Goshifa Lama

184. Goshifa Lama

The Martial Alliance really did organize a rescue force of considerable scale. They mobilized not only the Nine Great Sects, the Beggars' Sect, and the Five Great Clans, but even first-rate masters from sects pushed out of those positions. They assembled a force of a full twenty-five first-rate masters and over two hundred second-rate experts to accompany them, and dispatched a super-elite unit the likes of which had not been seen in recent decades. This unit was truly so formidable that, less than a minute after beginning their mission, they accomplished their objective splendidly.

"Goddammit. They sure came disgustingly fast."

Heroic Beggar wore a look of deflation.

"Don't say that. They rushed as fast as they could to save us."

Murong Guk admonished him with a dignified air, but even he could not simply laugh off this uncomfortable feeling.

Damn it. After resting several times and barely making it this far, we finally saw the Martial Alliance's west gate. And just as we were intoxicated by the sense of accomplishment at having narrowly returned alive, like reaching the summit of a mountain, the Martial Alliance's west gate opened and hundreds of rescue troops with solemn faces poured out.

"For today, everyone is tired, so rest at your respective estates. Once your bodies have recovered somewhat, we'll talk again."

When our leader Hyeon-gang spoke to the old men, Heroic Beggar made a regretful face.

"Ha. This is... A day like this calls for drinks. Doesn't the Murong or Tang Clan have any liquor left?"

"Are you begging in this situation? There's plenty of liquor, but if you down a glass ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠with your current internal injuries, you'll be bound straight for the Yellow Springs."

Tang Woo spoke as if exasperated.

"Elder Tang Woo is right. Elder Heroic Beggar is no longer young, either. Rest well and don't overdo it."

When Hyeon-gang added a word, Heroic Beggar looked quite regretful. While Heroic Beggar was looking regretful, a martial artist shot out of the west gate at a tremendous speed my senses could not even follow.

"Hyeon-gang! You're safe!"

White eyebrows and beard just like Hyeon-gang's. A dignified, imposing build. An unadorned strong sword. On the back of a pure-white long robe, the two characters Nangong were embroidered splendidly.

"Alliance Leader! What is the meaning of this! They say the matter is serious, but how can the Alliance Leader personally move when we haven't even fully grasped the enemy's identity?!"

To the Alliance Leader, who was overjoyed that Hyeon-gang was safe, Hyeon-gang gathered his strength and roared in anger.

"What do you mean! When even the elders of Shaolin and Wudang could not handle the jiangshi, how could I save you without deploying stronger martial artists?!"

"Excessive. This is excessive! You risked too many lives just to save one old man. Your sortie in particular is far too excessive! Even if you could save me, if a problem arose with the Martial Alliance Leader's safety, the Martial Alliance would be defeated. The Alliance Leader is the symbol of the Alliance!"

"Don't talk nonsense! Alliance Leader is merely a post! If I die and you survive, you can just become the Alliance Leader, and that's that."

Were these old men on good terms after all? Or bad terms? The two old men raised their voices while worrying about each other's safety. In any case, this gentleman was the Martial Alliance Leader, one of the Three Great Masters of the Orthodox Faction, and the father of the Nangong Clan Head of the greatest clan under heaven. He was Nangong Cheon.

"Alliance Leader. We are half-dead right now. If you two have things to say, say them separately later; we need to rest. Please disband the rescue force first."

When Tang Woo, looking genuinely exhausted, spoke to the Alliance Leader in a sulky tone, the Zhuge elder who had followed behind heard it and went back to the martial artists. A great cheer burst out from all over the Martial Alliance, but I no longer cared about any of that—I just wanted to go and rest.

"Master. I've returned."

Passing through the crowd cheering for us, I barely trudged back to the estate with exhausted steps. Just as I had expected, Master shed tears the size of large bells and embraced me tightly.

"I'm so glad you're safe. You don't know how worried I was after hearing that the advance party had retreated. I will never tolerate such actions again."

