Meeting the Golden Body (2)
They called it Cheonmu Jiche. I'd never seen one before, but I'd heard the tales. The Heavenly Martial Body—the physique perfectly suited for mastering martial arts. I thought it was just a legend passed down through stories.
But then how do you explain that kid from Shaolin? Geumgang Jiche and Cheonmu Jiche. Both legends were real, and Jinheo had witnessed them firsthand.
Jinheo turned his gaze to his third-generation disciple, I-gwon. Unlike the other third-gen disciples shaken by Namgung Daeso's overwhelming prowess, I-gwon remained utterly still.
'I'm curious.'
What would happen if those two clashed?
But it was still a bit too soon. Namgung Daeso had clearly introduced himself as thirteen years old. I-gwon was seventeen. Just a four-year gap. But for kids in their growth phase, four years was like the difference between heaven and earth.
'If only he'd come a little later...'
At least two years from now, and it could've been a real match. Daeso was undoubtedly exceptional for his age, but he still fell short against I-gwon.
He decided they should halt the spar here. Pushing further now that injuries had occurred would be too reckless.
"That's enough for today."
As Jinheo moved to end the match, I-gwon stirred.
Those who knew him widened their eyes in shock. I-gwon was always taciturn, almost invisible. They'd never seen him assert himself like this.
Jinheo's words faltered at I-gwon's next action. The young monk bowed formally upward—straight and respectful, directing his clasped hands not at some higher authority, but squarely at Jinheo.
"Third-gen disciple I-gwon begs your indulgence despite the impropriety. Please, allow the match to continue."
Even from that distance, he'd clearly heard Jinheo's attempt to stop. Jinheo froze, unsure how to respond. Earlier, he'd instinctively tried to halt things, but now he remembered—he was a defrocked monk from Shaolin.
Jinheo glanced at Jingak. Just like with Mujikja, Jingak shrugged.
'Damn you, junior brother!'
He'd dumped the decision on Jinheo. But no one else objected. Their silent consent hung in the air. Jinheo's next words would seal it.
"Just let 'em go at it."
Someone couldn't hold back and butted in.
"What's the big deal? Or is it 'cause you're defrocked now that you're acting like this?"
Even hearing it made your blood boil. Only one guy here would talk like that.
Just moments ago, he'd thought about charging blindly, smashing the back of that fool's head heroically, severing all ties with Shaolin, and storming Namgung Manor.
'It's not too late, Jinheo! You gonna leave regrets for a thousand autumns?'
Jinheo eyed Namgung Je-cheon, seriously debating a smackdown. One more word, and he'd commit. He was done with Shaolin anyway. He could handle Namgung's wrath solo.
'Yeah! Just one good hit on that punk!'
Namgung Je-cheon shifted his gaze past Jinheo to Ilseon Dosa.
"Argh! Old man, you decide. Seems like you're still got some pull here."
Jinheo's hand, poised to crack Namgung Je-cheon's skull, twitched and halted.
'Sharp bastard.'
He'd dragged in the one person Jinheo least wanted to tangle with. If Namgung Daeso had seen this, he'd have advised:
—Think and act at the same time!
Namgung Je-cheon smirked at Jinheo's trembling fist.
'Hah! Amitabha!'
Jinheo chanted inwardly, fury boiling. That smirk was pure mockery!
Namgung Je-cheon had taken countless headbutts by now. Around the tenth, he'd noticed a pattern. He was getting the hang of it.
And...
'I've had special training from the youngest young master!'
He grinned smugly. If it were Daeso in front of him instead of Jinheo, that fist would've flown without a second thought.
'You think I don't know? Rotten old geezer!'
Compared to Daeso, Jinheo was a total novice. And sure, everyone might be snickering, pitying him. But from his first words to every move since, the Namgung crew had followed a meticulous plan.
Believe it or not, didn't matter. The goal was singular.
'Can't stop now.'
Before coming to Shaolin, Namgung Je-cheon had researched Sawangjeon extensively—not anticipating this exact scenario, but a true strategist didn't just follow a fixed sketch. First-raters adapted to change while staying within the big picture.
Put simply: draw the grand design.
On a vast white canvas, a slightly crooked line below center might make others frown—ruined from the start. That's the big picture. Looks like a mess at first glance.
Jinheo probably wanted to stop for similar reasons. The outcome was clear; why fight?
"Tsk tsk tsk!"
Namgung Je-cheon suddenly clucked his tongue at Jinheo. Jinheo's hands shook harder now, gripped tight by his junior brothers.
