Chapter 301
Chapter 301
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>Translator: Ryuma
>Chapter: 83
>Chapter Title: Demonic Beast (3)
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Outside the iron door.
Though it had not been long since entering, Demon-Subduing Monk Deok-su felt puzzled by the unexpected quiet and opened his mouth.
“Amitabha. Division Leader. Isn’t it awfully quiet? Is that donor truly a sorcerer?”
“Indeed.”
“Don’t sorcerers use spells like we Demon-Subduing Monks chant sutras or incantations?”
“Why? Curious?”
To this question, Demon-Subduing Monk Deok-su waved his hands and shook his head.
“No, sir.”
Of course, he was inwardly curious about how sorcerers confronted yokai.
He desperately wanted to peek inside, but he could only wait, lest he cause some unforeseen trouble.
“Sorcery stems from Taoism, yet it wields power that defies all reason. Do not dwell on it overmuch.”
“Amitabha. I shall heed your words.”
Having thus admonished Demon-Subduing Monk Deok-su, the Demon-Subduing Division Leader stared fixedly at the iron door.
He had given the admonition, but even the Division Leader himself was curious deep down.
Excluding the Abbot himself, he possessed the highest dharma power among them, yet even he could not subdue the yokai beyond that door alone.
So how could a single sorcerer possibly control it?
It bordered on the impossible.
It was then.
-Bang! Bang!
At last, clamor erupted from within.
The brief silence had given way to noise, suggesting matters were not proceeding smoothly.
Soon after, the yokai’s bellow echoed forth.
-You damned human scum! Get out here right now!
‘!?’
Get out right now?
What on earth did that mean?
The chamber beyond the iron door offered no space to dodge or hide.
* * *
At the same time, beyond the iron door,
‘Huh?’
This was utterly unforeseen.
He had anticipated enduring this level of force, with the cave walls fully inscribed with sutra verses to repel the demonic beast Alyu’s smoke. Yet the walls themselves were not particularly sturdy.
-Kwaboom!
Mok Kyung-un’s body, which had burst straight through the wall into the opposite side, slid down a narrow cave passage and tumbled into somewhere.
At the end of that slide lay pooled water, which splashed and soaked him as he fell.
Mok Kyung-un, who had toppled over, lifted his head in utter disbelief,
‘!?’
only to find a massive stone wall looming before him, blocking the way completely.
“Ah...”
The sight drew an involuntary gasp from his lips.
Were it merely a plain wall, perhaps not—but a portion of the cave ceiling had broken open, allowing brilliant sunlight to pour down and illuminate one section of the wall in striking beauty.
As he gazed at it, entranced for a moment, an enraged roar thundered from behind.
-You damned human scum! Get out here right now!
It was the voice of the demonic beast Alyu.
It had believed it had cornered him in a dead end with the entrance sealed, brimming with triumph—only for this unexpected turn to ignite its fury.
As Mok Kyung-un started to turn his head,
-The cave connects through here...
Puzzled by Cheong-ryeong’s voice, Mok Kyung-un asked,
“What do you mean by that?”
-Do you recall what that Demon-Subduing Division Leader monk mentioned earlier? About the thirty-six caves in Shaolin Temple’s patronage all being interconnected?
“Ah. Yes, now that you mention it. But why bring it up?”
“Look above the wall.”
“Above the wall?”
At Cheong-ryeong’s words, Mok Kyung-un peered up at the sunlit upper section of the wall.
Large characters were engraved there.
面壁洞
(Wall-Facing Cave)
‘Wall-Facing Cave?’
Now that he thought about it, there had been a cave entrance labeled “Wall-Facing Cave” right beside the Anti-Demon Cave.
This meant the spot he had smashed into from Anti-Demon Cave was Wall-Facing Cave—and the Division Leader’s claim that all the caves were linked appeared to be true.
Yet Mok Kyung-un’s attention was drawn elsewhere, beyond that realization.
It was the engraving of “Wall-Facing Cave” itself on the wall.
‘Magnificent.’
That was his immediate impression upon seeing the script.
