Scandal Erupts at the Yongho Contest Opening
"Ahem!"
Abbot Gwaneum cleared his throat with all his might. It had been quite some time since he, the head of the Shaolin Temple, had appeared in public. Nearly three years, in fact.
"Are you alright, Abbot?"
Elder Hansu Daesa of Shaolin asked with a worried look. There was less than an hour left before the speech began in front of countless martial artists.
Not only the righteous sects but even the unorthodox factions had their eyes on this Yongho Contest. A tiny mistake could become a massive blemish. And for the abbot of Shaolin, who claimed leadership among the Nine Great Sects, it was even more critical.
"This robe feels damn uncomfortable. Hell, these baggy clothes don't suit my taste at all."
"If even the monastic robes don't suit you, what can we do? Just bear with it a little longer."
"I know that without you telling me."
Abbot Gwaneum was afflicted with a venereal disease. Not just any STD—it was a vicious one that made his entire body rot and fester from the inside.
If word got out that Shaolin's abbot had an STD, the temple's prestige would plummet to the ground in an instant. It wouldn't end with mere finger-pointing from the masses. It would strike at the core of Shaolin's identity.
Elder Hansu crossed his arms in an unmonk-like slouch, pondering deeply once more. He had pursued truth amid countless worldly temptations, but never had his worries dragged on like today. He couldn't tell if his actions were right or wrong.
"You look deep in thought, Elder."
"How could I not be? With your condition..."
"Ease your mind. It had to come out eventually. Actually, this works out well. Showing up now means I can hole up for another two or three years."
"We've temporarily held back the symptoms with the improved Great Return Pill, but we don't know when the flesh will start rotting and pus will flow. We need to end the speech as quickly as possible."
"That's my plan too. Don't worry."
Abbot Gwaneum replied curtly, adjusting his robe's fastenings.
"Abbot, the opening ceremony preparations are complete."
A servant's voice came from outside the door. After a final check in the mirror, Abbot Gwaneum rose. Elder Hansu hurried after him with quick steps.
The door opened to a short corridor. The venue for the Yongho Contest opening was the Murim Alliance's Hanan branch. As soon as they stepped into the hall, the martial artists' heated cheers pierced their ears.
"Huashan Sect is the best! Plum Blossom Sword will slice through this Yongho Contest like butter!"
"Swords mean Wudang! Huashan has always been Wudang's meal ticket, hasn't it?"
"What nonsense!"
"You can't leave out the Namgung family when talking swords. The grandeur and subtlety of Emperor Swordsmanship rival Wudang and Huashan."
"Isn't one of the joys of the Yongho Contest discovering hidden masters? Where do you think the next genius will pop up from?"
"Tough question. Timing-wise, maybe a phoenix from a southern sect?"
The righteous factions' fervor for the Yongho Contest was palpable. Abbot Gwaneum snorted at the voices beyond the paper-screen door.
"The little shits are making a fuss just to watch the kids play."
"Abbot, mind your words."
Elder Hansu glanced around nervously, lest someone hear. Fortunately, no one was nearby. Abbot Gwaneum knew that, which was why he'd spoken so bluntly.
"From your view, Elder, any promising seedlings in this Yongho Contest?"
"I've been too focused on temple affairs to keep tabs on the martial world lately. But rumors say Huashan Sect, Namgung family, and Fairy Sect have some notable young talents."
"Oh ho. Fairy Sect, eh."
Abbot Gwaneum licked his lips like a viper. It was a sinister expression, the polar opposite of Buddha's compassion.
Elder Hansu shivered at the chilling sight. Every time Abbot Gwaneum showed that face, his heart tightened for no reason.
The silver lining was that the devilishly cunning abbot never revealed that side to anyone but him—except for the women he targeted.
Creak!
Abbot Gwaneum pushed open the heavy door and stepped out. A podium awaited him.
Before it stood countless righteous martial artists from across the land, barely maintaining order. Even in this spacious compound, there was no room to step without treading on someone—like sardines in a can. The Yongho Contest opening was that symbolic to the righteous sects.
At Abbot Gwaneum's appearance, the heated atmosphere cooled sharply. His intangible aura subdued the crowd's momentum.
Even with his body rotting alive from the STD, he was an expert no one could ignore. His power remained formidable.
"Abbot Gwaneum. Heard you were in closed meditation—didn't expect you here. First public appearance in three years?"
"What presence. Like a mountain moving. Now I get why they call him the Giant Buddha."
The buzz naturally shifted to Shaolin—or rather, Abbot Gwaneum.
His slender build and pale complexion didn't quite fit the sturdy image of Shaolin warrior monks. Paired with his snake-like face, it created a sharp, threatening impression. He looked nothing like a figure evoking Buddha's mercy and virtue.
His attire wasn't Shaolin's monastic robes or ceremonial garb either. It was luxurious silk prepared by the Murim Alliance for the occasion—embroidered with colorful threads, woven from the finest fresh silk, far from ascetic simplicity.
