Shaolin or Whatever (2)
Beop Gye stared silently at Beop Jeong, who sat in meditation with his legs folded beneath him.
Aside from the striking white beard that had grown all the way down to his chest, he was just an ordinary old monk one might find anywhere.
If he weren’t wearing the yellow robe that symbolized Shaolin, no one would have paid this old monk any attention at all. That was how plain Beop Jeong looked on the surface.
And yet, at times, Beop Gye found himself thinking:
Just how many things are packed away inside this man’s head?
The abbot of Shaolin.
Beop Jeong.
Some people said that, for an abbot of Shaolin, Beop Jeong lacked presence.
Throughout history, the abbots of Shaolin, who had led the righteous factions of the world, had left deep footprints on the Jianghu. Only giants capable of guiding the world with exalted Buddhist law and profound schemes could become Shaolin’s abbot.
Compared to those abbots of old, Beop Jeong of the current era did seem unusually mild. And so, whispers spread in the shadows that he lacked the ability to lead Shaolin.
But Beop Gye had never thought so.
Having watched Beop Jeong from the closest possible distance, he knew very well that this ordinary-looking old man was in no way lacking when it came to leading Shaolin.
No—perhaps, as an abbot of Shaolin, he might even surpass every abbot who had come before him.
“Abbot.”
Beop Jeong slowly opened his eyes.
Looking quietly at Beop Gye seated before him, he wore a gentle smile as he spoke.
“How has the world responded?”
“Amitabha. Just as you wished, Abbot.”
“I see.”
Beop Jeong’s voice was utterly calm. As though he had merely heard that the sun had risen in the east again today. As though this were no more than something ordinary and forgettable.
And seeing that composure, Beop Gye could no longer hold himself back.
“Abbot.”
At the tension in his voice, Beop Jeong let out a faint smile.
“There is fire in your voice.”
“...Forgive me.”
“Yes. If you have something to ask, then ask.”
Beop Gye lowered his head slightly and spoke.
“Did the Abbot plan all of this from the beginning?”
At the tremor in his voice, Beop Jeong smiled with an air of mystery.
“A question should begin by conveying one’s meaning clearly. What, exactly, do you wish to ask?”
“...Abbot...”
Beop Gye lowered his gaze and looked at the bracket still left hanging before them, where only four names remained.
“Did you draw this picture from the very beginning?”
Beop Jeong gave a broad, easy smile.
“You’re curious about something with no real importance. What if I did, and what if I didn’t? What matters is that things have come to this.”
Beop Gye let out a deep breath.
He may have said it like that, but Beop Gye was certain Beop Jeong had drawn the whole thing himself.
Why?
Simple. Because this was the best possible outcome Shaolin could have hoped to create.
What had Shaolin sought through this tournament?
Harmony.
Yes. Put kindly, harmony.
“...People often misunderstand,” Beop Gye continued, staring quietly at the abbot before him. “They say harmony is created when everyone yields a little and tries to understand one another.”
“And is that not so?”
“They forget one crucial thing.”
Beop Gye’s voice sharpened.
“In order to understand one another and yield to one another, the first requirement is to know each other’s position—and one’s own—clearly. Wasn’t the Abbot trying to make the Nine Great Sects understand their place?”
Without answering, Beop Jeong quietly recited a Buddhist chant.
“Now that I’ve come this far, even this fool can see what the Abbot intended. Excluding Shaolin, none of the Nine Great Sects managed to place a single disciple in the Four Strongest. And the seat they lost happened to be taken by Hua Mountain, which has now been cast out of the Nine Great Sects.”
The fact that none of the other members of the Nine Great Sects and One Gang, save Shaolin, had claimed even one of the Four Strongest positions carried far more meaning than it first appeared.
And what made that meaning even deeper was Hua Mountain’s sudden rise.
If Shaolin won this tournament, the Nine Great Sects would find themselves trapped between Shaolin—still proving itself as the northern star of the orthodox world—and Hua Mountain, surging upward at terrifying speed.
In that case, the Nine Great Sects would have no choice but to take the hand Shaolin had extended.
There would be no better way for them to recover their honor than by acknowledging Shaolin, the sect that had once again proven itself the great mountain of righteousness under heaven.
In the end, this tournament had been guided by Shaolin’s will from first to last.
No. Not Shaolin’s will. The Abbot’s will.
