Chapter 301 – Demonic Beast (3)

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Translated by Jinmu

Read it only at Novelbyu.com & Utoon.net

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Outside the iron gate.

The Demon-Subduing Monk Deoksu opened his mouth, puzzled by how quiet it was considering that the man had not gone inside very long.

“Amitabha. Hall Master, it seems strangely quiet. Is that benefactor truly an occult practitioner?”

“He is.”

“Don’t those occult practitioners also use things like spells and incantations, much as we demon-subduing monks recite sutras or mantras?”

“Why? Has your curiosity been stirred?”

At that question, Deoksu hurriedly waved his hands and shook his head.

“No, it hasn’t.”

Of course, inwardly he really was curious how occult practitioners fought monsters.

He badly wanted to look inside, but if he did so and caused some disaster, there would be no fixing it, so all he could do was wait.

“Occult arts may have branched from the Daoist way, but they are a power that does not accord with ordinary reason. Do not trouble yourself trying to understand them.”

“Amitabha. I will keep that in mind.”

Having admonished Deoksu like that, the Demon-Subduing Hall Master stared at the iron gate.

Though he had told the younger monk not to dwell on it, he himself was inwardly curious as well.

Aside from the abbot, he possessed the greatest spiritual power in Shaolin, and yet even he could do nothing to the monster beyond this iron gate by himself.

So how was a mere occult practitioner supposed to control such a creature?

That was something close to impossible.

Then,

Boom. Boom.

At last, the sound of a disturbance came from inside.

It had been quiet for a while and now suddenly it was loud, so things clearly did not seem to be proceeding well.

Then the cry of the demonic beast rang out.

You damned human! Get out here right now!

‘!?’

Get out here right now?

What in the world did that mean?

Within the cavern beyond the iron gate, there was nowhere to hide and nowhere to run.

* * *

At that same time beyond the iron gate,

‘Hm?’

This was entirely unexpected.

He had assumed that, with scriptures carved all across the cavern wall to repel the smoke emitted by the demonic beast Yayu, the wall would at least withstand that much force.

Yet contrary to expectation, the wall itself was not very sturdy.

Kwaaang.

Mok Gyeong-un’s body smashed through the wall and passed straight through to the other side, then immediately slid away through a narrow tunnel leading somewhere beyond.

At the end of that slope, water had collected, and he landed in it with a splash, soaking himself.

After falling like that, Mok Gyeong-un raised his head in stunned disbelief.

‘!?’

In front of him stood a massive stone wall sealing off the way entirely.

“Ah…”

An exclamation escaped him without thought.

Had it been only a wall, it would have been one thing.

But part of the cave ceiling above had opened, allowing a stream of bright sunlight to fall beautifully across one portion of the wall.

He stood staring blankly at that scene for a moment when the enraged voice of Yayu came roaring from behind.

You damned human! Get out here right now!

It was Yayu’s voice.

It had thought it had sealed the entrance and driven him into a dead end, and now this unexpected turn had clearly sent it into a fury.

Mok Gyeong-un began to turn his head at the sound when,

So this cave was connected here as well…

At Blue Spirit’s voice, Mok Gyeong-un asked in puzzlement,

“What do you mean by that?”

Don’t you remember what that monk, the Demon-Subduing Hall Master or whatever he was called, said? That the thirty-six caves in the rear mountain of Shaolin are all connected.

“Ah, yes. I think he did say that. But why bring that up now?”

Look toward the top of the wall.

“The top of the wall?”

At her words, Mok Gyeong-un looked toward the part of the wall where the sunlight fell from above.

There, carved in large letters, were the words:

Wall-Facing Cave.

‘Wall-Facing Cave?’

Come to think of it, beside the Demon-Subduing Cave had been another cave entrance marked Wall-Facing Cave.

Which meant that by smashing through the cavern wall of the Demon-Subduing Cave, he had ended up here in the Wall-Facing Cave, and that what the Hall Master had said about all the caves being connected had apparently been true.

But more than that fact, something else seized Mok Gyeong-un’s attention.

