Chapter 12. A Regressor
“It's me, you son of a bitch.”
I muttered, meeting Beomcheon's eyes. Naturally, the gazes of all the morons in the Main Hall fell upon me.
Beomcheon chuckled and flicked his sleeve once. With that light movement, all the third-rate martial artists of the Unorthodox Faction fainted.
The Abbot of the thousand-year-old Shaolin Temple. A dear friend from my past life.
‘I might have come too soon.’
I hadn't yet attained sufficient martial strength myself. It was unlikely, but if Beomcheon decided to harm me, I would be utterly helpless.
A private audience with the head of one of the Nine Great Sects and One Union was not an opportunity that came easily. I spoke to Hwapyeong, who was standing behind me.
“Hwapyeong, get out. If you don't want to die.”
Hwapyeong glanced back and forth between me and Beomcheon before finally nodding and heading outside.
Beomcheon watched me with calm eyes. A refined scent of incense drifted to my nose, and the Buddha statue behind the old monk greeted me with a benevolent smile.
In a world currently without a number one under the heavens, he was one of the top eight. The Three Gods, and below them, the Five Emperors.
The monk sipping tea before me was one of them—the Divine Monk, Beomcheon. He was well past eighty years of age and the old man closest to being the greatest under the heavens.
An old man who was still alive ten years before I died. A peerless master who extended his life for centuries with internal energy as deep as the ocean.
He would have lived even longer if not for the Dark Sky Society. I had come here in the first place because of a single suspicion. I hadn't noticed it in my past life, but after regressing, certain things looked different.
This, too, must be the grace of regression. Amitabha.
The world is full of such fortuitous encounters. Falling off a cliff and meeting a hidden master, or obtaining a long-lost divine art, is called a "cliff-side serendipity."
Instead of falling off a cliff, I was struck by the Assembly Leader's sword and returned to the past. If I were to give it a name, it would be the Baek Cheon Serendipity... Ah, on second thought, this body has no talent for naming things.
*Clink.*
The elegant sound of a teacup being set down on the wooden table reached my ears. It was then that Beomcheon's voice rumbled.
“So, what brings our beggar patron to visit this old monk?”
The Buddhist Art of the Enlightened Mind. A technique that conveyed meaning, not voice. Naturally, like a telepathic message, it was a voice only I could hear.
One of the many ultimate arts of Shaolin. Of the seventy-two divine arts that were the pride of Shaolin's long history, how many had the abbot mastered?
Not that I really cared. I fiddled with the old iron sword at my waist and spoke to Beomcheon.
“Are there any warrior monks among Shaolin's peerless masters who primarily use the Dragon Claw Hand?”
There was no need for excessive honorifics. After all, I was standing here as a representative of the Beggars' Sect. I had easily obtained the moment that Elder Hwa, now in hell, had longed for his entire life.
That moron, Elder Hwa. May he rest in peace.
Separately, Beomcheon took another indifferent sip of his tea and opened his mouth.
“There are none. This old monk has also learned the Dragon Claw Hand, but my mastery is not deep. The leader of Shaolin's pride, the One Hundred and Eight Arhats, is still at the Realm of Transformation, and the 'Mount Song Mountain Keeper' who guides the strange and powerful spirits, as well as the previous Leader of the Arhats, did not learn the Dragon Claw Hand.”
The Mount Song Mountain Keeper. Shaolin couldn't be the only temple on the great Mount Song. Just as Mount Zhongnan and Mount Hua had numerous Taoist temples, Mount Song also had many temples besides Shaolin.
However, most of those temples were effectively vassal branches of Shaolin. Meaning they weren't separate sects from Shaolin. The only difference was that they dedicated their lives to subjugating monstrous and supernatural beings.
The Mount Song Mountain Keeper referred to the strongest warrior monk among the masters of the many temples on Mount Song, and held the authority of acting abbot in the Shaolin Abbot's absence.
This was true for all the Nine Great Sects and One Union, except for the Beggars' Sect. I glanced at the third-rate martial artists of the Unorthodox Faction still sleeping beside us and asked him.
“Don't you have the previous generation of Shaolin Masters?”
Just as Beomcheon would later live for over a hundred years, the previous generation of Shaolin masters should have been able to enjoy a damned long life thanks to their pure internal energy.
But Beomcheon shook his head and replied.
“They have all entered nirvana.”
“You could have just said they died.”
Beomcheon's lips twitched for a moment. Seeing him desperately maintain his benevolent smile, I realized what a virtuous high monk he was and gave him a pleased smile.
“Why the fuck are you smiling?”
“……………”
“My apologies. It seems that since Art of the Enlightened Mind is an art that conveys the heart, words tend to slip out when emotions run high.”
“I'll try to understand.”
Come to think of it, no one I knew was normal. If they were normal, they wouldn't be people of the martial world in the first place. As expected, I'm the only normal person in this vast martial world.
I stared at Beomcheon with a bewildered expression. Now, other things were coming into view. His body was hardened by the Mastery of the Yijin Jing, said to be Shaolin's greatest art alongside the Supreme Power.
The Yijin Jing is a Donggong. A Donggong* is a martial art for controlling the body at will. A typical Donggong involved manipulating the acupoints throughout one's body to harden it.
Among them, Shaolin's Yijin Jing was an ultimate art that spoke of achieving an Indestructible Diamond Body. He probably wouldn't die no matter how many times I hit him with the Eighteen Dragon-Subduing Palms.
‘He’d be great for taking out my anger on.’
