Chapter 11 - Returning to the Dark Moon
Chapter 11. Who Struck the Wooden Fish?
I awoke to a clamor. The first thing I saw was Hwapyeong’s ugly face, so I promptly closed my eyes again.
“Oh? You’re closing your eyes on me? Hey, Wangcho. Open up. Do I look that ugly to you? Of course not. Women go crazy for a face like this. There’s a reason I do business below the gisaeng house.”
Hwapyeong’s nonsense assaulted my ears first thing in the morning. I kicked off the blanket and sat up.
“You crazy bastard. What’s with all this racket so early? I never said a word about your face. If you’re so confident in it, go get a girlfriend. What’s so great about being a gambling den owner that you have to bring it up? It’s because you were so pathetic…
…that you were killed by the Assembly Leader.” The words almost escaped my throat before I swallowed them back down. I’d nearly spouted nonsense in my half-asleep state.
“My god, you sound just like the old geezers in our Haomun. You’re like a little old man. Why do you talk so much? You always did, but it’s gotten especially bad!”
Thankfully, he seemed to have glossed over my slip of the tongue. But still, why was this guy here with me?
I turned my head and looked around. This was the dugout hut I’d lived in since I was a child. Come to think of it, ever since I’d regressed, I’d been sleeping in all sorts of strange places instead of here.
‘So many strange things have happened since I returned that I haven't had an opportunity to think about it.’
Though I was the one who had caused them.
Now that Hong Cho Sam was dead, an Elder meeting would be held soon. They’d probably elect a new Elder Hwa there. I had no idea who it would be.
I looked at Hwapyeong, who was suddenly sitting on my bed, and asked.
“Anyway, why are you here? As close as we are, this is the Beggars' Sect headquarters. It’s not a place for the likes of a Haomun branch chief to just walk into.”
“The Sect Leader told me to come in. He said he needed to rest. Besides, it’s common knowledge in the martial world that our Sect Leader and yours are close. What’s the big deal?”
“Cut the crap and just get to the point. You’re not the type to do something just because someone tells you to. Why are you here? Don’t tell me you spent all the money I left with you last time?”
Hwapyeong shook his head at my words.
“No, I haven’t touched a single coin. I’m not that kind of shameless bastard. As long as I have enough for my mother’s medicine, I won’t spend a friend’s money. Where else would you find a friend like me?”
Come to think of it, Hwapyeong was an extremely devoted son. This guy, who ran a gambling den and ruined countless lives, was a filial son? Heaven would laugh, the earth would laugh, and even the dead Hong Cho Sam would laugh from hell.
Feeling more nonsense coming on, I slapped my own cheek hard and opened my mouth.
“Then it’s fine. It’s a bit strange for a beggar to be carrying money, so you keep holding onto it for me. So, why are you here?”
“Ah, right. Um… want to go get a meal at a temple?”
I slapped Hwapyeong across the cheek for his nonsense. Go to a sacred temple to eat? My Daoist blood would not allow it.
‘If Old Master saw me, he would have handed me a copy of the Classic of the Way and Virtue and asked me to be his disciple.’
Then I would become one of the Hundred Schools of Thought.
But then I remembered, temples were Buddhist. I mentally spat at Sage of the Shakya Clan several times.
Ptui, you damn bastard. Why did you tell monks not to eat meat? You are the scourge of the world. Because of your tyranny, all those shiny-headed baldies don’t know the taste of meat.*
Then again, Sage of the Shakya Clan never actually forbade eating meat. Enough nonsense. I touched my own reddened cheek and asked Hwapyeong, who was looking at me with a sense of injustice.
“Ah, sorry. I told you to just get to the point. What’s this all of a sudden about a temple?”
Hwapyeong took a human-skin mask from his robes and fiddled with it as he spoke.
“Where else would a martial artist like us go? It has to be the Shaolin Temple. My mother’s health has gotten worse. I might not be able to get a Great Rejuvenation Pill, but I won’t feel right until I throw some money at those bald monks and get a Small Rejuvenation Pill.”
I studied his face for a moment. He didn’t seem to be lying. So all of it—the rigged gambling, the obsessive pursuit of money—it was all for his mother.
