Episode 388

I have made up my mind, now I must go forward (3)

 

Shaolin Temple.

 

For over a thousand years, Shaolin had been a central figure in the Jianghu, never once straying from the heart of history. However, they faced the disgrace of closing their doors for a hundred years.

 

One hundred years ago, during the Great Heavenly Blood War, Shaolin was almost completely destroyed.

 

What was even more humiliating was that the Demonic Cult razed Shaolin to the ground and built an altar in its place.

 

Although Shaolin eventually reclaimed its temple after emerging victorious in the war, the wounds to its heart and pride never fully healed.

 

At its peak, Shaolin was home to over a thousand warrior monks. But after the brutal war with the Demonic Cult, only a few dozen survived.

 

No matter how deep Shaolin’s roots were, there was little they could do with just a few dozen monks. They were reduced to worrying about the survival of their sect.

 

Shaolin chose seclusion.

 

They shut their gates, withdrew from all martial world affairs, and focused solely on nurturing the next generation.

 

Since then, no Shaolin monk has been seen in the Jianghu.

 

One generation passed, then another, and over a hundred years went by.

 

In that time, Shaolin faded from public memory.

 

Meanwhile, the Ten Great sects rose to prominence, and Shaolin became little more than an ancient legend.

 

Shaolin’s gates remained firmly closed, and the mountain path lay silent, devoid of visitors.

 

In the days when Shaolin stood as the foremost sect in the Jianghu, countless people passed through its mountain path daily. Now, the path was overgrown with weeds, a testament to the relentless passage of time.

 

Walking along this path, now with weeds up to the knees, was a lone Taoist.

 

Wearing a southern-style Taoist hat and dressed in a deep blue robe, the Taoist had a sword bearing a yin-yang symbol strapped to his back.

 

He walked with an upright posture, as if he were strolling along flat ground.

 

Eventually, the Taoist arrived in front of the Shaolin Temple and looked up at its firmly shut gates.

 

Shaolin Temple

 

 

 

The original signboard had been destroyed during the Great Heavenly Blood War. The one currently hanging was a new one, made a century ago.

 

Looking up at the sign, a flood of emotions passed through the Taoist’s eyes.

 

In the past hundred years, Shaolin had never once officially allowed an outsider through its gates.

 

He was the first visitor to Shaolin in a hundred years.

 

After taking a deep breath, he knocked on the gates.

 

Bang! Bang!

 

It sounded like a light knock, but the heavy echo echoed far and wide.

 

A moment later, the gates creaked open slightly, and a middle-aged monk with a shaved head peeked out.

 

“Amitabha! Whoever you may be, Shaolin does not receive visitors. Please leave.”

 

“Amitabha! This humble Taoist is Jinghae of the Wudang Sect.”

 

“Wudang?”

 

The unexpected response made the monk’s eyes flutter.

 

Though the two sects had ceased communication since closing their gates, a century ago, the Wudang Sect had been one of Shaolin’s closest allies.

 

The monk didn’t know where Jinghae stood within Wudang, but the mere fact that a guest from Wudang had come was monumental.

 

“What brings you to our temple?”

 

“I am a disciple of Elder Cheongsong, the current head of Wudang. I have a confidential letter from my master. I want to personally deliver it to the abbot of Shaolin.”

 

“Hmm!”

 

The monk guarding the gate instinctively sensed this was a matter beyond his authority.

 

“Amitabha! I shall inform the abbot. Please wait a moment.”

 

“I will wait as long as necessary.”

 

Thud

 

As the gates closed again, Jinghae sat cross-legged on the spot and closed his eyes.

 

Coincidentally, as soon as he sat down, snow began to fall. Though the cold must have been biting, Jinghae did not open his eyes even once.

 

Mount Song was quickly blanketed in white.

 

The snow gradually piled up on Jinghae’s shoulders, but he didn’t move.

 

Creak—

 

By the time a thick layer of snow had settled on him, the gate creaked open again and the same monk reappeared.

 

He bowed slightly and said, “Amitabha! The Abbot has granted you an audience. Please, come in.”

 

“Thank you.”

 

Only then did Jinghae open his eyes and rose to his feet.

 

As the snow cascaded from his shoulders, the monk thought to himself:

 

“This man has incredible patience.”

 

Jingae had sat motionless for more than half an hour. That level of endurance was beyond ordinary.

 

He stepped through the gate.

 

He was the first to cross the sealed gates of Shaolin in over a hundred years—at least officially.

 

A faint, humble smile appeared on Jinghae’s lips.

