“Miss...!”

“Oh, Miss....”

Everyone was crying.

All were dressed in white robes, each with a white mourning sash tied around them.

“I will dress you now, Miss.”

Yeoyul, who was always the most honest with her emotions, did not cry today.

Though the redness around her eyes showed she had wept for a long while, before Seolhwa she forced herself to endure with composure.

With careful, reverent hands, Yeoyul changed Seolhwa’s clothes into plain white mourning garb.

Every movement of her hands carried the weight of unspoken words.

“Father...! Father!!”

“Clan Head... hrrgh....”

“Where is the Lord of the Medicine Hall! Take his pulse again, again! My father is not someone who would pass like this!!”

The Clan Head’s Quarters. The residence of Namgoong Mucheon.

The clamor resounded even into the corridors of the Clan Head’s Quarters.

It was Cheongsan’s desperate cry.

“This makes no sense! I won’t believe it—no, I refuse to believe it!! Father!!!”

“Enough! Do you think you are the only one in pain, that you alone are grieving?”

It was Cheonghae’s voice.

“Ahhh...! I... I refuse to believe it. I won’t believe it... hrrgh....”

“Husband....”

The voice of Murong Yeonhwa.

And the sound of everyone’s sobbing.

Srrrk—

The door slid open.

Those standing near the entrance turned as Seolhwa stepped into the room.

The first face she saw was Seop Mugwang, his expression heavy with grief.

“....”

Seop Mugwang’s lips parted as if to speak, then closed again.

He stepped aside to make way.

Behind him stood Hwarin and Woong.

“...Sister.”

Woong’s eyes were streaked with tears.

His clenched fists trembled, veins bulging, the backs of his hands flushed red with rage.

Hwarin could not even lift her head.

She only sobbed against Woong’s shoulder.

Cheongsan cried out in anguish as Murong Yeonhwa tried to restrain him.

Cheonghae stood with fists so tightly clenched that his veins, like Woong’s, protruded visibly.

Seolhwa’s gaze met that of the Chief Steward standing by Namgoong Mucheon’s bedside.

His stunned expression slowly contorted with grief.

It was the Chief Steward who broke eye contact first and spoke.

“The Young Miss has arrived, Young Clan Head.”

At those words, Cheongun, who sat by the bedside, slowly lifted his head.

His gaze turned, little by little, toward Seolhwa.

“...Seolhwa.” 𝙛𝒓𝒆𝙚𝒘𝒆𝓫𝙣𝓸𝙫𝓮𝒍.𝒄𝒐𝓶

Cheongun rose sluggishly from his seat.

The Chief Steward rushed to steady him as he stumbled.

“Seolhwa....”

Cheongun reached her and pulled her into his arms.

“The Clan Head... your grandfather....”

His words broke off as sobs burst from his chest.

But even without hearing him finish, Seolhwa already knew what he meant.

Upon the bed lay Namgoong Mucheon.

His eyes were covered by a white cloth, and the wrinkled hand that rested beyond the quilt did not stir.

The massive hand she had never been able to fully grasp with her own.

The hand that had always held hers warmly.

Now it was growing cold.

Empty, grasping nothing.

“Hrrgh... uhhrrgh....”

Cheongun’s sobs shook Seolhwa’s body.

Seolhwa stared blankly at the wrinkles on Namgoong Mucheon’s hand.

No tears, no sobbing, no cries came forth.

It was as if she had returned to the time when she knew nothing of emotion—feeling nothing, thinking nothing.

Her black eyes, fixed upon the cold, lifeless figure of her grandfather, were hollow.

Empty.

Only endless emptiness remained.

****

The body of Namgoong Mucheon was moved to Cheonho Hall.

The streets of Anhui were filled with the wailing of mourners for the late Namgoong Clan Head.

White cloth hung before every building, and all wore white sashes and strips of mourning cloth in grief for the Namgoong Clan Head’s death.

Visitors streamed endlessly into the Namgoong Clan to pay their respects.

Merchant groups and martial artists who had dealings with the clan, government nobles, guards of escort bureaus—

Those who lived near enough to the Namgoong Clan abandoned their own affairs and rushed to mourn the Sword Emperor.

Cheongun, Cheonghae, and Cheongsan kept vigil by Namgoong Mucheon’s side for three nights and days.

Cheongun especially did not sleep a single breath, remaining by his father’s side even in the quiet hours of deepest night when mourners were scarce.

Seop Mugwang and Chief Steward Namgoong Mun likewise stood silently at the rear of Cheonho Hall.

Thus the third night arrived.

Step. Step.

In the deep night.

Footsteps echoed climbing toward Cheonho Hall.

Cheongun, staring blankly up at Namgoong Mucheon, forced himself to rise to receive the mourner.

But at that moment, he faltered and nearly collapsed.

Someone was suddenly at his side, catching him before he fell.

Cheongun lifted his gaze.

“...Seolhwa.”

“Father.”

Seolhwa supported him upright.

“Have the uncles gone in?”

