Chapter Text
Part I. 9 + 10
The first time Kim Geonhak met Lee Seoho was at a Cultivation Conference when they were boys.
At 9 years of age, Geonhak was already a skilled archer — a trademark of his sect. As such, the Sect Leader had thought to bring him to the Conference to participate in the Archery Competition to show the world what the Kim sect was capable of, and showcase the brightness of the sect’s future — after all, Geonhak was the heir to the Kim sect, the firstborn son of the main branch of the Kim Clan, and his legacy had to begin as soon as possible.
So, at the tender age of 9, Geonhak had been taken down the Peak and into Hurricos, the city where that year’s Conference was being held, for the first time in his life.
And that was when Geonhak’s distaste for Hurricos, cities, and the city dwellers began.
Hurricos was an assault on the senses, full of people at every turn, cars and neon signs and crowds never seeming to die down. That year’s Cultivation Conference host sect’s complex was a series of highrise buildings, the tops hidden above grey clouds and the haze of pouring rain at all times, suitably named Monsoon Towers. Once his sect’s entourage had arrived to Hurricos, the mountain sect’s caravan halting traffic on the paved city streets, they had immediately made their way to the Towers, leaving Geonhak very little time to process the new environment. Inside the Towers, Geonhak felt trapped — there was nowhere he could go to get away. At home, he could step outside and into the forest, or the secluded private hot springs, and get away from the people, from the noise, from the expectations.
In the Towers, he was caged in, contained, looking out over the grey buildings into the grey sky brewing over the black ocean crashing against the nearby coast, and even outside, in the complex’s courtyard between the towering structures, he could never see the sky, constantly covered by angry clouds, skyscrapers surrounding him and closing in on him tighter, and tighter, until he wanted to scream.
But even as a child of 9 years, Geonhak was a disciple of his sect, the son of the Sect Leader, heir to the Clan and the sect, and he had more decorum than that. So his mouth stayed shut, his face neutral, and he intended to simply do what he had come there to do — win the Archery Competition, make the Sect Leader feel proud of his son, and act with grace, modesty, and discipline as he did it.
But the night before the Archery Competition was the opening ceremony for the Conference.
There were formalities to begin with, entrances from each of the participating sects — and the Kim sect was second to last, so Geonhak had to walk next to his father, front and centre, squaring his shoulders and setting his jaw to enter to a room that was bursting with people, booming with cheers and applause. It made him want to blush, duck his head and step behind his father, hide away, but he wasn’t just Geonhak in front of all these outsiders and city dwellers, all the disciples of his own sect.
No, in front of people he was Kim Geonhak, heir to the Kim Clan, future head of the Kim sect, and he had to look and act the part.
And he did look the part, with his long hair partially tied back, styled with a small gold hairpiece in the shape of the symbol of his Clan — a dragon’s head. His robes were a deep scarlet, collars stiff and sleeves flowing, gold thread embroidered into dragons breathing flames. Only the Kim Clan members wore such blazing colours; the disciples of the sect who were not of the Kim Clan wore black, with hints of red in the layers of their robes and designs on their outer layers.
Only the few mountain sects still maintained this style of dress; Geonhak tried to keep his eyes straight, head tall, but he couldn’t help but glance at the other sects in the room. They were mostly from the cities, which had long abandoned traditional dress and traditional disciplines, and so were draped in shining jewellery, hair lengths and styles and colours as bright and wild as Geonhak had ever seen, clad in all kinds and colours of clothes, pants and skirts and sleeveless tops and dresses and tight long-sleeved shirts, clothing pieces made of leather and glittering fabrics and things that Geonhak hardly had the words for, let alone had seen before.
He recognized many motifs and symbols on clothing pieces and banners above sect’s spaces in the hall — the deep-rooted tree of the Park sect of the mountain sects flying on a deep green banner, the clothes emblazoned with designs of honeycomb-like circuitry of the Goo sect of the Sleepless City, the phoenix of the Baek sect of Chulhyeol Mountain.
It was a feast to Geonhak’s eyes, but every time he noticed his gaze wandering, he thought of his father beside him, and snapped his eyes forward again, to the front of the room, where the head spot remained empty for the host sect to enter last.
