287
Near Huai'an — Sailing Through Water Mist
Starlight settled onto the river, and the moon had tipped halfway down.
When the fierce wind died, the air turned damp, and mist rising not far away began to spread across the surface.
At first it was thin.
Then, in a moment, it thickened.
The path ahead vanished.
It felt as though even if I waved my hand, I would not see it.
Front and back blurred, and even the boundary of water itself dissolved.
A curtain of darkness—darker than darkness without light—wrapped around us.
"The channel is gone!"
The oarsman shouted in panic. The oar wobbled, and the boat slipped sideways.
Unable to press forward, drained of force, the boat surrendered to the current and drifted slowly.
Park Seong-jin moved to the bow and searched for the bank.
But everything was washed white with haze. Nothing could be seen.
Even when the lantern was lifted high, its light scattered and melted into the fog.
"Do you hear anything?"
Song I-sul asked. Even his face was drowned in the mist.
Park listened.
No water, no birds, not even the sound of men breathing.
It was strange.
Even a warrior's sensing found nothing.
Only the minute sounds of his own making returned to him—
a terrifying stillness, as though the world had stopped.
"Hold."
Park gave the order low. The boat stilled.
They clung to a single lantern in darkness where they could not see one another's faces.
The flame trembled, and its trembling spilled long across the water.
When a breath of wind brushed past, even that light quivered as though it might go out.
Then—
A bell rang.
From far away—very far—
a low bell sound pushed through the fog.
Across the quiet ripples of night, the sound spread like water.
It felt as though we were being summoned by sound.
"A temple?"
Someone whispered.
Park lifted his head.
"I was told there's no temple near here."
"Then…"
The words trailed off.
Once, twice, three times—the bell sounded again.
Between those strokes, a faint light flashed within the fog.
A small lantern.
It looked like a lure, an invitation to come.
It moved slowly along the water.
Even if it were the mouth of hell, we had to go.
"A boat!"
The oarsman cried. But it was less a boat than a shadow.
The shape that cut through the mist slid forward without sound.
As it drew close, a man could be seen rowing.
His movement was unnaturally slow.
It was as though the wind, not the current, was pushing him toward us.
"Who are you?"
Park called.
No answer.
The man stopped rowing and raised his head.
In that instant, a single glance flashed in the thick fog.
A face neither old nor young.
White clothes, a single black sash—as if upper and lower had been cleaved apart.
He opened his mouth slowly.
"You are those who have lost the way."
His voice sounded as though it came from far off,
and yet as though it was whispering right beside us.
Park stepped forward.
"We are seeking the way.
The way to Huai'an."
The man smiled.
"Seeking the way… on water?"
It was a riddle, like a Zen question.
Park asked with courtesy,
"Then how should we go?"
Instead of answering, the man lifted his oar and tapped the surface lightly.
Holding the long oar like chopsticks, he pointed.
Where he indicated, the fog began to part, little by little.
"The way is always made after you pass."
"One who goes forward always goes before the way."
Leaving those words, the man's boat drifted away.
Into the fog—silent again—until it vanished.
The bell, the ripples, everything fell still.
After a moment, Song I-sul muttered low,
"Was that… even a person?"
"Why?"
"I felt nothing. No presence at all."
Park lifted the lantern higher.
The fog thinned slightly, and a faint waterway appeared.
He spoke quietly.
"That may have been Yun Dam."
The boat began to move north again, slowly.
The wind returned.
Mist remained, but now there was a path.
The Abandoned Temple of Huai'an — Yun Dam's First Appearance
The fog gradually lightened.
A single stream of wind brushed softly over the water.
Park held the lantern high.
The ripples trembled gently, and beyond them, a dim shape emerged.
"Is that… a temple?"
Song I-sul asked in a low voice.
Through the water mist, old eaves could be seen.
The roof had half collapsed, and the pillars, soaked through, had rotted black.
Not a place for people to live.
A scene that could summon ghosts.
And yet a strange stillness and order lingered there.
It looked less like a temple abandoned,
more like a place that had shaped itself into ruin in order to hide what was inside.
The boat touched the bank.
The soldiers disembarked carefully.
The ground was thick mud.
Between ponded water, stone steps continued upward.
As Park climbed, he said,
"If this is Huai'an, the temple should have a name."
"If it's a ruin," Song I-sul replied,
"even the name may have been lost."
At the entrance, only an old foundation stone remained.
Faint characters were carved upon it.
苕溪寺.
Shaoxi Temple.
The signboard was half erased, and the temple within was empty.
No altar, no pagoda, no incense.
Yet within that emptiness, a peculiar current lingered.
The smell of earth, the stink of wet moss, and—slipping through the wind—
a voice low and clear.
"This place…"
Park stopped.
From behind the temple, among the trees, a human shadow stepped out.
For a moment, the space seemed to brighten.
A man in white, a gray robe draped over it.
His beard was not long, but his eyes were deep.
Each time the wind passed, his sleeves moved like water.
He stopped before them and asked quietly,
"You who crossed the mist by boat—
are you the ones seeking Yun Dam?"
Park bowed.
"Yes.
By order of the senior general, we have come to seek wisdom."
The man smiled.
"Wisdom…
nothing of that remains here.
All that remains is the empty seat where wisdom has left."
His words were gentle, yet edged.
Park answered with respect.
"I came to see that seat."
Yun Dam looked at Park for a moment, a glint passing through his eyes.
Then he nodded.
"Good.
To look upon the place people have left—
that is the quickest way to know the way."
He turned and walked slowly.
Park and Song I-sul followed.
Deeper inside, the temple gave way to forest, and at its end stood a small pavilion.
Before it, water lay pooled like a pond, dotted with floating leaves.
Yun Dam sat there and said,
"Even after the world collapses, what remains is only this—
things sinking, slowly."
He touched the surface with a fingertip, lightly stirring the ripples.
Park steadied his breath and asked,
"How do you see this age of chaos?"
Yun Dam closed his eyes, then opened them slowly.
"The more disordered the world becomes, the more men seek a great man.
But a great man is one who knows how to make himself small."
Whom he meant could not be known.
Only that it did not feel like Zhu Yuanzhang, Chen Youliang, or Zhang Shicheng.
It sounded like he was waiting for something else entirely—something that could save the world.
When his words ended, the wind rose.
On the temple roof, an old tile rattled.
The sound within the wind rang like an ancient bell.
Song I-sul muttered low,
"…Is this truly Yun Dam?"
Park said nothing.
Who he was—what did it matter.
If they could bring into their camp a man with wisdom like this, that was enough.
He looked at the ruined temple, the wind, and the man.
In that moment, the man did not seem cut off from the world, but like the current of the world itself.
Later, people would say:
"When Park Seong-jin first met Yun Dam, the temple was ruin, yet within it the Dao stood."
"A warrior met a Daoist, and heard words that would change the age."
"The path Goryeo would take was decided in that place."
"Goryeo, destined to end in five hundred years, endured a thousand—because of that meeting."