 

Wudang had also closed its gates for over a century. But that didn’t mean it was completely cut off from the world.

 

Seclusion was meant to build strength, not to cut off all ties.

 

In order to restore their former glory, they needed to recruit talented disciples. While they could search among secular disciples, this method was inefficient.

 

So over the years, Wudang Clan had secretly sent out disciples to scout and recruit prodigies.

 

These prodigies had become the pillars of Wudang today.

 

Jinghare assumed that Shaolin’s situation was no different from Wudang’s as he stepped forward.

 

Beyond the gates, Shaolin’s scenery unfolded before him.

 

In the past, before the Great Heavenly Blood War, Shaolin had been filled with halls. With over a thousand warrior monks residing there, the expansion of the buildings had been inevitable.

 

Now, however, the number of halls was barely a third of what it once was.

 

Though it might seem shabby to some, Jinghae didn’t see it that way.

 

‘Shaolin has regained most of its former strength.’

 

He could feel it without even seeing it.

 

Shaolin’s unique aura – fierce yet gentle – permeated the entire temple.

 

‘With the legacy left behind by their ancestors, it’s only natural.’

 

Wudang was the same.

 

Though they had been crushed by the Demonic Cult, they had clung fiercely to their heritage—secret techniques, wealth, networks.

 

That foundation became the springboard for their resurgence.

 

With an even longer history and greater heritage than Wudang, Shaolin must have regained just as much strength.

 

The path to the Abbot’s chamber was quiet.

 

Here and there, young monks appeared, curiously glancing at Jinghae.

 

After all, he was the first outsider to enter in a hundred years.

 

But soon enough, they pressed their palms together in greeting and went on their way. Even the young monks adhered strictly to discipline—another testament to Shaolin’s strength.

 

The abbot’s quarters were even simpler than Jinghae had expected.

 

A small room with barely enough space for one person to lie down, a modest desk, a few books, and a single lamp.

 

Inside, an elderly monk in plain gray robes greeted him.

 

“Amitabha! I am Gongyun, the current abbot of Shaolin. I apologize for not greeting you personally. Your visit is most welcome.”

 

The old monk’s appearance was ordinary.

 

His deeply wrinkled face was no different from any other elderly man’s, but his eyes—clear and unclouded like a child’s—refreshed the hearts of those who met his gaze.

 

Jinghae swallowed hard and bowed respectfully.

 

“Jinghae of Wudang greets the abbot of Shaolin. I sincerely thank you for your hospitality.”

 

“Hoho! Seeing you, I can tell Wudang has regained its former glory. Truly a blessing for the martial world.”

 

“Not at all. My achievements are meager and hardly worth mentioning.”

 

“If a martial artist who has reached the realm where their internal energy harmonizes with external energy is ordinary, then most people must be frauds.”

 

For a moment, surprise flickered in Jinghae’s eyes.

 

Gongyun had instantly discerned his cultivation level.

 

As expected of Shaolin’s abbot.

 

Jinghae tightened his expression.

 

“I am in awe of the abbot’s insight.”

 

“At my age, the only thing that improves is one’s perception. Now, you mentioned a letter from your leader?”

 

“Here it is.”

 

Jinghae produced the sealed letter and handed it to Gongyun.

 

With calm eyes, Gongyun read the letter from Wudang’s leader, Elder Cheongsong.

 

“Amitabha! Amitabha!”

 

As he read, Gongyun continuously rolled his prayer beads.

 

Jinghae watched him with slight tension.

 

Finally, Gongyun finished reading.

 

Placing the letter on the desk, he spoke.

 

“In summary, Elder Cheongsong proposes that Wudang would reopen its gates and resume its activities, and hopes that Shaolin will join them.”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Amitabha! This is indeed a difficult matter. Our temple has yet to fully regain its former strength.”

 

“I believe you are well aware that there are limits to how much one can grow behind closed gates. In the Jianghu, Shaolin and Wudang have become forgotten legends. People now know and revere the Seven Sects more than Shaolin and Wudang. As long as that perception remains, fully restoring your former glory will remain a distant dream.”

 

“Hmm.”

 

“Wudang has already decided to reopen its gates. The Thousand Kingdom School and the Myriad Merchant Troupe have also pledged their support. If Shaolin joins us, we can declare to the world that the Five Great Sects still stand strong.”

 

“You’ve secured the cooperation of the Thousand Kingdom School and the Myriad Merchant Troupe?”

 

“Yes. They have agreed to stand with us.”

 

“This is indeed a blessing for the Jianghu. With their support, Wudang’s rise is assured.”