Beop Gye felt a faint chill run down his spine.
Within that gentle smile hid a scheme capable of seizing the world and shaking it apart. And yet how many in the world knew that?
Those who did not know Beop Jeong’s true face would take that easy, unadorned appearance as his true nature and stop there.
“Abbot. May I ask one more thing?”
“You are full of confusion today. What else troubles you?”
“Did the Abbot predict from the beginning that Hua Mountain would be this strong?”
At that question, Beop Jeong smiled faintly.
“How could I have?”
“Then—?”
“If I could infer what I had not seen with my own eyes, how would I differ from the Buddha? I have not reached such a state. But if I see something and still cannot understand it, then I am simply a fool.”
Beop Jeong’s lowered eyes gleamed darkly.
“I only wished for a good outcome for everyone. Shaolin would be able to prove itself, which is good. The Nine Great Sects, too, would be able to escape their deep arrogance and rediscover their proper place, which in the long term can only be an advantage. And Hua Mountain...”
For a moment, silence settled over the room. After letting the pause linger, he spoke again.
“Hua Mountain will be able to step out of its long darkness. Amitabha.”
Then he softly chanted the Buddha’s name and fixed his gaze on Beop Gye.
“Harmony cannot be made from intention alone. True harmony is born through law. Even Shaolin, which follows the Buddha’s teachings, has a Discipline Hall to punish the wayward acts of monks. To speak of harmony to those who have not taken refuge in the Buddha’s law is nothing but nonsense.”
“Those are wise words, Abbot.”
“When this tournament ends, all the sects of the world will once again find their proper roles.”
“Amitabha.”
Beop Gye also closed his eyes and uttered the chant.
He could not even begin to guess what Beop Jeong saw in his mind.
Only one thing was certain.
“However, Abbot...”
“Hmm?”
“All of that will happen only if Shaolin wins this tournament, will it not? If... if, by one chance in a thousand, one in ten thousand, Hye Yeon fails to defeat that boy...”
“You mean the Mount Hua Divine Dragon?”
“Yes.”
Beop Jeong’s expression shifted subtly.
Beop Gye found it hard to hide his surprise. Many emotions had flashed across Beop Jeong’s face in that instant, rare for a man who usually revealed so little.
Regret and expectation. Pleasure and sorrow.
“The Mount Hua Divine Dragon. The Mount Hua Divine Dragon... He is indeed no less than a true talent.”
Beop Jeong shook his head slowly.
“But the current Hua Mountain is not enough to fully develop that talent. By sheer effort, Hua Mountain has succeeded in reviving the Plum Blossom Sword Art. At this rate, returning to the Nine Great Sects is no longer an impossible dream. But that is all. To go beyond that, the Plum Blossom Sword Art alone is not enough.”
“...”
“A pity. Such a pity. If he had entered Shaolin, together with Hye Yeon he could have forged a glory that would last a thousand years.”
Resolve flashed in Beop Jeong’s eyes.
“But if that is fate, then that child must accept it as well. Even if he is a genius greater than Hye Yeon, the result would be the same. The Plum Blossom Sword Art can never withstand the Seventy-Two Supreme Arts. It would be like meeting a longsword with a pair of chopsticks.”
“Amitabha. Then there is no possibility of the Abbot’s grand plan going astray.”
“Yes. That is how it will be.”
Beop Jeong’s gaze slowly sank.
And if my plan does go astray...
Then the harmony he had planned would all collapse. The world’s axis would be split between Shaolin and Hua Mountain.
For now it was only a small crack...
But perhaps that small crack would lead the world into chaos it had never seen again.
“Amitabha.”
Beop Jeong’s chant sharpened with force.
He would never allow such a thing to happen.
Never.
* * *
“Junior Sister.”
“Yes.”
Yu I-seol’s reply was light.
Baek Cheon watched her quietly.
She doesn’t look nervous at all.
She was his martial junior sister, but the more he looked at Yu I-seol, the stranger she seemed.
Today’s opponent was none other than Hye Yeon.
Baek Cheon tried to imagine how he would have felt in her place. No matter how he thought about it, he doubted he could have remained as calm as she did.
Even knowing that, aside from Chung Myung, she was the strongest among Hua Mountain’s disciples.
Then again, she has always been like this.