It was the words Wall-Facing Cave themselves.

‘How majestic.’

That was the impression he had the moment he saw them.

There was no arrogance in the brushwork, no trace of selfish intention, yet the strength behind every single stroke was perfectly even, and its grandeur was overwhelming.

‘Ah!’

Mok Gyeong-un’s eyes widened.

Those characters had not been carved with a finger or by some physical tool.

They had been inscribed with qi.

But how could someone leave such lines with no disorder whatsoever?

If he had known nothing of martial arts or qi, he might have looked at it as nothing more than a sight.

But this was truly astonishing.

At his reaction, Blue Spirit said,

The handling of qi has truly reached a divine level. As expected of the one regarded as the originator of Shaolin Fist, the orthodox foundation of Central Plains martial arts.

“The originator?”

Bodhidharma.

“Bodhidharma? Ah… I’ve heard the name. Isn’t he the one called the founder of the Chan school?”

Yes. The founder of Chan, and also the one said to be the origin of Shaolin Fist.

“Then was this Bodhidharma the one who founded Shaolin Temple?”

No.

“Then what is he?”

Have you ever seen a painting of Bodhidharma?

“No.”

If you do, you will find that his appearance is highly foreign.

“Foreign? Then he wasn’t from the Central Plains?”

No. Bodhidharma is said to have been the third prince of the king of the Xiangzhi kingdom in Tianzhu, but he renounced the world and cultivated the Buddhist path.

“Oh.”

A strange light entered Mok Gyeong-un’s eyes.

It was unexpected that the man called the origin of Shaolin Fist had not even been a native of the Central Plains.

“But how did a foreign prince turned monk become the origin of Shaolin martial arts?”

That I do not know. There are many theories. One of them concerns this very Wall-Facing Cave.

“Did he train martial arts here in the Wall-Facing Cave?”

When he entered meditative absorption, he sat all day in contemplation facing the wall. And when he rose from that state, he moved his limbs without rest and tempered his body. I have heard that this physical training became the basis of Shaolin Fist.

“I see.”

More astonishing still, they say he repeated that wall-facing training without pause for no less than nine years.

Nine full years of wall-facing cultivation.

That story spread widely not only among Buddhist cultivators, but even among ordinary people in the world, and because Bodhidharma was said to have trained here, this Wall-Facing Cave had also come to be called Bodhidharma’s Wall-Facing Cave by outsiders.

At Blue Spirit’s words, Mok Gyeong-un stared at the inscription Wall-Facing Cave.

By Bodhidharma, Shaolin Fist was born, and Shaolin Fist in turn had become the foundation of many of the orthodox martial arts of the Central Plains.

It was, in a sense, the very origin itself.

‘Impressive.’

The thought that one man’s nine years had become an origin from which countless martial arts later blossomed stirred sincere respect within him.

But that respect lasted only a moment.

He did not have the leisure to stand here forever and stare at the stone wall of the Wall-Facing Cave.

So Mok Gyeong-un began to turn his head.

Then,

‘!?’

His movement stopped midway.

He found himself staring fixedly at some point on the stone wall.

It was a moment of pure unconsciousness.

The instant he blinked and opened his eyes again,

Hwiiiiiiing.

A cold wind blew through the entire stone wall, and before he knew it, snow was scattering all around him.

The phenomenon was so strange that for a moment Mok Gyeong-un could not find any words at all.

He lifted his head and looked upward.

Snow was falling through the broken opening in the cave ceiling, and as it fell, it began to pile up across the cave floor.

‘What in the world…?’

As he stood there baffled, his eyes fell on one place where the snow seemed to have piled higher than anywhere else.

It was the spot where the light reflected against the wall.

The snow there had accumulated to the height of a seated person…

‘Ah?’

Or so it seemed.

But in truth, someone really was seated there in meditation, and snow had simply piled over his head and shoulders.

Not understanding what was happening at all, Mok Gyeong-un moved to approach that figure.

Then,

he heard footsteps.

Step. Step.

He turned in confusion toward the sound.

