Chương 11: S.04 Memory of the Clock 03(01)

Scene 00. No, you shall not play nor rest — A thousand leagues though the East be near, To gaze upon it is but vain. The bridge of the Silver River has wholly crumbled, And the path to cross is lost to nothing. All footsteps have ceased, So you might as well forget — Yet this beautiful form, this graceful bearing, Hangs fastened still upon this throat, And though you swear upon your life to forget, Still you cannot, and therein lies the torment.

If closing your eyes could let you see, Then blindness itself would be a mercy. Scene 01. The hour had passed well beyond the dim stretch of late afternoon. The last of the sunlight had slanted low and sunk, yet not a single light entered the worn-down apartment. It was familiar. Today, too, might amount to nothing—that was the assumption. The lead wrung from interrogating the 책사(Chaek-sa_Strategist) was not expected to prove particularly useful.

The fading violet sky that followed the sun's final descent was losing even its last trace of color. A deep darkness began to settle over the single block of run-down apartments. In the redevelopment district, the same as any other evening, a lone streetlamp that had flickered on too late managed to illuminate only one corner of the wide parking lot. An unfamiliar set of footsteps pressed onto the unswept snow.

A tall presence, having circled briefly to survey the surroundings, stopped its deliberately silent stride and faced the entrance of the apartment building. The figure raised its head and scanned the upper floors again. The dead lights remained unlit. This was not a walk that intended to turn back. Today, the conviction held—a meeting would happen. The paused steps resumed. A biting winter wind tore through the figure's long hair. Today, the presence so long awaited was certain to be here.

A single car and a single motorcycle sat exposed at a distance in the parking lot. Scene 02. So-hui tossed and turned, sleep refusing to come easily. Lying still with eyes wide open, So-hui held a phone in her hand, a message just sent. She killed the bright screen and settled back flat. Outside, a vicious wind was howling. Lying on the bed in her room—not a small room—So-hui rested her arm across her forehead and closed her eyes.

She looked as though she was trying to get at least a little sleep, but she only let out a sigh, giving off no sign of actually sleeping. The phone lit up without a single vibration or sound. So-hui picked the phone up again and checked the message. Si-yeon: You gonna be okay? A brief text. So-hui answered without hesitation. So-hui: Yeah. Messages were arriving in real time. Si-yeon, apparently unable to sleep either, was responding to So-hui's texts immediately. Si-yeon: Be careful. So-hui: Don't worry.

The moment she set the phone down, the sound of paper rustling through the air filled So-hui's room. So-hui snapped her eyes open in alarm and bolted upright. At the sound of paper whirling through her darkened room, So-hui clutched the blanket to herself and glared toward the unfamiliar presence. A shadowed figure made itself felt, belatedly, at the edges of So-hui's room.

White sheets of paper, draped like 주식(Jusik_Incantation Guard) around the room, were sealing off every sound that might escape from So-hui's room to the outside. How have you been hiding it, all this time. A question laced with blade-sharp killing intent transmitted itself without sound. This place had been visited numerous times before, but today, the expected sight was finally confirmed. So-hui scrambled onto the headboard of her bed, fixing her eyes on the shadow standing in her room.

A presence slightly taller than Si-yeon or Ji-young. So-hui stared at Jeong-hyeon, who had directed that silent killing intent straight at her. The room was swallowed in darkness, so the identity could not be fully confirmed. But the frustration of not seeing clearly was not So-hui's alone. A portion of the scattered paper ignited with 인불(In-bul_Ghost Light), bursting into pale blue flame. A faint blue glow illuminated So-hui's room in a dim wash.

In the center of So-hui's spacious room, Jeong-hyeon stood motionless. Jeong-hyeon: I'm asking you. How have you been hiding it. So-hui did not answer. Jeong-hyeon, too, seemed to acknowledge the real question was not that, exhaling a light breath before steadying her voice again. Jeong-hyeon: I have things to ask. No matter how I think it over, I can't figure it out. I need you to answer me. Please. Jeong-hyeon whipped white sheets of paper around So-hui's face, wrapping them tight.

So-hui, her breath choked off, thrashed desperately to tear the paper away. In that moment, Jeong-hyeon raised another sheet with her own hand, spread it open, and began asking calmly. You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version. Jeong-hyeon: You're a 안내자 (Annae-ja_Guide), aren't you? Then why are you living as Yeon-hui's mirror? So-hui did not answer. She offered no thought, no intent at all. No characters appeared on the paper Jeong-hyeon held.

