I'm just strong. Just a fool with strength.
When the heat of the training ground finally began to settle, Song I-sul let out a low sigh.
"Remarkable."
Park Seong-jin lowered his sword and shrugged as if it were nothing.
"I'm just strong. Just a fool with strength."
Song I-sul glanced at him and snorted.
"Then what does that make us? Fools without strength?"
Park Seong-jin exhaled.
"Hyiu… That's a harsh comparison."
"You're the harsh one," Song I-sul said, shaking his head. "You are our pride. Don't belittle yourself too much."
Park Seong-jin fell silent for a moment.
Looking down at the yellow earth of the training yard, he spoke quietly.
"I once thought I could fix the world. Then I realized I must not. That realization alone… is enough achievement for me."
Song I-sul did not miss the tone behind those words.
The Park Seong-jin of old had not been like this.
He had been firm, direct, unshakable before decisions.
Sensing the change, Song I-sul asked carefully,
"Do you think reaching a higher realm has anything to do with this humility?"
Park Seong-jin looked up.
"Am I like that now?"
There was no self-awareness in his voice.
Song I-sul hesitated before asking,
"Was I… more arrogant before?"
"Not arrogant," Song I-sul replied slowly. "But this modesty of yours now is almost… unsettling."
Park Seong-jin gave a faint smile.
"This is how one ought to be. I think I was simply too forward before."
Song I-sul chuckled softly.
"Humility is good. Just don't sink too low."
There was neither rebuke nor praise in his voice—only the warmth of one who had lived long.
The World Changes — and So Do Its Visitors
As the world shifted, those who came to visit changed as well.
Around that time, a strange figure appeared—one called Pyeon Un-ja.
His body carried the traces of long travel, yet his steps held no hesitation.
He seemed like a fragment of cloud pausing briefly before drifting on.
Stories about him had spread long before he ever opened his mouth—stories that had already taken on the tone of legend.
They said he had once belonged to the secular world.
He could have sought office but did not.
He kept his distance from wealth and rank, yet bore them no hatred.
His heart was set only on inquiry and the investigation of things—quietly observing where the order of the world faltered.
In his youth, on a day when the summer sun burned brightest, he sat beneath an old zelkova tree before his home, reading the Book of Changes.
He read until day faded, never once lifting his head.
There had been a presence nearby, though he did not notice at first.
A traveler had stood listening to the sound of pages turning.
The man wore ordinary clothes, yet his gaze did not belong to the ordinary world.
The traveler spoke:
"You have the qualifications to enter the Way."
Without further explanation, he drew a book from his sleeve and handed it over.
"Take this into the mountains, and you will meet a worthy companion."
When Pyeon Un-ja looked up again, the traveler was gone.
After that day, he no longer lived on the plains.
He entered the remote northern mountains—Damjeong Mountain, where human footsteps rarely reached—and built a hut.
He gathered herbs, dried grasses, and sometimes descended to the river to sell medicine.
One day by the river, he met an old man.
They did not exchange names.
They did not ask each other's age.
The old man said only one thing:
"Let us meet again at Girindae."
On the appointed day, when Pyeon Un-ja climbed to Girindae, seven people were already seated there.
An old man.
A youth.
One whose gender was difficult to discern.
They did not give names.
They spoke only in Daoist titles ending in "-ja."
Their words were few, but each sentence stood apart from worldly speech.
After that day, the story grows stranger.
Pyeon Un-ja followed them into a valley untouched by travelers and there met Cheonghak Sang-in—the Blue Crane Master.
Cheonghak Sang-in took mountains and clouds as his teachers.
He did not teach unless asked, and even then, never everything.
Under him, Pyeon Un-ja became a disciple.
Later, when Cheonghak Sang-in disappeared into deeper mountains, Pyeon Un-ja wandered again alone.
He passed through the deep valleys of Deogyu, the ridges of Jiri, and the rocky cliffs of Geumgang—gathering herbs, crafting sandals, observing what could not be seen.
He never called himself a Daoist sage.
He never spoke of immortals.
He simply said, "The fortune to remain in this world has not yet left me,"
and thus called himself Pyeon Un-ja片雲子**—The One Who Drifts Like a Cloud.
And now, that cloud-like man had descended once more into the world of people.
When Pyeon Un-ja stood before Park Seong-jin's estate, no one stopped him.
He came like someone expected.
He stood like someone who would soon leave.
As if a legend had briefly placed its foot upon reality.
**Pyeonunja is described in tradition as a Daoist adept from the mid-Joseon period.
From an early age, he showed deep interest in the Way (Seon-do, the Daoist path of cultivation).
After years of study, he is said to have become a disciple of Cheonghak Sangin—a reclusive master associated with mountain ascetic practice.
Accounts claim that he was believed to still be alive long after his time, wandering between mountains and the human world.
Whether historical figure or legend, Pyeonunja occupies a liminal space in lore—part scholar, part hermit, part immortal seeker.