Chapter v17c17

Three Encounters

– Yong Cheon-Myeong Sees the Wall

A strange excitement filled the air within Cheonmu Academy.

– The Descent of Legends.

The legend of the Three Saints of Cheonmu, one of the most famous tales in the martial world. But as always, legends remained distant, like aloof beauties, forever frolicking above the clouds, beyond the reach of ordinary people. Stories were just stories, and encountering them in reality was as difficult as plucking stars from the sky. This simple yet unfortunate truth made it clear that seeing the Three Saints of Cheonmu gathered in one place was an extraordinary sight. Now imagine three legends assembled together. How magnificent the spectacle would be! And they had been staying in the same place for over two weeks. It was an unprecedented event in the history of the martial world for the Three Saints to remain in one location for so long, a feat unseen in the past hundred years. While they might have met individually, it was extremely rare for all three to gather together. Moreover, it was quite inconvenient and bothersome, as the various sects of the martial world were watching their every move with keen interest.

The mere fact that they were gathered in one place, silently settled in, was enough to keep storytellers busy for a decade. Speculation and rumors would run rampant.

After all, that’s how stories spread among people.

Those who didn’t know the truth, the rumor mongers who eagerly spread and embellished tales, weren’t interested in the truth. They were interested in entertaining and beneficial fictions, not facts. Fictions that allowed them to indulge in the drug of self-satisfaction.

Their thoughts were always short, their words long.

Late at night, a crescent moon, shining like a distant sword, hung precariously on the western horizon, as if about to fall beyond the black expanse.

Yong Cheon-Myeong knelt before the Jade Buddha Divine Sword, the sacred treasure of his sect, placed reverently before him, his heart a mixture of piety and guilt. The room was silent, enveloped in the darkness of night, and a single oil lamp on the table flickered softly, its red flame dancing gently. The flickering shadows on the walls, a chaotic dance of darkness, mirrored his own troubled mind.

Lately, Yong Cheon-Myeong had been plagued by doubts and anxieties, questioning whether he was truly worthy of possessing the Jade Buddha Divine Sword, such an invaluable treasure. Perhaps it had been entrusted to him by mistake, a temporary arrangement. This dark flame of doubt had silently ignited within him, coiling itself in a corner of his mind, refusing to be extinguished.

The Jade Buddha Divine Sword!

A symbol of authority within the Shaolin Temple. A sacred artifact of the Great Shaolin Temple, said to be wielded only by those who possessed honor, pride, and an unwavering Buddhist heart. To receive this supreme treasure meant being bestowed with immense authority and a sacred duty. This authority was not to be taken lightly, and the sword would be returned to the temple immediately upon the owner’s death or if their worthiness was questioned.

The possessor of this sword had to act accordingly. To act in a righteous and just manner, befitting the owner of the Jade Buddha Divine Sword.

But how had he acted at Mount Hua?

In that inferno, where the Fire Dragon rampaged and a storm of flames danced in a frenzy, scattering black ash, he had been, in a word, pathetic.

He had been a powerless bystander, unable to break free from his endless helplessness, unable to even dream of changing the situation. There was no greater display of incompetence and weakness.

His encounter at Mount Hua was a turning point, shattering his perception of the world. He realized how small, narrow, and limited his world had been, how insignificant he was, blinded by his own reputation.

In the midst of that chaotic inferno, he had witnessed a realm of true strength, on a completely different level.

His encounter with the Three Saints of Cheonmu was particularly shocking. For the first time in his life, he had felt the fear of death, along with an overwhelming sense of helplessness and loss.

As the saying goes, knowing what you don’t know is also knowledge. Even Confucius had said that he knew what he didn’t know.

As he acknowledged his limitations and ignorance, his slumbering eyes opened. The world changed.

And with it came another kind of pain. Now that his eyes were open, now that his perspective had shifted, it was impossible to return to his former state of blissful ignorance. Having lost the comfort of oblivion, the only path left for him was forward. But there were still countless obstacles ahead. Even if he had attained enlightenment, even if he had realized something, it wasn’t true mastery unless he could embody it in his actions. It wasn’t true enlightenment. Throughout history, countless individuals had failed to live up to their ideals, despairing and suffering from the discrepancy between their aspirations and reality, ultimately meeting their demise.

