Shadows of Corrupt Shaolin
In the orthodox Murim world, the prestige of the Dragon-Tiger Contest was unmatched, impossible to compare with anything else. The Azure-Red Grand Tournament, the pinnacle of the later-generation martial conference, was seen as an extension of the ideological clash between white道 and black道, entirely different in nature from the Dragon-Tiger Contest.
The Dragon-Tiger Contest was a grand festival for the white道 Murim. It was a vital event where they confirmed the achievements of the talents who would lead the future of white道 Murim, earnestly wishing for a peaceful tomorrow. Thus, the opening speech had always been delivered by the most authoritative figure in Murim.
In particular, the heads of Shaolin Temple and Wudang Sect had blessed the young buds of Murim in these speeches, as they were the supreme martial artists representing the orthodox faction. In the last tournament, True Emptiness Taoist, the head of Wudang, had given the speech, so this time it was Shaolin's turn.
There was still plenty of time before the Dragon-Tiger Contest began. Spending it fucking around wasn't bad, and lounging idly wasn't terrible either, but when Hong Mi said she'd meet Gwanum Daesa of Shaolin Temple, my interest piqued.
'That bastard's bound to end up my enemy someday anyway. No harm in scoping out his face early.'
Gwanum Daesa, one of the villains in the original story's Extreme Sword Heavenly Immortal arc, was a bald fucker who clashed with Gong Wu-seon in the mid-story.
Probably, far in the future, he'd oppose me. I figured seeing his face now wasn't a bad idea. Preparing for future enemies in advance was a good habit.
"Then I'll tag along."
"Pardon?"
"Just introduce me as your baggage handler or whatever."
If I was presented as a laborer serving Hong Mi, who was on official Murim Alliance business, it wouldn't raise suspicions.
"Y-Yes... Understood."
Danyuha, Jin Samwol, and Cheonhwa went ahead to secure lodging. Hong Mi and I headed together to Sung Mountain, the main temple of Shaolin.
Sung Mountain
One of the Five Great Mountains of the Central Plains, this famous peak was renowned as Shaolin's headquarters. There was even a saying that Wudang Mountain, the base of Wudang Sect, had to yield a step before Sung Mountain. Of course, Wudang's Taoists would desperately deny it.
Compared to Mount Hua of the Huashan Sect, another of the Five Great Mountains, Mount Hua—home to the Taoist sect—was exalted for its mystical aura and profundity, while Sung Mountain, the Buddhist holy site, was famed for its majesty. Of course, this was subjective opinion, so taking it as absolute truth would be unwise.
In any case, as Shaolin's stronghold, Sung Mountain boasted immense scale and beauty. The terrain was fairly rugged, but the majestic scenery of rocks and trees eased the climb's toil.
There were quite a few others climbing Sung Mountain besides us. Some looked like obvious Murim folk, others ordinary civilians.
Shaolin was the center of the orthodox Murim and a Buddhist holy land. Thus, it drew many lay Buddhists. They said thousands visited monthly to pray for children's exam success, daughters-in-law's safe births, or husbands' promotions—easy to gauge Shaolin's influence from that.
As the sect among the Nine Great Sects and Eight Great Schools with the most civilian visitors, entry was relatively easy. Not always, but large sects like them tended to be subtly insular, making casual civilian visits tough without special business.
"We've arrived."
Finally, the imposing Shaolin Temple buildings loomed before us. The grand gate bore a large plaque engraved with "Shaolin Temple," flung wide open toward us.
Throngs passed through the main gate, unchecked and uninspected.
'These guys have some serious confidence.'
The air at the entrance reeked of utter certainty they could crush any reckless bandit who dared barge in. Fitting for Shaolin, self-proclaimed eldest brother among the Nine Great Sects and Eight Great Schools.
Hong Mi and I crossed the main gate together. Before us sprawled vast temple buildings.
"The entrance has these public temple halls where laypeople offer prayers or make donations. The real 'Shaolin' where they hone martial arts is deeper inside."
Hong Mi seemed familiar with the place. Makes sense—they wouldn't send her on this errand otherwise.
Following Hong Mi, we ventured deeper into Shaolin. Laypeople thinned out, bald monks multiplied.
Beyond the ordinary temple halls stood a smaller gate than the main one. This was the true Shaolin entrance.
Unlike the front, two warrior monks with staffs guarded it. One spotted us and clasped hands in greeting.
"Have you come to the center of orthodox Murim, Shaolin Temple?"
The guard monk proclaimed it boldly with confidence. Hong Mi returned the clasp and spoke.
"I'm Hong Mi from the Murim Alliance."
"Ah! The Iron Severing Nine Swords Hong, the young hero. And the one beside...?"
"I'm Jongchil, Hong's attendant."
I jumped in quick at the monk's question. He nodded without suspicion.
"An attendant, got it. We'll notify the elders. Please wait a moment."
"Sure."
One shiny-headed monk slipped inside to relay the message. Unlike the outer temple, the real Shaolin wasn't for casual entry.
About fifteen minutes later, the gate opened, and a bald monk strolled out leisurely. Around sixty, he'd look bald even unshaven. Distinct impression.
