Chapter 174
Chapter 174
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 174
Chapter Title: A Guest at Shaolin
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“My lord, that is Mount Song.”
Having left the Orthodox Murim Alliance and traveled for some time, Wang Cheon pointed to a mountain visible in the distance.
Mount Song in Dengfeng County, Henan Province—the mountain that cradled Shaolin.
“Wang Cheon.”
“Yes, my lord!”
At Neung Un-bi’s call, Wang Cheon gave a hand signal to the Waning Moon Corps following behind them.
“Everyone, halt! From here, we walk along the main road!”
“Yes, sir!”
At Wang Cheon’s command, the warriors of the Waning Moon Corps, who had been spread out and dashing through the forest, gathered one by one around Neung Un-bi.
When they were leaving the Orthodox Murim Alliance, Hwang Byeong-chan had insisted on preparing horses for them, but… horses?
Did he think I wouldn’t see through his scheme to attach spies to my party? Not a chance.
Mountains? Cliffs? Valleys?
It made no difference whether there was a path or not.
Wherever I go, that is the path.
It had, however, slightly exhausted the Waning Moon Corps who were trying to keep up with him.
While the breathless warriors caught their breath, Neung Un-bi gazed at the magnificent mountain that had revealed itself before them.
Three peaks, soaring high and standing noble. Taesil, Jungeuk, and Soshil.
Below them, countless other peaks gathered to form a single mountain range.
“Mount Song…”
Muttering softly, Neung Un-bi recalled a past memory.
He had quite a history with this place.
Was it on Taesil Peak where he had hidden and met Jeonghwa?
He was a truly strange monk.
The first thing he said when he found him was…
-Let’s share that meat.
…Was that it?
Remembering him, Neung Un-bi couldn’t help but chuckle.
He was a monk who was well and truly mad. Alcohol, meat—there was no degenerate monk quite like him.
And since he had mastered the Lion’s Roar, wasn’t his voice incredibly loud? His ears had rung the entire time Jeonghwa lectured him to stop his slaughter.
Was that all?
He also remembered him constantly slamming his body against cliffs to train his external arts. Because of that, swords couldn’t even pierce his skin, making him an incredibly difficult opponent.
“I wonder if he’s doing well.”
“…Pardon? Who?”
As Neung Un-bi muttered to himself while looking at Mount Song, Wang Cheon tilted his head.
“Hm?”
“Who are you referring to?”
“Ah… the Cult Leader?”
“Oh, is that all? The Cult Leader must be doing well. Wouldn’t it be stranger if he were unwell?”
“That’s true.”
Neung Un-bi vaguely brushed it off and put away his reminiscences of Jeonghwa.
Well, whatever he looked like, he must be quite old by now.
In any case, it was time to head to Mount Song.
To be precise, Soshil Peak, the westernmost of the three peaks.
Shaolin was nestled below it.
A place founded by the divine Indian monk Batuo after he came to the Central Plains, where Bodhidharma attained enlightenment, which was then passed down to Huike and from him to countless disciples.
Since then, Shaolin has remained in the same spot, its long and storied thousand-year history flowing alongside the world.
Though they had renounced the secular world, they did not hesitate to stand with the common people against injustice, and at times, they defended the nation against foreign invasions.
Yet, they never sought reward, returning to their place of spiritual cultivation once the turmoil ended. Thus, there was no one who did not respect them.
While every sect of the Orthodox Faction had experienced corruption under poor leadership at least once, Shaolin alone had always remained constant.
A being that maintained its integrity without leaning towards either the Orthodox or the Unorthodox—that was Shaolin.
Therefore, neither the government nor the martial world treated Shaolin lightly. The powers of the Central Plains never hesitated to bow their heads to them first and always sought their counsel before major undertakings.
That was why Neung Un-bi was now heading to Shaolin.
The moment one enters the respected Shaolin, one is separated from the world. As long as he stayed in Shaolin, the Orthodox Murim Alliance would never be able to track his movements.
Hadn’t he tried it long ago?
Even if a criminal had committed murder, if they hid in Shaolin, one could only wait until they came out of their own accord.
As Neung Un-bi’s light footsteps headed towards Soshil Peak, Wang Cheon, Ju Seung, and the Waning Moon Corps followed.