The walk felt like it had taken a millenia, until they reached the front of the room, where several low tables awaited them to the right-hand side of the room. One of his father’s attendants was handed a shining gold box, as long as Geonhak was tall — the container for the gift to the host sect, which Geonhak had seen being made. The Kim sect was famed for archery skills, and their best bowmaker had crafted a beautiful, intricate bow of yew, with carved designs of clouds and lightning in the stylings of the symbol of the sect, storm clouds with lightning over roiling waves, representative of the constant monsoon season of Hurricos.
The gift was laid on top of the raised dais where the host sect would be seated by the attendant as the rest of the sect filled their seats.
He didn’t know if these city dwellers would ever get to use such a tool as a masterfully crafted longbow — the city was so tight, so enclosed, a range weapon seemed out of place. Geonhak knew little of these clans, except that they had forsaken the early tenets of cultivation — instead of cultivating spiritual energy from natural sources, they drew from manmade processes. The Kim sect was well-known for their home, Yongsum Peak, named for the volcanic hot springs that often shrouded the compound in steam, like a dragon’s breath. The hot springs were a source of wild energy that they were taught to tame and control, and this was similar for all the mountain sects — they were built around places with high levels of spiritual energy, deep in caves and forests or alongside rushing rivers and high waterfalls.
On the other hand, the city sects deviated from these norms. In places where the natural energy of the earth was disrupted by sprawling architecture and crowds of people, they formed their own energy sources. Geonhak had seen the gutters in Hurricos that drove the water beneath the Monsoon Towers complex, and had learned in his lessons about the other great sects that underneath his feet, there was a large dam constructed, which not only provided electrical power to the complex (something Geonhak had never seen before — electricity outside of lightning strikes was something that Yongsum Peak had never seen) but also was the energy source for the sect, whose training facilities and meditation rooms were built into and around the dam.
His teacher, his master of cultivation, had posed a question to him before, and it ran through his mind in this moment, in this room lit by lightbulbs rather than flame, warmed by electrical heat rather than hot spring water flowing underneath their feet and hearths in the rooms. Does the interference of man have a positive or negative effect on the energy entering the body, forming a core within and then being put out by the cultivator? What do you think, Young Master?
But Geonhak didn’t ponder it for long — it always showed on his face when his mind was wandering, and he didn’t want anyone to catch his disciplined exterior slipping.
Geonhak sat to the left of his father when they fell into their spot in the room, awaiting the entrance of their hosts. Geonhak had to lean forward slightly to peer around him to watch the grand doors, waiting to see whatever great performance was to come — he had heard from whispers of older disciples that host sects usually made a spectacle at the opening ceremony, and that the Lee sect was known for being bold and ostentatious, and Geonhak couldn’t contain his curiosity, excitement building as they waited. There was murmuring in the room, quiet conversations and comments that Geonhak couldn’t quite hear. He wanted to turn around and say something to another disciple — he could tell Hwanwoong, as the head disciple of their age class, was in his spot behind Geonhak, and wanted to ask him what he thought was going to happen, but he held his tongue. He was beside the Sect Leader, and couldn’t disrespect his role as heir to give into childish urges to gossip and chat.
But Geonhak didn’t have to wait long to have his curiosity sated — as if on queue, the room went black. The only light came from the wall of windows behind the raised dais, empty save for the pile of gifts and the seats for the host sect, flashes of lightning intermittently illuminating the room.
And then a rumbling sound like thunder came, and light filled the room as the doors blew open, with a gust of wind that made Geonhak instinctively cover his face with his arms. He quickly remembered himself and lowered his arms, but it was not enough to get out of a disapproving look from his father.
Filled with shame, Geonhak sat stiffly and faced forward, eyes locked on the opposite wall — until suddenly, a dark blur filled his field of vision.
A group of boys in loose pants and tunics of varying shades of blue were leading the procession of the host clan, bong staffs in hand as they performed some sort of choreography, all around Geonhak’s age. It seemed like a half-dance, half-martial arts choreography, as they flipped and ducked around each other’s staffs, jumping through the air as if their bodies were weightless, staffs swinging and bodies flowing, light on their bare feet.
