Chapter 48
Chapter 48
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 48
Chapter Title: Shaolin Temple
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The group entered, each imagining what lay inside Mokin-gang. Dang Mujin and Hong Geolgae were brimming with curiosity, and even Yi Chung, whose breadth of experience was second to none, had a spark of interest in his eyes.
As they passed through the three doors, dust billowed up in a hazy cloud, obscuring their vision.
*Cough, cough.* Dang Mujin couldn’t hold back a cough, and the Pursuit Hall Leader spoke awkwardly.
“We planned to tear down Mokin-gang soon, so we haven’t cleaned it in the last three or four years. Please understand.”
His attitude had softened since earlier. Dang Mujin nodded.
As the dust settled, the interior came into view.
Mokin-gang—Wooden Man Alley. True to its name, a corridor lined with wooden dummies rather than a wide room. It was narrow and elongated.
About ten-odd zhang long, and one and a half zhang wide. If people stood sideways, three or four could fit snugly.
But that didn’t mean four people could walk through Mokin-gang at once. Dozens of wooden dummies lined both sides of the corridor, leaving barely enough space for one person to squeeze through.
The Pursuit Hall Leader addressed the group.
“I’ll head back to Pursuit Hall. Let me know if you need anything. I can’t offer much, but I’ll help however I can.”
“How long can we stay?”
“Take your time. You’ll be the last ones to see Mokin-gang anyway.”
The Pursuit Hall Leader’s words weren’t empty. He thought Dang Mujin might be able to fix it, but if not, no one in the world could. If Dang Mujin repaired it, perfect. If not, they’d demolish it without regret.
Once the Pursuit Hall Leader returned to Pursuit Hall, the three began examining Mokin-gang.
Most of the wooden dummies were shabby.
Their heads were roughly hacked from stumps, and their torsos were no different from logs cut to length—if you were being generous. Crude arms separated into upper and lower sections ended in fists made of round iron lumps.
*They look so makeshift.*
Every dummy was worn, with varying degrees of rot in different parts.
Some had heads nearly rotted away but arms in decent shape; others had arms mostly decayed but torsos and legs intact. The wood types varied by part and by dummy.
“As time passed, different people must have patched them up bit by bit.”
“Seems like it. Look at this.”
Yi Chung pointed to a fallen dummy at the deepest end of Mokin-gang.
Unlike the others, this one wasn’t crudely made—it was carved with such precision it resembled a real person. Dang Mujin inwardly admitted it was impressive.
It looked far older than the rest, but careful lacquering had preserved its appearance.
“This must be what they looked like when first made.”
“Probably.”
Gazing at the finely crafted dummy, Dang Mujin imagined the old Mokin-gang. Dozens like this would have made for quite the spectacle.
But Yi Chung shook his head in confusion.
“Still, it’s odd. Anyone could carve dummies like these if they looked hard enough. Offering such a huge reward just to remake them doesn’t make sense.”
Dang Mujin agreed. Given a few days, he could carve new ones for the whole alley.
“Shaolin must be generous. Good for us.”
As Dang Mujin replied, Hong Geolgae spoke from behind.
“No. It’s not that simple.”
“Why? Find something?”
“Look at this.”
Hong Geolgae held a dummy’s arm that had rotted off. It looked unremarkable.
But when he fiddled with the joint where arm met shoulder, the elbow slowly bent.
“What? How?”
“Come see.”
Yi Chung and Dang Mujin approached to inspect the arm.
Surprisingly, it was a hollow cylinder inside, filled with intricate wooden components teetering on the brink of snapping.
“I’ll turn this rod.”
Hong Geolgae gripped one part and spun it rightward.
A gear at the rod’s end turned, engaging others in a chain.
As he kept turning, the arm extended, folded, and extended again.
“Amazing, right?”
“This is…”
Dang Mujin had seen something similar.
Gears turning other parts, which turned more in sequence.
The waterwheels at Dujiangyan near Chengdu worked that way.
Those wheels spun lazily in place, but linked mechanisms ground grain. He’d heard some forges even used them for bellows.
The sight of dozens of waterwheels was awe-inspiring; even well-traveled folk called Dujiangyan and its wheels the Central Plains’ greatest marvels, not the Great Wall.
*No way.*
Dang Mujin checked cross-sections of the collapsed, shabby dummies instead of the intact ones.
They were all hollow inside, packed with tangled components. Not just arms—torsos and legs too.
The complex innards told Dang Mujin: when new, they moved like living limbs.
Then he noticed something.
The dozens of dummies didn’t stand on two legs—they were supported by thick pillars connecting torso to floor.
He hadn’t paid attention before, but now those pillars looked significant.
“What’s up?”
“Wait a sec.”
Dang Mujin squatted under the best-preserved dummy and gripped the pillar with both hands. Stiff, but with force, it turned slowly.
The dummy’s limbs began to move in response.
Before it could finish, something snapped inside.
It froze mid-motion.
But that glimpse revealed its nature.
Dang Mujin’s face hardened, as did Yi Chung’s and Hong Geolgae’s, who’d been watching casually.