“Yes. I told them to close their eyes for a while. Tomorrow they must receive more mourners, so they need rest.”

“Then you too should rest tonight, Father. I will keep watch beside Grandfather.”

Cheongun shook his head.

“No. A father should keep vigil. It is my duty, is it not?”

“At this rate, Father, you will collapse as well.”

“I am fine. This much....”

“I...”

Seolhwa’s grip tightened {N•o•v•e•l•i•g•h•t} on his arm.

“...I want to keep watch.”

Cheongun gazed at her lowered head, her trembling hands.

He knew.

He knew that Seolhwa had not shed a single tear.

That her grief was festering inside her chest.

“...I will rest for two hours, then return.”

“....”

“Guard your grandfather well.”

Cheongun staggered out of Cheonho Hall.

Within the vast, silent hall remained only Seolhwa, the Chief Steward, and Seop Mugwang.

Seolhwa sat to one side on the right.

Her eyes turned to the place of honor where Namgoong Mucheon’s body lay in state.

Four and a half years ago—

She remembered the first time she returned to the Namgoong Clan and faced Namgoong Mucheon.

Seated in the place of honor, looking down upon her, he had been like a towering mountain, like a colossal dragon.

Fearsome, overwhelming—but not once did she think him dangerous.

Was it because she knew he was her grandfather?

No.

When she had appeared out of nowhere claiming to be a child of the Namgoong Clan, he had embraced her readily.

Perhaps, from the very first moment he saw her, he already knew.

That she was Namgoong Seolhwa.

The granddaughter he had searched for so desperately.

[Namgoong Seolhwa.]

“....”

Seolhwa’s gaze fell.

Her clenched fists trembled.

[I could not simply stand by and watch.]

How long had it been?

The voice of the Imoogi resonated in her mind.

For so long, despite her calls, he had not answered—as if he had vanished.

[Your grief shakes the heavens and strangles your breath.]

Unable to turn away from Seolhwa’s pain, he appeared.

It had been fifteen days since.

[If it is so, then weep.]

“....”

[Flowing water is clear. Do not let it rot within—release it. Why do you fear your emotions?]

Her clenched fists slowly loosened.

Was it because she was glad the Imoogi had returned after so long? Or because his comfort was so warm?

The knot bound tight in her chest began to ease.

[You are no longer the self of your past life, are you?]

Drip. Drop....

Rain fell.

From a sky without a single cloud, drip, drop.

Tears fell.

Seolhwa lowered her head.

Stains spread upon the hem of her white mourning robe.

[Pitiful child.]

The Imoogi’s low sigh reverberated through her chest.

He had no form, no hand to stroke her hair, and yet his voice was one she longed to lean upon.

Swish—

Someone approached her side.

Seolhwa lifted her eyes.

Standing on her left was Chief Steward Namgoong Mun.

His hands were clasped behind his back as he gazed at Namgoong Mucheon’s memorial.

Thump.

A heavy hand settled on Seolhwa’s head.

She turned her head to the right at the touch.

Seop Mugwang had sunk down beside her.

He looked toward Namgoong Mucheon’s memorial as his hand gently, slowly patted her head.

“....”

Between the two elders, Seolhwa bowed her head deeply.

Her shoulders quivered.

In that dark and desolate dawn, when the cold air froze even the heart—

Seolhwa wept hotter tears than she ever had, before Namgoong Mucheon’s memorial.

The cold moonlight flooded Cheonho Hall.

And in the sky cleared of rain, white flags fluttered.

She was not alone.

*****

On the fourth day after Namgoong Mucheon’s death, the funeral procession began.

Though the mourning of the Namgoong Clan Head should traditionally be held for seven days, his will had been that the rites be shortened.

The body, enshrined in Cheonho Hall, was transferred to a grand, ornate bier.

The bier would circle through the streets of Anhui before making its way to the Namgoong Clan’s ancestral graves.

As all bustled with preparations for the procession, unexpected guests arrived.

At the great front gate of the Namgoong Clan—

Beneath the fluttering white flags, all those of the clan preparing for the send-off froze, staring at the group approaching.

At their appearance, murmurs erupted like wildfire.

“They dare to come here? Shameless....”

“With what face do they come? Don’t tell me he thinks he has the right to call him grandfather?”

“Still, he is of the Namgoong bloodline. Perhaps he came because of that....”

The child who, four years ago, when the crimes of Yeon Soran and the Lord of the Yellow Dragon Unit were revealed, had fled in disgrace, cast out of the Namgoong Clan.

Namgoong Soryong.

He stood at the head of the group.

They bore the banner of the Yeon Family.

“Bro...ther...?”

Woong muttered faintly without realizing.

But none was more shocked than Cheonghae.

For thirteen years he had raised the boy believing him to be his son—how could he feel only hatred?

His eyes trembled, filled with countless emotions, as he gazed at Soryong, now grown so much in four years.

Prrhh—!

The Yeon Family’s group reined in their horses a short distance away.

Namgoong Soryong dismounted, handing his reins to a retainer at his side, and approached the funeral procession.