One boy in particular caught Geonhak’s eye — the dark blur that had jumped out in front of his seat. He had deep red curls that shone and bounced with every move he made, his deep navy version of their uniform accented with a belt that was threaded with silver embroidering of waves, and he was grinning wildly, while all the other boys had expressions of deep concentration and effort.
The sight of his smile made Geonhak want to smile himself — it was pure joy, unbridled and unburdened, and it was contagious. The corners of his lips twitched, so Geonhak forcibly turned his eyes down, instead trying to watch the footwork of the choreography. Maybe he could learn something for his swordsmanship training; all the boys were light on their feet and quick.
It was over too quickly — the boys split apart and lined up at the bottom of the steps, as the prominent members of the Lee sect passed between them to take their spots atop the dais. Geonhak watched as the Sect Leader took his seat in the front and centre, at which point the boys with the bong staffs turned on their heels, bowed deeply to the Sect Leader, before joining the sect on the dais, dispersing to their positions among the seats behind Sect Leader Lee and the Lee Clan at the front.
Except for the red-haired boy, who took a seat on the left of the Sect Leader — not right beside him, as that spot was taken by the heir to the Clan and the sect, who was a girl in her teenage years, but beside that girl — the spot of the next in line, the second child.
The Sect Leader rose and began to speak, introducing the Cultivation Conference, and Geonhak heard key words like ‘collaboration’, ‘community’, and ‘friendship’, but he wasn’t paying any attention. Instead, his eyes were on the Lee siblings — they were whispering and grinning together, matching smiles making their eyes curve into sweet crescent moons, and Geonhak could hear the quietest of giggles coming from the boy before his sister made a shushing motion and they both tried to contain their laughter.
Their father either ignored them or didn’t notice as he addressed the room, booming voice filling all corners of the grand hall, and Geonhak felt something that he had never felt before — a kind of sickness, deep in his stomach, that made the corners of his lips drop and his fists clench.
He was jealous.
And he didn’t really know why — these kids had to live in these horrible, closed in towers, in this city where the rain and storms never ended, where there were no trees or hot springs or gorgeous mountain views.
But they also got to smile and laugh and joke with each other in the presence of others, even outsiders to the sect. Geonhak had never been able to — he had a younger brother who he loved, and they were allowed to play together in private, in their rooms or the Clan’s private hot springs, separate and secluded from those the rest of the sect could use, but never when others were present.
No, as soon as someone who wasn’t their mother or father or his friends from his disciple group entered his space, he was expected to act with the grace and decorum expected of the Kim Clan, self-control and modesty essential tenets of the sect, and as the heir, he had to be the perfect picture of everything the sect wanted to present — tradition, discipline, and elegance.
He couldn’t imagine himself breaking composure so much in front of others, though — embarrassment consumed him as he imagined himself without his self-control, slouching or laughing or making it look in any way like his sect wasn’t of utmost discipline and respect.
So he pushed down that feeling of jealousy — he was different from them, his sect and his family were different. He didn’t want to be that boy, to live in these towers and this city and have energy that was directed and altered and maybe even corrupted at the whimsy of man entering his body and use that energy for his spiritual attacks — who knew how that would affect the body? No, he’d much rather have his open space on Yongsum Peak, have his private moments with those that he trusted and keep his energy and mind clean.
But that couldn’t stop him from being curious.
After the welcoming speech from Sect Leader Lee, festivities commenced — food was brought to the tables by young disciples of the Lee sect. Geonhak tried his hardest not to stare, but couldn’t help but notice their clothing. They wore mostly blue, deep navy reserved for the members of the clan, with lighter, sky blues and periwinkles for the other sect members. The clothing styles varied from individual to individual — the girl who brought Geonhak’s flask of water wore a white skirt that fell only to her knees and a powder blue woollen sweater, while the boy who brought his food wore wide-legged periwinkle pants and a jacket of white leather.