People’s gazes were fixed on them as they walked along the main road leading to Mount Song, and soon, whispers could be heard from all around.
It was only natural, as they walked with the Demonic Cult’s symbolic Sun and Moon Flag raised high, their black capes fluttering in the wind.
An official visit from the Demonic Cult to Shaolin—it must be an unfamiliar sight no one had ever witnessed before.
After walking for some time, they arrived before Soshil Peak, where a countless procession of people stretched on.
They were people on their way to offer Buddhist services.
Not wanting to disturb them, Neung Un-bi took a long detour toward Shaolin’s mountain gate.
“My lord, Shaolin monks.”
Wang Cheon, his face tense, pointed to the monks gathered near the One Pillar Gate in the distance and spoke.
It was likely his first time at Shaolin.
Just like himself, Wang Cheon had never been outside the Demonic Cult’s domain.
No, it wasn’t just Wang Cheon; it was the same for Ju Seung and the Waning Moon Corps. Unlike other cult members, they had lived at the Snow Mountain Manor, their enemies always to the north of the Celestial Mountains.
Perhaps this was the first time any of them had even seen a monk. Had they ever stopped at a temple after coming to the Central Plains?
In any case, the fact that they were waiting there probably meant they had been informed of the Demonic Cult’s visit by the Orthodox Murim Alliance.
“They’re coming this way.”
Wang Cheon was so nervous he swallowed hard, and the Waning Moon Corps looked ready to draw their swords.
“Did you come here to fight?”
“Pardon?”
“This is just a formal visit. Relax.”
“But… my demonic energy just won’t settle down.”
“…”
Indeed, it was the same for him.
Perhaps because they were near a Buddhist sanctuary, the demonic energy in his body was running rampant, as if it had come to a place it should not have.
In times like these…
“If it won’t settle, chant a demon-subduing mantra. Don’t reveal your demonic energy and make Shaolin wary.”
“Understood.”
At Neung Un-bi’s words, the group began to diligently chant their mantras.
“O, Thunder God…”
Hearing their soft muttering, Neung Un-bi couldn’t help but let out a small smile.
Before, they would have bristled at the idea of the Demonic Cult chanting a demon-subduing mantra, but now they recited the verses with considerable skill. They were probably the first members of the Demonic Cult ever to do so.
Thankfully, they all looked much more at ease.
In the meantime, the Shaolin monks had approached them.
“Amitabha. This humble monk is Gongmun of Shaolin. We received word of your arrival and have been waiting.”
One of the Shaolin monks stepped forward and calmly performed a half-bow towards Neung Un-bi.
Severing an Arm in the Snow. The ancient tale of Huike, who cut off his own arm to seek enlightenment from Bodhidharma, making it seem as if red snow was falling.
Because of this, Shaolin monks perform a half-bow.
“Neung Un-bi of the Demonic Cult greets Zen Master Gongmun of Shaolin.”
As Neung Un-bi joined his palms in response, a flicker of curiosity crossed Gongmun’s eyes.
A member of the Demonic Cult joining his palms in prayer? And the disciple of the Cult Leader, no less?
He had expected him to stand tall and proudly announce his name, so his adherence to Buddhist etiquette was somewhat surprising.
“Why do you look so surprised?”
“The Orthodox Murim Alliance informed us that you were coming as a guest. I am a little surprised to see it is true.”
“Surely I would have no other purpose in a Buddhist temple?”
“…”
“We have no particular grudge against Shaolin, so you need not be so wary.”
“I see. This is the first time the Demonic Cult has walked openly to Shaolin in broad daylight… I am ashamed of my preconceived notions. Amitabha.”
Though his words were an apology, Gongmun’s face remained calm. He had undoubtedly cultivated an imperturbable mind.
If so, he was surely no nameless disciple…
Neung Un-bi carefully observed Gongmun.
He appeared to be in his mid-forties. Not an elder, perhaps a senior first-generation disciple.
Furthermore, he wore a grey robe instead of a yellow one, with a red kasaya draped over it, clearly marking him as a martial monk.
But despite being their representative, there was no sign of an ordination mark on his forehead.
