CHAPTER 203: Shaolin (9)
“Got it. Tell them I’ll prepare and head out.”
“Yes, sir.”
Sa Wol left the room.
This was getting annoyingly complicated.
[You’ve been stirring things up until now, so of course they’re taking an interest.]
“True, but I didn’t expect someone of the abbot’s stature to summon me so casually.”
A big-shot CEO doesn’t call a new hire into a private meeting just because they’re doing well at their job.
That was the vibe.
[Paeng Yu-gun must’ve put in a good word. He’s got high hopes for you.]
I couldn’t ignore a direct summons from the abbot, so I quickly washed up and stepped out.
Then I opened my poison pouch.
The Qi-Dissolving Poison from Dok Ma.
The Qi-Wasting Poison from the Poison King.
Two types of toxins that prevented the use of internal energy.
“Ugh, I really don’t wanna swallow this.”
One might think it didn’t matter since I couldn’t use internal energy anyway, but it wasn’t quite that simple.
I couldn’t project my internal energy outward, but I could still circulate it within my body.
However, ingesting Qi-Dissolving Poison or Qi-Wasting Poison would block that circulation.
To put it simply, it was like suddenly losing control over one of your senses that you’d been using freely until now.
No wonder it felt stifling and awkward.
[Good thing your control over the Heavenly Demon Divine Art has improved so much.]
“Yeah. Otherwise, it’d freak out the moment it sensed a threat.”
No time to dawdle.
First, I removed the Avoid Poison Jade I always wore around my neck.
No one entered my room anyway—except maybe Gongjin, whom I’d have to watch out for—so I stashed it safely in a small case.
Then I dumped both the Qi-Dissolving Poison and Qi-Wasting Poison into my mouth at once.
Unlike those medicinal elixirs, it had no taste or scent.
Made sense—these poisons were meant for discreet deployment.
As the Qi-Dissolving and Qi-Wasting Poisons entered my body—
――――!!
The Heavenly Demon Divine Art slumbering in my dantian reared its head. But—
‘Stop.’
At my command, it grumbled rebelliously but stayed put.
My control over the Heavenly Demon Divine Art had indeed reached an absurd level.
The poisons’ energies began enveloping my dantian without a single gap.
Worthwhile poisons from the Poison King and Dok Ma, indeed—like an egg perfectly cradled.
[Working well?]
“Effectively, yeah.”
[Relieved to hear it. After your Three Flowers... no, Shedding the Bones and Exchanging Tendons, I worried it might not take.]
“It took just fine.”
I often unconsciously drew on the Heavenly Demon Divine Art in crises, but now that was sealed.
No fights expected in Shaolin anyway.
But if I pulled it out in front of the abbot, who “saw through all things,” and got caught...
‘Death sentence, right there.’
Anyway.
With my energy securely sealed, I stepped outside.
“Sa Wol.”
“Yes, sir.”
She appeared like the wind at my call.
“Has the guide arrived?”
“Yes. They’re waiting outside.”
“While we’re in Shaolin, don’t attend me. Spend time with your brother instead.”
“But my duty is—”
“That’s an order.”
“...Understood.”
Sa Wol kept her head bowed until I left the room.
[You scored major points. Looks like she has no intention of leaving.]
‘Yeah. No idea why, but glad she is.’
[Right. No idea at all.]
Why the sarcasm? I grumbled internally as I stepped out.
“There you are? I was about to die of thirst waiting.”
Gongjin was waiting.
Seemed he’d been officially assigned as my guide.
Good.
Better than a total stranger—someone I could talk to, who already shared some secrets.
Plus.
“You hear about it?”
Gongjin was chummy with Tak Horak.
He was spilling without me even prying—full of things he wanted to say.
Utterly unfit for monkhood, in every way.
Though from my perspective, perfect.
“Hear what?”
“Ghost commotion at the Precepts Hall last night.”
“...Last night?”
“Weird, right? Gongmun and Gongso saw me, but no ghost.”
“Spotted by the first-floor guards?”
“Yeah. But we’ve sealed their lips tight, so no issue.”
“I see.”
I had a pretty good guess.
Thousand Changes Face Mask.
When I’d slipped out, I’d been spotted by the first-floor guards too.
I’d instantly used the mask to impersonate Gong-a. It even disguised existing hair as baldness.
“Ghosts in Shaolin, huh.”
“Yeah, so they’re saying the young disciples’ shallow cultivation caused it—whole group summoned for training. Haha, thanks to you, Sponsor, I skip it.”
“...”
This guy—no matter how I sliced it, monk material he was not.
“By the way, what’s the deal with you and Gong-a hyung? Not your average relationship.”
“Don’t secular ties get left at the gate? Mind your own. If you’re so curious, ask Gong-a yourself.”
“Might as well tell me to drop dead.”
Thanks to Gongjin’s chatter, I got a solid outline of Shaolin’s situation.
‘Honest to a fault, as expected.’
This world of Murim Returner was a cliché-fest.
In clichés dominating wuxia for the past decade, Shaolin was one of two types.
Bystanders watching murim crises unfold, or hypocrites causing trouble while feigning innocence.
But in this worldview, Shaolin was different.
Neither bystanders nor hypocrites.
True pillar of the righteous sects—upholding justice, spreading virtue, correcting evil.
And the reason? One man.
Shaolin Abbot.
