Chapter 248

Hong Dao, the Dharma King, sat dozing in the main hall when his eyes suddenly opened.

The first thing he saw upon waking was the small back of someone standing motionless, gazing up at the Buddha statue.

“When did you get here?”

“About fifteen minutes ago, I suppose.”

“So, did you go see your proud Disciple?”

Jeok Cheongang answered gruffly without turning around.

“What Disciple? How many times do I have to tell you? He isn’t.”

“Oh, so you are proud of him.”

“Ahem. Of course he should be able to manage at least that much. What’s so special about the Star-Array Grand Banquet preliminaries?”

“You’ve never done anything like that yourself.”

“There was nothing like this in my day. Back then, even the orthodox factions were busy fighting among themselves, going on about the Southern Murim and Northern Murim.”

“That’s true.”

Hong Dao stretched. Cracks echoed from all over his body.

“Still, this is enough to make a ghost wail. I didn’t sense your presence at all. Have you grown even stronger since I last saw you?”

“Why would a ghost wail? Buddha should be furious. The Abbot of Shaolin is dozing in the main hall like a sick chicken.”

“Don’t be so hard on me. We’re growing old together.”

Jeok Cheongang turned around and shouted.

“Who says I’m old? You should have kept up with your martial-arts training. Look at me. Don’t I look spry enough to last another ten years?”

Hong Dao studied Jeok Cheongang, then rolled his prayer beads between his fingers.

“Benefactor Jeok. May you be reborn in the Pure Land.¹”

“Look at this damn bald monk!”

Hong Dao let out a quiet laugh at his old friend’s reaction.

“I don’t know about ten years, but you should be fine for another three.”

“Was that the heavenly patterns or whatever telling you?”

“The heavenly patterns? According to what this poor monk saw long ago, you should have died years ago.”

“What?”

Jeok Cheongang’s face hardened. He could tell from Hong Dao’s expression and manner that he was serious.

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

“Because the flow changed.”

“The flow changed?”

“The heavens are vast, yet ever-changing. Just as your star was beginning to lose its light, a Morning Star rose in the northern lands.”

“…Jin Taekyung. So it was that boy.”

“The heavenly patterns told this poor monk that the Fire King stood in the Morning Star’s path. I have watched for the past year, and so it proved. Your star now shines brighter than ever.”

Everything that had happened flashed through Jeok Cheongang’s mind.

He had grown old and suffered from the infirmities of old age. He had begun searching for Jangcheon, whom he had sent away long ago, so he could settle his final affairs before leaving this world.

He had intended to deal with his former Disciple—who might still be committing evil somewhere in the world—with his own hands, then entrust the Fire Gate Clan’s future to the Sword Saint of Huashan.

And then…

I met him.

The infirmities of old age were both the curse of passing years and an illness of the heart.

When Jeok Cheongang was about to let go of the word life, a hand named Jin Taekyung reached out and caught it.

And so Jeok Cheongang changed.

The more he watched that talkative, reckless boy, the more the ember lingering in a corner of his heart flared back to life.

Longer. I want to live longer.

To do that, he had to free himself from the infirmities of old age that gnawed at his mind with every passing moment.

Over the past year, he had immersed himself more deeply in martial arts. He learned while teaching, and gained insight through contemplation.

Jin Taekyung was not the only one who had grown in the Fire Gate Cavern. Jeok Cheongang had taken another step forward as well.

“Three years…”

Jeok Cheongang’s low voice echoed through the main hall.

“I’ll turn those three years into ten soon enough. No, a hundred.”

Hong Dao burst into hearty laughter.

“That’s excessive greed. How long exactly do you intend to live?”

“I don’t know. I’ll somehow keep dragging myself along and live.”

“You’d have to undergo Bone Transformation about three times.”

“Damn it. Then I’ll just have to settle for ten years. So you hang on until then, too. You still need to show that you’re going strong.”

Hong Dao silently rolled his prayer beads.

“We are already waves that have flowed past. The Spear King, who was once so robust, and the Wave King, who was more spirited than anyone, have already left this world. The others have grown old enough, too. Someone whose whereabouts are unknown may already be dead.”

The Ten Kings was the name given to the ten Supreme Peak masters who had swept across the Murim during the Great Faction War.

Some had been worn away by time. Others had died at the hands of their enemies.

Though they were called the Ten Kings, there were only eight in reality, and they were now old enough to prepare for death.

Jeok Cheongang let out a low groan, then suddenly shouted.

“Enough of that defeatist talk! What’s with all this gloom?”

But Hong Dao opened his mouth with a peaceful expression.

“Unnamed. I entrusted him with the Green Jade Buddha Staff last night.”

“…!”

“By the time he finishes his preparations in Arhat Cave and emerges, he should have grown into a worthy vessel. I have already chosen someone to serve as Abbot until then.”

“W-What did you say?”

Jeok Cheongang found himself stammering.

The Green Jade Buddha Staff was a sacred treasure handed down through Shaolin for a thousand years. Hong Dao had not only entrusted such a treasure to his Disciple—he had even chosen the next Abbot.

To Jeok Cheongang, Hong Dao looked like a man preparing to lay everything down and leave.

“You bald monk. Are you, by any chance…”

Jeok Cheongang let the end of his sentence trail off, but what he meant to say was easy enough to guess.

A faint smile touched Hong Dao’s lips.

“This poor monk intends to step down after this Star-Array Grand Banquet. If the heavens permit it, I may cling to life for another year or so. But no longer than that.”

“The heavenly patterns… Is that what they told you?”

“I need to rest. Please leave for today.”

“Hong Dao!”

“Amitabha.²”

Hong Dao picked up his wooden fish and began striking it. The clear notes echoed through the main hall, silencing Jeok Cheongang. Only after a long while did he finally turn and leave.

