Chapter v17c18

Although renowned as a martial arts sect, the Shaolin Temple was, in essence, a school of Zen Buddhism.

If one were to ask, “What is Zen?”, countless answers would emerge, but one thing was certain: it wasn’t about fistfights. However, ironically, the current Shaolin Temple was more famous for its martial arts than its Zen teachings, leading many to perceive it solely as a martial arts sect. As the temple became increasingly populated by those seeking to master martial arts, its spiritual legacy was gradually fading.

And a considerable amount of time passed.

“…Master… Senior… Senior Yong…”

Yong Cheon-Myeong’s eyes snapped open at the sound of someone calling his name from afar. An unfamiliar scene greeted him with a sinister smile.

“Where am I…?”

He quickly came to his senses and looked at the person who had woken him up. He saw the taciturn face of Il-Gong.

“Gasp!”

He had fallen asleep while meditating. Zen meditation had always been the best sleeping pill, even in the past. It had cured his insomnia, which had plagued him for three days and nights.

‘How much time has passed? How long have I been asleep? Oh no!’

Realizing his situation, Yong Cheon-Myeong jumped to his feet. He had secretly followed Il-Gong to his training spot and then shamelessly fallen asleep… Unthinkable things were happening far too frequently today.

“Uh… I… um…”

Compelled to say something, Yong Cheon-Myeong desperately tried to form words. But he was at a loss for what to say. What excuse could he possibly offer? He was speechless.

It was Il-Gong who rescued him from his predicament.

“You’ve waited for a long time. You waited for my meditation to end, didn’t you? Thank you. Amitabha!”

“No… well… it’s nothing to thank me for…”

He felt embarrassed to decline.

“It’s been a while.”

“Yes, it has.”

They knew each other as fellow Shaolin disciples.

“What did you see?”

“I saw myself.”

It seemed he hadn’t just been staring blankly at the wall.

“Yourself?”

“Yes, I saw my weak self.”

“You meditated facing the wall to reflect on yourself?”

“No. Seeing myself was just a part of the process.”

“A part? Then what did you meditate for?”

Il-Gong asked back, his face puzzled.

“Isn’t it obvious?”

“Obvious?”

They were both confused. One of them had to change the direction of the conversation to prevent it from going in circles.

The expected answers, “To become stronger, of course,” or “To attain greater martial arts skills,” didn’t come.

“I just wanted to understand Patriarch Bodhidharma better.”

“Patriarch Bodhidharma?”

“Yes.”

“What do you mean by understanding him better?”

“The great Patriarch Bodhidharma left behind many martial arts techniques and teachings. But even after centuries of research, his teachings haven’t been fully grasped. Even his ‘Muscle/Tendon Changing Classic’ and ‘Washing Marrow Sutra’ have various interpretations, don’t they? Many of the martial arts he left behind are practically lost.”

“But most of his writings have been passed down intact. They’re carefully preserved in the deepest part of the Sutra Depository.”

Il-Gong shook his head.

“Those are just fragments of his teachings, mere words and diagrams on paper. Martial arts that haven’t been manifested in the present world are just theories. What’s the difference between that and a lost technique?”

They were the same in that they couldn’t be experienced, directly or indirectly.

“What does that have to do with facing the wall?”

“I was practicing Zen meditation.”

Zen meditation was the act of sitting, closing one’s eyes, and looking inward. It was a common and basic practice for any Zen Buddhist disciple. Of course, the same method didn’t always lead to the same results.

“Weren’t you training in martial arts?”

Il-Gong shook his head again.

“No. I was studying myself. The martial world is so deeply rooted in martial arts that his martial arts achievements are often emphasized, but he was actually the founder of Zen Buddhism in the Central Plains. As a mere mortal seeking to understand his teachings, how can I ignore the core of his teachings? The Shaolin Temple isn’t just a gathering of brawlers who swing their fists and feet, claiming to practice martial arts, smashing rocks, painting their bodies with copper, and breaking stones with their foreheads. I believe the essence of Shaolin lies in ‘Zen.'”

“You, known for your silence, are quite eloquent when you speak. Is that why you choose to remain silent?”

“I just want to meet Patriarch Bodhidharma.”

Was it a vow of silence?

“And what do you plan to do when you meet Patriarch Bodhidharma?”

Yong Cheon-Myeong asked, his curiosity piqued.

“Kill him! Amitabha!”

Il-Gong answered in a firm voice.

“Kill… what… what?! Cough! Cough! Cough!”

Yong Cheon-Myeong’s eyes widened at his unexpected answer. He started coughing uncontrollably, as if he had choked on something. He patted his chest, but it didn’t subside, so he pressed a few pressure points to finally calm himself down.

“That’s a dangerous thing to say. Are you in your right mind? That’s not something a Shaolin disciple should say. I could summon you to the Disciplinary Hall for that single statement, you know?”

“Of course I know. As long as Senior holds that sword, you can do that at any time.”

“And yet you speak of such a heinous act so boldly?”