Yet everyone there knew he was no ordinary monk, but a great warrior. His casual glance around held the weight of an ocean—deep and grave.
Eyes brimming with infinite belligerence, befitting a leader bearing a top sect.
"It's been a while. I am Abbot Gwaneum."
He started lightly. No plans for a long speech, but for Shaolin's face, he wouldn't half-ass it.
"It is an honor to see so many talents gathered like clouds. Seeing this place reminds me that the righteous martial world's blessings will continue. What greater joy for an old man?"
The speech was prepared by Elder Hansu. Abbot Gwaneum faithfully played the ideal Shaolin leader.
"...Therefore, all participants, remember your faces represent the righteous martial world. Strive for fair, just, and glorious contests. My tongue grows long with age, it seems. I'll cut it short here. And now..."
The speech raced toward its close. Murim Alliance workers, as instructed, unfurled pre-prepared flags.
Flags emblazoned with Yongho Contest in elegant calligraphy fluttered from both sides. Abbot Gwaneum used his inner energy to whip up a breeze, making them wave more vigorously.
"I hereby declare the Yongho Contest open!"
Bang! Bang! Bang!
He even added a flashy fireworks display.
"Woooowwww!!!!"
Thunderous cheers erupted in response. Roaring, joyous screams filled the compound. Swollen with anticipation, people grinned and chatted about the contest with total strangers. It was a festival unto itself.
"It's finally starting!"
"Haha! I bet big on Shaolin this time! My info's solid—I'm gonna be rich!"
"Idiot. Shaolin's the safe bet. Go off-meta like me to strike it rich."
"Fairy Sect, let's gooo~!"
The loudest voices among the spectators were, predictably, the gamblers.
The opening ceremony's vibe was more than satisfactory. Elder Hansu let out a sigh of relief.
No one had sensed anything off about Abbot Gwaneum. He'd played his role to perfection.
'One worry down.'
Wiping sweat from his brow with his sleeve, Elder Hansu whispered to the abbot.
"Let's head back. You did well."
"Yeah, tough work. I'm craving pussy."
Elder Hansu's liver nearly dropped at the casual remark. Luckily, it drowned in the surrounding uproar. Abbot Gwaneum knew that too.
"We're still in public. Watch your words... Anyway, let's go."
Just as they turned to leave, a strange light enveloped the podium where Abbot Gwaneum and Elder Hansu stood.
"Huh? What's that?"
One spectator amid the chatter noticed the odd change. An image was projecting onto the wall blocking the podium's front—a sight none had ever seen.
"Jeongga family's magic tool? Pretty impressive."
"Another event?"
"Whoa, the Alliance really went all out for this opening."
All eyes locked on the playing image.
Abbot Gwaneum tilted his head in confusion.
"What the hell? Was this on the schedule?"
Elder Hansu had heard nothing about it either.
"Something's off. And that projection... it's..."
It was the cave where Abbot Gwaneum was "in closed meditation" for recovery. Their faces turned ashen.
A black-haired man with a grotesque demon face smirked lewdly as he raped a woman.
His body was hideous, like a rakshasa from hell, oozing pus everywhere. The woman beneath him screamed and thrashed, but couldn't escape the demon's grip.
Thud! Thud! Thud! Thud!
-Ugh! Bodhisattva! Save me!
-Haha! Who you calling Bodhisattva!? I'm the one!
Thud! Thud! Thud! Thud!
It was unmistakably Abbot Gwaneum savagely crushing the woman. His pus-warped face made it tentative at first, but the voice was definitely his.
The sudden bizarre image sent ripples through the crowd. How could it not?
"My god! What is that!?"
"Isn't that Abbot Gwaneum?"
"Where's that? Shaolin training cave?"
Even the seasoned Elder Hansu was at a loss. Abbot Gwaneum too. He'd never imagined this.
Regardless, the video of his debauchery played on. It zoomed in mercilessly on his rotting, pus-dripping cock pillar. The woman's pussy, impaled brutally, turned black and festered. He'd transmitted his STD.
"Th-this is the unorthodox scum's doing!"
Abbot Gwaneum roared like thunder, swinging his hand. His palm strike was short and powerful. A majestic blast of energy shattered the projected wall.
BOOM!
The wall collapsed completely. Murim Alliance guards nearby flew back, but he ignored them. Their safety wasn't the priority now.
"This is a frame job! Unorthodox plot! Defiling this joyous day by slandering me! Their movements have been suspicious lately— is this how they strike? Unforgivable!"
He pinned it all on the unorthodox factions. Best he could do—and plausible too.
The crowd nodded in agreement.
"Yeah, no way the abbot would chase skirts like that. Those unorthodox bastards—vicious tricks. They're not even real martial artists."
"We knew their methods were sneaky and cowardly, but pulling this on opening day? Can't let it slide!"
The incident was smoothed over nicely. Abbot Gwaneum stormed off, snorting. Maintaining his body with inner energy was reaching its limit. Any longer, and his pus-dripping wretched form would be exposed.
Thus ended the rowdiest opening ceremony in martial history, amid the chaos.