From a cave behind the Wall-Facing Cave came a tall, shaven-headed man dressed in yellow robes.

Mok Gyeong-un opened his mouth to speak to him, but,

“Who…”

Srrk.

The bald man, who appeared to be a monk, passed right by him without the slightest acknowledgment.

As though he could not see Mok Gyeong-un at all.

The monk then walked straight to the figure seated in meditation.

Though snow had piled up on his head and shoulders and someone had now approached him, the one in meditation did not move even a little.

Thump.

The monk dropped to his knees.

Then he bowed his head to the meditating figure and said in an earnest voice,

Please grant me your teaching.

…

No answer came. No movement.

And yet the monk bowed low to the ground once more and said,

Please open the way for me.

…

The monk remained prostrate in that position.

It was as though he would never move until the meditating figure answered him.

In that way, neither the one seated nor the one prostrated behind him moved at all, and the snow continued to accumulate upon both of them.

As Mok Gyeong-un exhaled softly in wonder,

Srrk.

The surroundings suddenly darkened and brightened again in repetition.

Then,

‘!?’

snow had piled not only on the body of the prostrated monk but all over him, and the meditating figure was now rising to his feet.

The one who had been seated in meditation stood up without taking his eyes from the stone wall and spoke.

Take it.

The instant those words were heard, the monk who had been prostrated staggered up.

No, he could not even rise at once.

Because he had been lying in the snow so long, he toppled forward.

His nose had split and blood ran from it, yet he still forced himself to stand.

Then the one in robes facing the wall tossed something backward without even looking.

The monk thrust out both hands in order to receive it.

Splash.

The moment it landed in his hands, it ran over them and spilled to the ground.

It was water.

A strange light entered Mok Gyeong-un’s eyes.

‘He threw water?’

It was an extraordinarily strange thing.

Had he perhaps thrown a lump of snow that melted in the monk’s hands?

Or had he truly thrown water itself?

Was it possible to hurl water barehanded like that?

Even as he wondered that, the monk tried desperately to scoop the spilled water up from the floor.

But once it had spread across the ground, how could he possibly gather it again?

“Ah… ah…”

A despairing sigh escaped the monk’s lips.

Then the man in robes facing the wall said,

I have given it. Now leave.

At those words, the monk, clawing at the wet ground hard enough to break his own nails, wept and pleaded.

I am still lacking, and so I failed to receive what you bestowed. Please, grant me your teaching.

…

Even if I die here, I cannot leave.

…

Even at that resolute declaration, the one staring at the wall did not turn his head even in the slightest.

Then, after a while, the man in robes looking at the wall finally spoke.

Unless red snow falls and gathers here, I will never accept you.

At those words, Mok Gyeong-un gave a small snort.

How could red snow ever fall?

It was merely a roundabout way of saying that he would never accept him.

Then it happened.

Pak.

The monk suddenly stood up.

He ran somewhere within the cave and returned carrying a knife.

At first Mok Gyeong-un thought he might be about to do something rash in response to the absolute refusal.

But then,

Slash.

The monk severed his own left arm.

‘!?’

Then he took the blood pouring from the severed limb and splashed it over the snow that had accumulated.

As the monk’s blood scattered outward, the snow gradually turned red.

At that sight, the corner of Mok Gyeong-un’s mouth twitched.

The impossible answer had been made real through the monk’s own sacrifice of an arm.

It was a truly tremendous display of will.

‘Even now, will he keep staring only at the wall?’

Mok Gyeong-un looked toward the robed figure still facing the wall.

Then the man spoke.

Take it.

With that, he tossed something backward.

It happened so suddenly that the monk instinctively stretched out his arm to catch it.

But the arm he extended was the very one that had been severed.

And then,

Wooooooong.

The instant arrived in which a handful of water hung suspended in the air as though being grasped by a hand.

‘!!!!!!’

Mok Gyeong-un’s pupils shook violently.

The act of trying to seize something with an arm that was no longer there had somehow made it possible.

The astonishing sight struck through Mok Gyeong-un’s mind like the tolling of a great bell.

And in that reverberation, a single crack was born.