What a crazy filial son…
I swallowed the thought and looked at the human-skin mask in Hwapyeong’s hand.
“Why are you fiddling with that? Do you really need to wear a mask? Masters of a certain level can tell you’re wearing one anyway.”
“It’s the Shaolin Temple, the holy land of the Orthodox Faction. I can’t just walk in there with my head held high. Look at the scars on this face. Who would think I’m from the Orthodox Faction?”
I sighed and was about to launch into a lecture when I suddenly realized I was sounding too much like an old geezer and stopped myself. Besides, I had business in Shaolin anyway, so I intended to go with him.
Two was clearly better than one.
Hwapyeong, who had been stroking the mask before putting it back in his robes, smiled and said.
“Let’s go. If I go alone, it’ll be hard to meet someone high-ranking enough to give me a Small Rejuvenation Pill. This is when I need to cash in a favor from my friend, the acting Sect Leader. Anyway, the Beggars' Sect can travel anywhere without the Sect Leader’s permission, right?”
I nodded and left the hut.
And so, the gambling den owner and I set off for Mount Song in Henan.
Even if Shaolin was the closest of the Nine Sects One Union to the Beggars' Sect, that was only in comparison to the other sects. With Hwapyeong’s Lightness Skills, it would probably take a full month.
But there was no particular rush to get to Shaolin. I was worried about Hwapyeong’s mother, but he said the beggars were checking in on her three times a day.
In any case, I decided to fix Hwapyeong’s martial arts a little at a time during our journey.
While executing his qinggong, Hwapyeong suddenly stopped and thrust out his hand. The Warm Flower Buddha Shadow Hand of the Haomun.
Black hand-shadows shot out playfully in every direction. A supreme art where it was difficult to distinguish feints from real attacks.
After throwing several punches, Hwapyeong grinned at me and asked.
“How was that? Nothing to fix, right? I’ve had a mean punch since I was a kid. At this rate, maybe I’ll take the Shaolin Temple Leader’s head on the way back?”
I tilted my head at his words and replied.
“How can you be this trash? Are you doing it purposely? The pebbles scattered on the roadside could do better. How did you even become a branch chief? Did you win that in a gamble too? No, how could you possibly interpret it like that, Hwapyeong?”
Crestfallen, he kicked a pebble on the road and said.
“But I won, didn’t I? I’m better than a pebble.”
“Sure you are.”
I drew the sword from my waist and tossed it to Hwapyeong. Understanding my intent, he nodded and swung the sword.
Under the hot sun, Hwapyeong swung the sword as if he were dancing. It was all flash, with no substance.
“You damn Jianghu-obsessed bastard.”
Hearing the tremor of rage in my voice, Hwapyeong stopped his sword dance, panting.
“What, why? I did well. What’s the problem?”
I snatched the sword from Hwapyeong’s grasp and immediately swung it down once.
Hwapyeong frowned and asked.
“What? That’s just a downward slash. What’s different from what I did, you damn beggar?”
I perfectly mimicked Hwapyeong’s posture and swung down, then swung down again with my own posture.
Had I finally reformed this beast?
The guy nodded as if he understood.
“Ah! I get it. You’re messing with me, right? Wangcho, those kinds of tricks don’t work on me. I’ve been through thick and thin, and even a baptism by shit-water. That son of a bitch… ambushing me in the latrine? The dignity of the martial world has fallen into the latrine’s shit-water.”…
I sheathed my sword again and continued. For a moment, I’d almost slit his throat.
“Look, your downward slash has terrible balance, for starters. I told you, even if you’re using a worthless sword art, you have to do it with the intent to cut down the heavens! Don’t you know what intent is? Is it that difficult?”
“Alright, alright. Intent… Ooh, it sounds a bit like chasing clouds, but if that’s what our Hugae wants, I’ll have to learn it again. Starting with the Three Talents Sword Style of the streets.”
Why did I even want to teach this guy? My heart was as fickle as a reed in the wind; I could lose interest at any moment. Still, I supposed I should keep teaching him whenever I had the time.
I watched Hwapyeong practice the Three Talents Sword Style, counting, “One, two,” and said.
