Work Text:
It's a victory.
Alone and undivided.
The victory is that the Plum Blossom Saint Sword, Cheong Myeong, went into battle alone, and won.
It was the worst sight he had ever seen in his life, if anyone had asked Cheong Mun.
Cheong Myeong, his saje, Myeong-a, stands in the dawn, in white, almost completely dyed red, without an arm from which blood no longer flows, with a hole in his stomach so large that he can see the sun shining through his body; he looks out at the autumn dawn, slow and cold, as if not not noticing them, the hundreds of people who were supposed to be fighting together; he turns to them.
Cheong Myeong-a smiles at them, and it's... that smile is not something he can describe, not something he can even understand, but... Myeong-a smiles, merging with the dawn, and falls.
His saje falls, and he can't even move.
Their sajilis, their medics, the Tang family's boy has been there for a long time, when he blinks — Cheong Mun doesn't move from his seat.
He knows.
He refuses to acknowledge what he knows.
He cannot accept the truth, even when someone touches him, someone speaks to him.
Cheong Mun doesn't accept the truth, even when the Dark Saint's sobs are the only thing stretching across the ruined landscape; plum petals slowly fall from the sky, disappearing.
Hyung had changed, he knew that.
He knew that, but... war changes everyone, right?
Tang Bo preferred to ignore it because hyung had changed, ahem, for the better? He'd gotten softer, he'd gotten closer, he'd gotten kinder and more patient. He even let him bask against his side just for fun.
Usually the hyung he knows is, for lack of a better word, prickly.
Prickly, cruel, even bloodthirsty at times, but underneath it all, loving.
Few people have the patience to get to the last part, seeing only everything on the surface, dividing everything into black and white, seeing no further than their own nose.
And was he himself any different?
Tang Bo knew his hyung was a liar; in so many ways; perhaps without even realizing it, and... he let himself be fooled.
Hyung became different overnight, and it didn't seem strange to anyone; he started disappearing, he started eating more, as if he was more tired than usual, he started talking to people more, outside of his usual circle — for a moment, Tang Bo was sure that his hyung was everywhere at once, doing something. This was... this wasn't something Cheong Myeong usually did; his hyung had even asked him about their medical supplies! Since when was he in charge of supplies, for crying out loud?
But time passed, and in six months everyone had gotten used to the fact that the Plum Blossom Saint Sword somehow already knew everything and was probably already single-handedly trying to assault opponents. One time, hyung had even knocked him out so he wouldn't go to the place designated by the plan and came back so injured that Tang Bo wanted to yell at him for hours, but hyung had hugged him tightly, repeating his name over and over as if he was the one who had come out of the battle with many wounds.
Hyung had become... even less self-caring when Tang Bo didn't think it was possible; he had even lost weight despite eating even more than usual.
"Don't worry, Bo-a", his hyung said confidently, taking his hand, something he had very-very rarely done before, "I won't die from such a small thing", and smiled at him with that affectionate and gentle smile, his eyes glowing with warmth, looking only at him, that Tang Bo... drew back.
He knew he shouldn't have done that.
Tang Bo is not a good person.
As he clutches the rose-red hairpin, drinking plum wine alone, leaning against the cold tombstone, he thinks the world could burn down and he wouldn't care.
He wouldn't lift a finger for anyone else but his family.
The world lives on, telling of the exploits of heroes of the past, from mouth to mouth, from legend to legend, even if there are those who could never call it a victory.
Some people die, other people are born.
And some, to their regret, become immortal, stuck with a young face.
The plum trees never truly stopped blooming, nurturing new generations, never begging all in strength.
One man, an old man who has lived too many lives for his taste, is changing everything he knew, everything he built into the way it was meant to be.
One day, a child with pink and plum eyes knocks on the door of a powerful sect in the Hua Mountains...