Off to Shaolin (3)
After booking rooms at the inn, washing up, and changing clothes, everyone gathered in my room.
Namgung Je-cheon was still looking dejected. Maybe he was sulking at me. Ilseon Dosa seemed a bit restless, while Mujikja alone had eyes sparkling with anticipation for what was to come.
I addressed them. “For now, you two keep your identities hidden until things at Shaolin Temple go smoothly.”
Ilseon Dosa and Mujikja nodded as if they'd already expected it. I emphasized it especially to Ilseon Dosa. “Got it, monk grandpa? You've had that 'I'm about to stir up trouble' look on your face since earlier—knock it off.”
“Heh heh, sorry about that. It's just... being near Shaolin after so long has me all nostalgic and fidgety...”
I understood his feelings, but I told him to hold off for now. There'd be a proper chance to meet later if time and circumstances allowed.
I unpacked the bundle I'd brought. A few changes of clothes and ten books scattered across the floor in front of me.
“What in the world!”
Ilseon Dosa, who'd been half out of it, snapped to attention at the sight. Unlike me and Namgung Je-cheon, who already knew what they were, this was the first time the others had seen them.
“Heavens! I knew you'd brought something, but I never imagined this!”
Mujikja carefully examined the books. “These are the real deal! As expected of the Namgung Clan. But Young Master, what do you plan to do with them?”
I told Namgung Je-cheon to quit moping, then laid out the plan ahead. What I called Raiding Shaolin's Granary.
As my explanation continued, Namgung Je-cheon started perking up. By the middle, he'd forgotten all about earlier and was chattering more excitedly than me.
“Plundering Shaolin? As expected of the youngest young master—your guts are swollen, but in the best way possible. Haha!”
Plundering? It was just mutual aid to help each other survive.
“That aside...”
Namgung Je-cheon knew exactly who had given us this bait. 'I usually don't get involved in messes started by others.' The bait came from Second Young Master. The youngest young master turned it into a stage. Namgung Je-cheon hadn't added so much as a spoon to the mix.
But it looked like it'd be a blast. Watching the prideful Shaolin abbot's face crumple wasn't something you saw every day. If things went according to plan, Shaolin would turn into a pauper in an instant.
“Can you find out Shaolin's current financial situation? And the maximum they could borrow from allied secular sects around them.”
In other words, spill every detail of Shaolin's finances. It was devilish, no better than the Demonic Cult. No, even they wouldn't go this far.
“If we revealed ourselves, we could know right away... but that's not what the youngest young master wants, right?”
“Spot on.”
We'd reveal ourselves eventually, but not now. Simple reason: If word got out that the Namgung Clan was in Henan Province right now~ they'd turn hostile toward us. That's why the two elders were hiding their identities too.
They'd be our final bastion if things went south.
“It'll cost a pretty penny.”
Namgung Je-cheon felt his blood surging at the thought of finally putting his long-imagined overthrow-the-murim scheme(?) into practice. Sure, the road ahead was long, but this was good practice. And naturally, the practice dummy was Shaolin.
“The best way to get intel is through the Beggars' Sect. But they're part of the Nine Great Sects too. The moment we ask, they'll tip off Shaolin.”
Seeing our strategist actually using his brain after so long felt awkward.
“That leaves the Hao Clan... but they won't hand over info easily either. We could probably bulldoze through with the Namgung name... but money's still the issue. They'll demand a fortune.”
I nodded. What I'd asked Je-cheon for was how much money Shaolin had. But what I really wanted was where that money was flowing.
If we used the info with malicious intent, we could strangle Shaolin dry. Given Shaolin's insular nature, their funds couldn't all be squeaky clean. Of course, they weren't the type to go down easy—but theoretically.
But what we were about to do wasn't malicious. 'In a way, it's beneficial for Shaolin.'
The Hao Clan would interpret our actions as backroom scheming for more profit. If the Namgung Clan wanted to swallow Shaolin whole, they wouldn't bother with something this convoluted. With just a day or two, the Namgung could erase Shaolin from the murim entirely.
'First, use the Hao Clan to uncover Shaolin's total assets.'
Then straight into action. Stealthily. Swiftly. Magnificently.
Hand these books over to a reliable buyer.
I spoke up. The place I'd had in mind since starting this plan. “When you go to the Hao Clan, get info on the black market too.”
A place where it wouldn't be an exaggeration to say every item in the murim changed hands. And no matter what came up for sale, no questions asked.
Ilseon Dosa looked a bit uneasy about the plan. Makes sense. He'd walked out of Shaolin on his own two feet, but he was still a monk at heart. Monks don't leave their temples.
“Bald grandpa, if monk grandpa tries anything, stop him no matter what. Got it?”
“Don't worry about me. And monk, loosen up that expression.”
To Mujikja, Namgung Daeso's intentions might seem pretty shady, but in the end, all this would likely benefit Shaolin. That's why Ilseon Dosa was just watching.
“Amitabha. What, you think I'm some kid? I'm just feeling nostalgic.”
Ilseon Dosa knew Namgung Daeso's true aim too. Not to harm Shaolin, but to gain real-world experience.
“Alright, alright! We've got our tasks, so let's move. Je-cheon, look into what I mentioned earlier. Monk grandpa, you're the expert on Shaolin, so scout their movements from here. Bald grandpa, back Je-cheon up and keep him out of trouble.”
The three nodded, eyes turning to me as if asking, And what about you?