He needed a concrete plan of action, the patience and willpower to carry it out. Otherwise, he risked being swallowed by the vast abyss that separated reality from ideals.

As he meditated on the principle of “the unity of essence and function,” night passed, the moon disappearing beyond the dawn, but the answer still eluded him.

It was the third day.

Another sleepless night was passing.

“Sigh… staying cooped up in my room won’t solve anything. Perhaps I should go for a walk.”

It had been three days since he last breathed fresh air.

He needed a change of scenery.

By the time he left his room, the sun was already high in the sky.

The sun, after three days of darkness, was blindingly bright. Yong Cheon-Myeong unconsciously frowned. The stinging sensation in his eyes felt like nature’s rebuke for his foolish neglect.

“I’m out, but where should I go?”

A bitter smile formed on his lips.

“To think I don’t even know where to go for a simple walk… I’m like a lost soul, wandering aimlessly. What should I do now?”

What should he do? How could he escape this swamp of anxiety? Before the thick, black mud, rising up to his neck, choked him.

“It’s easy to prevent anything from happening. Just stay still. How convenient that would be! Unlike the realm of truth, in the phenomenal world, nothing is created by staying still. If you want to become something, if you want to achieve something, you have to move first.”

He suddenly remembered his master’s words, spoken to him when he was young. It was a small seed that his respected master had planted in the field of his heart. That seed was now sprouting, ready to grow.

“Let’s just walk.”

Yes, his master was right. Even a desperate struggle was better than staying still. He decided to just walk, wherever his feet led him.

Perhaps he was unconsciously hoping for a new encounter, a new connection.

Yong Cheon-Myeong emptied his mind and surrendered to the flow of nature. He was tired and wanted to forget everything. He just wanted to drift along, letting the wind and clouds guide him.

Many people passed by, greeting him. But he was completely oblivious to their presence. So he didn’t respond to their greetings. No, he couldn’t. Their greetings were nonexistent events to him.

It was an unimaginable act for him, who was usually so polite and sociable, but he was doing it now. Some people whispered about his unusual behavior, but their gossip didn’t reach his ears. He kept walking.

The first beings to penetrate his neglected awareness were a couple. They were walking arm in arm, confidently approaching him. He didn’t have a lover, not that it was something to brag about.

They greeted him first.

“Greetings, Brother Yong.”

“Oh my! Greetings, Master Yong.”

He knew them. In fact, they were so famous in Cheonmu Academy that there was probably no one who didn’t know them. They were the Thunderclap Sword Dragon, Namgung-Sang, and the Emei’s Peak, Jin-Ryeong. Some even called them the “strongest couple” in Cheonmu Academy. Few acknowledged Bi Ryu-Yeon and Na Ye-Rin as a couple. They usually averted their eyes and pretended not to see.

But Yong Cheon-Myeong noticed them not because they were a couple flaunting their love and making him envious.

‘Thunderclap Sword Dragon, Namgung-Sang. Third son of the Namgung Family, one of the Nine Dragons, and leader of the Vermilion Bird group.’

Information about his opponent flashed through his mind.

He had definitely become stronger. A spark of light returned to Yong Cheon-Myeong’s clouded eyes. His mind fully acknowledged the presence of Namgung-Sang and Jin-Ryeong. They were always talented individuals, worthy of being chosen as one of the Nine Dragons and Seven Phoenixes. They couldn’t be weak. But they weren’t on his level. Even among the Nine Dragons and Seven Phoenixes, it wasn’t difficult to find someone stronger than them. But at some point, they had changed drastically. And it wasn’t just them. The Vermilion Bird group, which had always been considered the weakest of the four Divine Beast groups, had also changed. It was as if they had shed a layer of skin, or transformed into completely different people. They no longer felt like the sheltered experts (?) they used to be. It was… a feeling he couldn’t quite describe. He couldn’t find the right words because he had never experienced anything similar.

