He Really Has No Shame, Damn It. (2)
Beop Jeong gazed silently at Mount Hua’s mountain gate.
This was not the first time he had laid eyes on it. One might even think he should have grown used to it by now, and yet it felt more unfamiliar than it had the first time.
Perhaps that is because my position is different now than it was then.
Even the same thing could only look different when the circumstances changed.
When he had first visited Mount Hua, he had not been short of anything in particular. If anything, his curiosity had been stronger—the desire to see what Mount Hua’s main sect looked like with his own eyes.
But now…
“Amitabha.”
To shake off the unease stirring in his chest, Beop Jeong recited the Buddha’s name.
If not me, then who would go to hell?
This was for all people.
Not the kind of situation where he could afford to hesitate over private shame.
“Abbot.”
“Mm.”
At Beop Gye’s voice, Beop Jeong gave a nod. He had no time to linger here.
“May we enter?”
Un Geom, who had been near the gate and came running after hearing the commotion, stared at Beop Jeong for a moment in a daze, then nodded.
“...This way. Please, come in first.”
“Thank you, Daoist.”
Un Geom, rarely able to hide his embarrassment, guided Beop Jeong inside. But there was no reason to blame him. The Abbot of Shaolin had suddenly appeared without warning—who in the world would not have been startled?
Still, Beop Jeong found himself looking at Un Geom for another reason.
Was there such a man here?
A one-armed swordsman with no sword hand.
The aura he gave off was anything but ordinary. Just from that feeling alone, it was easy to tell that he was an exceptionally trained master swordsman at the Peak Realm.
The problem was that he did not exist in Beop Jeong’s memory.
Then does that mean he grew this much in only three years?
He did not even look particularly young. Common sense said that the older one got, the harder it became to make rapid leaps in cultivation. And yet he had learned swordsmanship with his left hand, not even his dominant right, and achieved this much growth in such a short time?
Just from seeing one man, Beop Jeong could immediately understand how much Mount Hua had changed over the past three years. If this elderly man was like this, then just how strong had the younger disciples of Mount Hua become?
His heart grew heavy.
Amitabha.
Of course, Mount Hua growing stronger as one of the righteous sects should be a good thing. But Mount Hua was now a sect that brought storms to the entire world. The stronger such a sect became, the fiercer the storm it stirred across the martial world.
Especially…
Beop Jeong shook his head. This was not the time for such thoughts.
My mind is full of confusion.
Even after such long years of cultivation, he was still being shaken by things so small. So much for the stillness he had pursued all this time.
Just then, he saw Mount Hua’s Sect Leader, Hyun Jong, hurrying toward him.
“...”
Seeing Hyun Jong running out to meet him before anyone else, almost as if he had come out barefoot in such a rush, nearly made him laugh bitterly.
How pure.
Had this been in the past, he would not have found anything strange about Hyun Jong rushing out like that. If the Sect Leader of a declining sect heard that the Abbot of Shaolin was visiting, of course he would react that way.
But where was Mount Hua a declining sect now? It might have once been, but not anymore.
The leader of the Heavenly Alliance and the overlord of Sichuan.
Mount Hua had long since become a place that made comparisons with the past meaningless. The current Mount Hua did not even need the empty shell of the Nine Sects and One Gang anymore.
And yet Mount Hua’s Sect Leader, Hyun Jong, had not changed at all from when Mount Hua had been called a third-rate, declining sect.
No. It isn’t that he hasn’t changed.
Of course one’s attitude should change when one’s circumstances changed. To keep the same attitude even after one’s circumstances had changed meant that person had become deeper than before.
To remain unchanged, one must change.
Was that not the essence of form, and form the essence—form is emptiness, emptiness is form?
“Abbot, what brings you here…?”
Hyun Jong, who had rushed to him in one breath, looked at Beop Jeong dazedly, as if he could not find the rest of his words. Then, gathering himself in an instant, he bowed deeply and clasped his hands.
“You honor us with your presence.”
At that welcome, the worry that had filled Beop Jeong’s heart loosened a little. That was despite the fact that he knew Hyun Jong gave such treatment to everyone regardless of his inner thoughts.
Beop Jeong received the greeting with a broad smile.
“You welcome me so warmly that I hardly know where to put myself. I trust I have not come where I should not have?”
“How could you say that? On behalf of Mount Hua, I welcome the Abbot.”
“Thank you, Sect Leader. Truly, thank you.”
Returning the bow, Beop Jeong quietly looked past Hyun Jong’s shoulder.
...He is not here?
He could see the familiar Mount Hua elders, but the one he was most concerned about was nowhere in sight. Instead, the Mount Hua disciples who had come running at the noise craned their necks and whispered as they looked at him.
“What’s going on?”
“They say the Abbot of Shaolin came.”
“The Abbot? What’s he doing here?”
He was already used to the curious stares people gave him. Ever since becoming the Abbot of Shaolin, he could never avoid them.
But after checking the faces of those gazes, he could not help feeling uneasy.
Strong.
Faces still somewhat youthful, not yet fully hardened. Young swordsmen who had moved beyond recklessness but had not yet reached maturity. And yet the qi he could feel from them was razor-sharp, while carrying a weight of gravity that was utterly imposing.
It was a presence he had never felt even from Namgung or Wudang.
At this point, he no longer knew what words to use to describe Mount Hua. Even expressions like “the sea changes to mulberry fields” or “worth looking at anew” felt insufficient to capture how much these people had grown.