It was clothing rarely seen on the mountains — even the non-cultivators like the villagefolk and farmers wore traditional clothing, robes and cloth boots and simple, handwoven pieces. Geonhak didn’t hate it, but he couldn’t imagine himself wearing anything like those restrictive fabrics and clothing items.
Throughout the dinner, Geonhak’s eyes continuously wandered to the dais at the head of the room, eyes on the Lee sect.
Specifically, the red-headed Lee boy. Geonhak guessed they were the same age, and he couldn’t help but catalogue the differences between them, as the boy laughed loudly at something his sister said, and twisted around to talk to the disciples around him, giggled as he clumsily spilt his water goblet, while Geonhak moved slowly, holding his sleeve back with his right hand as he ate and drank with his left, avoided talking while eating so as to not be impolite, and tried as hard as he could to not make it obvious that he was staring instead of keeping to himself.
At one point, the red-headed boy glanced out at the crowded hall, and met Geonhak’s eyes. It was fleeting — because Geonhak instantly averted his gaze, dropping his head down so that the only thing he could see was his plate, cheeks alight with the shame of having been caught staring so shamelessly.
He kept his head down for the rest of the meal.
And when the meal was done and the tables cleared away, people standing to begin socializing, music starting to blare, Geonhak’s father leaned down slightly to speak to him.
“You should go and introduce yourself to your peers. As you grow and come closer to becoming the Sect Leader, these will be people that you will have to work with. Make sure you make a good impression,” he instructed.
“Yes, Father,” Geonhak answered, bowing his head. His father nodded once at him before turning away, releasing him into the world.
Geonhak had never felt so young and scared before in his life. Back at Yongsum Peak, he was nearly raised with the disciples in his age group. He was introduced to all visitors and new disciples in the Main Hall, with proper decorum. He had never been told to go into a room of strangers and find people to talk to.
For the first time ever, Geonhak felt his 9 years of age.
But he had been given a direct order by his father, and he couldn’t disobey. For every rule and every order given, there was a punishment for disobedience, more than just losing face as the heir to his sect.
He looked around the room for people of his age — his peers, as instructed by his father.
The first that came to mind was that boy — the red-headed son of Sect Leader Lee. Maybe he could ask him about how he could possibly survive being caged in by the towers and the clouds. Geonhak’s eyes scanned the crowd for his shiny, curly hair. He wished that he could climb up on a chair and see over the heads of the adults, but that would’ve been improper. And besides, all the chairs and tables had been taken away.
So instead, Geonhak decided to start by walking past the dais where some members of the Lee sect still lingered, eyes peeled for a flash of red or a hint of that bright grin, listening for that giggle.
He didn’t see him with the remnants of his sect that hadn’t dispersed into the crowd, so Geonhak continued deeper into the crowd, bowing his head respectfully at any adults who made eye contact with him as he scanned for that boy.
He was stopped once — by a cultivator from one of the city sects, dressed head to toe in tight black leather. She didn’t look much older than Geonhak — perhaps a teenager. She dropped a hand on his shoulder as he tried to pass her, and asked directly, “You’re a member of the Kim sect?”
Geonhak bowed in greeting, before replying, “I am Kim Geonhak, heir to the Kim Clan of Yongsum Peak.”
“And so proper, too, look at that. Tell me, Kim Geonhak, what’s it like, coming down from your mountain and into civilization?”
Geonhak knew he was being made fun of, and his mask slipped — he could feel his cheeks heating up, and he frowned.
“The mountain sects are way more civilized than any of your dirty cities,” slipped out of his mouth before he could stop himself.
“Watch it, kid,” the older disciple warned, and Geonhak panicked. He’d told her who she was, and now she’d tell his father that the first thing he did when given freedom was insult the other sects and he’d ruined everything, and he’d get disowned and have to become a shepherd on another mountain in seclusion, and —
— And the only thing he could think to do was run for it.
“Sorry,” he muttered gracelessly before ducking back into the crowd, making for the grand double doors — maybe he could make it back to his room, and reappear in an hour or so before his father noticed he was missing, or maybe he could just stay there and go to bed and complain in the morning of a stomach ache and his father could take him home, far away from this city and these cultivators and the crowds.
