Chapter 28: Enlightenment

“Excuse me. I tend not to listen to bald-headed talk.”

“……”

The monk gave a bitter smile as he watched Cheongun commit murder with such ease.

The boy before him was one who walked the path of Tao.

The pure energy emanating from his internal force made it obvious.

After all, the Taoist and Buddhist sects ultimately shared the same roots— a fact evident just by looking into his eyes, the so-called “windows of the soul.”

Yet, his hands were so ruthless.

He had taken a life without the slightest hesitation.

“Did you truly have to stain your hands with blood?”

“Obviously.”

“Young hero, anger fixated solely on retribution is detrimental to cultivation.”

It was sincere advice.

But to Cheongun, it was nothing but nonsense.

The martial world had an unspoken rule that warriors tacitly followed:

Never kill recklessly in front of a disciple of Shaolin.

Not out of respect for Shaolin, but to avoid the bald-headed monks who would cling to you, preaching about enlightenment the moment you took a life.

Shaving their heads and sticking to a vegetarian diet— clearly, they were missing a few screws.

Armed with all sorts of absurd logic and formidable martial skills, they were best avoided.

But Cheongun had no intention of avoiding them.

Monks who preached non-violence in a martial world drenched in blood were all out of their minds.

This was a world inside a game.

Cheongun had poured a staggering 20,000 hours into it.

Among all that playtime, had he never started as a Shaolin disciple?

He had already become the Shaolin sect leader, conquered the martial world, and even ascended to immortality.

He had spread the taboo of meat-eating among them.

He had also propagated a new doctrine of enlightenment:

“Evil must be eradicated to be reformed.”

That was why Cheongun loved starting as Shaolin.

Nothing was more satisfying than breaking the stubborn minds of these bald-headed monks.

Cheongun pressed his palms together perfectly and asked:

“Then, what does the Avatamsaka Sutra mean by ‘One is all, all is one’?”

At the question, the monk’s expression brightened.

Interest in Buddhist teachings was always welcome.

“It means that one is the whole, and the whole is one…”

“Then one evil person is the evil of the world, and eliminating that evil is an act of good for the whole, no?”

“Wha—? No, that’s not the intended…”

Before the monk could finish, Cheongun struck first.

“The Diamond Sutra also says, ‘Let your mind arise without dwelling on anything.’ I simply swung my sword as my heart desired— isn’t that the very state of ‘no-thought, no-mind’?”

“What…?”

The monk was genuinely baffled.

He had never in his life seen someone interpret scripture like this.

“The Dhammapada says, ‘Do not repay evil with evil.’ But I repaid it with good. I showed mercy by severing this trash villain’s evil karma now so he wouldn’t suffer in his next life.”

“How can you spout such nonsense, young hero?!”

“Nonsense? It’s Upaya-Paramita—’skillful means.’ The ways to save sentient beings are manifold, aren’t they? Surely you’re not doubting the scriptures now?”

“No, but interpreting it like that—!”

The monk was speechless.

Yet, not a single word was technically wrong, leaving him at a loss.

“In the Vimalakirti Sutra, Vimalakirti said, ‘Afflictions are Bodhi’—that suffering itself is enlightenment. So the killing intent I harbor now is also part of enlightenment, no?”

“That— that’s entirely different—!”

“Don’t overthink it. The Diamond Sutra says, ‘All phenomena are illusory.’ So this villain’s life is an illusion, and my killing is an illusion— meaning nothing actually happened.”

“……”

The monk’s face grew paler by the second.

He would have preferred Cheongun to draw his sword and fight.

But this relentless twisting of scripture left his mind blank.

Meanwhile, Cheongun was satisfied.

Every word he spouted was nonsense, yet the monk couldn’t refute it properly— proof that his learning was still lacking.

The night breeze is cool.

The moonlight of the deep night settles quietly, dyeing the darkness.

Cheongun raised his head and gazed at the sky.

Then, he pressed his palms together in prayer.

“Namu Amita Bul.” (Homage to Amitabha Buddha.)

“……”

“……”

****

When a person is extremely shocked, they can freeze up.

The monk was no exception.

He was a proud martial artist of Shaolin.

Like all Shaolin disciples, he had chosen to wander the world to spread the teachings of Buddha, and thus, he had taken his first steps into the martial world.

With a heart full of ambition, he was walking along a mountain path when he suddenly sensed an intense surge of qi.

Following its traces, he arrived at this place.

There, he found a young boy.

A boy with striking features, but the energy he emitted was so deep and pure —clearly, he had trained in Taoist internal energy techniques.

Yet, his hands were stained with blood, and beside him lay a fallen man.

And so, the monk tried to stop him.

No matter how wicked the opponent might have been, allowing such a young boy to already be steeped in the sin of killing was something a follower of the righteous path could not ignore.

But instead of gratitude, he was met with curses.

Not only that, the boy even quoted scriptures, using the Buddha’s own words to refute him— and the monk couldn’t even counter properly!

If he backed down now, it would be a disgrace to Shaolin!

He had to recover his honor!

‘…He’s probably thinking the same thing.’

Cheongun clicked his tongue and quickened his pace.

Everything would’ve been fine if not for this bald monk stubbornly following him around.

Cheongun abruptly turned his head.

“What’s your name?”

“Are you asking for this humble monk’s name?”

Cheongun nodded.

“This monk is named Bang Jongdae.”

The moment he heard that, Cheongun smacked his own forehead.

It was an unmistakable name.

The successor of Shaolin’s abbot— in other words, the direct disciple of the sect leader!

Practically the future of Shaolin itself.

