rope failed, everything else would collapse. And if the work failed, the ones to die would be their own families and neighbors. No one dared cut corners.
Many hands worked, yet the ropes grew slowly. Each was as thick as a wrist, and their length seemed endless.
One day, as such massive ropes were being made, Tang Mujin and Pyo Chung climbed up to inspect the spot where the bridge would be placed.
There they saw a familiar figure.
"Isn't that a Green Forest bandit?"
"It is."
His clothes aside, the face was unmistakable.
The very man who had once fought against Nogun Samgeom when they first met—the bandit leader wielding the geochi-do. But now, no other Green Forest men were in sight.
That man sat calmly on the opposite cliff, as though he had been waiting for Pyo Chung.
Rising to his feet, he called out in a gravelly voice:
"Elder! I trust you know why I've come."
"I know."
He was a watchman—the one set by the Grandmaster of Taeui Sword Sect and the villagers, and also by Hyun Jang, within Nogunsan.
Enemies by right, yet neither his voice nor Pyo Chung's carried hostility.
If anything, his tone was almost respectful, though still rough.
"Seeing these iron stakes, it seems the villagers are up to something serious. Surely you are aware, Elder."
Pyo Chung did not answer. He merely folded his arms and gave a small nod. Affirmation.
"Then you must also know what comes next."
"The same as twice before—it will happen once again."
"Elder, whatever wind has moved you to this, could you not call it off? The Grandmaster of Taeui Sword Sect will scour Nogunsan to kill you. We did not meet on good terms, but still, I have grown a kind of rough affection. Hear me out just once."
His voice carried genuine concern. But Pyo Chung replied evenly:
"Now it may be rough affection. But if you turn a blind eye this time, perhaps it will grow into something warmer."
"If so, the Grandmaster will have my head. I may have no wife or children, but still, life is precious. And soon my men will see this. They won't keep silent."
Pyo Chung chuckled.
"Your face is fierce, your weapon fiercer—yet you can't even keep your men in line? What a waste of a face."
"If they were truly my men, I could bind their mouths with rope, or beat them silent. But they aren't mine, are they? They belong to the Grandmaster."
The man planted his geochi-do into the ground like a staff.
"Elder, you've spared my life dozens, hundreds of times. That weighs on me. So I came to warn you just this once. But I am no brave man. I cannot close my eyes to this forever."
He took a breath and continued.
"I won't stop my men from coming here. I won't stop them from reporting to the Grandmaster. Do you understand?"
Pyo Chung laughed again.
"When I first met you, I thought you were worthless. But with some years on you, you've grown into a man."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"If you don't understand, then just live on without knowing."
With that, Pyo Chung turned and walked away. The man with the geochi-do called out again and again:
"Elder Pyo! Elder Pyo Chung!"
The voice clung to Tang Mujin's ears, making him glance back several times.
But Pyo Chung never looked back.
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