When I desperately ignored his shiny bald head, his strong hands, covered in the calluses unique to a martial artist, came into view. Shaolin taught all Eighteen Arms of Wushu, but most disciples focused on fist and palm techniques.▲
This was because fists were convenient for upholding Shaolin's principle of non-killing. Of course, it was clear you'd die if you were hit by a strike infused with internal energy, but compared to sharp weapons like swords or spears, the chances of survival were slightly higher, I suppose.▲
Just for thinking such things about a person, I guess I'm a lost cause when it comes to leaving the martial world behind. But Geolshin Wangcho is no martial arts fanatic. That's all that matters.
On the off chance, I asked Beomcheon.
“Do you know anything about the Three Masterminds?”
The old monk shook his head.
“I believe I have heard of them. However, I know nothing about them. Why do you ask? Are you perhaps interested in old legends?”
I scoffed to myself at his answer. My suspicion of Beomcheon was growing ever deeper.
Had he read my thoughts as well? He was looking at me with a completely clueless expression.
A martial artist's intent is bound to be revealed through their mental arts. A peerless master could read that intent through the insight of their upper dantian.
However, in my current state, I couldn't read his. He had surely shielded his upper dantian with the Marrow Cleansing Classic, the counterpart to the Yijin Jing.
For some reason, Beomcheon's eyelashes trembled, and he spoke to me.
“About that friend you brought with you.”
“What about Hwapyeong…”
“He's running a gambling ring with our monks.”
An awkward silence followed. Surely not. But isn't there an old saying that "surely not" can get a man killed?
Beomcheon let out a deep sigh and continued.
And it's a crooked game at that he's dealing from the bottom of the deck those warrior monks can't even spot it with their eyes and are getting fleeced I should just lock them all in the Patriarch Bodhidharma's Cave and make them do closed-door training…
“Bullshit.”
Patriarch Bodhidharma's Cave was the place made famous by Shaolin's founder, the Patriarch Bodhidharma, who meditated there facing a wall for nine years.
For a moment, at the name Patriarch Bodhidharma, Beomcheon showed signs of suppressing a laugh, which I found odd. He had clearly read my thoughts with his upper dantian's insight, but I couldn't understand why he laughed.
Anyway, speaking of Hwapyeong reminded me of my other purpose for coming here. I quickly moved my lips to change the subject.
“Can I obtain a Small Rejuvenation Elixir and a Great Rejuvenation Elixir? I have as much money as you need.”
Naturally, the Great Rejuvenation Elixir was for me, and the Small Rejuvenation Elixir was the panacea Hwapyeong's mother needed. As for money, I had more than enough thanks to Elder Hwa's slush fund.
Beomcheon gave an archaic smile.
“Are you insane? No. Perhaps our patron's upper dantian has fallen into qi deviation, making you unable to distinguish right from wrong? If so, I shall personally shatter your head with the Hundred-Pace Divine Fist. Amitabha.”
His reaction was more intense than I expected. I thought he'd at least agree to the Small Rejuvenation Elixir. Then again, it's rare for a sect to let an elixir made in-house leak to the outside. Especially if it's a legendary elixir like the Great Rejuvenation Elixir.
“So it's a no?”
Beomcheon seemed to ponder for a moment before speaking.
“Soon, Shaolin will be holding a martial tournament for the disciples of this temple. The first-place prize is, of course, the Great Rejuvenation Elixir. Second place gets the Small Rejuvenation Elixir. As a special favor, using my authority as abbot, I will allow you and your friend to participate in our temple's tournament. How about it?”
Letting me participate in a tournament meant only for Shaolin monks, with no strings attached. It was an excessive favor. Why was he making me such an offer? But the offer was too good to refuse.
“Of course, I'd be happy to.”
Come to think of it, could Hwapyeong even hold his own? But just sparring with masters on the level of Shaolin monks would surely broaden his horizons, so it was a worthwhile deal. Surprisingly, Hwapyeong was one of the direct disciples of the Haomun's leader.
“Then it is settled. Is that all your business?”
All my business? Was he already trying to kick me out? My real business was just beginning.
I paused for a moment, staring at him. No matter how I thought about it, my suspicion wasn't wrong.
It was an intuition honed by a long life as a beggar. The Beomcheon before me was the Beomcheon I knew, and yet, he was also not.
“Do you know what you once said to me?”
“What are you talking about?”
I looked at him feigning ignorance and let out a chuckle.
“You were the one who told me about the three masterminds in my past life. And the details were quite specific. I already knew about the three masterminds, but I'd never heard such extensive information before.”
“So?”
“It makes no sense for you of today to not know about the three masterminds. You're caught in your own contradiction.”
I drew the iron sword from my waist and pointed it at Beomcheon. The unique Starlight Sword Aura of the Sun and First Night Moon glowed with a milky light from the blade.
“You're a regressor, just like Baek Cheon. My intuition is telling me so. Am I wrong?”
A long silence hung between the two comrades-in-arms.
After a short while, the Shaolin monk, who still hadn't lost his smile, finally spoke.
“You've certainly gotten smarter.”
For a moment, it felt as if time and space in the area had slowed. A power like the Eighteen Arhat Formation deployed by one hundred and eight monks. He was single-handedly recreating the power of the Arhat Formation, which was said to have never been broken in a thousand years of history.
Just what level of martial arts must one reach to make that possible? Beomcheon, with his hands pressed together in a prayer gesture, chanted the name of Buddha, "Amitabha."
“I am a regressor, just like you.”
0 Comments