Yes! They had experienced something he hadn’t. He was certain of it now. He realized it now, as he was struggling in the swamp. The indescribable feeling he had been getting from Namgung-Sang, Jin-Ryeong, and the other members of the Vermilion Bird group. It was the feeling of having struggled and emerged from the swamp of trials and tribulations. They now exuded the aura of seasoned veterans who had survived the battlefield. They were no longer delicate flowers in a greenhouse. They were like plum blossoms that had endured the spring breeze, summer storms, autumn frost, and winter blizzards, blooming proudly on the cold winter ground.

‘How did they do it?’

It would have been difficult to experience such hardships within the sheltered walls of Cheonmu Academy… Cheonmu Academy was a “hall of martial arts,” but it was also a greenhouse, cultivating experts in an artificially controlled environment. The walls of the greenhouse were too thick for the trials of wind, rain, and snow to penetrate. That’s why they had all failed to adapt to the sudden real-life combat situation at the Hwasan Convention. The flames that had raged at Mount Hua seemed like a stern warning, a consequence of their neglect of reality’s harshness. And he wasn’t an exception.

He suppressed the urge to ask Namgung-Sang how they had done it. It was a secret that couldn’t be shared lightly, a secret buried deep within their hearts. And his pride, not yet completely extinguished, prevented him from doing so.

So, Yong Cheon-Myeong, suppressing his curiosity, simply nodded and greeted them, and they passed each other. After walking about five steps, Jin-Ryeong turned her head slightly and glanced at Yong Cheon-Myeong’s retreating figure.

“Master Yong seems to have a lot on his mind lately. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him so distracted. It seems like something’s bothering him.”

“No one can help someone fight their own battles.”

Namgung-Sang could roughly understand Yong Cheon-Myeong’s state. He had been through it himself. If he hadn’t experienced it, he wouldn’t have been so certain. It wasn’t something that could be understood through words. It was a realm of experience, a realm of “embodiment,” that could only be understood through personal experience.

“Yes. We’ve been there. All sixteen of us.”

They didn’t want to experience that feeling ever again. But they were still far from reaching that level.

They should be grateful to be alive.

“Someone like Brother Yong, who has always walked the brightest path, has probably never experienced such negative emotions. It must be very difficult for him to escape that swamp.”

There was nothing anyone could do to help someone struggling with their inner demons. They had to do it themselves. Knowing this, the two continued their walk, arm in arm, focusing on their own lives.

They had to enjoy this moment of peace, while their senior brother’s gaze wasn’t on them, while they still could.

Having been caught in the midst of several major incidents, they knew how precious this peace was.

May this peace last…

Yong Cheon-Myeong, passing by Namgung-Sang and Jin-Ryeong, the couple, continued walking, his steps never faltering. He didn’t know how many hours had passed since he started walking, and he didn’t care. The only thing that mattered to him now was walking.

Another wave of people passed by, but perhaps because the shadows of Namgung-Sang and Jin-Ryeong loomed large, they didn’t register in his awareness.

The second person to enter his awareness was a famous junior, the Seven Absolute Divine Swordsman, Mo Yong-Hwi.

The one who stood beside the legend. His position as the grandson of Sword Saint Mo Yong Jeong-Cheon was enough to make even Yong Cheon-Myeong, the next in line to lead the Shaolin Temple, envious at times. Mo Yong-Hwi, a handsome young man known for his swordsmanship prowess, had caused quite a stir when he entered the academy. His skills and background were so impressive that the Nine Stars Society and the Eight Clans Association, already locked in a delicate power struggle, had to hold an emergency meeting to discuss the potential shift in the balance of power. He was a young man who had everything, but he didn’t look happy at all.

‘He’s similar to me!’

Yong Cheon-Myeong instinctively knew it.

He didn’t look well. No, he looked even worse than Yong Cheon-Myeong.

His intuition was accurate. Mo Yong-Hwi, after his shocking encounter with Elder Hyeok, was also trapped in a swamp of anguish, struggling to break free. His background and appearance were of no help. He wasn’t the type to rely on such things anyway.