Divine Monk, Hye-neung.
A figure said to possess power reaching the heavens.
And it wasn’t just concept—in Murim Returner, he’d saved the gravely injured protagonist Mu Jin.
Even for a Demonic Cultist, he wouldn’t let a dying man perish before his eyes. A true virtuous soul.
However.
That also meant he wasn’t some pushover I could toy with.
‘And Je Gal Sung’s there too.’
Murim Alliance Strategist, Je Gal Sung.
Honestly, he was the real danger.
An Alliance Strategist’s intel network was unmatched.
High chance he suspected me.
I’d popped out of nowhere with zero prior activity.
Even without Demonic Cult ties leaking, he’d question my Eastern origins plenty.
I’d prepared for that, though.
As a Murim Returner veteran, I knew the rarely featured East better than most.
That’s why I’d leaned into the “from the East” concept from the start.
“This is the Arhat Hall.”
Gongjin led my distracted self.
To reach the abbot’s quarters, we passed the famed Arhat Hall.
Inside, bare-chested, fierce-looking monks trained rigorously.
The legendary 108 Arhats.
Shaolin’s acknowledged 108 elites—an elite special forces unit, basically.
The kind you’d miss if absent from any wuxia tale. Seeing them in person drew an admiring gasp.
“Whew. Even passing through feels murderous.”
The Arhats’ auras differed subtly from other Shaolin monks.
“In raw strength, you or Gong-a hyung outclass them.”
“One-on-one, sure.”
“Fair.”
The 108 Arhats fought using the “Arhat Formation”—combined assault arrays of 12, 36, 64, or 108 members.
Numbers drawn from Buddhist or wuxia lore.
The ultimate 108 Arhat Formation was for foes like the Heavenly Demon.
‘Problem is, they’re just combat dummies.’
They show up dramatically—“Open the Gates of Slaughter!”—only to get ten-shot.
Pitiful protagonists of tragedy.
Passing those tragic figures, the abbot’s quarters finally appeared.
Hardly deserving the name “quarters”—tinier than my Jami Hall room.
Quintessential humility.
At the door, Gongjin cleared his throat.
“Abbot. I’ve brought Eastern Sword Dragon Kim Dong Yun.”
“Enter.”
A dignified voice from within.
“Please go in. I’ll take my leave.”
Gongjin’s snitchy vibe vanished, putting on airs before his sect elder.
I patted his shoulder and entered.
A subtle incense scent greeted me first, followed by three men seated at a low table.
Paeng Yu-gun was familiar; the other two, new faces.
The stern, gaunt man was surely Alliance Strategist Je Gal Sung.
The elderly monk with kindly wrinkles: Shaolin Abbot Hye-neung.
I stood before them, bowed, and offered the greeting seal.
“Kim Dong Yun, unworthy of the murim, offers greetings.”
Perfect murim etiquette, even by my standards.
“Hohoho, you’ve arrived.”
Paeng Yu-gun boomed a hearty laugh in welcome.
Abbot Hye-neung smiled benignly too.
“Pleased to meet you. I am Hye-neung.”
“Greetings, Abbot.”
Hye-neung disliked his “Divine Monk” title—too excessive.
So I used his dharma name, fittingly.
But.
‘Slit-eyed guy, huh?’
The abbot had slit eyes. Impossible to tell where he was looking.
Still, he seemed genuinely kind.
The issue was Je Gal Sung beside him.
His face screamed not buying it. And.
[Why’s he staring at your waist?]
‘Ah, the Black Whisker. Should’ve left it behind.’
The Black Whisker looked just like the White Whisker, save color.
The White Whisker was Je Gal Clan’s pride, evoking Three Kingdoms’ Zhuge Liang’s trademark.
Might think I was imitating him.
‘That’s just a Romance of the Three Kingdoms fanfic image anyway.’
Seemed he distrusted me over my identity.
Still, greetings first to avoid rudeness charges.
“Greetings to the Murim Alliance Strategist Je Gal.”
“Je Gal Sung.”
His voice matched his prickly face—slightly nasal, human-irritant tone. Peering closer, I caught a hint of Je Gal Hye.
Paeng Yu-gun, fondly watching, spoke.
“Sword Dragon. You’ve guessed why we called you. Right?”
“Yes.”
“What for, then?”
I looked straight ahead.
“The Blood Cult, I presume.”
“Hoho, sharp one.”
“Anyone with a functioning brain could guess that.”
“Such a prickly attitude.”
“Hmph.”
Je Gal Sung snorted, fanning himself dramatically—snap—as if to show off.
[What an obnoxious prick.]
‘It’s fine.’
Cliché law: Characters snippy early on always end up allies.
‘You did too, come to think.’
[What’re you on about?]
Pa Cheon grumbled. Embarrassed, much?
“Anyway, rotten personality aside.”
“Precisely because of that rotten personality, to the point.”
Je Gal Sung said,
“The Alliance assesses the Blood Cult not only lurking in murim but infiltrating sects as spies.”
Nailed it. Hwasan’s successor was a Blood Cult plant, after all.
That’s when I knew his angle.
“Understood.”
“Understood what?”
“You wish to appoint me as inspector to root out spies in the sects?”
“...How?”
Je Gal Sung looked stunned; Paeng Yu-gun cackled mockingly.
“See? Told you he’s sharp.”