The Kidnappers (3)
“Senior Brother! Senior Brother!”
The sensation of someone shaking his body woke Jin Yeo-rip from sleep.
“Ugh.”
His head throbbed and felt unbearably heavy. It was probably because a flood of memories had crashed into his mind all at once.
“Are you okay?”
The one who had woken him was a young novice monk. His face was already familiar, but now even the trivial memories surfaced, making him feel incredibly close.
Wonmyeong, the novice from Jangsaengjeon. The times spent together were vivid. And he realized—this little punk was the one who peed during the dawn service!
But the shaved head and worried expression looked so endearing that he couldn't say a word. His round eyes were brimming with tears from sheer concern.
Out of nowhere, he wanted to pat that head.
“Senior Brother! Are you alright?”
“Ah, yeah.”
“Phew, that's a relief. After morning alms, I brought your food, but everything around was like this, so I thought something had happened to you again.”
“Huh?”
“Look around—it's covered in blood.”
At Wonmyeong's words, he turned his head slightly and saw the vivid bloodstains. They must have come from his own body. Yet, despite vomiting that much blood, his body felt refreshingly light.
And now morning alms were over? That endless ordeal had only lasted an hour and a half—three hours?
This wasn't some time dilation or mental barrier.
As Jin Yeo-rip gave an awkward smile, heavy footsteps burst in, and Beomgang came rushing into Jangsaengjeon.
“What in the world is this mess?”
“I don't know either. I came with food after morning alms, and Senior Brother was like this. I had to report it urgently, even knowing you'd be busy.”
It seemed Wonmyeong had woken him for that reason—coming with food, seeing the blood, and panicking.
“What exactly happened?”
“Ah, well...”
Jin Yeo-rip couldn't explain to Beomgang's question. It was clear now. The place where he had opened his eyes wasn't some point in the past from history books, but the real murim world he had vaguely imagined. And the memories now lodged in his head told him one thing: he must never speak of what happened in Repentance Cave.
He didn't know the exact reason, but he had inherited the martial arts of someone imprisoned there. They couldn't have been a righteous person, and Shaolin wouldn't overlook it.
“I don't really know. I just took the Xiaohuan Dan and fell asleep.”
“Hm.”
As Jin Yeo-rip lied naturally with a puzzled expression, Beomgang, who was checking his pulse, frowned. There were no major issues. His limbs, broken and splinted, seemed mostly mended by the elixir's spiritual energy. The gushed blood was probably stagnant blood from inside.
But it was strange. The pulse he felt was markedly different from before. Not only had the blood vessels thickened, but the heartbeat was vigorous too. It was fortunate he was healthier, but...
A dantian?
Beomgang's face darkened. People varied, and Xiaohuan Dan had different effects per person, but forming a dantian without internal arts? He'd never heard of it.
Suddenly, what Hyecho had worried about flashed in his mind, stirring suspicion. But after meticulous checks, he sensed only the elixir's energy—no suspicious traces.
“Hm...”
He pondered deeply but soon sighed it away. He was overreacting. Were there not countless mysteries in the world beyond understanding? The pure spiritual energy filling his meridians was proof. If something impure lingered, the energy would have reacted first.
“Amitabha. A miracle indeed. Inexplicable. I cannot comprehend what life Buddha intends for you with this outcome.”
“Pardon?”
Jin Yeo-rip tilted his head at Beomgang's mutter.
“No, never mind. How could I fathom heaven's decree for one's fate? Your life has been arduous, so perhaps Buddha disguised inevitability as chance to grant you this serendipity.”
Beomgang chuckled and nodded. Inevitability, chance, serendipity—nice rhyme there. Were you a Shaolin rapper? He almost added a beat.
Anyway, what he said would have felt cryptic before, but with fourteen years of Shaolin memories in his head, it was easy to grasp. Serendipity was the foundation of martial arts, yet instinct told him to play dumb.
“How's your body?”
“I felt dazed when I woke, but now it's incredibly refreshed. Truly an elixir. Just a bit stiff.”
“You look it. But don't overdo it. The Xiaohuan Dan is remarkable but not omnipotent—the mended bones are still weak. Be cautious until they're solid.”
“Yes, Head of Jangsaengjeon.”
“Hm?”
“Yes?”
“No, after waking, you just called me 'monk'?”
“Ah!”
That was then; now the memories were back. Beomgang wasn't just a healer monk—he was the senior seat among Shaolin elders.
“Haha, kid. Rest now. I have somewhere to be. Wonmyeong, help him change clothes.”
“Yes.”
Beomgang entrusted him to Wonmyeong and left Jangsaengjeon. Probably to report to the abbot. With this inexplicable event, he'd seek guidance on handling it. Others might come to examine him too.
