Episode 202: The Chamber of Repentance

If the monk trapped in the Chamber of Repentance had mastered martial arts, then the old man was undoubtedly a warrior monk from Shaolin.

Hong Geolgae felt relieved that the old man wasn’t a demon, but then realized the situation might be even more serious.

“Sir, didn’t you say before that you starved the monks to death?”

“I did.”

“But why…?”

The old man fell silent, lost in thought. It wasn’t that he couldn’t remember the reason; he seemed to be pondering how to explain it. Or perhaps he was deciding how much to reveal.

Finally, as if reaching a decision, the old man began his tale.

“About thirty years ago, there was a time when the weather was quite unfavorable. It rained heavily until early winter, and the winter itself was as warm as spring.”

From the very first words, Hong Geolgae was puzzled. Beggars usually despise cold winters and welcome warm ones. In that sense, he had been quite content with the past winter, the warmest he had ever experienced.

“Isn’t a warm winter a good thing?” Hong Geolgae asked.

The old man looked surprised. “You’ve never farmed, have you?”

“No,” Hong Geolgae replied. He wasn’t a farmer, and the village where he grew up was far removed from agriculture. After leaving with Tang Mujin, he had even less to do with farming. Few were as disconnected from it as he was.

The old man gazed at the barley growing in a corner of the Chamber of Repentance and continued, “When winter is warm, barley grows too tall. It becomes vulnerable to freezing, and even if it doesn’t freeze, the ears don’t mature properly.”

“I’ve heard that before.”

“And if spring is cool or dry, the problem worsens. The barley dies before it even forms ears. Bad weather in winter and spring makes all farming difficult, but barley crops are completely ruined. That’s exactly what happened thirty years ago.”

People survive winter on the rice harvested in autumn and endure summer and fall on the barley harvested in late spring and early summer. The hardest, hungriest time is just before the barley harvest in spring.

But if the barley crop fails, there’s nothing to eat in spring, summer, or fall. More than half the year is spent in hunger.

Suddenly, Hong Geolgae recalled that it had barely rained this spring. The weather had remained unusually cool for spring.

He followed the old man’s gaze. As spring turned to early summer, the small barley field tended by the old man was withering and yellowing.

The old man continued, “It was a terribly difficult time. A real hell. Every time I went down to the village, I saw people on the brink of death from starvation. People pitied the dead but eyed the bodies, thinking of taking them home after dark. It was the most hellish time of my life.”

“The monks of Shaolin must have been starving too.”

The old man shook his head. “Shaolin was better off. They don’t farm, but they stockpile plenty of old rice and barley. So I suggested we open Shaolin’s food stores.”

Hong Geolgae recalled the old man’s mention of another crime—stealing from Shaolin. Could that be what he considered theft?

With a voice tinged with anger, Hong Geolgae said, “Is that why they imprisoned you here? The monks of Shaolin are selfish…”

But the old man shook his head again. “No, the monks aren’t that heartless. Even if they’re a bit hungry, they believe in sharing and giving, as Buddha taught. Thankfully, they all agreed to my suggestion.”

The old man paused, his wrinkled hands gently touching the yellowed barley ears, which were mostly empty husks.

“We carried the grain down the mountain ourselves. The villagers were too weak and hungry to climb up for food. But then a problem arose.”

“Did the villagers attack the monks?”

“No, they welcomed us. The problem was that their welcome was more than I could handle.”

Hong Geolgae, not understanding what the problem was, wore a puzzled expression.

The old man continued with a distant look in his eyes, “I still remember. As soon as we reached the village, we brought out the largest pots and made porridge. Can you imagine how the people looked at us?”

“They must have been overjoyed.”

“Yes, they were. They looked at us as if we were Maitreya Buddha himself. Even as they received a bowl of thin porridge, they wept with gratitude and showered us with blessings. I loved it. Not the act of sharing and giving, but the way they revered and praised me.”

“Well, who doesn’t like being praised? That’s not a problem.”

“The problem came next.”

The old man let out a deep sigh. “Every time I tried to sleep, the faces of the people appeared vividly. Their voices of praise echoed in my ears. So I suggested we take more food to the lower village, but the head of the kitchen said it was impossible. The monks were already on the brink of hunger. But I couldn’t stop myself.”

“So you stole it?”

“Yes. Every night, I stole a sack or two of grain and carried it down the mountain. I cooked meals and made porridge for the people. It was theft. But even knowing it was theft, the people praised me even more. They said I was a hero for saving them. I was intoxicated by that feeling and went from village to village. Today this village, tomorrow that one.”

Hong Geolgae narrowed his eyes. Even with the noble intention of helping and giving, it was theft. The old man didn’t seem to deny it.

It was a strange story. Help that was desperately needed by everyone. Essential compassion. Yet it was not a noble act, but a sordid one.

The old man resumed his story. “One night, while I was busy running around, a monk starved to death. That’s when I snapped back to reality. I realized what I had done. But it was too late. The rice and barley were all in the villagers’ stomachs, and I couldn’t ask for it back.”

“You mean you starved people to death…”

“Yes. After that, more than ten monks from Shaolin starved to death. If I hadn’t been so caught up in my own vanity, not so many would have died.”