"It was resolved well, so please let it go. I've safely rescued Reverend Hyeon-gang too."

"Thank you. And I'm sorry. Because of my stubbornness, Yeongmok suffered too much. Even with the Four Heroes, even with special Taoist arts, it was far too much for Yeongmok, wasn't it? I'm a foolish woman. I'm not even qualified to be the head of a sect."

Master began to sob loudly, clutching my clothes as if she would never let go again. I held her and, putting on bluster to comfort her, told her a long-winded story.

"What are you saying? Reverend Hyeon-gang and the other esteemed seniors of the martial world were all full of praise for you, Master. It was truly nothing. The jiangshi no one else could handle was neutralized by Reverend Hwangseong. Even the Flame Emperor evolved his martial art without Taoist arts and slew a jiangshi. I am a descendant of the strongest martial artist and the greatest Taoist—what were you so worried about?"

"But just because they are the seniors doesn't mean they're invincible! I was foolish. After I sent Yeongmok alone, more and more anxious thoughts filled my head. The very appearance of a jiangshi is an unprecedented calamity in the history of the martial world. If an adversary even the Four Heroes could not handle, like Goshifa Lama, had appeared, then Yeongmok would not have been able to withstand it either! I will never send Yeongmok alone again. We will either all go together, or all remain together."

While I fought desperately, how anxious must she have been, left behind in the Alliance? Unable to stop the growing unease, Master had imagined even the absurd opponent Goshifa Lama. Amusingly, the worst-case scenario she had pictured had become reality. Was this a Taoist's foresight? Or a woman's intuition?

"Master. Actually... that Goshifa Lama had also been revived as a jiangshi. But there was no problem. We even wiped out the Goshifa Lama jiangshi cleanly."

"What?! Truly... really?"

"Ask the seniors or Reverend Hyeon-gang later. It was even anticlimactic, I tell you."

Of course, that sense of anticlimax was something I felt in regret only after the sudden end of the battle... But at that moment—Tat-tat-tat-tat—Cho-ryeong burst into the garden from afar and ran at me... and delivered a low kick to my shin.

Ah... It hurt. It hurt considerably. Caught off guard and hit squarely, it hurt as much as the sword wind of Goshifa Lama. Small and delicate as she was, thanks to the fruition of the Vajra Art, her legs were as hard as a Cold Iron club. And when the Cheomju Kick, one of the Shaolin 108 Supreme Arts, was added on top of that, I understood firsthand exactly why Jo Bok's leg had been broken.

"Junior Brother! Liar! You said you would never leave me behind and go somewhere again! You said before you left that you would tell me you were going!"

Weeping with tears and snot just like Master, Cho-ryeong hugged me so hard I thought I'd be crushed.

"It hurts. Senior Sister Cho! And it was really somewhere close, and I didn't even sleep out."

Hearing Cho-ryeong's voice, Jeong-hyang, Son Yeong, and Lee Eun-ha all emerged into the courtyard as well and welcomed me.

"You're back?"

Jeong-hyang spoke lazily, giving a pretty yawn. Unlike Master and Cho-ryeong, Jeong-hyang and Son Yeong's faces showed no trace of worry at all. An absolute faith that I couldn't possibly lose, whether the opponent was a jiangshi or anything else.

"You fought Goshifa Lama?"

Son Yeong ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠asked excitedly, as if eager to hear the story, even though I'd fought a legendary figure.

"I held him off for a few moves, and then Reverend Hwangseong used the Soul-Ascension Art and sent him straight to heaven."

"Not a single internal or external injury?"

Lee Eun-ha examined me as if she were a physician—perhaps thanks to her extensive medical practice. In truth, I did have quite a few abrasions. It was just that the effects of the Yang Blossom Art, which I had forgotten for a while, had returned and healed my skin.

"My Taoist robe is a bit damaged. I'll ask for your help later."