The three days of preliminary assessments had done their job admirably.

Of the more than fifty thousand applicants, only 1 percent—barely five hundred people—had earned the right to advance to the main event.

The organizers gathered them all in one place.

Naturally, I was among them.

“Look over there. It’s Jin Taekyung, the Sleeping Dragon of Shanxi.”

“What? That greenhorn? He looks younger than my youngest Junior Brother.”

“What does age matter? Martial talent is what counts. Still, he’s incredible. He’s come this far after becoming the Fire King’s Disciple only a year ago…”

“For fuck’s sake. Is he supposed to have a Heavenly Martial Physique or something?”

I turned toward the voice. A man who looked to be in his early thirties flinched, then quietly avoided my gaze.

He must have thought I was going to say something to him, but he had read me completely wrong.

The guy’s got good instincts.

The System’s possibilities were endless. My Muscles and Bones, which had already been so exceptional that Jeok Cheongang called them the Heavenly Martial Physique, had developed even further during my training on Mount Jiuhua.

Eventually, even Jeok Cheongang had shaken his head again and again.

“Monster. Just how much higher do you intend to climb?”

“I should at least see how far I can go.”

“If this old man had possessed even half your Muscles and Bones, there would be Two Gods in the martial world by now instead of One God.”

“But you don’t.”

“…Add another hundred geun³ to the iron ball.”

Acting cocky had only made me suffer more, but in the end, every bit of it had helped me immensely.

After all, hard work—no, the System—never betrayed me.

The System paid out points and EXP with perfect precision, and my basic stats were absurdly high, so any martial art I used was several times more effective.

That was how I managed to beat three of the Ten Dragons and Phoenixes, each among the best in their respective fields.

The Iron-Water Divine Dragon of the Yangtze River Channel League had even voluntarily withdrawn from the Star-Array Grand Banquet.

When I asked why he would go that far, he said he couldn’t win as long as I was around, so he might as well hurry home.

I couldn’t decide whether that made him simple or smart, but he was definitely a cool guy.

On the other hand…

“Alas, the martial world’s sense of decency has fallen to the ground. How could such a frivolous and violent man gain power? Oh, heavens!”

“You bastard who’d mix rice with dog shit and eat it. Even leaving you in a cesspit for three months and ten days wouldn’t satisfy me.”

“This is impossible. Are you saying this Young Master’s knowledge is inferior to that man’s martial arts? That cannot be. I must establish a new theory of mechanisms and formations.”

Those three were simply beyond saving.

I had been listening to their endless muttering from behind me when I spun around.

“Hey, you three idiots.”

Their muttering stopped dead at my call.

A moment later, the three idiots snapped their heads up and expressed their anger one after another, each in his own way.

“Alas, an idiot? How vulgar.”

The Daoist in spotless white robes was Baek Woo, the Kunlun Cloud Dragon. I had sent him plummeting during the third assessment by stepping on his face.

I learned later that he had severe cleanliness issues and spent two shichen⁴ showering as soon as the assessment ended.

“I’ll stuff shit into your mouth, you bastard.”

Unlike Baek Woo, whose mere presence suggested cleanliness, this man reeked of piss and was a beggar to the bone.

Born and raised in the Beggars’ Sect, he had eventually risen to the position of Successor Beggar—the man who would one day lead the sect.

His name was Gung Gibang.

The so-called Beggar Prince, pure-blooded beggar,⁵ ultimate beggar.

During the fourth assessment, Gung Gibang had grabbed me by the back of the neck and been rewarded with a punch to the solar plexus.

“Idiot? Was that directed at this Young Master? If you could explain what you intended by it—and, assuming you know the exact meaning of the word idiot, define it for me—I would appreciate it.”

The last was Zhuge Gyun, the Divine Marvel Dragon of the Zhuge Clan.

He wore the neat clothes of a scholar and a tidy hero’s headband. Judging by his clothes alone, he looked like the most sane of the three.

That was only natural, considering he was wedged between a cleanliness-obsessed Daoist who couldn’t stand a single speck of dust on his clothes and a beggar who looked as though he would happily eat filth even if it splashed into his mouth.

But as I had guessed, he was no ordinary eccentric.

He had expressed considerable regret over losing in the mechanisms-and-formations assessment, the fifth one.

Just look at this lineup…

A group more stacked than Manchester United’s squad under Sir Alex Ferguson.⁶

Seeing the three of them lined up together made my breath catch and my vision go dark. I took a moment to compose myself before speaking.

“Shut your mouths, all of you. Stop chattering. You’re driving me crazy.”

“Alas, did you just say ‘shut your mouths’? Fellow Daoist Jin Taekyung, how can every word out of your mouth be so vulgar?”

“A bastard who wouldn’t feel satisfied even after being rolled up in a mat, hung from a post, and beaten with a dog cudgel for forty-five days.”

“‘Shut your mouths. Stop chattering…’ Those are not expressions commonly used in our family. I am personally quite curious, so could you write down some of the words you often use and give me a copy?”

“……”

I wanted to beat the crap out of all three of them.

Lamenting the fact that reality wouldn’t allow it, I addressed the three idiots.

“If I meet any of you in a duel, consider yourselves dead.”

“…!”

“…!”

“…!”

As expected, a cudgel was the best medicine for lunatics.

The three idiots clamped their mouths shut and exchanged glances.

Then it happened.

Click. Click.

The sound of something hard striking the floor pierced everyone’s ears.

An old man soon appeared on the dais, one leg fitted with a wooden prosthetic.

“Sorry I’m late. As you can see, my leg’s in this state.”

He grinned, baring yellow teeth, and introduced himself.

“Nice to meet you. I’m Song Ho, the Thousand-Faced Fox.”