What Did You Just Say? (1)
Abbot Beop Jeong’s kasaya hem snapped in the river wind.
His gaze was fixed on the boats floating on the Yangtze River. At a glance, the fleet even seemed languid, almost serene.
But to Beop Jeong, they looked like a wolf’s teeth—sharp fangs that might lunge at any moment and tear out his throat.
“Hmm.”
Beop Jeong’s eyes grew heavy and somber.
Nearly ten days had passed since the Maehwado crisis had come to an end. Yet the Evil Tyrant Alliance had not withdrawn a single boat from the river.
Bandits made their living by preying on those who traveled the waterways. To keep the boats that should have been out robbing tied up here was, for the river pirates, a tremendous loss.
And yet the Evil Tyrant Alliance continued to shoulder that loss without budging those vessels even an inch. That was why Beop Jeong could not move either. He could not let down his guard before the enemy had sheathed its blade.
“...Jang Il-so.”
The name dripped from Beop Jeong’s mouth like poison. The man would be there, in the Manin Sect camp plainly visible across the river.
Step. Step.
While he stood staring across the water with darkened eyes, Beopgye approached slowly from behind.
“Abbot. The replies sent from the Ten Great Sects have arrived.”
He spoke cautiously, but Beop Jeong gave no particular reaction.
“...Abbot.”
Only after Beopgye called out a few more times did Beop Jeong finally turn his eyes slightly.
“What did they say?”
“Overall, they... expressed willingness to send support to the Yangtze River first.”
A strange smile touched Beop Jeong’s lips.
“And they did so without specifying when they would come or how much support they would send?”
“...Yes, Abbot.”
As Beopgye answered, anger began to rise on his face.
Promises without specifics were nothing more than empty words that could be changed whenever convenient. Even now, at this stage, they were still just testing the waters.
“I see. Just as I expected.”
Yet Beop Jeong simply nodded, as if he had already known it would be so.
“And what of the Heavenly Friends Alliance?”
“Their replies generally said they shared deep suspicion about the Heavenly Friends Alliance’s actions.”
“Deep suspicion, is it...”
Beop Jeong let out a quiet laugh.
Suspicion. What a convenient word.
If the Heavenly Friends Alliance had struck some secret pact with the demonic sects, they could say they had suspected it all along. And if nothing had happened, they could simply shrug and say that it was fortunate their suspicions had been nothing more than suspicions.
It was all so lukewarm. Yes—these people were lukewarm in everything they did.
“Abbot.”
“As expected.”
When Beop Jeong lightly shook his head, a long, weary sigh escaped Beopgye.
“How can you be so calm?”
“Hm?”
There was resentment in Beopgye’s voice.
“Of course, I am not saying we handled everything perfectly. We made mistakes, and there were certainly things that invited misunderstanding.”
“...”
“But at the very least, aren’t we the ones standing here on the Yangtze River, confronting the Evil Tyrant Alliance? How are we supposed to take this indifference from them?”
Beop Jeong looked at Beopgye and smiled faintly.
“Do you resent them?”
“...I...”
“There is no need. People are simply like that. A thorn embedded in my fingernail may hurt terribly, but I feel nothing at all when someone dies on the far side of the world.”
Beopgye bit his lip hard.
Perhaps their methods had not been right. But they had come here in good faith, at any rate. To Beopgye, the response they were receiving to that goodwill felt unbearably harsh.
“So we are simply supposed to endure this?”
Still smiling, Beop Jeong answered with a question of his own.
“What do you think should be done?”
“...”
For a moment, Beopgye stared at him, momentarily speechless.
At the height of the Maehwado crisis, Beop Jeong had been stripped of all his composure. But now, only a few days later, he had recovered much of the calm he had possessed in earlier years.
“A problem. Yes, a problem indeed. What should be done with those who refuse to listen?”
Beop Jeong murmured as if talking to himself, then looked back toward the river.
“For now, send another letter. Continue reporting the situation here, and keep requesting support. If possible, it would be good to include a demand that they specify exactly what they will send.”
It was a detailed instruction. Yet even after hearing it, Beopgye could only sigh.
“Abbot... even if we say that, do you think they’ll give us anything?”
“They won’t. But that doesn’t matter.”
“Pardon?”
Beop Jeong began to speak of something entirely unrelated.
“People who watch the fire across the river are in no hurry. Perhaps they even enjoy watching the flames burn.”
“...”
“To them, we are merely people scrambling to control a blaze on the far bank. Why would they be in any rush?”
He paused for a moment, then fixed Beopgye with a look.
“Do you know how to make those sorts of people feel urgency as well?”
“...I am not sure, Abbot.”
“You make them realize that the fire might spread across the river.”
Beop Jeong gave a low Buddhist invocation.
“A fire on the other side of the river is amusing because it cannot threaten me. But a fire burning at my own feet is no longer amusing. Because it may burn down my house, my fields, and in the end, even my family and me.”
Beopgye nodded slowly.
Of course, the reason the Ten Great Sects were not responding properly now was that Shaolin’s authority had weakened. But the more fundamental reason was ultimately that they did not yet accept the Evil Tyrant Alliance as a real threat.
The three years changed everything.
If Jang Il-so had killed everyone present at that Yangtze River tragedy, the Evil Tyrant Alliance might not even exist anymore. The surviving righteous sects would have gone to any length to wipe it out.