As he approached the doors, he saw one open just slightly — just enough for a red-headed boy in navy to slip through and disappear behind it.
Perfect, Geonhak thought to himself. A built-in excuse. He could follow the boy and get the chance to talk to him, away from the loud crowd, and then tell his father that he had at least spoken to him. And he was seemingly important — sitting where the direct family of the Lee sect should sit, so he would be a good person to tell his father that he had befriended.
So Geonhak looked over his shoulders quickly, saw no red robes in view, and ducked out the door and into the empty hallway.
He couldn’t see the boy, but if he tuned out the sound of music and conversation behind him, he could hear the soft sound of bare feet on the smooth tile echoing to the left, so he turned that way, and set off, walking as quickly as he could while still trying to be quiet as he chased down the Lee boy.
The halls were dark, only dim lighting along the floor to stop him from bumping into walls, with the occasional flash of lightning filling the corridor with light almost as bright as day. The windows and walls were thick and sturdy, though — Geonhak had never heard or felt the rumble of thunder that followed the lightning strikes.
As he approached a fork in the hallway, where he could continue straight or branch to the left, he stopped to listen as hard as he could. But he didn’t need to — almost as soon as he stopped, a light came on at the end of the hall to the left. Geonhak quickly turned down that way, but slowed as he approached.
He hadn’t exactly planned out how this was going to go. What would he say? Was it weird that he had followed the other child? Should he turn around and go back and own up to his mistake?
But as he approached the room at the end of the hall, he heard the sound of flowing water, and it drew him in. It reminded him of the springs at home, but at the same time, it was different. Softer. And he wondered if it had anything to do with the dam beneath the towers, even knowing that they were several dozen stories above ground.
He tiptoed as he drew nearer, not wanting to draw any attention or surprise the other boy — perhaps he could just observe him? Find the source of the sound and just see what it was, he didn’t have to talk to anyone, just check it out and then return.
He didn’t know why he was having these doubts and anxieties.
But even these second thoughts couldn’t quell his need to know more, about this sect, this way of life, that boy.
Geonhak got as close to the wall as he could before he peeked through the open door.
To his surprise, the room was empty.
Save for a fountain in the middle, carved of stone in the shape of waves crashing together.
It was out of place for such a soulless and industrial building, and it instantly made Geonhak feel at home. He couldn’t help but approach it, holding his breath — he felt like he shouldn’t be in this room, like it wasn’t allowed and he would get in trouble if caught, but he just had to get closer.
The pool of the fountain was low, sunken into the floor, and Geonhak wondered if this water was somehow pulled up by the fountain, from the dam underneath the complex. He knelt at the edge, mindful of not to let his robes fall into the water.
Taking hold of his sleeve so as not to let the swooping fabric get wet, he leant in to try to dip his hand into the bubbling and flowing water in the pool. He wondered, would it be warm? Would he be able to feel the energy that the Lee sect put into it? Did he even want to have that energy touching him, getting inside him?
The thought made him hesitate, just as his fingertips grazed the water.
He only had a moment to realise that, Oh, it’s cold, before the water in the pool started — vibrating? Shaking? Where it had been calmly flowing down the carved stone waves before and gently bubbling where it met the pool, it was now roiling violently, shaking as if in effort, and a dip in the water’s surface appeared below Geonhak’s hand, his fingers no longer touching any liquid.
Geonhak knew what that must mean — as heir to the Kim sect, he had sat through many lessons on the great sects, including the Lee sect of Hurricos, ancestral seat of the Monsoon Towers, known for their arts with water.
“What are you doing here?” A child-like voice asked, echoing in the empty room.
Geonhak scrambled to get on his feet, nearly slipping gracelessly as he tried to distance himself from the fountain.
“Nothing!” He quickly lied. He wasn’t usually a liar — not only was there no honour in lying, but he was bad at it. It showed on his face, and he was certain that it did then, as well. He kept his eyes on the floor, head downturned to keep his expression hidden under the guise of being polite to his captor.
“Are you following me?” The voice came closer, and a pair of bare feet entered Geonhak’s vision.