The strokes bore no trace of arrogance or selfish intent; each one brimmed with perfectly balanced power, radiating grandeur.
‘Ah!’
Mok Kyung-un’s eyes widened.
The characters had not been carved by finger or tool.
They had been inscribed with qi itself.
And yet, how could they remain so pristine and undisturbed?
Had he known nothing of martial arts or qi, he might have viewed it merely as calligraphy—but this was truly astonishing.
At Mok Kyung-un’s reaction, Cheong-ryeong spoke.
-One who has attained the divine realm in wielding qi. A fitting progenitor for the Shaolin Fist, hailed as the orthodoxy of Central Plains martial learning.
“Progenitor?”
-Bodhidharma.
“Bodhidharma? Ah... I’ve heard the name. Isn’t he called the founder of Zen?”
“Indeed. Founder of Zen Buddhism and origin of the Shaolin Fist.”
“Then did this Bodhidharma establish Shaolin Temple?”
“No.”
“Then what?”
“Have you ever seen a portrait of Bodhidharma?”
“No.”
“If you did, his appearance would strike you as profoundly foreign.”
“Foreign, meaning not of the Central Plains?”
“Yes. Bodhidharma was the third son of the king of Xiangzhi in the land of Tianzhu, who renounced the world to pursue the Buddha’s path.”
“Hoo.”
A gleam of intrigue lit Mok Kyung-un’s eyes.
It was surprising that the origin of Shaolin Fist was no Central Plains man, but a foreigner.
“But how did a foreign prince who took the tonsure become the source of Shaolin martial arts?”
“That, I do not know. There are many theories, one of which ties to this Wall-Facing Cave at Shaolin.”
“Did he cultivate martial arts here?”
“They say that during meditation retreats, he faced the wall in seated contemplation all day long, and upon emerging, he ceaselessly trained his limbs to temper his body. That physical regimen formed the foundation of Shaolin Fist.”
“I see.”
“Even more astonishing: he repeated this wall-facing cultivation for a full nine years without respite.”
A staggering nine years of wall-facing training.
The tale spread far and wide among ordained monks and lay devotees alike, and this Wall-Facing Cave, where Bodhidharma is said to have trained, was known to outsiders as Dharma’s Wall-Facing Cave.
Mok Kyung-un stared intently at the “Wall-Facing Cave” inscription, absorbing Cheong-ryeong’s words.
From the Bodhidharma she described sprang the Shaolin Fist, which in turn underpinned countless orthodox martial traditions of the Central Plains.
The origin itself, in other words.
‘Impressive.’
That one man’s nine years could birth an origin—and from it, myriad martial arts—Mok Kyung-un felt profound respect within.
Yet that reverence lasted but a moment.
He had no time to idly contemplate the Wall-Facing Cave’s stone wall forever.
Thus, Mok Kyung-un moved to turn his head.
But then,
‘!?’
Mok Kyung-un halted mid-motion at a certain point.
He stared piercingly at one spot on the stone wall.
It stemmed from a fleeting unconscious impulse.
In the instant he blinked—closed his eyes, then opened them—
-Whirrrrr!
A frigid gale swept across the entire stone wall, and snowflakes abruptly swirled through the air in all directions.
The sheer otherworldliness left Mok Kyung-un speechless for a moment.
Mok Kyung-un lifted his gaze to the sky above.
Snow fell through the breached cave ceiling, accumulating on the floor below.
‘What in the world...’
Puzzled, his eyes caught one spot where the snow piled exceptionally high.
It was the point where light reflected off the stone wall.
Snow had built up to the height of a seated figure...
‘Ah?’
He had only thought as much, but there truly sat someone in meditation, snow blanketing their head and shoulders thickly.
Bewildered by the mystery, Mok Kyung-un stepped toward the figure.
But at that moment, footsteps echoed.
-Thud thud!
At the sound, Mok Kyung-un turned his head in puzzlement.
Upon turning, he saw a tall, bald man in faded yellow robes emerging from a tunnel at the rear of Wall-Facing Cave, approaching.