"For some reason, Junior Brother doesn't damage his martial uniform much but ruins his Taoist robe easily. Don't worry. I'll make you an even finer one."

The Yeongsan Sect was an early-to-bed sect. If they had sex, they stayed up all night, but normally this was the hour for sleeping. The women checked on my safety and each returned to her own room. But Master and Cho-ryeong stuck to my sides and followed me all the way to my room, so the three of us slept together that night.

The two on either side didn't merely nestle up softly—they clung tight so I couldn't run away, and because they slept that way, it felt a little stuffy. But once I lay down between Master and Cho-ryeong—my small master and my small senior sister, between these two family members—it finally felt real that I had returned. At first, even the jiangshi had been helpless against us, but because I had only sent the Four Heroes from a distance, I had never really felt fear. However, the moment I faced Goshifa Lama, that monster, an unendurable terror pressed down on my entire body.

I was afraid. I felt as if the death I had vaguely imagined was exactly that very place. Fortunately, I was a dull-witted martial artist, and thanks to the training of the Four Heroes, beginning with the Flame Emperor, I hadn't lost the instincts of a living creature. Had I not desperately sealed the fear and despair tightly beyond my consciousness and faced the enemy, I couldn't have avoided death. And having returned here like this and laid my body down among these women, the tension I had barely suppressed finally began to burst forth, even though the matter was already resolved.

That was why the solid warmth of the two, Master and Cho-ryeong, felt so warm and so reassuring. Thanks to that, a night that had seemed like it would bring no sleep whisked me off to the land of dreams in the blink of an eye.

I had a dream.

... A somewhat stupid dream. A dream in which I observed someone's entire life from an omniscient point of view.

The Mongols, who had continued their invasion not only of East Asia but even of Europe, conquered the greatest territory in human history. The era of the dream was the period of the Yuan Dynasty, the empire they established. He was neither Han Chinese nor Mongol. He was a man of Tibet (that is, from beyond the wall). That such a man could become the protagonist of that age had two reasons. One was that he was the strongest martial artist under heaven. The other was because the Mongols who founded the Yuan had established Tibetan Buddhism, not the Mahayana Buddhism of the Central Plains, as their state religion.

Since the time of Shakyamuni, Buddhism had split broadly into three branches: Mahayana Buddhism, which spread to East Asia such as Korea, China, and Japan; Theravada Buddhism in Southeast Asia, which spread to Thailand, Myanmar, and Laos; and Tibetan Buddhism, represented by the Dalai Lama in my past life. I didn't know the exact reason, but although the Mongols' military power was incomparably ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠mighty, their culture was weak. They actively embraced Tibetan Buddhism—that was, the Buddhism of Tibet. That Tibetan lama monk, who had gained renown through outstanding scholarship, set foot in the Central Plains at the invitation of the Yuan imperial household.

The Mongols were conquerors, but they gradually ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠began to feel a sense of crisis as they were instead eroded by the culture of the Han Chinese, which stretched back thousands of years. The one who stepped forward then was that lama monk. With the support of the Yuan imperial household, he spread Lamaism through the Central Plains and participated more earnestly than anyone in the policy of annihilating Han Chinese culture. At some point, he had become the nightmare of the Central Plains.

The martial world and officialdom did not interfere with each other. This rule had applied identically during the Yuan Dynasty. From the viewpoint of the Yuan imperial household, which had completed its conquest and sought to consolidate internal stability, a rebellion by martial artists possessing military force would have been quite burdensome. The Yuan Empire, though invincible in wars of invasion, was a novice at suppressing internal unrest. But the lama monk did not stay his hand even against the martial world. It would have been utterly impossible for an ordinary high-ranking official, but as a martial artist, he personally began to smash the martial world to pieces.

A ludicrous degree of strength. Now, watching his entire life, I understood the reason he was strong.