It seemed to Yong Cheon-Myeong that Mo Yong-Hwi wasn’t even aware of his own existence. His body was here, but his mind was somewhere else.

“Kill… kill… kill… How? How? How?”

Mo Yong-Hwi walked towards him, his eyes vacant, mumbling incomprehensible words.

Yong Cheon-Myeong wanted to talk to him, but this time, his junior wasn’t in any state for a conversation. He had only been struggling for three days, but judging from Mo Yong-Hwi’s haggard appearance, it seemed like he had been at it for at least five days.

‘To think that he, who was always so obsessed with cleanliness, would be so disheveled… Wait, am I like that too? No! That’s impossible!’

Yong Cheon-Myeong shook his head vigorously and passed by without greeting him. It was the only courtesy he could offer to someone suffering in silence.

His brief moment of clarity, triggered by external stimuli, faded, and Yong Cheon-Myeong continued walking, his eyes vacant, ignoring the greetings of countless people. He drifted along, unaware of where his feet were taking him.

The third person Yong Cheon-Myeong encountered was a bald man. A fellow Shaolin disciple. It was Il-Gong, a member of the Vermilion Bird group.

There was one thing in common among the people he had met today. They were all connected to a certain man. Why were they the only ones who entered his world? Was he subconsciously paying attention to them, despite pretending to be indifferent?

‘Or is this also fate?’

“…”

Il-Gong didn’t greet him verbally. He simply bowed, his right hand raised to his chest, his left hand clasped behind his back. Shaolin disciples, unlike those from other Buddhist sects, didn’t perform the hapjang greeting, where both palms are pressed together. Instead, they performed the banjang greeting, where only the right hand is raised to the chest, in honor of the Second Patriarch, Huike, who cut off his own arm in a display of “forgetting the body for the sake of the Dharma” (TLN: naaah man self harm is never good). Yong Cheon-Myeong returned the greeting.

‘He’s as taciturn as they say.’

But he had expected at least a verbal greeting. However, that was it. Il-Gong, as if he didn’t want to waste any more words, passed by him silently and walked away briskly. Yong Cheon-Myeong, bewildered, blinked and stared at the shining bald head disappearing into the distance. For the first time since he left his room, he felt a spark of curiosity. So he decided to follow him.

Cheonmu Academy owned a vast amount of land. And there was even a small mountain behind the academy. There were several caves on the mountain, artificial caves created for students who wanted to train in solitude. But most students preferred the training grounds, where they could swing their swords and practice their martial arts, so the “Wall Gazing Cave” that Il-Gong had visited wasn’t a popular spot. Perhaps the biggest reason was that staring at a wall for days on end, or meditating in the darkness, didn’t feel very “productive.” So the place was deserted today.

Il-Gong entered a cave without hesitation, its entrance swept clean of dust, the color of the rocks beneath standing out in contrast to the surrounding area. It was evidence that he had been visiting frequently. Yong Cheon-Myeong followed him quietly, suppressing his presence. He knew that observing someone else’s training was a taboo. He would never have done this normally. But the fact that they were from the same sect, and that he was a senior, lessened his hesitation. The artificial cave was wider and deeper than he expected.

Il-Gong entered the cave, sat facing a flat wall, and began to meditate.

‘Wall-gazing meditation?’

Wall-gazing meditation, as the name suggested, was a practice of meditating while facing a wall. It was also known as “wall contemplation,” which is where the name of this place came from. It was a meditation technique made famous by Bodhidharma, who is said to have practiced it for nine years. It wasn’t simply about staring at a wall, but about gazing into the boundless Dharma realm through the wall.

Yong Cheon-Myeong had already broken a martial arts taboo by following him here, but it wouldn’t be right to disturb him any further. So he sat down and waited.

As he watched Il-Gong’s back, facing the wall, a strange feeling washed over him, as if he were being drawn into his world. It felt like he was disappearing, merging with the world. He was entering a state of self-forgetfulness.