I Want to Live as a Monk - 2
I blinked down at the bowl Hyun-seung had given me. Exaggerating a bit, it was more like a basin than a bowl. The sheer volume could easily fill three small bottles. And just from the smell alone, even by my peak realm standards, my immediate thought was, 'This stuff is potent.'
'What the hell is this?' I'd accepted it since he'd offered, but now I had no idea what to do with it. Was it really okay to drink this fierce liquor from the foremost temple in the Central Plains? Was this some kind of test from Hyun-seung? A deliberate setup to gauge what kind of man Giwang's crown prince really was?
It'd be better if that were the case. If it was just a veteran from the founding war era teasing a junior, I could laugh it off. "Abbot, isn't the patron looking troubled?" Meanwhile, Myeong-seung spoke up in a calm voice, as if this were a familiar scene.
I nearly squeezed my eyes shut in dismay. The Shaolin abbot pulling pranks with booze. If he was used to situations like this, didn't that mean there was a serious problem? "Patron, you don't have to drink it. It's quite strong— even masters get a burning gut if they down it on an empty stomach."
"Ah, yes." I nodded awkwardly at Myeong-seung's words. Not might burn, but burns. A subtle difference, but it sounded like he'd experienced it firsthand. 'You drank it too, huh?' The abbot and his junior monk, both of them...
"Abbot, perhaps you should stop for today too. You emptied one before heading into the repentance cave, and now you're at it again?"
"Junior brother, no matter how much I drink, it's like water to this senior of yours. Drinking plenty of water is good, isn't it? Even the Grand Ancestor said as much."
"If the Grand Ancestor saw you empty several jars, he'd say something different."
At least the junior seemed to discourage excessive drinking. Whether I should call that fortunate was debatable, but it was better than the worst case. Besides, Hyun-seung had Myeong-seung as his last line of conscience and defense.
"An abbot who can't even drink his fill of water. This old fool clings to life, suffering such indignities."
But he didn't exactly heed that conscience. He grumbled—whether in earnest or jest—while retrieving the bowl. 'Light.' As Hyun-seung pulled it away with a casual grasp of the air, my heavy hands suddenly felt empty. Watching the bowl slither back into the liquor jar, I couldn't suppress my complicated feelings.
How much booze had been in that one bowl to make my hands feel this light just from its absence? I was curious, but I didn't want to know. Finding out would just leave me regretting it.
"Junior brother, if the liquor doesn't suit you, I'll have some tea prepared. Can't send a precious guest away empty-handed, can we?"
"That won't do. I'll be right back."
Myeong-seung nodded at Hyun-seung's request, picked up the jar beside him, and naturally headed for the door.
"Patron, this is how this old monk lives—tormented by that junior brother of mine."
"He's probably just worried about you, Abbot. After all, true fear comes from indifference. Those nagging words are surely born of affection and concern for you."
"Haha, you make a fair point—this old monk has nothing to say to that."
Stroking his beard, Hyun-seung chuckled softly and took his seat. "Please, patron, make yourself comfortable. Myeong-seung brews the finest tea in Shaolin, but it takes time. In the meantime, let's chat about this and that."
"My thanks for your consideration."
I bowed slightly and sat where he'd gestured.
"Ah, yes—I hear you recently married? Congratulations, patron. I wish you a future brimming with happiness."
"With the abbot's blessings, I couldn't ask for more reassurance."
I smiled and replied to his kind words. Knowing about my wedding meant he wasn't entirely cut off from the secular world. As Myeong-seung had implied, the repentance cave was more of a daily commute than true seclusion—he spent the rest of his time as Shaolin's abbot.
It was baffling, really. I understood the pain Hyun-seung harbored in his heart, but honestly, the tragedies of the founding war weren't his fault. Far from it—he'd fought fiercely against ruthless foes who even torched sacred Mount Song.
It wasn't that Shaolin burned under his watch; it was that he confronted the mightiest enemies head-on and emerged victorious. 'But he doesn't see it that way.'
The abbot, fixated on his faults rather than his merits, bowed his head. Gazing not at the glory in his grasp, but at the blood spilled on the earth. In a way, he was more righteous and just than anyone.
Yet that wasn't the mark of a proper leader. He probably saw himself as a failed, incompetent one, hence this self-imposed penance. He likely believed Shaolin would not only endure without him but thrive.
"Hm?"
As I watched him with pity and frustration, Hyun-seung suddenly widened his eyes.