If one of the essential qualities a swordsman should possess was the ability to keep a clear head, then perhaps she was the most swordsman-like swordsman in all of Hua Mountain. Just as Chung Myung had once said.
“Any thoughts?”
“No.”
“...I see.”
Yu I-seol was a woman of few words, but this time she must have decided the silence needed something more, because she spoke again.
“Only...”
“Hmm?”
Yu I-seol turned her head slightly and looked toward the martial stage.
“I’m not doing this to win.”
“...”
Baek Cheon looked at her in silence for a moment. Then he smiled faintly.
“Right. Of course. That isn’t everything.”
He had forgotten it at some point.
This tournament was not a place meant to produce a result.
When they first came here, the result they had wanted was to proclaim to the whole world that Hua Mountain had returned. And they had already achieved that well enough.
What remained?
Learning.
And growing even further.
Even he, the great senior brother of Hua Mountain, had momentarily forgotten that. Only Yu I-seol had remembered it straight and true.
At this rate...
Baek Cheon gave a wry smile and said, “Junior Sister.”
“Yes.”
“Why do you swing your sword?”
It was no great question. Perhaps it had merely been a way to escape the awkwardness of the moment.
But at that question, Yu I-seol turned her gaze away and looked into the distance.
“...Plum blossoms.”
“Plum blossoms?”
Her transparent eyes returned to Baek Cheon.
“I just want to make them bloom.”
“...”
“The plum blossoms I can show.”
Baek Cheon closed his eyes slightly.
He had no idea what exactly she meant. But the weight carried in those words came through clearly enough.
He opened his eyes and said in a firm voice, “This fight will bring you closer to that path.”
“Yes.”
“So go and fight without regret.”
“Yes, Senior Brother!”
Yu I-seol bowed her head to Baek Cheon and then turned at once, heading toward the martial stage.
There, in her field of vision, stood Chung Myung, seated in the front row as always with his arms folded.
Under normal circumstances, she would have walked right past him.
But today, her feet stopped before him.
Chung Myung lazily lifted his head and looked at her.
“What?”
Yu I-seol said nothing. She only stared at him steadily.
Strange.
She already knew that Chung Myung was not the sort of person to give comforting encouragement. And she already knew exactly what she needed to do right now.
And yet, for some reason, she felt as if she had to hear something from Chung Myung.
Chung Myung seemed to understand that feeling of hers too, because he spoke quietly.
“The sword doesn’t lie.”
“...”
“If all the effort you’ve put in so far is real, then your sword will answer you.”
It was hardly the sort of thing one would call encouragement.
And yet Yu I-seol silently nodded.
For some reason, the moment she heard those words, her heart settled into a calm stillness.
“Sago!”
Dang Soso was looking at her with a face full of worry.
Yu I-seol met that concerned gaze expressionlessly, then found herself nodding again without meaning to.
“I’ll be watching.”
“...Yes.”
That was enough.
At last, she slowly climbed onto the martial stage with her sword at her waist, carrying on her back the trust and concern of the Hua Mountain disciples all at once.
When Yu I-seol finally reached the stage, she looked at the one person who had already come up before her.
Hye Yeon.
The one who had inherited Shaolin’s purity.
Perhaps this would be a battle in which she was not even a match.
Her opponent was a genius specially raised with painstaking care by the sect known as the world’s number one school, the Thousand-Year Shaolin.
And Yu I-seol was merely the kind of unwanted child who had been treated as an oddity even within Hua Mountain, after it had been cast out from the Nine Great Sects.
The two of them were going to fight?
Ten out of ten. A hundred out of a hundred. Everyone would predict Hye Yeon’s victory.
And yet.
Shing.
Yu I-seol slowly drew her sword.
The plum blossom sword.
Yes, the plum blossom sword.
The oldest memory she still carried was the sight of a man holding this very sword.
Compared to that...
Yu I-seol fixed Hye Yeon with eyes sharpened like a honed blade.
“I’m Yu I-seol of Hua Mountain.”
“I’m Hye Yeon of Shaolin.”
That was enough for conversation.
What remained now was only proof.
“Hoo.”
Yu I-seol exhaled once, then drew in a long breath. The pounding of her heart slowed, and the tremor in her muscles faded away.
At the same time—
Yu I-seol, now one with the sword itself, shot forward like a swallow skimming over water, charging straight at Hye Yeon.