Martial arts—a martial discipline, a field of learning, a philosophy—had not existed in my past life. Martial arts contained principles. Third-rate embodied the principles of moving the body; second-rate, the principles of oneself and others, distance and relationships; first-rate realized principles about nature and the cosmos through one's own flesh. He knew more about the truths of the universe than anyone else of that era: the heliocentric theory, the solar system, the galaxy—a vast world unimaginable just from looking at the night sky. I, born in this era, was in a similar condition, but even then I did not know what connection the fact that the earth was round and revolved around the sun had with my martial arts growing stronger, even though my own Flame Blossom Art contained the image of the sun.

It had to be a difference in level. He was someone who pioneered new realms through his own enlightenment. I was so appallingly untalented that, far from pioneering anything, I had abandoned paths others had already made. Thus, the truths of the universe or the philosophies needed at the final stages of enlightenment were of no help to me whatsoever. In any case, he had embodied the vast principles of the cosmos in his own body and had become a martial artist of such surpassing mastery that he passed into legend.

I had believed throughout this life that I alone remembered a past life, but the world was wide. Thinking about it, even in the twenty-first century, there had been people said to remember past lives without a demon's help.

The Dalai Lama. The political and religious leader of Tibet. He was said to remember his past lives. At the time I'd just thought it was nonsense, but Goshifa Lama had truly reincarnated in the 13th century with memories of late-20th-century Tibet.

Tibet. That country, which was nothing but a government in exile, was quite famous even in the 21st century. A nation invaded by China, stripped of its country, and put to suffering for decades. The Tibet of the era in which he had lived was a newly born state that had just gained independence. An ordinary, simple shepherd who liked books on astronomy. A devout Buddhist who, even in difficult circumstances, found happiness in very small margins. He never doubted for an instant that weak little Tibet would one day become a prosperous nation.

But in 1950, China's invasion turned his daily life into hell. His younger sister was gang-raped by Chinese Communist soldiers on the street and took her own life. While her funeral was being held, his wife, too, was dragged off and murdered miserably. After World War II ended, an international body called the UN had been established for peace and agreement rather than war, but the world had no interest in Tibet. Because right after China invaded Tibet, the Korean War broke out far away on the Korean Peninsula at the eastern end.

From his destroyed daily life, he chose to become an armed independence fighter. At first, with American support, he achieved considerable results. But after the normalization of US-China relations, epitomized by Ping-Pong Diplomacy, America withdrew its support, and the unit he belonged to was captured and executed in a futile end.

Insufficient strength had led to his defeat. But he would not give up. If it couldn't be done in this life, then in the next life, he would burn those vermin. Bearing such memories and emotions, he reincarnated once more in 13th-century Tibet, and as proof that he possessed the memories of his past life, he was granted the title of a lama.

Well... something like that must have been his life. A comrade who remembered his past life, and since I too had some unpleasant memories regarding China in my past life, I could sort of understand, but...

To be honest, it was genuinely stupid. A past life is a past life, and the present life is the present life. No matter how similar the history, this world was not the past of my previous existence. It was a world where the bizarre power called martial arts exists, a world whose very laws belonged to a completely different dimension. So what use was it to take out what was suffered at the hands of twentieth-century Chinks on thirteenth-century Chinks in a totally different dimension? My past life was already over. A person had to live in the present. In my past life, I hated poverty. I really hated my family's poor circumstances. But even if I had crossed over to Joseon now, found my ancestors, turned them into rich people, buried a gold bar, and told them to dig it up 600 years later, what comfort would that have brought to the present-day Joseonjok Baek Eun-hyeok? The twenty-first-century me, born into such wealth, would have become a completely different person from the existence of the past life in my memories. Connections with the nation's highest power-holders, the unprecedented and unrivaled strongest martial arts. If I had things like that, I ought to enjoy my present life.

The demon had said that reincarnating with memories of a past life was not something to be recommended. Sure enough, his words had proven true.