Jeong-hyeon curled her fingers as if clenching a fist, and the paper coiled around So-hui's face and throat constricted harder, throttling So-hui's breath with greater force. Jeong-hyeon: Did you take something in too? Why did your eyes go pitch-black that time? What So-hui was thinking began to write itself onto the paper in Jeong-hyeon's hand. Jeong-hyeon: What is it that you've taken in? Characters of indecipherable meaning started to appear. Only vowel fragments were forming on the paper.

Watching that, Jeong-hyeon pressed harder, trying to draw more from So-hui. Jeong-hyeon: I'll keep it between us. Tell me. So I can either help you or destroy you. Is Yeon-hui the mirror? Or are you the mirror? Then an unfamiliar language—something else entirely—began writing itself across the sheet. So-hui, unable to breathe, seemed to be losing consciousness; the hands clawing at the white paper wrapped around her head were losing their strength.

Jeong-hyeon, frustration plain, stepped closer toward the bed where So-hui sat. So-hui tried to shift away, guarding herself against Jeong-hyeon's presence now pressed against the foot of the bed. Jeong-hyeon climbed onto the bed and closed the remaining distance toward So-hui, who had backed herself against the headboard. Jeong-hyeon: A mere Guide — you didn't think I'd come for you like this? So-hui reeled in the faint thread of fear in a single breath. Stillness settled.

When Jeong-hyeon's body stopped just inches from So-hui's face, Jeong-hyeon's intent wrote itself, chilling and deliberate, onto the white paper draped over her arm. So-hui: Of course I knew. Red thread erupted from every direction. The 적사(Jeok-sa_Red Thread) tore through the talisman strips as it surged, shredding the white paper wrapped around So-hui's face to ribbons, lashing tight around Jeong-hyeon's long neck, and hurling her through the firmly shut door into the hallway.

Jeong-hyeon tumbled across the living room floor without a chance to react. So-hui rolled her neck slightly, shaking off the suffocating pressure, and rose from the bed at her own unhurried pace. She stepped into the shoes she had left on the floor, adjusted them, and walked calmly into the living room. No rush. Jeong-hyeon, flung outside, threw a volley of white paper back at So-hui. But a fistful of So-hui's thread still clung to Jeong-hyeon's neck.

So-hui flicked her fingers and Jeong-hyeon's balance broke, dragging her forward. Jeong-hyeon shaped white paper into a blade and sliced through the thread connecting her neck to So-hui. She righted herself, sprang to her feet, and unleashed another torrent of white paper toward So-hui. The furniture of the house was wrecked to pieces as the two clashed in a ferocious exchange. Red Thread tangled with 청사(Cheong-sa_Blue Thread), shearing through Jeong-hyeon's white paper as it came.

Jeong-hyeon's white paper could not contend with So-hui's 유물(Yumul_Relic)—already an 원류(Won-ryu_Original Relic). So-hui's onslaught drove Jeong-hyeon onto the back foot in moments. At last, So-hui punched a strand of Red Thread through one of Jeong-hyeon's wrists and drove kick after kick into her chest. Jeong-hyeon crumpled as though struck by something massive, tumbling to the far end of the wide living room. At this rate, she would actually die.

She had never imagined this was what So-hui's willingness to answer truly meant. Jeong-hyeon hurled white paper at the sealed window, shattering the large pane to pieces, and threw herself out of So-hui's apartment on the seventh floor. White paper fluttered and drove itself into the balcony railing. Jeong-hyeon barely managed to touch down on the ground, but the impact from seven stories could not be fully absorbed.

As Jeong-hyeon tried to rise from the ground, So-hui—having leapt after her—drove Red Thread into the parking lot asphalt and slid rapidly toward the fallen Jeong-hyeon. Jeong-hyeon slashed the thread anchored in the ground with white paper, and So-hui, mid-descent toward the parking lot, briefly lost her balance. Jeong-hyeon seized the opening, righted herself, and tried to put more distance between them. But standing directly in her path was Si-yeon—wearing Ji-young's exact face.