Yong Cheon-Myeong rebuked him. Il-Gong replied,

“Someone once told me, ‘If you meet a god, kill the god. If you meet a Buddha, kill the Buddha.'”

“Uh… ahem! That’s a rather… radical statement.”

As a devout Buddhist, he couldn’t help but feel repulsed.

“And they also said this.”

What else? Yong Cheon-Myeong remained silent, not wanting to hear anything more.

“…”

But it seemed Il-Gong didn’t understand his intentions.

“Hey, you stupid monk! You need a raft to cross a river. But do you still need a raft after you’ve crossed the river? Do you need to drag it around after you’ve reached the other side? I don’t believe the Buddha ever said, ‘Worship me, you fools!’ Of course, idolizing the Buddha is a great business strategy. It’s profitable and easy to understand. I admire that. I wish I had thought of it first! Just believe and you’ll be saved. Just pay a lot of money and you’ll be saved. How convenient is that? It’s much easier to understand than ‘Become Buddhas yourselves,’ which is a bit difficult to grasp. Well, I apologize to the Buddha, who even demonstrated how to become a Buddha, but that wouldn’t sell well. Oh, absolutely. That’s all I’m saying.”

“Such blasphemy!”

Yong Cheon-Myeong looked outraged, as if he had finally encountered the enemy of Buddhism.

“Yes, I thought so too at first. But after thinking about it carefully, it made sense to some extent. Even the gods and Buddhas we encounter during our practice are obstacles to becoming gods and Buddhas ourselves. Perhaps, as that person said, the Buddha was great because he was human, not a god.”

“Did he say that?”

“Yes, he said that we should respect the Buddha not because he was a god, but because he was a human who showed us that we could become gods with our human bodies. He said that the Buddha’s true achievement was expanding the horizon of human potential to the realm of gods. He also said that Confucius, Lao Tzu, and Zhuangzi were pioneers worthy of respect and emulation in that regard. He even mentioned that a similar figure appeared in the West thousands of years ago. He said it was a place far beyond Tianzhu, across the Silk Road and the Gobi Desert.”

Yong Cheon-Myeong was confused. These were all unfamiliar perspectives, concepts he couldn’t grasp.

“The tower of truth built by Patriarch Bodhidharma is as solid as diamond. Are you challenging the thousand-year-old authority of Shaolin?”

All he could do was express his anger in a threatening tone.

“Do you know how diamonds are cut?”

Yong Cheon-Myeong shook his head at Il-Gong’s question. Diamond. The king of gems, a symbol of absolute and unchanging truth. Its purity and strength were unmatched, resistant to any steel. Therefore, it was considered a representation of truth.

But how was such a diamond cut and polished to suit people’s tastes? It was clear that the finished product wasn’t the raw stone.

Did they use diamond to cut diamond? Gems weren’t his expertise or interest.

“I don’t know.”

Il-Gong smiled softly and said,

“It’s mud.”

“Mud?”

Yong Cheon-Myeong’s eyes widened.

“Why, don’t you believe it?”

Was he joking? Mud was everywhere. It was the softest of all soils.

“To control the hardest earth with the softest earth? How wondrous is the world of nature!”

Il-Gong said with a gentle smile.

“Is it ‘soft overcomes hard’?”

Il-Gong nodded.

“Even diamond, the hardest substance known to man, is cut by the softest mud.”

Yong Cheon-Myeong said in a trembling voice,

“Are you saying you’d rather be the mud that polishes the diamond than the diamond itself?”

Il-Gong simply smiled in response.

“I think I’ve spoken too much today. Although I’m not a practitioner of silent meditation, too many words can corrupt the truth. I’ll be going now. Amitabha.”

“Amitabha!”

Yong Cheon-Myeong also pressed his palms together and chanted the Buddhist invocation. His gesture was deeply reverent. He saw Il-Gong in a new light.

How had he reached such a level of understanding, despite being the same age as him? He was confident that he was superior in martial arts skills. But he seemed far behind in terms of spiritual cultivation.

Yong Cheon-Myeong felt the world he had known and clung to crumble around him. A shiver ran through his body. He felt his strength draining away.

‘What have I been doing all this time?’

Perhaps he had been searching in the wrong place.

He had missed the most important thing. As the scales fell from his eyes, he was enlightened.

It was a new beginning. He was standing at a new starting line.

He stumbled back to his room.

Yong Cheon-Myeong had never experienced failure before. His path had always been illuminated by a brilliant light, and no hardship could faze him.

At the age of five, he entered the Shaolin Temple, led by the hand of Grandmaster Gong-Sim (Empty Heart), one of the two Grand Elders. He became a formal disciple. But he didn’t convert to Buddhism. Grandmaster Gong-Sim didn’t shave his head, saying it wasn’t time yet. It was out of consideration, allowing him to decide for himself when he was old enough to make his own choices.