Typically, monks receive one ordination mark upon entering the Buddhist path, and as their virtue and faith deepen, they receive more. It was a kind of ranking system.
Yet, the monks following him had at least one mark, while their representative had none?
It made no sense.
Moreover, the faint Buddhist energy emanating from his body was incomparably stronger than that of those behind him. Since it was only antagonistic to demonic energy and felt peaceful to others, he made no effort to hide it, making it easy to sense.
Furthermore, his calm eyes, as they looked at Neung Un-bi, showed not a hint of wavering.
By all accounts, he clearly held a high position, so if he had no ordination mark…
He was one who was free from the precepts.
Suddenly, words that Jeonghwa had spoken long ago came to mind.
Just because it is Shaolin does not mean they do not kill.
Shaolin is still an organization; can its leaders always be forgiving? Someone has to mete out punishment to those who do wrong.
That role was filled by Shaolin’s punishers.
Finally understanding Gongmun’s identity, Neung Un-bi’s lips curved into a smile.
“The good do not come, and those who come are not good, as they say?”
“Pardon?”
“I have come without purpose, but it seems Shaolin is not of the same mind.”
“…”
Though it was a Zen-like riddle, Gongmun understood at once, and the corner of his eye twitched.
“Is that not so? The one who greets me is not a guest-prefect monk, but one of the Ten Precept Monks… Does this mean you are prepared to kill if necessary?”
“…!”
At Neung Un-bi’s words, Gongmun’s eyes widened slightly. He had been hit right on the mark.
But that wasn’t the only surprising thing.
How did a disciple of the Demonic Cult know of Shaolin’s Ten Precept Monks, something that even many in the Orthodox Faction were unaware of?
While the Arhats and the Four Great Vajras were famous, the Ten Precept Monks rarely ever left Shaolin, did they not?
As Neung Un-bi had said, Gongmun was one of the Ten Precept Monks.
A monk who punishes those who break the precepts—in other words, an enforcer of the law.
Thus, they were permitted to fight and even to kill. In a sense, they were the dark side of Shaolin.
Furthermore, the reason Shaolin had sent Gongmun, one of the Ten Precept Monks, instead of an Arhat or a Vajra, was precisely as Neung Un-bi had said: so that he would not hesitate if any unjust intentions were shown.
No matter how much Shaolin kept its gates open to all, was their guest not from the Demonic Cult?
And this was the first time they had come so openly…
“…Amitabha.”
With a slightly stiff face, Gongmun performed a half-bow and only chanted the Buddha’s name.
It was an affirmation of Neung Un-bi’s question. It was also an apology, and an expression of shame for having his intentions exposed.
“My, my. To think Shaolin is so worried about little old me… I suppose I should put you at ease before we pass through the One Pillar Gate.”
“Pardon?”
At Neung Un-bi’s jest, Gongmun looked at him with a puzzled expression.
“Wang Cheon.”
“Yes!”
“Take the Waning Moon Corps, find lodging in the nearby Dengfeng County, and wait there.”
“Understood.”
As he had already been briefed, Wang Cheon answered immediately without question and stepped back.
Seeing this, Gongmun, unable to maintain his composure, hurriedly tried to stop Neung Un-bi.
This would make it seem as if Shaolin had been frightened by the Demonic Cult and had driven away its guests.
“Master Neung, there is no need to go that far…”
“No, it is necessary.”
“…”
“A larger group creates more tension. Besides, with the Demonic Cult present, how can the nights in a Buddhist temple be peaceful? You must have many concerns, so the fewer people to watch over, the better, no?”
“Ah, Amitabha.”
At those words, Gongmun’s face flushed slightly. Neung Un-bi had not only read Shaolin’s intentions but had pinpointed them exactly.
Weren’t the higher-ups already in the midst of discussing how to monitor the lodgings where the Demonic Cult would stay?
Gongmun couldn’t hide his shame.
Neung Un-bi was magnanimous despite reading Shaolin’s heart, while Shaolin had been petty and anxious…
“Well then, shall we go?”
“Amitabha. I will escort you.”
As Gongmun let out a deep sigh and led the way toward the One Pillar Gate, Neung Un-bi smiled slyly to himself.
With this… I can escape the secular world for a while.