Chapter 15
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Translator: 8uhl
Chapter: 15
Chapter Title: Shaolin Vegetable Field (1)
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Thirty-some years ago,
four young masters—hailed as the finest among the martial world's later generation—had visited Shaolin.
Namgung Gyeong of the Blue Sky Sword, third son of the Namgung family head and called an absolute prodigy.
Paeng Joyun, the young lord of the Hebei Paeng family and wielder of the Giant Overlord Saber.
Tanghwa, the Plum Shadow Swordsman, considered the top among Huashan's Plum Blossom Sword Masters.
And Jin Ichang of the Shenzhou Divine Fist, young leader of the Shenzhou Merchant Guild based in Chang'an, who had also made a name for himself as a lay disciple of Shaolin Temple.
It was Hyeon-gong—Jin Ichang's senior brother and one of the temple's premier disciples, who had once ascended to lead the One Hundred Eight Arhats—that had invited them.
That day involved spreading fertilizer in the vegetable field, so a foul stench of human waste hung thick in the air around it.
Disgusted by the smell, the group whipped their horses even harder.
The path cutting through the fields ran alongside a small stream. Just then, the field hands—who had finished fertilizing—were washing their nearly naked bodies.
They were scrubbing off the manure clinging to their skin and rinsing their soiled clothes, wringing out the water by whirling the drenched garments overhead.
That was when the water droplets splashed onto the four men galloping past—a mishap that sparked the whole affair.
The workers took one look at their riders' imposing attire and bearing, then hastily bowed their heads in apology.
But the four weren't satisfied and laid hands on them.
Jin Ichang, who knew better, tried to hold back his three companions, but it was no use.
Sure enough, the scuffle didn't last long.
In an instant, a black shadow flashed out from a thatched hut atop the nearby hill and landed before them.
"Just who the hell are you lot, striking my precious boys?"
The moment Jin Ichang of the Shenzhou Divine Fist caught sight of the man's expression, his face drained of color. He bowed low in greeting.
"Your humble lay disciple of Shaolin, Jin Ichang, dares to pay respects to Martial Uncle."
"Hmph! So you're Jin Ichang, that rascal Wonhyo's disciple. You knew damn well this field's under my watch, yet you let this disgraceful nonsense happen? I'll deal with your sins proper later."
Only after witnessing Jin Ichang's deferential bow did the other three snap to attention and offer their own hasty greetings.
They had realized that standing before them was Baek Musang, the Wide-Eyed Layman—a Shaolin disciple whose infamous name shook the world as one of the Martial Eight Eccentrics.
"You whelps pick up a few tricks and start looking down on folks, humiliating them like this? You're the so-called righteous knights of the orthodox sects—what the hell is this? Why'd you even bother learning martial arts? Time I straighten out your attitudes."
The four stole glances at the Wide-Eyed Layman's face, white hair bristling with fury to the roots, and groveled in apology—but to no avail.
"How could I bring myself to lay hands on young pups like you without a scrap of sense? But as a senior in the jianghu, if I let your bullshit slide, how could anyone call the world just or speak of knightly valor? First, apologize to these boys you wronged. Then follow me. I'll impart some proper instruction."
Pushed this far, Paeng Joyun—the Giant Overlord Saber of the Paeng family, notorious for his rough temper and arrogance—finally went and blew it.
"Senior, why oppress us like this? Those field hands splashed filthy water right on our riding path—isn't a bit of correction fair game?"
"So you're saying you did right?"
"Maybe we went overboard, but our status is worlds apart from theirs. If you're set on teaching us, we're named warriors in our own right—give us a warrior's lesson."
Hearing this, Baek Musang broke into a broad smile, looking pleased.
"Haha... well now. You've got some spine after all. That go for the rest of you?"
Huashan's Tanghwa and Namgung Gyeong kept silent, tacitly siding with Paeng Joyun, but Jin Ichang was different.
He dropped to his knees at once and bowed his head to the dirt.
"How could this fool dare be rude to my sect's elder? I submit entirely to Martial Uncle's judgment."
"Fine then. You—head up to the temple gates right now and tell those waiting pricks the situation. These three won't be leaving for three days and nights, so spread the word. Then get your ass back down here for your own lesson. With them."
"I humbly obey."
Jin Ichang offered a deep bow, then mounted up and galloped off toward Shaolin Temple.
"So, you whelps dare take my instruction? Heh heh..."
Namgung Gyeong, Tanghwa, and Paeng Joyun adopted grave expressions as they drew their swords and saber, holding them aloft in formal salute.
These were the stances from each sect's signature forms, used to show respect when receiving a lesson from a senior master.
"Please pardon our rudeness. Your martial junior Tanghwa humbly requests instruction first."
Huashan's Plum Shadow Swordsman Tanghwa stepped forward first, his aura sharp as a blade.
But Baek Musang's response was something else entirely.
"Heh heh... you sorry shits putting on airs for a worthless old coot like me? Skip the bullshit formalities and rush me all at once."
He planted his feet firm and continued.
"I'll yield three moves apiece—nine in total. You'll need to give it everything. My hands won't be gentle."
