People on the Cliff's Edge
When Tang Mujin awoke, the first thing he saw was Namgung Myeong crouched nearby.
At first glance, it looked as though the cloth bound around his shoulder had been soaked red and he was resting because of his wounds.
But the moment Tang Mujin saw his expression, he realized he was mistaken.
Namgung Myeong wasn't crouching there out of need for treatment—he was clearly itching to put on airs.
Catching Tang Mujin's glance, Namgung Myeong gave him a sidelong look and put on the expression of a man who had grasped all the truths of the world.
"So this… is the world as seen by a pinnacle master."
What nonsense is he spouting now? Tang Mujin stared more closely at him.
Outwardly, Namgung Myeong seemed unchanged. Yet there was a subtle, almost indescribable difference in the air around him.
…He broke through the wall just like that?
Namgung Myeong pressed his palms on his knees and rose, gazing down at Tang Mujin.
Then he gave an insufferably smug smile.
"This… must be the insurmountable difference in perspective between a pinnacle master and a mere first-rate."
It seemed he had been waiting all this time just to deliver that one line. Truly, a madman in every sense.
With a sour look, Tang Mujin pushed himself upright.
"You're in no position to act high and mighty. I saw you gripping your sword while collapsing just a moment ago."
"Hey, First-rate Tang. And what of it?"
"What of it? It means that if I so much as open my mouth, a transcendent master will come charging in and hack off your left arm."
"…"
Namgung Myeong's heart plummeted. If anyone else had said it, he might have laughed it off. But if Tang Mujin said it, even his father would accept it without protest.
Namgung Myeong's demeanor immediately returned to normal.
"Of course I was joking. You'll break through the wall someday yourself—why would I strut about over something so trivial?"
"Hmph."
Namgung Myeong reached out and helped Tang Mujin to his feet. Only then did both of them notice Pyo Chung.
The two exchanged uneasy glances. This wasn't a time for idle banter. T'ang Lang and Sanjeo were gone.
If men vanished from these sheer cliffs, their whereabouts could only mean one thing. The abyss below—a place from which none could ever return alive.
But surprisingly, Pyo Chung was not weeping.
Neither joy nor sorrow marked his features. It was a face too complex for such simple words.
It was the expression of one who had cast off burdens and felt relief—yet at the same time, of one weighed by endless regret and memories.
Pyo Chung did not look down into the abyss. He looked past the cliffs, far beyond.
His gaze stretched across the peaks of Mount Nogunsan, all the way to the horizon.
For a long time, he stood watching that distant line.
Only after a considerable while did he gather the swords of T'ang Lang and Sanjeo.
"Let's go back."
***
The three men headed toward Nogun Village. But the village was empty.
As he had instructed before the battle with the sect master, the young ones must have evacuated the people in advance.
"Where do you think the villagers hid?"
"Hard to say. I don't know."
"Then… where shall we go now?"
The question was little more than formality. There was only one place left for them to go.
They climbed the cliffside path. They would not rest until they confirmed that the Cloud Bridge still stood.
And when they reached the top, they found—unexpectedly—many people.
The men who had been building the bridge were all there, as well as a good portion of the villagers, who had not evacuated but instead stayed to watch the bridge take shape.
Someone spotted the three and cried out:
"They're here!"
All eyes turned toward Tang Mujin's group—and then, the villagers recoiled in shock.
It was natural. With their bodies battered and bleeding, it was hard to imagine these men had won their battle.
Pyo Chung forced a smile so relaxed it almost seemed exaggerated.
"We have won. The sect master of Taeuigum is dead. For now, no one will stand in our way."
Faces brightened.
But joy was not the only emotion that spread. Their eyes soon fell on the three swords in Pyo Chung's hands.
The Three Swords of Nogun never parted from their blades.
If T'ang Lang and Sanjeo's swords now rested in Pyo Chung's grasp, it could only mean the two had gone where no one returns.
Pyo Chung burst into a hearty laugh.
"They did not die weeping or in despair. Nor were they cut down by an enemy's sword. They achieved what they sought, and they died by their own choosing. Rejoice! Rejoice, for only then will T'ang Lang and Sanjeo also rejoice."
The villagers smiled bitterly. Pyo Chung watched their faces for a while, then asked:
"By the way, why did you not evacuate?"
Elder Bang answered for them.
"Even if things went wrong, if we kept building, perhaps the bridge would still be completed."
"If things had gone wrong, the bridge would only have been cut down immediately."
"Even so, to see the bridge completed, even for just a fleeting moment—that is what matters. This is our last chance. Better to die having laid a bridge than to die without ever having tried."
Pyo Chung understood him completely.
And the work was not yet finished.
So Pyo Chung, the villagers, Tang Mujin, and Namgung Myeong all sat quietly, gazing at the clouds.
The dark rain clouds slowly lightened, drifting north. Sunlight streamed through, scattering gold across the sky. The people gazed in a daze at the beautiful sight.
Then, all eyes turned to the Cloud Bridge.
One nameless middle-aged man was crawling across it, fastening the final plank.
At last, he stood. The bridge was complete.
Everyone held their breath.
They thought the man would be the first to cross—the right of the one who placed the final step.
But instead, he returned silently to sit among them.
No words. Just a quiet merging into the crowd.
Confusion flickered through the villagers' eyes.
Soon, their gazes gathered upon a frail old woman—the matron Ju.
Pyo Chung rose and walked to her.