‘I had no idea.’

It had never crossed his mind.

If someone asked how he could have played for 20,000 hours and still not known, he’d have plenty to say.

First of all, every Shaolin disciple wore identical robes and shaved their heads completely, making it nearly impossible to tell them apart by appearance.

If this were real life, he might’ve managed, but through a digital screen, they all looked the same.

Cheongun lengthened his stride, walking ahead briskly.

Matching his pace, the bald monk inexplicably sped up as well.

Cheongun stopped dead in his tracks.

“Why are you following me?”

“Namo Amitabha. Since the young hero has granted me enlightenment, I wish to learn more.”

In short:

He had given the monk a revelation, and letting it pass would go against Shaolin’s teachings— so the monk intended to stick around and be a nuisance.

Still, if all he did was follow quietly like this, it could’ve been worse.

The Shaolin monks have a habit of trying to preach Buddha’s teachings to complete strangers under the pretext of spreading the word during their wandering periods.

Cheongun clicked his tongue in annoyance.

Then he strode forward and muttered,

“Ah, how bothersome.”

“……”

“Why do I feel so uneasy? It’s like someone keeps glaring at me, and the back of my neck is tingling.”

“……”

“It’s as if a heavy weight is clinging to my shoulders, draining my energy, and I’m breaking out in cold sweat like I’m trapped in a nightmare.”

Bang Jongdae didn’t respond.

He simply shamelessly followed behind Cheongun.

Cheongun sighed and headed back to Chengdu.

After quite a long journey through the mountains, his stomach was empty, so he first looked for a Chinese restaurant.

Fulai Lou (Fortune Comes Pavilion).

Just passing by, the aroma of garlic stir-fried in oil and the savory scent of freshly steamed dumplings teased his nostrils.

Without hesitation, Cheongun pushed the door open and entered.

Inside, the place was bustling with customers.

Most of them seemed to be travelers stopping by to satisfy their hunger.

Cheongun took a seat.

Bang Jongdae looked around curiously before cautiously sitting across from him.

“Welcome! What would you like to order?”

A waiter suddenly appeared and asked Cheongun.

In the martial world, monks are poor.

Think about it— how often do you see wandering monks in wuxia stories feasting lavishly at inns?

It’s unavoidable.

Back then, monks had rice but no money.

Of course, monks staying in temples were better off since devotees would donate money or supplies to accumulate merit. But for lone wanderers like this guy, it was a different story.

When monks call themselves “poor monks”, it’s no lie.

They really are poor and destitute, hence the term.

Gulp.

Bang Jongdae swallowed hard.

Cheongun was perceptive.

He could tell at a glance that Bang Jongdae had gone without food for quite a while.

“Dongpo pork, braised pork, small steamed buns, mutton soup, and roasted duck. One plate of each.”

“Right away, sir!”

The waiter hurried off to the kitchen.

Cheongun turned his head slightly.

Bang Jongdae looked like he was on the verge of death.

“How many days has it been since you last ate?”

“…About five days.”

Damn, that’s a long time.

It was a miracle he was still standing.

“Eat with me. I ordered plenty.”

“…Um, young hero. I don’t eat meat.”

Cheongun knew.

Their basic precept is non-killing.

It’s not like they’d prefer meat anyway.

Of course, Cheongun couldn’t understand it.

How could anyone not appreciate the greatness of meat?

Is this not food but a crime or something?

“Enjoy your meal!”

Before long, the dishes he ordered were laid out on the table.

The freshly cooked food steamed enticingly.

The glistening, crispy skin dripped with rich juices, and between the slightly charred, crunchy layers, tender meat peeked through.

And that savory broth pooling at the bottom of the plate!

I couldn’t hold back any longer and brought my face close— the rich aroma of meat instantly hit me.

Cheongun tore off a piece of roasted duck with his hands and took a big bite.

The meat was so tender that the moment his tongue touched it, it gave way effortlessly, as if melting in his mouth.

The texture was beyond description— it was the epitome of tenderness, practically dissolving the moment it touched his tongue.

With every chew, the savory oil filled his mouth, and the spicy seasoning coating the outside exploded on his taste buds like fireworks.

Gulp.

Bang Jongdae felt the limits of his patience being tested.

“Aren’t you going to eat?”

“……”

Cheongun clicked his tongue.

“Just eat it. ‘Thou shalt not kill’— that’s meaningless, you know?”

“……”

Bang Jongdae tightly shut his eyes.

It was an attempt to block out the sight.

But the side effect was that his other senses became even sharper.

The clinking of utensils.

The smack-smack of chewing meat.

The rich aroma of meat wafting under his nose.

“……”

His head spun.

His mind went blank.

All kinds of worldly desires flooded his thoughts.

Saliva pooled in his mouth, threatening to overflow.

Then, Cheongun’s words passed by like the teachings of the Buddha.

“Ju-yuk-cheon-jang-gwa, bul-jo-sim-jung-nyu.”

“……”

“Wine and meat pass through the intestines, but the Buddha remains in the heart.”

“……”

At those words, Bang Jongdae opened his eyes.

Cheongun smiled with unexpected benevolence.

It was as if a halo had lit up behind him.

As if fully understanding his struggle, Cheongun slowly slid the plate toward him.

Bang Jongdae’s throat tightened.

For a long while, he stared at the plate of food in a battle of wills.

And then—

“Hup!”

He picked up a glistening piece of Dongpo pork with his fingers and shoved it into his mouth.

“……Ah.”

Drip, drip.

Hot tears streamed down.

Watching this, Cheongun murmured with a wistful expression.

“…It was summer.”

“……”