Geonhak instinctively stepped back, not used to having people, especially strangers, so close. And in doing so, he got a better look at the person who had caught him snooping; or rather, the boy.
It was the Lee boy, hands on his hips and stern expression on his face.
Geonhak immediately ducked into a bow for the member of the host family.
“I’m so sorry,” tumbled out of his mouth. “I’m lost and I saw the light in here, and I thought maybe this was the Great Hall, and then I saw the fountain and got curious, I didn’t mean to go somewhere I shouldn’t be!”
That was the most lies that had ever left his mouth at one time, but he really didn’t want to dishonour his father or his sect by being caught purposefully intruding in the private and forbidden areas of their host’s home.
Well, as much as these big grey monsters can be considered a home, Geonhak couldn’t help but think to himself, wishing more than he ever had in the mere day he had been in Hurricos that he were home, in the open sprawl of the villas of Yongsum Peak.
“You’re lying,” said the Lee boy, a grin spreading on his face.
“No, I’m not!” Geonhak protested loudly, his mask slipping again — these city dwellers really made him angry. No one in the mountains would dare be so direct to anyone that wasn’t their disciple or child.
“Yes you are!” the boy giggled. “I saw you looking at me at dinner, and now you followed me here! And this place is out-of-bounds for outsiders, you know? And now I caught you here!”
Geonhak fought to compose himself. If he wanted to get out of this without getting in trouble or making his sect look bad, he had to play it cooler.
“I’m sorry, Young Master Lee,” he said, schooling his expression into what he hoped was something that made the boy feel bad for him. “I just really wanted to—,”
“Young Master?” the Lee boy interrupted him. “I love that, I’m gonna make everyone call me that now!”
Geonhak just felt confused. “You are the son of Sect Leader Lee, right?”
“Well, yeah, but no one’s ever called me Young Master before, that’s awesome!”
Did the cities call their sect’s clan members by another title? Geonhak wondered, feeling embarrassed that he was so clueless about their culture.
“I’m sorry, then what should I call you?”
“My name is Seoho! That’s what everyone calls me.”
“Not just your family? Even the other disciples?”
“What else would they call me? That’s my name,” Lee Seoho now sounded equally confused.
“I don’t know, something that shows respect for your clan? They can’t just treat you like you’re some normal disciple,” Geonhak said.
“I’m not the Sect Leader, no one needs to treat me any different,” Lee Seoho’s tone now sounded offended.
“No, but your clan made the sect, right? So people should respect you for that! At home, everyone calls me Young Master because I’m a Kim, and we made our sect and we came up with our sect’s spiritual abilities and everything,” Geonhak’s chest puffed out with pride as he explained.
“You did all that?” Lee Seoho asked, with a smirk that Geonhak didn’t like.
“Well, no, not me, but my clan!” Geonhak argued.
“If it wasn’t you, then why do you get to be treated specially for it?”
“Because it’s my ancestors!” Geonhak was almost yelling at this point, and he stomped his foot for emphasis. “And I don’t get treated specially, I work hard just like all the other disciples! They just show me respect for my family!”
“That’s not fair,” Lee Seoho pointed out firmly.
“Sure it is! We teach them the ways of our ancestors, and they respect us for it! It’s equal!” Geonhak had never been this loud in his life, not even when his little brother played with his toys without permission or went into his rooms. Restraint was key to their cultivation, he had been told this thousands of times, but he’d never been questioned like this before about things that just were the way that they were.
“I would be pretty upset if I had to call some kid who wasn’t special with some stupid name like Young Master just because he wore some stupid old clothes and his family lived on a mountain for a million years,” Lee Seoho pointed out, and Geonhak broke.
The only thing he could think to do was bend down and splash water from the fountain at the other boy.
It seemed to catch Lee Seoho off-guard, because he didn’t move — the water hit him right in the face, soaking his hair and his tunic, and Geonhak felt good.
For just a second, before Lee Seoho slammed into him, and they both went tumbling into the pool.
Geonhak cried out loudly when his back hit the stone bottom, cold water shocking him into being unable to move, as Lee Seoho landed on his chest, holding him down in the few centimetres of water, just shallow enough that he could lift his head and suck in a few gasping breaths without inhaling water.