“Is that why you’re imprisoned here?”

“No, no.”

The old man sighed again. “No one imprisoned me. No one knew why I took food to the villagers. They just thought I was a monk showing compassion, as Buddha taught. As a result, after the famine ended, people praised me even more. Not just the villagers, but the monks of Shaolin too.”

“Then why are you here?”

“I chose to come here. I gave up everything and locked myself in the Chamber of Repentance. I intended to refuse all food and starve to death out of guilt for those who died. But I couldn’t even die. I wasn’t as strong as the ancient sages. But there’s something even more terrible. Can you guess what it is?”

Hong Geolgae pondered. What could be left? Farming alone? Surviving to such an old age? None of it seemed like a sin.

“I don’t know.”

“It’s that I still can’t forget the feeling of being praised that day. I still want people to revere and praise me. I want to return to the time when people wept with emotion just hearing my name. I still can’t rid myself of these desires…”

The old man fiddled with a well-dried pill in his hand.

“Your name is Hong Geolgae, right?”

“Yes.”

“Do you know why I only eat three of these pills a day?”

“Out of guilt for those who starved, to atone for your sins, I suppose.”

Even as he said it, Hong Geolgae felt it might not be the right answer. While noble people might endure hunger for such reasons, the old man’s story was too grounded and messy to easily guess.

Sure enough, the old man shook his head. “No, that’s part of it, but there’s a bigger reason.”

”…What is it?”

“So that when I die, I’ll be emaciated.”

Another perplexing answer. Seeing Hong Geolgae’s confusion, the old man explained further.

“If I die looking well-fed, what will people think? But if I die so thin it’s pitiful, people will remember me fondly. They’ll think I was a great person. They’ll call me a living Buddha who saved more people than the monks I let starve… I want to be remembered that way.”

Once again, a shocking revelation.

He had been in the cave for over thirty years, enduring hunger for all that time. Could such a grueling motivation be so sordid?

Hong Geolgae had many questions.

Where did he get the rice and barley he was growing in the Chamber of Repentance? Why was he hoarding so many pills if they weren’t for eating? What was his position in the past?

But above all, one question stood out.

“Why are you telling me all this?”

“You’re the only one I have left by my side.”

“If I were in your shoes, I think I would have kept it to myself.”

The old man pondered for a long moment before replying.

“Because I’m a hypocrite.”

Then he handed a small, round pill to Hong Geolgae.

“Someone needs to know the truth for hypocrisy to exist.”

Hong Geolgae took the pill, rolling it between his fingers just as the old man had done. Yet, he couldn’t quite grasp the old man’s final words.

After the day he brought rice balls and shared stories, Hong Geolgae found himself visiting the old man daily.

Knowing the old man wasn’t a notorious figure, he no longer worried about being discovered and causing trouble.

During his frequent visits, Hong Geolgae naturally began learning martial arts from the old man.

However, he remembered a friend’s tale about someone who got into trouble for secretly learning Shaolin techniques, so he was hesitant to fully commit.

It didn’t take long for the old man to notice Hong Geolgae’s unease.

“What’s bothering you?”

“My friend once said that if you’re caught learning Shaolin techniques without permission, they might cripple you.”

The old man chuckled, dismissing the concern.

“Am I not a teacher myself?”

“But if something happens to you, who will vouch for me?”

“Don’t worry. No one knows these techniques. Even if you perform them in front of the abbot, he wouldn’t recognize them.”

“Really? No one knows them?”

“That’s right. I’ve added my own insights to the Shaolin techniques.”

The old man’s confidence was infectious, and Hong Geolgae decided to take a chance and learn from him.

However, the martial arts the old man taught had two major flaws.

First, they were incredibly difficult to master. Second, despite the difficulty, they were practically useless.

“Well, it’s not easy to improve existing techniques.”

While a single person might create a martial art, it evolves over generations, refined by countless practitioners.

The more established a school, the more powerful its techniques become.

But when one or two people try to overhaul them, it often leads to imbalance and regression.

The old man’s techniques were exactly that—neither fist nor kick, not even footwork or movement. A strange mix with no apparent strengths.

“Still, it’s fascinating in its own way.”

After training, Hong Geolgae would chat with the old man before returning to the guesthouse.

Usually, it would be empty at this hour, but today, both Namgung Myung and Dang Mujin were there.

Hong Geolgae asked Namgung Myung, “What are you doing here?”

Dang Mujin answered for him, “He got into trouble in the village and was sent back to Shaolin!”

Hong Geolgae nodded knowingly, while Namgung Myung looked incredulous.

“Come on, that’s not what happened.”

Hong Geolgae smirked, as if to say, “With you, anything’s possible.”

Namgung Myung explained in a frustrated tone, “It’s not like that. The innkeeper decided to close for a while. I had nowhere else to go, and I couldn’t sleep on the streets, so I came back.”

“Why’d they close?”

“The cost of ingredients went up too much. I told them not to worry about my bill, but they shut down today anyway.”

Namgung Myung continued to grumble, while Hong Geolgae let his words drift past, recalling the withered barley in a corner of the old man’s courtyard.