"We sincerely welcome you to Shaolin. I am Han Su Daesa, elder of Shaolin."
"Hong Mi from the Murim Alliance. This is my attendant, Jongchil."
"Please, come inside."
Hong Mi and I followed Han Su Daesa in. Trailing his unhurried steps revealed the true Shaolin interior bit by bit.
The real Shaolin was vastly larger than the outer temple. Past the entrance, a short wooded path led to a sprawling training ground ringed by buildings—nearly football-field sized.
"Welcome again to Shaolin Temple. This way, please. I'll serve tea."
He led us to a red-painted building, likely the guest hall.
As expected, it was adorned with various ornaments. Guiding us to a large table, Han Su Daesa vanished inside to brew tea, returning after about five minutes.
"Dragon Well tea. Hope it suits your taste."
He set steaming cups before Hong Mi and me. She sipped, then spoke slowly.
"The aroma is exquisite. It lives up to Shaolin's reputation."
"Glad you think so. I manage Shaolin's tea. Over thirty years now. Lately, my palate's dulling, so I think of taking a disciple, but this stubborn streak holds me back. Haha."
His words suggested crotchetiness, but he didn't seem the type. Typical monk humility.
Hong Mi bantered lightly, easing into the main topic when the mood ripened.
"The Dragon-Tiger Contest is soon here in Henan, right?"
"Indeed. Our warrior monks train diligently for it. As self-proclaimed eldest of orthodox Murim, we'd shame Buddha with poor results."
"That's why I'm here at Shaolin. The Murim Alliance asks if Gwanum Daesa might give the opening speech. True Emptiness Taoist did last time; with Gwanum Daesa's virtue and prestige, it'd bless Murim's future richly."
"Hmm... I see."
Wrinkle lines creased Han Su Daesa's face at Hong Mi's words. On the surface, a perfectly reasonable, simple request from the Alliance.
Of course, dragging a monk from secluded training might intrude, but he hadn't just started—three years closed off, senses shut. Calling him now wasn't grave rudeness.
Rather, Shaolin's abbot-level figure skipping the orthodox Murim festival would be the real discourtesy. Among Nine Great Sects and Eight Great Schools, Shaolin and Wudang wielded top influence. Big status meant big duties.
Yet Han Su Daesa hesitated to agree positively. There was a reason.
'Seclusion's an excuse. He's hiding to treat his STD. Heh!'
Per the original, Gwanum Daesa had caught an STD right now.
Shaolin's abbot with an STD!
If word spread, Shaolin's honor would plunge into the mud that day. Hence the "secluded training" cover story.
Current Shaolin was rotten. Its head lost to whoring, catching STDs—no more needed said. Likely only Han Su Daesa and a few elders were sane among the leadership.
Gwanum Daesa's STD was Raw Pus Disease (生弑甁), a gruesome affliction: boils everywhere, pus oozing, bloodshot eyes.
Raw Pus Disease was infamous, untreatable even by Great Return Pills—only the body's natural healing worked, taking at least seven years.
'For reference, Raw Pus Disease comes from fucking hookers. That Gwanum Daesa fuck... what a legendary cum-guzzler. I've fucked corpses, but damn.'
"Hmm... I'll ask the abbot's intent, but his response... I'm not sure."
Han Su Daesa spoke without hiding his distress.
"It doesn't seem that tough a request. Has Gwanum Daesa perhaps grasped a new breakthrough insight?"
At Hong Mi's question, Han Su Daesa sweated bullets.
"When immersed, he ignores all else. Unsure if he'll cut seclusion short."
'Heh! Yeah, a guy who fucks whores enough for that STD.'
I sneered inwardly at Gwanum Daesa.
"We'll send word directly to the Alliance from Shaolin. Safe travels."
Han Su Daesa rose—clear dismissal.
Hong Mi and I stood too.
"Hmm. Something's off."
Hong Mi voiced her doubt. She'd sensed the oddity in his attitude.
"What is it? Han Su Daesa seemed anxious. Nothing in our talk warranted that, right?"
"Thief's foot twitches. Hong Mi, follow me."
We'd come to Shaolin—leaving empty-handed felt wasteful. At least glimpse that Gwanum Daesa bastard's face.
"Where to?"
"There."
I pointed at a blue two-story building. Dorm for low-rank Shaolin disciples.
"Won't wandering freely cause trouble?"
"No eyes on us, no problem."
Luckily, no surveillance. Hong Mi and I slipped to the blue building. Someone to meet here first.
'One of the original's side characters.'
Keeping low, I watched the entrance. Child monks and others milled about. Shaved heads made them blend, but spotting him was easy.
'The blue-eyed fucker stands out. Hmm. Where is he?'
After five minutes' scan, a blue-eyed monk appeared. Unlike others, subtly ostracized. Novel said he got bullied in Shaolin for his eyes.
'There he is.'
How to approach? Conveniently, he emerged, small sack in hand.
"Tail that guy."
I whispered low. Hong Mi followed without question.
The blue-eyed monk trudged out with sloppy steps, down a wooded path thick with trees.
We shadowed nimbly. His low martial level meant no detection risk. His steps halted on a secluded trail.