Mok Kyung-un opened his mouth to speak,
“Who...”
-Swish!
But the bald figure—evidently a practicing monk—passed by without so much as glancing at Mok Kyung-un.
The practicing monk soon drew near the seated one.
Even as snow piled upon head and shoulders, and someone approached, the meditator betrayed not the slightest movement.
-Thunk!
The monk who approached promptly knelt upon the ground.
Bowing his head low to the meditator, he pleaded in a voice thick with desperation.
“Please bestow your teachings.”
“......”
Despite his desperate plea, the meditator offered neither word nor stir.
Undeterred, the monk prostrated once more and implored,
“Open the path before me.”
“......”
The monk held his prostrated posture.
His resolve was plain: he would not budge until an answer came.
Thus, the meditator and the one prostrated behind him remained utterly still, snow mounting ever higher upon their forms.
Wondering what this scene signified, Mok Kyung-un exhaled softly,
-Swish!
In that instant, the surroundings flickered—darkening, brightening, over and again—
‘!?’
Ere long, snow blanketed the prostrated monk’s body thickly, while the meditator rose to his feet.
The one who stood from meditation parted his lips without tearing his gaze from the stone wall.
“Receive it.”
No sooner had the words sounded than the prostrated monk lurched upright, staggering.
Nay, he could not rise at once.
Having knelt long in the snow, he pitched forward.
His nose shattered on impact, blood flowing, yet he barely hauled himself erect.
Then, the one who had meditated hurled something backward without looking.
To catch it, the monk thrust forth both hands.
-Splash!
The instant the monk grasped it, the thing drenched his hands and spilled to the floor.
It was water.
Witnessing this, intrigue sparked in Mok Kyung-un’s eyes.
‘Threw water?’
A profoundly strange occurrence.
Had he packed snow lightly, only for it to melt in the hands?
Or had it truly been water flung forth?
Was it even possible to hurl water barehanded in such a fashion?
As he pondered, the monk scrambled to gather the water now soaking the floor with his hands.
Yet how could one reclaim water that had already wetted the ground?
“Ah...... Aaa......”
A groan escaped the monk’s lips.
At this, the robed man who had faced the wall spoke.
“I have given it. Now depart.”
Those words stilled the monk’s frantic scraping—which had splintered his nails—as tears streamed down his face in supplication.
“This monk remains unworthy and failed to receive your gift. I beg you, bestow your teachings.”
“......”
“I shall not leave this place, even unto death.”
“......”
Despite the monk’s ironclad resolve, the wall-gazer turned not his head a fraction.
Yet soon enough, the robed figure facing the wall spoke.
“Red-eyed snow shall not pile here until it does. Then alone will I accept you.”
At these words, Mok Kyung-un scoffed through his nose.
As if red-eyed snow could ever fall.
It was a roundabout refusal to accept him.
It was in that moment.
-Paf!
The monk then sprang to his feet.
He dashed to some corner of the cave and returned clutching a blade a chi in length.
Fearing some mad act born of absolute rejection as a disciple,
-Slash!
In that instant, the monk severed his own left arm.
‘!?’
Blood gushed from the stump, which he flung upon the piled snow.
The monk’s blood sprayed forth, gradually staining the snow red.
Mok Kyung-un’s lips twitched at the sight.
An impossible solution, forged by the monk through the sacrifice of his own arm.
A will most extraordinary.
‘Will you stare at the wall even through this?’
Mok Kyung-un regarded the robed figure facing the stone wall.
At that moment, the wall-gazer spoke.
“Receive it.”
With those words, he cast something toward the rear.
It unfolded too swiftly for conscious thought; instinctively, the monk extended his arm to seize it.
But the arm he thrust out was none other than the severed stump.
Yet,
-Wrrrrrr!
In that instant, a handful of water coalesced in midair, as if clutched in a fist, hovering there.
‘!!!!!!’
Mok Kyung-un’s pupils quivered as he beheld it.
The very act of grasping with a nonexistent arm had rendered it real.
This staggering spectacle tolled like a bell in Mok Kyung-un’s mind, birthing a single fracture.