One eye streaked with black water, head tilted, staring Jeong-hyeon down with a taunting look. Jeong-hyeon could do nothing. Unable to push past Si-yeon blocking her escape, Jeong-hyeon slowly registered the burning sensation in one of her arms. Both arms—which should have been attached below her shoulders—were strewn across the ground. Disbelief on her face, she looked at Si-yeon again. Si-yeon's face was tilting. It was not Si-yeon who was tilting. It was her own severed head.

In the falling field of vision, Si-yeon's black blade came into view. A thin line of Jeong-hyeon's own blood clung to it, mixing into the dark edge. The time it took for Jeong-hyeon's tall body to collapse to the ground was not long. Her knees hit the pavement and buckled. As Jeong-hyeon crumpled, her vision rolling wildly across the ground before it closed, she caught Si-yeon's taunting face one last time. But it was not the black-eyed Si-yeon who lifted Jeong-hyeon's head. A death flushing red was trembling.

What entered the eyes of her soon-to-die head was a gaze that had begun to stand whole and upright. But death was inevitable. There was no surviving this. Scene 03. Seong-hyeon stepped out of a refreshing shower, cinching the sash of an expensive robe and starting to dry her hair first. She was grumbling that today's reservation list was packed with disgusting bitches. She stared at the vanity with a scowl on her face.

Mid-blow-dry, running the dryer through her long hair, Seong-hyeon felt a prickling sensation in her arm. She dismissed the mild tingle as nothing—then a sudden, excruciating pain crashed through her, and the dryer slipped from her grip and clattered to the floor. The agony came from her right arm. The black paper she had been harboring writhed beneath her skin, making the flesh bulge and ripple. Black paper fragments tore through the skin, soaking in Seong-hyeon's blood, bleaching white as they emerged.

Blood poured from Seong-hyeon onto the floor. The flesh of the arm she clutched was churning as though alive. The black paper, saturated with her blood, was settling into a complete, pure white. When the pain in her arm finally began to ebb, Seong-hyeon gripped her ravaged arm and managed, barely, to steady her breathing. She understood. The head of the house who had carried the 사류(Sa-ryu_Branch Relic) was dead.

The unique Relic that only the head of the house could carry had found its way to the next legitimate heir of the same generation. Seong-hyeon steadied her breath, then pressed her eyes shut. Seong-hyeon: And you actually went and died. You stupid SSibal bitch. Scene 04. Ju-hee: Well. Look at that. A corpse. No — I suppose the proper term now is 사절 (Sa-jeol_Envoy). The horror of the situation reached Jeong-hyeon's ears in the instant before death. But there was no time for shock.

She had already become something that could no longer belong to 이승(I-seung_the world of the living). Nothing could be heard, nothing could be seen. Ju-hee, holding Jeong-hyeon's now-cold head, addressed Si-yeon in a mocking tone. Toward the one black eye Si-yeon wore, Ju-hee spoke without a moment's hesitation. Ju-hee: A Guide's eyes can't see past the dead. Probably. Anything after this moment — I wouldn't know. Not a thing.

So-hui, having descended to the ground, walked calmly forward, 적사(Jeok-sa_Red Thread) readied and composed, and approached from behind Ju-hee. Ju-hee glanced back at So-hui, then turned her gaze forward again toward Si-yeon. Ju-hee: Your ambitions — none of them will be — Si-yeon: Who asked a thing like you to fulfill them? The chilling edge in Si-yeon's voice froze Ju-hee where she stood, a terror that raised the hairs on the back of her neck.

Before she could muster a retort, So-hui's composed voice reached Ju-hee's ear. So-hui: You won't be able to. Not a thing. Only then did Ju-hee ease a fraction of the fear, looking back and nodding at So-hui's words as though they were of no consequence, granting them a casual respect. Ju-hee: Those pathetic eyes of yours — can only see the living. Ju-hee offered no resistance. She carried Jeong-hyeon's head and walked away at an unhurried pace. Deep night had arrived.

Si-yeon, having returned the black eye to its original state, let out a light sigh and cast a worried glance toward So-hui. Si-yeon: You really gonna be okay? So-hui dissolved every strand of 적사(Jeok-sa_Red Thread) she had woven, then nodded. So-hui: Don't worry. Just get things ready now. The way I asked. Si-yeon nodded. Since So-hui was already outside, she walked over to the car parked in the corner. So-hui started the engine. A silent ignition caught.

Si-yeon watched So-hui behind the wheel for a moment; So-hui rolled the window down, waved as if to say don't worry, and pulled the parked car away from the lot.