What impressed Beop Jeong even more was their behavior. The way they were peeking at him was no different from children in a marketplace.
Innocent?
No.
Daoists would call this pure. Unrestrained by formality, not wasting themselves on needless politeness, and honest about their own feelings. That was the kind of attitude Daoists should have as they sought to resemble nature.
Strength and purity.
He could understand from these disciples alone why Mount Hua had come to threaten Wudang’s place.
But… Beop Jeong knew better than anyone that this was not all there was to it.
“We greet the Abbot.”
“We greet the Abbot.”
Beop Jeong looked at those who bowed to him and quietly nodded.
Mount Hua’s Five Swords.
These men had already become the warriors who represented Mount Hua. Of course, for now, their names still belonged to the generation of rising talents. But someday, they would become names that represented the sword of the whole world.
“Good to see you, Daoist Baek Cheon.”
“You know my name?”
“How could I not know the Mount Hua Righteous Sword?”
“...I am honored.”
Baek Cheon lowered his head in a flawless posture.
It was a look that suited the word “dignified” better than anyone else. Even Beop Jeong, the Abbot of a Shaolin overflowing with talent, could not help feeling a faint trace of envy toward Hyun Jong in this moment.
“...Keep refining yourself.”
After returning Baek Cheon’s greeting, Beop Jeong’s gaze moved to the person standing behind him. A man who had once been his pride—perhaps someone who might have become for Beop Jeong what Baek Cheon was now.
Looking at Hye Yeon, whose expression seemed full of complicated feelings, Beop Jeong smiled faintly.
“Have you learned much?”
“Abbot….”
As Beop Jeong quietly studied Hye Yeon’s face, he suddenly lowered his gaze and stared at the monastic robes he wore.
Mount Hua’s robes.
He could roughly guess what had happened. But if Hye Yeon’s heart had not wavered even a little, then even if he had to wear rags, he would never have donned another sect’s clothes.
“I have much to speak with you about. But now is not the time, so let us talk later.”
“...Yes, Abbot.”
As Hye Yeon bowed silently, Hyun Jong, looking troubled, subtly stepped in to shield him.
“Abbot, there are circumstances here…. It is my fault for not looking after everyone properly.”
“There is no need for that, Sect Leader. I do not blame that child. I merely have much to speak about with a disciple who has been away from our temple for so long.”
“If that is so….”
When Hyun Jong nodded, Beop Jeong smiled and changed the subject.
“There is an urgent matter I had to discuss, so I rushed here without delay.”
“I-I’m terribly sorry. Please forgive me, Abbot. This way, please.”
“Yes, Sect Leader.”
Hyun Jong quickly led the way.
As Beop Jeong walked through the somewhat noisy Mount Hua, he carefully took in the atmosphere. Compared to the quiet Shaolin, this place was lively and full of energy.
This was what a thriving sect must feel like.
Before his thoughts could fully settle, Hyun Jong was standing with him in front of the Mount Hua Sect Leader’s residence.
“It is here. I humbly ask that you not fault us for not being prepared to receive guests.”
“How could an uninvited guest think such a thing? I would be grateful for even a single cup of lukewarm water.”
“Please, come inside.”
Just before he entered the room, what first caught Beop Jeong’s eye was a pair of shoes placed in front of the door.
They were a little too small to belong to Hyun Jong.
That meant someone was inside the room, someone who would not even stick their head out despite the arrival of Beop Jeong himself. Beop Jeong felt he did not even need to look to know who it was.
“...Mita abom.”
To steady himself, Beop Jeong murmured the Buddha’s name so softly that no one else could hear. The one he had truly rushed to Mount Hua to see was now inside this room.
He stared at the door for a moment longer, then finally stepped inside. The very first thing he saw after crossing the threshold was, naturally, a person sitting in one corner with his back against the wall.
Chung Myung had not changed much. At a glance, anyway.
No, if anything, he had changed so little that one had to search for what had changed. If one were to insist on finding something, he seemed a little taller, a little sturdier, but otherwise he was no different from the last time Beop Jeong had seen him.
Even the atmosphere he gave off, even his eyes.
Even after seeing Beop Jeong enter, Chung Myung did not show any particular reaction. He merely stared at him with round eyes.
The two of them looked at each other like that for a moment.
Breaking the awkward silence, Beop Jeong smiled first and said,
“Have you been well, Young Daoist? Or rather, I suppose even calling you Young Daoist no longer feels right.”
His tone was extremely gentle, as if he were speaking to someone he was familiar with.
Chung Myung answered with a bright smile.
“Yes. Thanks to you, I’ve been very well.”
“Is that so? I can’t say I’ve done anything for you in particular.”
“Aigoo. Why do you say that? You’ve done plenty.”
“Have I?”
“Yes.”
Chung Myung smiled brightly. But that was only his mouth; his eyes were not smiling at all.
“You were working so hard to pray for us to go bankrupt and rot away that I’d be offended if I didn’t do well. Thanks to you, I’ve been doing wonderfully—oh, very wonderfully.”
Just then, the Mount Hua disciples entering the room all dropped their jaws.
Th-this guy…!
That crazy bastard.
Seeing Chung Myung charge straight at Beop Jeong from the very start, they could already tell how thin the ice under their feet really was, and their sweat began to break out cold along their backs.