"Let go! I'm telling Buddha himself today—I upheld justice!"
"Stop him! Hold him back!"
"Got it, senior brother!"
"And someone shut that punk up!"
The only one who could rein him in was down below. Namgung Je-cheon's mouth ran wild like an untethered colt.
"Don't we gotta see who wins by letting 'em fight?"
Before leaving, his desk overflowed with Sawangjeon intel. The past winners Daeso had seen? Just a tenth of Je-cheon's haul.
From the moment Daeso headed to Shaolin, he'd sketched this in his mind. To others, it looked like boredom or idle curiosity driving him here, enduring headbutts like a masochist.
'Damn, mood's soured.'
Now the canvas had a rough base sketch. A bit premature, as Jinheo said, but Je-cheon figured rushing a bit wouldn't hurt—it'd fill in eventually.
He pointed at Shaolin's Golden Body bearer, addressing Ilseon Dosa and everyone present.
"Don't you wanna see Cheonmu Jiche versus Geumgang Jiche? I sure do. If it's too tough to decide, make this the last match today. Plenty of time anyway. Or do y'all not wanna watch? So quiet~"
Cunning as hell. Jinheo relaxed his arms. The restraining brothers sighed in relief.
'Damn it...'
He swallowed a curse, chanting aloud instead.
"Amitabha."
He knew the result already. But damn if he didn't wanna see it now. Ilseon Dosa's hand rose quietly.
Smack!
A crisp sound echoed, like decades of pent-up phlegm finally clearing. Everyone beamed.
"Nice!"
"Good one!"
"Peace."
Someone even danced a shoulder shimmy in excitement. Only one scowled fiercely at his assailant.
"Heh heh heh."
An old man chuckled—annoyingly benevolent.
"No manners, yet you toy with folks like puppets."
Namgung Je-cheon shot Ilseon Dosa an aggrieved look.
'That's how strategists roll!'
His fierce glare screamed it.
"True enough."
Ilseon Dosa nodded, continuing.
"I was curious too."
Uneven matchup on paper. Both incomplete, but one had hit minor accomplishment. Grasping a clear path forward—that defined it. For Daeso, adrift now, no better opponent.
Plus, Daeso sometimes...
'Pulled off absurd results.'
And with the other side so eager...
"Wouldn't it be good to let 'em clash?"
Ilseon Dosa told Jinheo.
I looked up. Namgung Je-cheon was rubbing his smacked skull, glaring at the monk grandpa from the dirt.
"Tsk tsk, must've done something crazy again."
Anyway, things were rowdy not just up top but below too. I eyed the front.
A man stood tall, bowed at the waist. He was the source of the chaos—silently in back till suddenly stepping forward, clasping hands, requesting a match with me.
"I-gwon's moving!"
"I-gwon spoke!"
"No way! I-gwon demanded it himself!"
"Ten years at Shaolin, and this is my first time seeing I-gwon do three things in a day."
Bit of exaggeration...
"Abandoned as a babe, fifteen years here—first for me too."
Liar...
"Seventeen years for me. Saw it once."
Hmm... Useless chit-chat, but it hooked you.
"You! When was that?"
"No, better question: what happened?"
Seventeen-whatever, you're Pot #17 now. #17 answered gravely.
"Now."
"Kids, grab that punk!"
"You're dead today."
"Buddha, forgive us—we send one to your side tonight. Amitabha."
I sidestepped casually. Shaolin had its own nutcase. But why the delay up top?
Honestly, after seven bouts, I was a tad disappointed in Shaolin. Tricky foes, sure, but not worth trekking here. Might've been better grabbing anyone back home for a scrap.
Should've asked.
'Had hopes...'
93 left, so too early to write off, but day one's vibe was meh.
I addressed the guy still clasping hands... Pot #100 now. Shortened to #100.
"#100?"
"..."
"#100?"
Swish.
"Yeah, you. Good fighter?"
"Never lost a hit outside."
"Ever been anywhere but Shaolin?"
"No."
"...That explains it."
"Makes sense."
"Why the casual talk?"
"I'm seventeen."
"Keep it casual, then."
"Thanks."
"Cool. Let's go a round! Me and you."
I yelled up.
"Hey, defrocked grandpa~! Wanna spar #100 here—cool?"
Jinheo scowled.
'Defrocked grandpa?'
He glanced at the "monk grandpa." Ilseon Dosa eyed him with pity.
'Damn.'
Not wrong, but it stung. Namgung bastards, every one... Aghhh!
"Do as you like!"
The clash of Cheonmu and Geumgang was set.