It took just a moment for the shock to wear off, and then Geonhak was thrashing, his heavy, sodden robes making his movements slower than he wanted, all memories of his training long gone as he screeched, “Let me go!!”
“Say you’re sorry!” Lee Seoho yelled back, pushing down hard on Geonhak’s chest.
Geonhak forced past the weight of his soaked layers of robes to lift his arms and get his hands on Lee Seoho’s tunic. He grabbed two fistfulls of the loose, thin fabric and pulled, until he felt it tear, and Lee Seoho finally relented the pressure on his chest to grab at his tunic and investigate the damage.
“You ruined my shirt!” he cried out angrily. “We had these made special for performances!”
“You deserved it! You were trying to drown me!” Geonhak screamed back, squirming as he tried to worm his way out from the grip Seoho’s legs had on his abdomen.
“Was not! I was just teaching you a lesson in respect,” Lee Seoho spat out the word like it was a curse, an insult to Geonhak and his family and his sect, and Geonhak couldn’t take that.
He pushed himself upright immediately, as powerfully as he could, so he could —
Thunk.
Lee Seoho cried out in pain, hands over his face as he fell backwards. Geonhak’s head hurt too, immediately regretting the choice to headbutt, and he pressed his own hand to forehead, as if he could alleviate the throbbing with his touch. Tears had sprung to his eyes, and he fought to keep them down, to not let them spill over. There was no way that this punk could see him cry.
But as soon as his guard was down, Lee Seoho’s hands were on his collars, pushing him back down into the water. Geonhak managed to brace himself and keep his head from bouncing off the stone bottom of the fountain, but he couldn’t stop Lee Seoho from clambering on top of him once again, holding him down in the shallow pool.
Geonhak didn’t fight back, instead choosing to cover his aching head with his arms and try to throw Lee Seoho off by bucking his hips and squirming wildly.
Lee Seoho wrenched Geonhak’s arms away from his face, pinning his forearms to the stone, and Geonhak saw the damage he did for the first time.
The lower half of Lee Seoho’s face was covered in blood, dripping from his nose. It didn’t look broken, but the boy would definitely have a pair of black eyes come morning — Geonhak had once gotten a similar injury from bong staff training.
But unlike Geonhak, tears were freely flowing from Lee Seoho’s eyes, though that did nothing to alter the anger and outrage on his face.
The red-head opened his mouth to say something, but before any words or shouts could come out, a large pair of hands appeared under his arms, lifting him off of Geonhak like he weighed nothing.
Geonhak dropped his arms and sat up immediately, to see Seoho being set on his feet by Sect Leader Lee. His heart fell into his stomach — they were caught, and now Geonhak had definitely brought shame to the Clan.
He scanned the room for his father, head throbbing as he whipped it from side to side, but there was no sign of the deep scarlet of his father’s robes, just the midnight blue of Sect Leader Lee’s suit.
That didn’t do much to quell his anxiety — Sect Leader Lee could and probably would tell his father everything that had transpired, and Geonhak would be carted back home without ever getting to prove himself in the Archery Competition, and they’d send him away into one of the villages and he’d never get a sword or cultivate his core and learn to use the spiritual abilities of his ancestors—
“What happened here, Seoho?” Sect Leader Lee asked, kneeling down next to his son. He tilted Lee Seoho’s head back, assessing the damage.
Geonhak had to save face before Lee Seoho could reveal the truth.
He clambered out of the fountain clumsily, before dropping to his knees in a full bow, head touching his hands on the floor.
“Sect Leader Lee, this disciple apologises for—,”
“Young Master Kim, please rise. I’m sure there’s a reasonable explanation,” Sect Leader Lee said, and Geonhak was shocked that he didn’t sound particularly angry.
Geonhak wanted to hide his face and his shame by continuing his bow, but he also couldn’t disobey a direct order from such a figure as the Leader of a sect. He slowly rose to his feet, eyes respectfully lowered to the floor.
“Well, boys? What happened?”