“So, what will the youngest young master be doing?”
See? My instincts are sharp these days.
“Me? Just chilling here.”
Their faces soured. Why? You ever see the boss personally running around? Besides, I had nothing specific to do.
“But, youngest young master.”
Namgung Je-cheon spoke with a grave expression. I answered tensely. 'Did I overdo it? Should I take on something?'
“We'll need money to commission the Hao Clan. We just going empty-handed?”
Ah~~ That? Money? Of course not. All I took from the Namgung estate was 20 silver taels.
Instead, I glanced at Ilseon Dosa. My nonchalance came from something solid. I'd seen it before we left.
Ilseon Dosa read my eyes and finally unpacked the bundle he'd guarded like a treasure for five straight days. Clatter.
Items the Daegalbak elders had handed over poured out—wooden plaques carved with insignias, the only proof of their past identities.
I held one up. 'Old man really thinks big.' That's how people should be!
A massive golden bird was engraved on it. The plaque of the former Tianxia Merchant Leader. Technically ex, but with Samhyang noona publicly claiming to be his disciple, its power was limitless.
Namgung Je-cheon grinned, catching on. No more money worries.
* * *
At Shaolin Temple, Abbot Jinheo was taking his usual leisurely stroll through the grounds. He paused at one spot, gazing contentedly at something.
Someone noticed his arrival and hurried over. It was Mukjin, Jinheo's junior brother and Shaolin's martial instructor.
“You've arrived, senior brother.”
“Yes. You're always working hard, Mukjin.”
“Haha, no, this is just my duty. Compared to you overseeing all of Shaolin, mine's a trifle.”
“Modest as ever. Snatching the martial instructor post from our first-generation disciple is plenty brag-worthy. How's training the third-generation disciples going?”
“Thanks to the full support from you seniors, it's progressing smoothly.”
Tahat! Hahap! Kkiryoot! Various kiais tickled their ears. About a hundred third-gen disciples were deep in training. The solid muscles on their bare torsos spoke of their hard work. Jinheo and Mukjin smiled warmly at the sight.
“What do you think of this year's Four Young Kings Tournament?”
Right now, the hottest topic in the murim was naturally the Four Young Kings Tournament. That was why Jinheo stopped by here every day.
Mukjin replied calmly but confidently. “Plenty of third-gen kids are standing out, but if you ask for the best, it's that one.”
Jinheo's gaze locked on one spot. A young man whose muscles looked ready to burst stood there.
'Heh heh.' Jinheo couldn't hide his pride.
Mukjin chuckled inwardly and continued. “Third-gen disciple, I-gwon. He'll claim the Little Fist King title at this tournament and finally reclaim the True Dragon from the Namgung.”
I-gwon. The boy who, barring mishaps, would lead Shaolin two generations from now.
“Indeed. We can count on our I-gwon, aaam!”
It wasn't an exaggeration to say I-gwon had the greatest martial talent among the first-, second-, and third-gen disciples. Even Jinheo and Mukjin weren't sure they could beat the man he'd become. And I-gwon never grew arrogant, steadily honing his skills.
Everyone at Shaolin agreed: If heaven ever granted a martial prodigy, it was I-gwon.
Watching him, Mukjin naturally thought of someone else. There'd once been a man called that at Shaolin long ago. He cautiously spoke the name.
“At this rate, he might even surpass the previous abbot.”
In that instant, Jinheo glared murderously at Mukjin. Speaking of the untouchable one in front of Jinheo was a Shaolin taboo. Mukjin inwardly scolded himself for getting carried away.
“Mukjin, are you still clinging to that damned old coot? Do the hardships Shaolin endured mean nothing to you?!”
Mukjin chanted a Buddhist invocation and bowed his head at the fiery outburst. “Amitabha. This disciple's thoughts were shortsighted.”
How much had Jinheo suffered to bring Shaolin this far? Without that peerless figure, Shaolin would still be scraping the bottom of the Nine Great Sects.
“Tsk tsk. Never have such idle thoughts again. Focus everything on the third-gen disciples' training. Tell me if you need anything. Shaolin's future rests entirely on those kids.”
“Amitabha.”
* * *
Jinheo returned to his abbot's quarters in a foul mood. He'd snapped coldly at Mukjin earlier, but even he hadn't fully escaped Ilseon Dosa's shadow.
'If only master were still here...'
Maybe Shaolin would be even better off. “Amitabha.” He chanted to steel his weakening resolve.
That's when it happened.
“Urgent report!”
Mukhu, a second-gen disciple who'd been out briefly, burst in panting.
“Tsk tsk, what's with the commotion?”
Jinheo pressed his throbbing temples at the sloppy sight of a disciple who should be leading the next generation. Normally he'd scold him, but Mukhu was sure even Jinheo would wear the same expression after hearing this.
“I have a contact in the black market operating in Henan. He slipped me some info on the down-low.”
“And?”
Henan was Shaolin territory. Running a black market there required their permission, naturally.
“Hangma Chiljeol.”
“!!!”
“One of Shaolin's Ten Sections, thought lost forever during the Demonic Cult invasion—it's surfaced.”
Jinheo's eyes bulged so wide it seemed his eyeballs might pop out. He stammered, “I-is the info solid?”
“Yes. I confirmed it with my own eyes just now. Hangma Chiljeol. Definitely authentic.”
“Convene the elders' meeting. Immediately!”
“Yes, sir!”
An alert rang out at Shaolin for the first time in ages.