"Our precious guest carries something equally precious."
I wondered what he meant at first, but then I followed his gaze and realized. Inside my sleeve, where Samshik slept soundly. Among spirit beasts, he boasted an overwhelmingly tiny size, sticking close to my body. So discreetly hidden that no one would notice unless he poked his head out first—but a Hwagyeong master like Hyun-seung spotted him instantly.
"A strange twist of fate brought us together. He was originally with His Highness Nang-jung Wang, but somehow ended up with me."
"Then it's truly a bond forged by heaven. Spirit beasts aren't beings we humans can command."
Stroking his beard again, Hyun-seung laughed, his face brighter than before. As if a spirit beast visiting Shaolin was cause for joy. The monks here, being religious folk, seemed especially sensitive to their symbolic weight.
Ever since my duties ended, I hadn't skipped a single day visiting the repentance cave. Shaolin won, but that was thanks to the foundation we'd built—not my own ability. If anything, because I was abbot, Shaolin shed far too much blood for that victory.
Had a more capable man held the position, far less blood would have been spilled. Cheongseung. It surely would've been so if he'd been abbot.
"How could a younger brother go before his elder!"
Blood might not bind us, but our souls did. Sharing the same master, and with me the elder, we were brothers in every sense. Yet how could you leave this world first?
If death was coming, it should have been me. Why did heaven take you? And Cheongseung—countless young, spirited family members perished in numbers beyond reckoning.
With no one taking responsibility for that tragedy, was that truly right? "Parents must protect their children, elders must guide the young. Yet we failed at both—we are sinners. If a child fails to serve their parents properly, they are traitors. The reverse must be treason too."
The elders who'd staunchly defended Shaolin felt the same. Grand martial uncles, great-grand martial uncles, grand-grand martial uncles—all the pillars remaining from the founding war entered the repentance cave, never to emerge.
Even as the entire Shaolin family begged them to stay, even as these heroes who gave their all wept and called themselves sinners, they would not yield. It was heartbreaking yet enviable.
I should have been among them. My responsibility was greater than theirs.
"This incompetent old monk must enter the repentance cave to atone—"
"If you do, Abbot, we'll shutter Shaolin's gates for good."
But the title of abbot made it impossible. If even the abbot secluded himself, it would end nine centuries of history—they threatened as much. When I offered to step down, they forbade that too.
How could the man who'd triumphed over the Mongol barbarians call himself a sinner? They wouldn't abandon a Shaolin still healing from its wounds.
And so began the bizarre routine: enter the cave at dawn, emerge after four hours. Neither I nor Shaolin could fully yield, so we met at this grotesque compromise.
For decades, I feigned penance, mimicked atonement, passing the time—until.
"Abbot, can you hear me? An official has arrived from the court."
"The court?"
"Yes. His Majesty has ordered a nationwide census of all martial artists—their numbers and realms. We've reported ours, but what of those in the repentance cave?"
At my junior brother's words, my emergence quickened.
"Abbot, a letter from Patron Han Jin. The crown prince will visit soon. Seems tied to His Majesty's order."
That cut my cave time to less than two hours. I couldn't snub a direct visit from an official trusted by the emperor and Giwang's own grandson.
Fortunately, the crown prince who came to Shaolin proved courteous and refined. I'd worried he might resemble that era's intense lord.
Even with booze beside this incompetent abbot, he didn't join in or fetch a bowl— he even refused what I offered. Truly calm and gentle.
"I'll personally verify those in the cave. Some may have advanced from peak to super peak."
"I see. Understood."
I smiled faintly at the crown prince's matter-of-fact nod. Giwang's fierce aura had mellowed across generations into this normal lineage. A blessing for Great Song.
- Shiiik.
"Hm?"
"Ah, just waking up. Pay it no mind."
And he was the sort spirit beasts took to. A blessing not just for Great Song, but the whole world.
"Heavens, a three-headed snake?"
As I imagined what child such a crown prince might sire, a white three-headed serpent poked from his sleeve. A venomous creature white as snow. It stirred old memories unbidden.
'Cheongseung had one just like that.'
A poison bird that differed from a white heron only in eyes and beak. Fiercely toxic, yet harmless to the poison-immune Cheongseung. I'd seen it occasionally, but it vanished after he passed.
Having seen him as family and friend, its grief must have been immense. 'Hope it didn't run afoul of some hunter.'
I worried. Was it eating properly? Had it met no villains? If only I knew its whereabouts.