As before, he bent his back before her. His tattered clothes were soaked in blood, wounds still open beneath the torn fabric.
Old Matron Ju silently stared at that blood-stained back.
Turning his head, Pyo Chung looked at her. His expression—was it dazed or clear? Hard to say.
But his voice came bright and strong:
"Mother, please climb on."
After a long hesitation, the old woman did. She wrapped her thin arms around his neck.
Reaching back with one hand, Pyo Chung held her fragile frame.
He stepped to the Cloud Bridge. With his free hand, he gripped the railing.
The bridge swayed, but it did not break.
Slowly, carefully, Pyo Chung walked forward.
Not quickly—but without a single tremor.
***
Old Matron Ju said nothing.
Halfway across the bridge, she buried her face into Pyo Chung's back.
His back grew damp with warm tears. From behind came the sound of the old woman's muffled sobs.
Pyo Chung murmured softly.
"Cry. Cry until your heart loosens. Perhaps it will not wash away that lifelong torment… but it is better than not weeping at all."
Ju's sobbing did not cease for a long time. So Pyo Chung crossed the bridge very, very slowly.
***
The next morning, the people left Nogun Village and made their way toward Nakseong Village at the foot of Mount Nogunsan.
It wasn't for any special reason. They only wished to be somewhere closer to the outside world.
Besides, if one thought carefully, Nakseong Village was still part of Mount Nogunsan. Entering it would not mean defying the imperial decree.
Very few had ever been there before. Except for the handful who delivered herbs and returned with daily necessities, the villagers had no reason to go.
Nor had they wanted to. The mingled gazes of condescension and disdain from the Nakseong folk were unbearable.
But now, those villagers would no longer look at them that way.
When the Nogun villagers arrived, however, they found Nakseong empty.
Homes, livestock, sacks of rice—everything remained. Only valuables worth money had been hastily snatched up before they fled. Clearly, they had sensed the fall of the Taeuigum sect master and fled in fear.
Afraid that the people of Nogun might seek revenge.
But the Nogun villagers had no such thoughts. Still, after years of oppression and cruelty toward them, it was no wonder Nakseong folk had fled in terror.
In any case, the Nogun people seemed almost relieved.
With curiosity, they explored the village. They stepped into well-built houses, marveled at the strange belongings left behind, and admired them aloud.
Nakseong was no large settlement, and it lacked any grand manor fit to gather all its people.
So the Nogun folk simply sat wherever they pleased—before a well, in a yard without fences, even right in the street.
And that alone satisfied them.
Children shrieked and dashed about in wild play, but no one thought to scold them.
Yet there was still work to be done.
Someone had to leave Nogunsan and report the truth to the local officials of the surrounding districts.
Only when their deeds were known and acknowledged could the people be freed at last.
Of all the villagers, only three could go: Tang Mujin, Namgung Myeong, and Pyo Chung.
When the three announced they would depart, the villagers gathered round, encircling them.
"Return safely, will you? You will come back, yes?"
"May it be good news you bring…"
"How many nights will you be gone?"
For a long while, Pyo Chung listened to their anxious voices. Then he asked them a question in return.
"If you are freed from Mount Nogunsan… where will you go?"
The people hesitated at first. Then, like a flood breaking loose, voices rose in a torrent.
Many of the younger folk said they would leave and build lives elsewhere.
But unexpectedly, more than half said they would remain.
"You would stay here on Mount Nogunsan?"
"Of course. For better or worse, it is where we have lived all our lives."
To them, the world beyond was a dream, a place of infinite possibility, and the land where their ancestors had once lived.
But at the same time, it was unknown, unknowable—a homeland no one had ever truly seen.
What mattered was not what life outside could give them.
What mattered was that they were no longer caged. That from now on, they could choose their own lives.
That they were no longer outlaws—and that their children, and their children's children, would no longer bear that brand.
They had broken the chains passed down through generations. And now, if they wished, they could take flight.
Elder Bang smiled warmly.
"Besides, better to live alongside the mountain we know than suffer in some strange land. And since the Nakseong people have left their homes behind, we can live just as comfortably as they did."
Then he turned to Tang Mujin and Namgung Myeong with gratitude.
"Physician Tang, Young Hero Namgung. We are deeply indebted to you. We shall remain here, waiting for the day we may repay you. Is there any way we might offer recompense?"
Tang Mujin had no wish to demand anything. What could he ask of people who had only now escaped a lifetime of hell?
In truth, he felt he and Namgung Myeong had done very little.
It was the villagers who laid the endless plank road. It was they who built the Cloud Bridge. It was they who endured those long, bitter years.
But the people were earnest in their desire to repay. To ease their sense of debt, Tang Mujin asked for the one thing they could easily provide.
"Elixirs or herbs… no, those are better sold to merchants. If you happen upon venomous insects, poisonous herbs, or rare toxins, do not discard them. Keep them well, and pass them to me."
"That's all? Truly?"
Nogunsan was full of such things. But no one had ever had use for them.
To the villagers, his request sounded little different from asking nothing at all.
"They may be useless to others. But to me, they are of great value."
"…If that is so, then we shall do it."
Elder Bang bowed deeply, pressing his fists together.
"The people of Nogun, and our descendants after us, will always regard you as family. We wish you peace in all your days."
Tang Mujin and Namgung Myeong returned the bow.
Then, together with Pyo Chung, they departed Mount Nogunsan.
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