Grandmaster Gong-Sim’s seniority was actually higher than that of Abbot Hye-Jeong, the head of the Shaolin Temple. Except for Grandmaster Gong-Heo, his peer, there was no one higher than him in the temple. And Grandmaster Gong-Sim was a living repository of Shaolin martial arts, the most knowledgeable person in the temple. The essence of Shaolin martial arts was profound, but Yong Cheon-Myeong, intelligent and diligent, absorbed the temple’s secret techniques like a dry sponge absorbing water. The boy loved to see his master’s smiling face. Whenever he mastered a technique faster than expected, his master would smile kindly, his eyes filled with joy. He worked even harder to see that smile. Even the most profound and difficult Shaolin techniques couldn’t stump him. He later learned that his progress was unmatched, and by the time he was fifteen, none of his fellow disciples, even those ten years older than him, could match him. He became the youngest person in Shaolin history to pass the Shaolin Eighteen Arhat Trials, and a year later, he achieved another feat, becoming the youngest to pass the Shaolin Four Diamond Guardians Trials, a level above the Arhat Trials.

When it was proven that even the Shaolin Eighteen Arhats, the elite of the temple, were no match for him, the Shaolin Temple was once again in awe. They praised him endlessly, chanting Buddhist invocations, declaring that a genius who had mastered the essence of martial arts had emerged. Hymns of gratitude echoed throughout the temple.

Now, the only ones who could possibly challenge him were the Four Diamond Guardians, the abbot, his master, and his grand-uncle. Impressed by his talent, the temple granted him permission to consume the “Great Returning Pill,” one of the Four Great Treasures of Shaolin. They intended to use Yong Cheon-Myeong to restore the declining prestige of the Shaolin Temple. Some might wonder if a Zen Buddhist should be concerned with worldly reputation and fame, but no one dared to voice such thoughts. If they did, they would have to be constantly vigilant, checking for bald heads within a hundred paces. They might be sniped by the Hundred Steps Divine Fist.

Anyway, Shaolin’s plan worked. Yong Cheon-Myeong quickly became the brightest star among the talented youths gathered at Cheonmu Academy. People called him the Azure Sky Dragon, placing him at the top of the Nine Dragons. Talented individuals from the Nine Sects gathered around him, and he seized the opportunity, establishing the “Nine Stars Society,” a gathering of the Nine Sects’ elites, living up to the temple’s expectations. He had a bit of a rivalry with the “Eight Clans Association,” a gathering of elites from the Eight Great Families and minor sects, but he found their leader, Ma Ha-Ryeong, rather amusing. It wasn’t a problem.

His position was unshakable, built on a solid foundation. His path was always illuminated by the blessings of the Buddha and a brilliant light. Failure was no longer a possibility for him.

But as they say, human relationships are unpredictable. He experienced his first taste of failure at Mount Hua, not Mount Song. Perhaps it was because he had never encountered failure before, but he found it difficult to get back on his feet, even though he kept telling himself it was just one setback.

It hadn’t been this difficult even when he passed the Shaolin Eighteen Arhat Trials at the youngest age ever. It was tough, but he didn’t despair. Back then, he believed he could do it. But now, he honestly wasn’t sure.

Yong Cheon-Myeong’s trembling gaze fell on the sword before him, its green blade shimmering softly.

‘Master…’

When he received this green sword, a symbol of true authority, capable of commanding all the secular branches of the Shaolin Temple, he was filled with dreams of a bright future. But now, that ancient dream had faded, like a gray cloud during the monsoon season.

His self-confidence was crumbling like a sandcastle swept away by the waves.

“I thought I was a solid rock, but I’m just fine sand slipping through my fingers… I’m so pathetic.”

Many in the Shaolin Temple, the most sacred ground in the martial world, had praised him as a genius, a prodigy destined for greatness. He had always been proud to be a Shaolin disciple.

– Act in a manner befitting a Shaolin disciple!

He had broken that promise. He couldn’t forgive himself.

It was only after facing the Three Saints of Cheonmu at the Hwasan Convention that he realized he was a frog in a well, looking at the sky through a narrow opening. Even a frog in a well was supposed to know the vastness of the sky, even if it didn’t know the vastness of the world, but his well had a lid.

He hadn’t imagined he would be so powerless.

And there was also the Demonic Sword, Ik Chu-Myeong. He had fought him, but he hadn’t completely overwhelmed him. He had merely gained the upper hand. Then how strong was his master, the Great Young Master Bi?

The Jade Buddha Divine Sword and the Dharma Buddha Thirteen Swords were swords of non-violence. The wielder of the Jade Buddha Divine Sword had to cultivate the skill to subdue opponents without drawing their sword. But what was the result? He had drawn his sword, and it had tasted blood. And even with such sacrifice, he had gained nothing. He had been a mere spectator.

Yong Cheon-Myeong silently turned towards the wall. He sat in the lotus position, placed his folded hands on his dantian, and closed his eyes. Then he began to delve into his inner self.

What would he see when he reached that place? Would all the martial arts he had learned appear differently? He wouldn’t know until he went there.

That’s what experience was all about.