Chapter 46
Chapter 46
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 46
Chapter Title: Shaolin Temple
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The hottest stretch of summer had passed.
Occasional cool breezes would tousle their hair, but the afternoons remained muggy.
The group paused now and then to catch their breath and wipe away sweat as they pressed on diligently.
For the past couple of days, a massive mountain had loomed in the distance, and finally today, Dang Mujin and his companions reached its foothills.
"This is Mount Song."
Yi Chung rattled off facts anyone would know. They'd been trekking toward Shaolin Temple on Mount Song for days, so of course it was.
Yi Chung pointed with a finger toward a peak off in one corner.
"And that's Shaoshi Peak."
Halfway up Shaoshi Peak of Mount Song lay a forest, and nestled within that forest stood a temple. A temple in the forest of Shaoshi Peak—that was their destination, Shaolin Temple.
Rather than heading straight up Shaoshi Peak, the group took a moment to look around. Here and there, people gawked at Mount Song with mouths agape.
Yet Mount Song didn't impress Dang Mujin or Hong Geolgae all that much. After all, both hailed from Sichuan Province, infamous for its treacherous terrain.
The two young men from remote mountain villages eyed the sharp-tongued central plainsfolk with arrogant expressions. An inexplicable sense of pride radiated from them.
"Do these people even know what a real mountain looks like?"
"Nah. They'll go their whole lives without a clue."
Yi Chung crushed their enthusiasm.
"Forget mountains and all that nonsense. Let's grab some food first. I'm starving."
"Right away!"
Hong Geolgae jumped at Yi Chung's suggestion. Dang Mujin poked his side.
"You don't beg for food anymore?"
"Why? Want me to beg some for you?"
"Nah, forget it."
When they first met, Hong Geolgae had zero interest in fine cuisine. To him, eating meant scarfing down whatever scraps he'd begged for, mixed together haphazardly.
But traveling the world with Yi Chung and Dang Mujin left no time or opportunity for begging.
Forced to eat the same meals as the group, Hong Geolgae unwittingly developed a taste for good food.
He used to spout lines like, "I'll beg for my own meals," but now he followed Dang Mujin and Yi Chung into inns without a second thought, half-retired from begging.
His clothes and mannerisms still screamed Filthy Clothes Faction, but his tongue had turned Righteous Sect through and through.
The three entered a nearby inn and placed a simple order.
"Four bowls of fine noodles. One greasy dish, whatever. And the best baijiu you've got."
"Coming right up! Four fine noodles, one eight-treasure duck, one premium baijiu!"
Two of those noodle bowls were destined for Hong Geolgae's stomach.
Lately, he'd started claiming he needed to eat extra portions—medicinal herbs or food, it didn't matter—to build his strength. To Dang Mujin, it just looked like gluttony.
"What's eight-treasure duck?"
"It's duck deboned without gutting, stuffed with rice, mushrooms, shrimp, and all sorts of goodies, steamed, then roasted."
"That sounds like it'll take forever to come out."
"Nah. With all the customers they get, they've probably got it prepped to foist on folks like us who order light. But it's so damn good, you won't regret it."
Sure enough, just as Yi Chung predicted, the duck arrived alongside the noodles. It lived up to the hype. Dang Mujin finished first and scanned the bustling inn.
It was spacious, yet packed.
Dozens of rough-looking travelers filled the seats, along with several monks. Four martial monks and three scholarly ones.
Martial monks and scholarly monks looked entirely different.
The scholarly ones were slender and slight, while the martial monks had broad shoulders, fists and palms thick with calluses. True to reputation, Shaolin martial arts centered on fists and kicks.
Dang Mujin stole glances at the monks. Male monks felt exotic to him.
Back home in Chengdu, most monks he encountered were from Emei Sect, and eight out of ten were nuns.
Even those Emei monks rarely ventured into Chengdu proper, making male monks an even rarer sight.
"Different from Emei Sect, huh?"
"Yeah. In every way."
"Emei martial artists hole up on Mount Emei and rarely emerge, but Shaolin's different. They dominate this whole region. No wonder they're called the spiritual pillar of the righteous sects, the leader of the righteous factions."
"Hmm."
Satisfied with their meal, the group set off up Shaoshi Peak.
The path up was still crowded, but the atmosphere differed sharply from the foothills.
Plenty of differences, but the biggest? Not a single woman in sight.
"I've seen at least fifty people pass by. All men."
"Shaolin rules."
"Rules?"
"Women can't enter Shaolin's mountain gate under any circumstances. Since the only thing up on Shaoshi Peak is the temple—and they don't admit women—there's no reason for any to climb."
"Hmm."
"A few other rules too. They never take back anyone once expelled. Steal their martial arts without formal instruction, and they'll hunt you down... That sort of thing. Nothing to do with us."
Maybe it was hearing there were only men around, but the fresh mountain grass scent suddenly felt suspicious.
It carried a whiff of bachelorhood somewhere, or maybe night-blooming flowers.
By the time they neared Shaolin Temple grounds, Dang Mujin spotted someone unusual.
Woman? Girl? Either way, the first female he'd seen since ascending Shaoshi Peak, around his age or a bit younger.
Plain, unadorned attire; long hair tied back simply; loose clothes for easy work.
Her forearms were toned from labor, her face and skin tanned. Bursting with vitality, yet stubbornly resolute.
But her actions impressed even more.
As if that's why she'd dressed comfortably, she wielded a pickaxe, gleefully tearing into the earth.
In the long trench she'd dug, something lengthy lay buried.
While she focused on her task, Dang Mujin crept closer to inspect the excavation.
Buried in the dirt: a long, thick wooden beam. And it was slowly rotating.