 

“With Shaolin by our side, we can soar even higher.”

 

Jinghae’s voice grew firmer.

 

His previously calm eyes now shone with determination.

 

Gongyun saw the edge of a blade in those eyes.

 

The eyes were the windows to the soul—and Jinghae’s heart held a sharp sword that now shone through his eyes.

 

Gongyun silently rolled his prayer beads.

 

Jinghai met his gaze unflinchingly.

 

For the past hundred years, Wudang had poured everything into nurturing disciples. Their efforts had borne fruit, allowing them to regain some of their former strength. But compared to Wudang’s peak, they were still far lacking.

 

Thus, they needed Shaolin.

 

With Shaolin’s support, they could not only deal with the Jade Heaven Alliance and the Seven Great Sects, but also with their eternal nemesis, the Divine Demon Alliance.

 

Jinghae was Wudang’s envoy to the Jianghu.

 

His mission was to establish alliances with still-secluded sects like Shaolin and Mount Hua.

 

Jinghae was Wudang’s spearhead.

 

His success or failure would determine Wudang’s future path.

 

Finally, Gongyun spoke.

 

“Under Elder Cheongsong’s outstanding leadership, Wudang seems ready to return to the world. This old monk is overjoyed. But Shaolin is lacking in many ways. We are not yet prepared to reenter the world without a solid foundation.”

 

“What in this world is ever complete from the start? Are Wudang and Shaolin not brothers? We must support each other.”

 

“An imbalance does not make for a good appearance. Though Shaolin was once one of the Nine Great Sects, it would be unseemly for us to cling to Wudang like beggars. Shaolin will support Wudang’s endeavors in spirit.”

 

“Hmm.”

 

Jinghae exhaled softly.

 

Though Gongyun’s words were polite, their meaning was clear—Shaolin had no intention of joining Wudang’s cause.

 

Jinghae had come prepared for resistance, but Gongyun’s firm stance left him unsettled.

 

He forced a calm expression, though he couldn’t fully hide his unease.

 

“My master was eagerly hoping to stand beside Shaolin. It is unfortunate.”

 

“Please convey my apologies to Elder Cheongsong. But what can we do when our strength is insufficient?”

 

“If that is your stance, then so be it. We cannot force you. But should you change your mind, contact us anytime. Wudang’s gates will now remain open.”

 

“Hoho! I understand. The news of Wudang’s reopening gladdens this old monk’s heart. May Wudang achieve whatever it desires, I will pray to the Buddha for it.”

 

“Thank you. I must take my leave now.”

 

Jinghae got up.

 

“Ah! You’re leaving so soon, and I haven’t even offered you a cup of tea. Such a shame.”

 

“There are many places I need to visit, so I can’t stay long. I will make a more formal visit next time.”

 

“Ha-ha! I look forward to your return. Then, go in peace.”

 

As Gongyun finished speaking, the same monk who had escorted Jinghae came in and escorted him out.

 

Once Jinghae was gone, the smile faded from Gongyun’s face.

 

“Amitabha! Wudang has begun to move.”

 

He muttered with a troubled expression.

 

Wudang’s decision to end its seclusion was their own. But their attempts to gather other sects were not something to be taken lightly.

 

The Great Heavenly Blood War had taught Shaolin a bitter lesson – caution was paramount in all things.

 

To recklessly involve themselves in worldly affairs without understanding the circumstances could lead to ruin.

 

After a long silence, Gongyun spoke again.

 

“Who is outside?”

 

“This humble monk Yongjing awaits your command.”

 

“Summon Yonghua.”

 

“Understood.”

 

With that response, the presence disappeared. Soon after, someone cautiously knocked on the door.

 

“I am Yonghua, summoned by the abbot. May I enter?”

 

“Come in.”

 

“Yes!”

 

With that, a young monk entered the Abbot’s room.

 

He seemed to be in his early twenties, his face was naive, but his gaze was as fierce as Jinghae’s.

 

“Yonghua!”

 

“Your command, Abbot.”

 

“You need to go outside and see what’s happening in the martial world, what Wudang is thinking in trying to unite the Great Sects.”

 

“Understood.”

 

Yonghua responded succinctly, without asking why.

 

The Abbot’s eyes shadowed as he watched him.

 

A century ago, after being trampled by the Demonic Cult, Shaolin had created yakshas—monks devoid of Buddhist mercy—to exact revenge.

 

They called themselves Yama Monks and wore blood-red robes.

 

Though the War had ended, the tradition of the Yama Monks lived on.

 

Yonghua was their leader.