And Geonhak could try to lie to other disciples, but if his father had found out that he had tried to lie to a Sect Leader? He’d never survive the punishment. He’d have to tell Sect Leader Lee that he had intruded on a Lee sect private space while following Lee Seoho, and then lost his temper during an argument, and hurt his son.
He opened his mouth, planning to let the truth tumble out, when Lee Seoho’s voice filled the room.
With his sleeve pressed against his nose to stem the flow of blood, his voice was nasal but clear as he said, “It’s my fault. We met inside the Hall and I wanted to show him the studio here, but then I accidentally insulted the mountain sects, and when he argued back, I pushed him. He was just defending his honour.”
“Is this true, Young Master Kim?” Sect Leader Lee knelt down in front of him, a large hand on his shoulder in a comforting gesture, but it just made Geonhak feel trapped.
He looked over Sect Leader Lee’s shoulder, to Lee Seoho, who gave him a thumbs up in encouragement.
Geonhak mentally breathed a sigh of relief as he nodded his head, saying, “Yes, Sect Leader Lee. I apologise for breaking my composure, and I swear to you that it will not happen again.”
Sect Leader Lee smiled warmly at him, hand squeezing his shoulder for a moment before dropping.
“And I will swear to you that my son will not insult your ways again, Young Master Kim. Wait here just a moment, and I will have an attendant come and take you back to your family’s chambers, alright? Seoho, wait as well, let’s not have anyone see you like this — but behave.”
Lee Seoho nodded as much as he could with his head tilted back.
When Sect Leader Lee left the room, Lee Seoho turned to him, and with a bloody grin, he said, “You owe me, big time.”
“Owe you?” Geonhak retorted. “I never asked you to lie for me.”
“But you agreed all the same, and now I’m in trouble and not you. So you owe me.”
“Whatever,” Geonhak scoffed. He turned away, arms crossed over his chest, wanting to look at anything but that boy.
Lee Seoho laughed at him, and Geonhak huffed an angry breath through his nose, but contained himself — he couldn’t throw away the gift that Lee Seoho had undeniably, inexplicably given him.
It only took a few minutes until Sect Leader Lee returned, with a blue-clad attendant alongside him, with fluffy towels of royal blue to wrap around Lee Seoho and Geonhak, before they were both carted off in separate directions.
The rest of the night was a faded memory to Geonhak — shortly after he had arrived at their rooms, his father had appeared, robes swishing and swirling, asking him if he had truly fought the Lee Clan’s second child, and Geonhak had nodded, spewed the fake story that Lee Seoho had given about him being the instigator and not Geonhak. He earned himself some disapproval, and the promise of time in the courtyard, training him in maintaining his composure, but Geonhak had expected no less. Even in Lee Seoho’s spun tale, he had broken the rules and shown a lack of control unsuitable for the Kim Clan, unsuitable for taming the dragon.
He couldn’t remember the Archery Competition well either — years later, all he could recall was the throbbing in his head as he lined up alongside the others in his age group in the arena on the outskirts of Hurricos, and the surprise when he saw Lee Seoho ahead of him, holding the longbow which had been given to the Lee sect as a gift by Geonhak’s father just the night before.
He also could recall a feeling of pride, when he strung his own yew longbow and scored enough to place first in his age bracket, though he would never remember the exact number.
But he’d always remember that Lee Seoho placed fifth, having won only 3 sets out of his 6. Geonhak wanted to feel smug about his new enemy’s loss, but couldn’t help but respect Lee Seoho — it must have been hard to shoot with his nose and eyes so swollen and bruised.
The only other thing he recalled was feeling a small amount of shame as he packed his clothes, stashing something deep within his trunk, wrapped in his robes to hide the blue colour. He’d wanted to keep the towel that had been wrapped around him after their fight. All of the towels that had been laid out in their guest apartments had been scarlet, just like everything Geonhak owned, and so he just wanted to keep something that was different. Individual.
It definitely wasn’t for its sentimental value — he wanted to forget Hurricos, forget Lee Seoho and the fountain and his stupid reasoning. No, Geonhak just wanted it and so he took it. It had been given to him, after all.
Or so he tried to convince himself.