The Wide-Eyed Layman Baek Musang's signature techniques were the Prajna Divine Palm and Dragon Claw Hand executed with both hands, the Thunderclap Divine Fist, and his unique weapon art, the Demon-Subduing Sickle Art with the Crescent Moon Sickle.
With no sickle in hand now, he spread his bare palms wide to receive them.
His left hand curved like a dragon's talon, his right palm fully open.
"Then we shall offend first."
After gauging Baek Musang's presence for a beat, the three erupted without warning—who struck first was impossible to say—as they unleashed their blades at his vital points.
Their words showed decorum, but their strikes were ferocious beyond measure, each their deadliest techniques honed to perfection.
The Plum Shadow Swordsman Tanghwa opened with Blood Plum Severing Shadow, a killing move from the latter half of Huashan's Seven Ultimate Plum Flower Sword, targeting Baek Musang straight on.
Blue Sky Sword Namgung Gyeong unleashed Great Cyclic Overlap, an ultimate technique of the Namgung family's inherited Great Cyclic Sword Method, slashing upward from low to strike at Baek Musang's lower body.
Giant Overlord Saber Paeng Joyun charged with Fierce Tiger from the Cave, a form from the Paeng family's signature Five Tiger Gate Severing Saber.
"Haha... splendid, splendid. What a treat after all these years."
Baek Musang roared with laughter, deploying the Prajna Divine Palm. He swept both hands out, effortlessly parrying and deflecting the lethal assault.
One of the Prajna Palm Method's subtleties was handling incoming blades—and Baek Musang was Shaolin's supreme master of it.
Their first exchange came to nothing, but the three pressed on seamlessly with linked attacks.
As renowned swordsmen and saber-wielders, they had no reason to falter just because the opening salvo hadn't gained the upper hand.
Yet before the onslaught of Seven Ultimate Plum Flower Sword, Great Cyclic Sword Method, and Five Tiger Gate Severing Saber could reach its climax, their combined nine moves were spent.
Without a breath to spare, Baek Musang's counteroffensive began.
He dropped into an extreme crouch like a tiger's prowl, then leaped skyward, unleashing Dragon Claw Hand and Thunderclap Divine Fist in sequence.
The Dragon Claw Hand's specialty was seizing and snapping blades; the Thunderclap Divine Fist was a strike ferocious as thunder itself.
In a flash, he batted Tanghwa's sword into the air and drove a fist into his gut.
CRASH!
He caught Blue Sky Sword Namgung Gyeong's incoming blade aimed at his face and snapped it.
Thud!
He vaulted lightly over Giant Overlord Saber Paeng Joyun's low saber sweep, crushed its edge underfoot, then planted a fist in his face.
Splat!
Finally, he whipped a Supreme Kick like lightning into Namgung Gyeong's waist, ending the farce of a spar in the blink of an eye.
"No whining—get up and follow me. I barely laid a finger on you. Now comes the real instruction."
The three sprawled on the ground went pale. Only then did they grasp the magnitude of their blunder.
Baek Musang's instruction lasted three days and nights.
From the first dawn after pulling an all-nighter, the trio had to scoop manure from the pits and spread it across the vast vegetable field.
Meals were provided at mealtimes, but none of them could stomach the food.
On the third day, the four each harvested a thousand radishes and a hundred heads of cabbage over the full day, stacking them at the field's edge before finally being released from the ordeal.
To cap it off, they had to join the field hands from before, stripping off their manure-caked silk robes to wash up and do laundry.
Afterward, any warrior visiting Shaolin would dismount well before the vegetable field and proceed with utmost caution.
Even that wasn't enough for some—they took long detours straight to the temple gates.
Naturally, Namgung Gyeong, Paeng Joyun, and Tanghwa never set foot on Shaolin grounds again.
And yet today, by sheer coincidence, a strikingly similar incident was unfolding once more.
The late afternoon sun dipped low in the sky.
Dozens of bare-chested, brawny men clustered by the little stream running through the heart of the vegetable field, washing up.
Sun-baked deep brown skin, muscles bulging in rugged swells—it was a sight to behold. Flashing white teeth as they laughed and bantered, every face beamed with cheer.
"Hey, Asam—so you're boiling pork today?"
"Yeah, buddy. Snagged a big fat one from the market village down below this morning. Should be nice and savory by now."
"Haha... about time for a greasy feast."
"Hey—plenty of sorghum liquor, right?"
"What're you saying? How do you eat meat without it? You'd just be farting gang-ji all night... kekeke..."
The men—laughing heartily here and there, chattering away or humming tuneless songs—were the vegetable field's hands.
It was then that a handsome young man rode up on a scrawny yellow nag.
"Listen up, folks. You know where I might find that Wide-Eyed Layman—the one who's a monk but not quite, a man but not quite, with all the rumors?"
"A monk but not quite, a man but not quite"—that's how the jianghu commonly referred to Wide-Eyed Layman Baek Musang.
The youth, having tracked rumors of the man, called out casually from horseback to the workers by the stream below without a second thought.
But when they looked up and spotted his pretty-boy face, the answers weren't exactly polite.
Some punk kid daring to mouth off about their idol, their near-deity Baek Musang like that!
Not to mention—no one passing through here in decades had ever stared down at them so brazenly from horseback.
"Who the hell are you to be looking for him?"