But Jang Il-so had remained in Jiangnan for three years, quietly building his power. He had given them enough time for the existence of the Evil Tyrant Alliance across the river to feel natural.
So they had grown used to it.
Used to the blaze burning on the far bank.
What is familiar no longer feels like a threat. No matter how loudly one shouts from here, they will not hear.
“Shouldn’t we make them understand, Abbot? How dangerous that fire called the Evil Tyrant Alliance really is.”
“Yes. I had thought so too.”
“...Pardon?”
At Beop Jeong’s calm answer, Beopgye tilted his head slightly. The reply had sounded a little strange just now...
“Until recently, that is.”
And the words that followed proved he had not misheard.
Beop Jeong continued, his voice subtly changed.
“But lately, I’ve begun to wonder whether I was the one thinking about this all wrong.”
“...What do you mean by that?”
“Perhaps what they don’t know is not how fierce the fire is.”
Beopgye still could not fully follow Beop Jeong’s words. Who could fail to understand how dangerous the Evil Tyrant Alliance was?
“Unlike what I had thought, they may have forgotten what fire even is.”
“Abbot?”
A slight twist formed at the corners of Beop Jeong’s mouth.
“Yes. After all, this was a world where there was barely any fire to speak of. There was enough time to forget what war flames were like. No, perhaps it would be more accurate to say this was a world where there were embers, but no true inferno.”
“...”
“That is why they have forgotten. What fire is. Why they should fear it.”
There was confusion in Beopgye’s eyes as he looked at the abbot. Then Beop Jeong turned toward him, his gaze so dark it raised gooseflesh.
“Beopgye.”
Startled, Beopgye hurriedly lowered his head.
“Yes, Abbot.”
Beop Jeong’s voice came soft and gentle, like a man soothing a child.
“...Do you know how one teaches someone who knows nothing of fire what fire is?”
“I... don’t...”
“By making them feel it.”
Beopgye felt a chill race down his spine. Beop Jeong went on in a calm voice.
“You let them feel for themselves how hot fire is, how painful it is when it touches the hand, what happens when the flames begin to lick at the flesh.”
“A-Abbot...”
“Of course!”
Beopgye was about to say something, but Beop Jeong cut him off firmly.
“It will hurt. It will be painful. But... wouldn’t that stop them from foolishly walking into the fire pit because they don’t know what fire is?”
“...”
Beopgye fell silent as though he had lost the ability to speak.
Beop Jeong’s faint smile remained. His voice was still gentle and compassionate. And yet, within that expression, Beopgye sensed something unmistakable—an eerie chill so cold it seemed it could freeze the soul itself.
Beop Jeong smiled at him warmly.
“Do my words sound too harsh to you?”
“A-Abbot. I only...”
“Perhaps they are harsh. But a Buddhist should not fear loss.”
Beop Jeong raised a single palm toward Beopgye. It was Shaolin’s distinctive one-handed salute, not the joined-palms gesture of ordinary monks.
“Why does Shaolin use the one-handed salute?”
It was an abrupt question. Beopgye, naturally, knew the answer. Anyone of Shaolin would know it.
“...To honor the Second Patriarch.”
“Yes.”
Beop Jeong nodded quietly.
Shaolin’s roots traced back to Bodhidharma, the First Patriarch, but its spiritual origin lay with the Second Patriarch, Huike, and its martial culmination with the Sixth Patriarch, Huineng.
Had not all of that flowed together to create the Shaolin of today?
“The Second Patriarch severed one of his own arms to attain enlightenment.”
“Yes, Abbot.”
“In other words, to gain a great realization, one must be able to give up even an arm without hesitation.”
“...”
“That lesson isn’t only for those who walk the Buddhist path. Sometimes, to gain something greater, one must endure a small sacrifice.”
Beopgye could not say a word.
Within the soft aura Beop Jeong gave off, an indescribable pressure lurked. It was difficult even to breathe.
Beop Jeong held his one-handed salute, then slowly closed his eyes as if gathering his thoughts. After a moment, he opened them again and spoke.
“Let us simply make them understand. That will be enough.”
“...Yes, Abbot.”
“Send the reply.”
“Yes.”
Beopgye bowed deeply with the one-handed salute and stepped back. For some reason, he felt as if he needed to leave this place as quickly as possible.
Just as he was about to retreat with quick, mincing steps, Beop Jeong, still fixed on the Yangtze River, asked in a low voice, “What of Mount Hua?”
Beopgye stopped and answered carefully.
“They appear to have established themselves not far from here and are in seclusion with the Tang Family. There doesn’t seem to be any notable movement.”
“What of the Mount Hua Sword Saint?”
“...That child seems to be teaching the young swordsmen of the Namgung Clan lately.”
“Teaching Namgung?”
“Yes.”
Beop Jeong’s gaze drifted slightly upward.
“...That child will end up embracing Namgung as well, in the end.”
“...”
“You may go.”
With that, Beop Jeong moved no more. He simply gazed absentmindedly at the endlessly flowing Yangtze River.
Watching his back for a moment, Beopgye gave a deep one-handed salute and withdrew.
Left alone, Beop Jeong’s eyes filled with the glittering Yangtze River.
“...They say the world is unfair.”
A helpless laugh touched his lips.
“Amitabha...”
When he finally closed his eyes, there was nothing left to see.