“Let’s get going for now. I’m hungry. We should go get something to eat.”
“What about drinks? You know I don’t eat without alcohol.”
“Same here. How about some Wine of Du Kang? You’re paying, of course. Where would a beggar get money?”
“You cheap bastard.”
And so, the two drunkards continued their journey toward Mount Song.
It is said, ‘All martial arts under heaven originated from Shaolin.’ With the Shaolin Temple’s thousand-year history, the thought that it might be true crossed my mind.
“Wow. This mountain is freaking huge. If Mount Song is this big, how high are Mount Tai or Mount Hua?”
…In truth, Mount Tai isn’t that high of a mountain.
At the awestruck mumble from Hwapyeong, who had at some point put on the human-skin mask to look like a middle-aged man, I turned my head to gaze at the magnificent landscape of Mount Song.
The five mountains that symbolized the vast Central Plains. Of the Five Great Mountains, the Central Peak, Mount Song. Looking at it in this moment, my feelings couldn’t help but be complex.
Because Mount Song was the very place I had died. At the time, it had been so devastated by my final battle with Baek Cheon that no one would have recognized it as Mount Song.
The bitter thought was slightly irritating. I began to climb Mount Song with Hwapyeong.
We walked, and walked, and by the time we arrived at the Shaolin Temple, it was already night. The sect that led the Nine Sects One Union. It was also a lively place where bald monks chanted sutras and struck wooden fish.
“For what business have you come to our temple?”
It was a question from the middle-aged monk guarding the gates of the Shaolin Temple.
‘His physique is incredibly solid. Has he mastered the Muscle-Tendon Change Scripture? His stance is remarkably stable. Is he a first-generation disciple?’
A first-generation disciple was a core part of the Nine Sects One Union's fighting force. Normally, he'd be busy beating the monstrous beasts that harmed pilgrims with his wooden fish. We hadn't mentioned it, but we'd also encountered a few of those monstrous beasts on our way up Mount Song.
Of course, we beat them all and drove them away.
It seemed this dignified monk was tasked with guarding the mountain gate. Besides him, several others were on alert nearby; they appeared to be second-generation disciples.
I stared at the monk for a moment before bringing one hand up in a prayer gesture, not two. The half-palm gesture is unique to Shaolin.
“I am Wangcho, the Drunken Sword, here in my capacity as the acting leader of the Beggars' Sect. I have come to see the Shaolin Temple Abbot.”
As I spoke, I subtly revealed the eight knots at my waist. They signified my status as a Hugae of the Beggars' Sect.
Seeing my waist, the bald monk's mouth fell slightly open in surprise. He was silent for a moment before speaking.
“…The Shaolin Temple Abbot is currently re-educating the beasts of the Unorthodox Faction, even at this late hour. Would the Acting Sect Leader like to join them, or would you prefer to wait?”
“I'll join them.”
The middle-aged monk smiled warmly and said, “This way, please.”
Hwapyeong and I followed him past numerous pavilions. As we passed by the Pagoda Forest, a point of pride for Shaolin, I looked for any differences from my past life, and before I knew it, we had arrived at a place called th Main Buddha Hall.
Normally, meeting the leader of one of the Nine Sects One Union was as difficult as plucking a star from the sky, but it seemed my own position as the acting leader of a major sect had granted me easy access.
“Please, enter.”
The bald monk gestured toward the Main Buddha Hall. It seemed he would not be entering himself. Hwapyeong and I cautiously stepped into the hall.
In the center, a one-eyed old monk with a long beard was muttering. Lined up on either side of him, kneeling in rows, were martial artists with fierce expressions.
The peculiar thing was that, except for the old monk, everyone was dressed in monk's robes, wore cuffs that suppressed their internal energy, and held a wooden fish.
Hwapyeong shut the doors to the Main Buddha Hall with a *thud*. Startled by the sound, one of the martial artists dropped his wooden fish. The clear sound of the instrument echoed through the hall.
The old monk, the leader of Shaolin Temple, who had been preaching like a condescending old man with a benevolent face, shot his eyes open.
“Who… Who made that wooden fish sound?”
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