But fortunately, the strange voice's words were true—as long as he didn't circulate energy. Even Beomgang hadn't noticed, so others wouldn't either. He absolutely couldn't be caught. That his changes stemmed not from the Xiaohuan Dan, but from Repentance Cave.
He'd soon return home, so he'd hide it thoroughly until then.
Alone, Jin Yeo-rip lay still on the bed, sorting his thoughts. Through the crammed memories, he grasped his—their—situation.
Traitor, enemy of murim. Crimes pinned on his maternal family, clinging like guilt by association.
But so what? The important thing was he was alive now. And the false charges were cleared—he was going home soon, right? The family ran a merchant house. That meant some wealth...
Rich in a new life? Ah, thank you, Buddha! I'll think of this as an extended temple stay.
Murim world or real world—what did it matter? He was loaded...
Jin Yeo-rip grinned widely, imagining a happy future.
After that day, Jin Yeo-rip adapted to Shaolin life, aided by ingrained habits. He even joined dawn services, health restored.
Thwack!
“Who farts during service?!”
Shaolin's obsession with external arts showed in Beomgang's full-swing iron clacker. By then, he no longer startled.
Then, kin arrived. Dressed in worldly clothes—a final gift from Beomgang—he emerged to find many waiting before Jangsaengjeon: Hyecho, elders, monks who'd cared for him.
And among them, newcomers—likely from Cheongeumbang. No memories of them.
“Greetings, Abbot.”
Jin Yeo-rip bowed deeply; Hyecho nodded with a gentle smile. A strange feeling stirred. Were the memories making unexperienced years feel his own? Leaving Shaolin after fourteen years mixed complex emotions.
Yes. They'd given precious Xiaohuan Dan, warm care—Buddha's grace beyond words.
“Young master...”
“...”
“Is it truly... Young Master Yeo-rip?”
Before old memories could sting his nose, a young woman from the trio trembled forward, touching his face.
“You resemble her. Just like her.”
Feeling inexplicable affection in her trembling hand, he let it be; tears welled in her eyes, streaming down.
An unfamiliar face, unfamiliar encounter—he just smiled awkwardly. Who was she to weep so bitterly?
“Young master!”
Suddenly kneeling, she prostrated like in worship.
“Forgive us. I'm sorry, young master.”
“Ah, no... hey.”
Not just her—the elder and middle-aged man behind prostrated too.
“We're late—forgive us, young master.”
Stunned by their heavy voices, Jin Yeo-rip dropped his restraining hand. Somehow, he felt sorry. They gazed at someone else, not him. He had no words. He couldn't empathize, as it was all new—the meeting, the memories.
The reunion dragged on.
“...Father?”
The word came hard. A father lost early in his past life, absent from these memories—unfamiliar title.
“He's waiting at the main house. He sent us to fetch you.”
“I see.”
Rich indeed. Carriage with escorts.
Jin Yeo-rip nodded, looking to Hyecho.
“I'll be going now.”
“Go well.”
Hyecho and all Shaolin smiled. Transcendent, no regret shown.
“Abbot, when shall we meet again?”
“Haha, Yeo-rip.”
“Yes.”
“Shakyamuni taught: All things bound by karma are impermanent. Even grace and love gathered thus must part someday. Why sorrow over the world's nature?”
“...”
“Even abiding an eon fades; such is karma's essence. Go joyfully. Parting heralds new meetings—I bless your path ahead. Amitabha.”
New path ahead. Meant leaving for home, yet felt aimed at his reborn self in a new world.
“Yes, Abbot. I'll engrave your teachings.”
Jin Yeo-rip bowed; Hyecho smiled back, and Shaolin bade farewell with smiles for their decade-plus companion.
Meetings end; departures return—that's the wheel.
“Go now. Buddhist bonds endure, but worldly ones? Your father awaits anxiously.”
“Yes.”
Temple stay over. Initial misunderstanding aside, fine kidnappers(?). Opened new life, prepared him for new world.
“Junior brother, I'm off.”
“Hey!”
Ruffling his hair mischievously, Wonmyeong raised tiny fists in mock anger. Grinning, Jin Yeo-rip fled Shaolin; Hyecho watched them recede.
Xiaohuan Dan's energy formed a dantian as serendipity? Long pondered, observed till departure—no issues.
Good. Healthy farewell. A fine parting gift.
Whatever fills it now is his life.
“May you be a vessel for good, Donor Jin. Amitabha.”
Hyecho murmured softly. Following Buddha's way, yet the heart's emptiness lingered. The empty spot aches more than the filled one.