“Good lord.”
“Never seen anything like it. Do the others move too?”
Yi Chung and Hong Geolgae crouched and turned pillars under better-preserved dummies.
Most were broken and still, but some performed unique actions: swinging arms, kicking legs, thrusting elbows at vital points.
Watching, Dang Mujin had another question.
To move a dummy, you turned the pillar below its torso. So who turned them?
Dozens squatting under dozens, cranking by hand? Impossible—the alley was too narrow for that many.
His gaze dropped to the floor beneath the pillars. Mokin-gang’s floor.
He tapped with his heel. *Thud thud.* Hollow.
Without hesitation, he pried up a floorboard. Precisely cut grooves crisscrossed with wooden rods, all linked to the dummies’ pillars.
The underfloor was too narrow for people, and the rods led to unknown depths.
The power came from outside Mokin-gang.
The three were speechless.
The exposed mechanism below was vast, intricate, overwhelming—even half-broken and still.
They imagined Mokin-gang three hundred years ago.
Back then, the whole thing moved like a living beast.
Dummies would ceaselessly lash out, blocking anyone crossing the alley.
Mokin-gang was a living manual of techniques and martial arts scripture.
Countless warrior monks gained enlightenment against them, elevating a mountaintop temple to leader of the Central Plains martial world.
Yi Chung stared at the underfloor machinery for a long while before murmuring.
“Now I get the Pursuit Hall Leader’s reaction. Anyone claiming to fix this is a con artist, every last one.”
Only someone who grasped its grandeur and precision wouldn’t dream of repairing it—they’d shake their head and leave.
Conversely, those insisting they could were either fools blind to it or con artists with no intent to try.
“This isn’t something one person can fix. Now I see why the divine monk offered anything to whoever could. Everything except the Emerald Jade Flame Palm? No—even stealing that and the Great Return Pill would be forgiven if you fixed it.”
Yi Chung stared at Dang Mujin.
His eyes asked: *But maybe you could pull it off. Can you?*
Dang Mujin closed his eyes, thought long, then shook his head.
“I can’t fix it.”
“Too many precise parts?”
“No, not that. Given time, I could replicate every rotted or broken piece exactly. But I don’t know where they go, how the dummies move, or what motions each should make.”
Regret filled Dang Mujin’s chest.
If he’d come three hundred years ago, he could have. If parts hadn’t decayed in place, he could replace the broken ones and revive them.
Hearing Dang Mujin’s dejected answer, Yi Chung replied brightly.
“If that’s the issue, it’s too early to give up.”
“You have a way?”
“There might be records. Let’s ask the Pursuit Hall Leader.”
*
As the three entered Pursuit Hall, the Leader asked.
“Can you fix Mokin-gang?”
“Not easily, from what I see.”
“Giving up?”
“I want to look a bit more.”
Even with Dang Mujin’s negativity, the Leader’s face brightened.
In his experience, viewers reacted two ways: admitting impossibility and quitting, or boldly claiming they could.
The first were genuine; the second, cons or idiots.
But Dang Mujin acknowledged the difficulty without fully quitting. How long he’d waited for this. The Leader nodded slightly.
“Then there must be a reason you came back. How can I help?”
“Any records on Mokin-gang? I hear Shaolin has a sutra pavilion.”
The Leader shook his head.
“No Mokin-gang records there—just martial manuals and scriptures. Sorry I can’t help.”
“Ah…”
Dang Mujin’s face fell. The Leader pondered, then added.
“But there’s one person who might help. Not sure how much, though.”
“Who?”
“Go out the gate and head west. Not far—a big hut. Its owner might know something.”
*
Yi Chung and Hong Geolgae returned to the guesthouse to rest. Dang Mujin went alone out the gate westward.
Searching for the hut, he spotted the woman from days ago at work. Arms rolled up, sweating as she swung a pickaxe into the earth.
Approach too close, and she’d snap. He kept distance, scanning around.
Soon he found the ramshackle hut. But it was near the waterwheels.
Pondering how to meet the owner without her noticing, the woman straightened, looked around, and spotted him.
Her face twisted. She grabbed the pickaxe and advanced.
Held awkwardly out front, it looked ready to swing.
“Last time you brazenly denied it, now you sneak back peeking. Scram!”
She raised it threateningly. But Dang Mujin wasn’t easy prey.
He unfolded his Cloud Wanderer Step, closed in, and smoothly took the pickaxe.
“Eh?”
The figure before her blurred like a ghost, snatching it in an instant.
Startled, she backed away warily. Eyes sharp, but legs poised to flee.
Dang Mujin handed it back.
“I’m not here to vandalize or break things. I have questions.”
Maybe the return eased her. Even knowing it wouldn’t help much, she seemed calmer.
“…What do you want to ask?”
“The Pursuit Hall Leader said to seek the hut’s owner for help. Could you tell me where Master Dan is?”
“Master Dan? The only Dan here is me, Dan Seolyeong.”
Dan Seolyeong eyed Dang Mujin warily.