'How do you turn a beam this size?'
Dang Mujin traced it with his eyes. At the end lay a stream a tad large for Shaoshi Peak, with a substantial waterwheel.
Waterwheels were familiar to him. Countless ones spun along the Min River right by Chengdu, at Dujiangyan.
As Dang Mujin examined the wheel and beam, the woman noticed and approached. He tensed.
'What? She like me or something?'
The moment that thought crossed his mind, she scowled fiercely and barked,
"You bastard, get lost!"
Her first word was a curse. If it'd been a neighborhood girl he'd known since childhood, he'd have shot back, "What's your problem?" But this was a total stranger.
Even trying to snap back felt awkward. Dang Mujin mumbled sheepishly.
"Hey, why the sudden hostility..."
"Weren't you the jerk who came by last time, gawked at the waterwheel, and broke it?"
"No way. First time up Shaoshi Peak for me. Haven't even been in Henan long."
"You look about the same build, no matter how I squint."
She eyed him up and down skeptically, then waved her free hand dismissively.
"Whatever. Scram. Shoo."
"Just checking out something interesting."
"That's what they all say before fiddling and breaking the damn thing. Not the first or last. I'm busy—go away. You're distracting me."
Maybe realizing her edge with a stranger was too sharp, she dropped the curses. Still prickly, though.
Dang Mujin wanted to linger on the waterwheel. But not if it meant getting yelled at by its owner. He slunk back, and Hong Geolgae started teasing.
"Can't even say hi without getting cussed out? Guess you're not popular with girls."
Dang Mujin winced inwardly. He wasn't popular with village girls back home.
Truth was, popularity was impossible. Hours spent fanning herbal pots in the backyard—where's the charm in that?
Still, not something to hear from Hong Geolgae.
"I'm probably more popular than you."
"What? I was pretty popular. Zhuul Village heartthrob."
"Yeah, sure..."
No such thing as a popular beggar with women. Dang Mujin brushed it off without seriousness.
He glanced over to see Yi Chung smirking at them both—the look of a man who'd been popular with women.
Yi Chung was older but undeniably handsome in a upright way. Easy to imagine his youthful appeal.
Hong Geolgae and Dang Mujin shared a subtle sting of defeat and fell silent. The three trudged wordlessly toward Shaolin Temple.
Moments later, the mountain gate came into view.
Two martial monks guarded it. Spotting the approaching group from afar, they raised their right hands in greeting, palms together like a one-handed clasp. The group returned light fist salutes.
As Dang Mujin lowered his salute, he asked Yi Chung,
"Why greet like that? Not quite a clasp, not quite a fist salute."
"Shaolin tradition. Long ago, Huike sought to become Bodhidharma's disciple and waited in the snow. Bodhidharma said he'd accept him when the white snow turned red. So Huike cut off his left arm to dye it. That gesture comes from the one-armed Huike."
"Shaolin's more extreme than I thought."
"Old-timers were like that. Shaolin monks' robes too. Notice how one side covers the left? From Huike's style."
At the gate, both monks recognized Yi Chung.
"Ah, this lay patron. What brings you?"
"Came to see a friend's face. Is the Arhat Hall Leader inside?"
"Please wait a moment."
One monk hurried inside and returned with another martial monk.
Dang Mujin's first thought upon seeing him: 'Can a person really be shaped like a square?'
Broad shoulders, square jaw, thick forearms. Looked tough as nails.
The Arhat Hall Leader spotted Yi Chung and shot up his right hand in a hearty greeting.
"Yi Chung! Long time. What mess did you stir up this time? Better enter seclusion before it's too late to atone."
"Atoning? Way past that."
Yi Chung's words stunned the Arhat Hall Leader.
"No way..."
"Not what you're thinking. Not yet, at least."
"Good. Come on in."
The Arhat Hall Leader bantered cryptically with Yi Chung and led them through the gate. Dang Mujin and Hong Geolgae followed.
Only then did he turn to the other two.
"And who might these lay patrons be? Why travel together?"
"Monk, you introduce yourself before others."
"Right, of course. Lay patrons, I am Cheonguk, Leader of Arhat Hall."
Dang Mujin was shocked. Even he, ignorant of most nicknames, knew this man.
"Full Power Monk Cheonguk!"
"Some call me that."
The Full Power Monk was at peak realm, but unique among them. Talk of who might break into the Seven Supremes always included Cheonguk's name.
If he shattered that wall, Shaolin would boast two superpeaks alongside Divine Monk.
Hong Geolgae and Dang Mujin tensed as they spoke.
"I'm Hong Geolgae, Beggars' Sect disciple from Zhuul Village Branch."
"Pleasure. Beggars' Sect folk are always such fun company. And this lay patron?"
"I'm Dang Mujin, physician from Chengdu in Sichuan."
"Physician...?"
The Full Power Monk glanced at Yi Chung. To him, Dang Mujin screamed martial artist.
And the only physician-martial artist he knew was Yi Chung.
Yi Chung waved it off.
"Not my disciple. Just a companion."
"I see... So why's this lay patron with you?"
"Wooden Man Lane still there?"
"Yeah. Just a bit dusty, but hanging on."
"Still there?"
"Yeah. Pursuit Report Hall Leader says he'll tear it down soon."
Yi Chung's eyebrow twitched like he'd heard something outrageous.
"Tear it down? The Wooden Man Lane?"
"Yeah. Hasn't moved in over three hundred years. Figured make it a training ground or something."
"Can't tear it down now."
"Why not?"
When the Full Power Monk pressed, Yi Chung pointed at Dang Mujin.
"Because if anyone born in the last three hundred years could fix the Wooden Man Lane, it'd damn well be this guy."