Episode 203: The Path of Atonement

After Sima Se finished treating the people, the women of the Sima family were led away by the nuns from the Emei Sect, embarking on a long journey.

The guilty would not be granted the comfort of a boat ride to Mount Emei; they would have to endure a grueling trek.

Yet, Tang Mujin and his companions remained at the Shaolin Temple. There was still unfinished business with Hong Geolgae.

None among Tang Mujin’s group knew exactly what was happening in the Chamber of Atonement.

Thus, they all cast similar glances at Hong Geolgae, pondering.

“Not much of a martial artist, they said. But it seems there’s something worth learning after all.”

Their thoughts were alike, a mix of playful hope that he would remain a novice and a sincere wish for him to overcome his insecurities and reach new heights.

Of course, the latter sentiment was never spoken aloud. It was an unspoken rule among young men.

Hong Geolgae, however, paid no mind to their gazes, continuing his daily visits to the Chamber of Atonement.

As time passed, the food situation near Henan Province worsened noticeably.

The barley harvest was a disaster, as expected. Finding a single grain among the chaff was a challenge.

The autumn wheat, planted slightly earlier, fared a bit better, but its yield was less than half of the usual. To make matters worse, there was far less land planted with autumn wheat than barley.

Even a fool could see it now: a long and harsh period of scarcity lay ahead.

Tang Mujin and Hyun Gong, returning from the lower village, discussed the situation.

“Traders aren’t coming anymore. Maybe it’s time for us to leave?”

“Even getting meals at the Shaolin Temple feels awkward now. The monks don’t say anything, but still…”

Initially, traders visiting the area around Mount Song sold grain at double the price. Even then, people grumbled, but within days, prices soared to three, five, even ten times the usual rate.

Eventually, the traders stopped coming altogether.

The village’s atmosphere changed as a result.

Inns and small stalls all closed, and the village women began to ration meals, trying to stretch their dwindling supplies as long as possible.

Even the usually boisterous children seemed listless; the sound of their play was absent from the lower village.

When Hong Geolgae returned from observing the village’s mood to the Chamber of Atonement, he found the old man sorting through spoiled rations.

The rations, though unappetizing, were known for their longevity. They were a staple for those in seclusion because they rarely spoiled.

By increasing the proportion of pine pollen and drying them thoroughly in the sun, the rations became even less palatable but almost imperishable.

Thanks to the old man’s meticulous preparation, there were few spoiled rations to discard.

After watching the old man for a moment, Hong Geolgae relayed everything he had seen and heard in the village.

The old man rolled a ration between his fingers and replied.

”…So it begins. Hard times are indeed coming.”

“Sir, these rations are meant for the villagers, aren’t they?”

“Yes.”

Inside the Chamber of Atonement, the resources available from the vertical cave were limited.

However, the old man had reduced his own consumption to a minimum, dedicating over thirty years to making these rations, amassing a significant supply.

While the rations wouldn’t completely stave off hunger, they could sustain the villagers for a month or two.

That alone could drastically reduce the number of people starving. With luck, perhaps no one would starve at all.

“It’s quite remarkable, even to me.”

“What do you find remarkable?”

“When I first started making these rations, I never imagined I could gather so many. And without asking for help from the Shaolin Temple.”

“Seeing this many rations, the people will be grateful, won’t they?”

“Undoubtedly.”

The old man reminisced with a distant look, the voices of people from his past still echoing in his ears.

The thought of hearing their praises again made his heart race with anticipation.

Hong Geolgae asked, “When will you go down to the village?”

“In three days… No, perhaps the day after tomorrow would be better.”

“Wouldn’t it be better to wait a bit longer? The later you give them out, the more grateful they’ll be.”

The old man pondered briefly before responding.

”…That’s true. But I hope their hunger doesn’t last too long.”

He smiled sheepishly.

Two nights later, under the cover of darkness, the old man and Hong Geolgae set out from the Chamber of Atonement, carrying boxes filled with rations.

The old man looked down at the small cliff beneath the iron door of the chamber. In his youth, he could have leapt down in a single bound, but now his legs lacked the strength to carry the boxes down.

Hong Geolgae glanced at the iron door behind the old man.

“Sir, if I hadn’t come, how would you have opened this door?”

“There’s a way to climb up the wall and sneak out. I’ve done it a few times.”

”…I thought you never left the chamber after secluding yourself.”

“Where do you think I got the rice and barley I grew inside? I snuck out to get them.”

Suddenly, Hong Geolgae realized something suspicious about the wooden boxes he carried. There were no trees in the vertical cave large enough to make such boxes.

The old man chuckled at Hong Geolgae’s expression.

“If you get the chance, you should climb up above the chamber.”

“Above the chamber?”

“Yes. There are many flowers. In spring, wisteria vines drape purple blossoms, and in summer, yellow daylilies bloom in abundance. It’s a sight to behold.”

Hong Geolgae chuckled. It seemed the old man had lived more comfortably than he let on.

Perhaps realizing he had shared too much, the old man stammered a bit, offering an excuse.

“Sometimes, I felt like I was going mad. I couldn’t help it. And it wasn’t often. As I got older, my health declined. I haven’t climbed up in recent years.”

“You don’t have to be so cautious around me, sir.”

The old man widened his eyes at Hong Geolgae, then laughed with the clarity of a child. At least with Hong Geolgae, he didn’t need to be on guard.

“Actually, I climbed up just last spring. Seeing the wisteria bloom makes it feel like spring has truly arrived.”

“Who would blame you? Go up in summer, in autumn too.”

“Yes, I should…”

The old man’s voice lacked strength, as he was reminded of his limited time left.

Sensing this, Hong Geolgae changed the subject.

“By the way, I can carry all the boxes down, can’t I?”

The old man wanted to help others without accepting help himself, to feel the greatest pride.

But that was not realistic. The old man nodded without much hesitation.

“Yes, please.”

Hong Geolgae carefully lowered each of the numerous heavy boxes down the cliff. It was no easy task.

Once they had set down a pile of boxes, the two looked at them with satisfaction, then each picked up a box.

“Let’s go.”

The old man and Hong Geolgae headed towards the gates of the Shaolin Temple.

At the entrance, the deputy head of the Arhat Hall was on duty, and he looked at them with wide eyes.

The old man, apparently acquainted with the deputy, gave him a friendly nod.

The two made their way down Mount Song.

For the young Hong Geolgae, it was no burden, but the old man struggled. With each step, his knees and ankles threatened to give way.

It was hard, but he relished the difficulty.

The more challenging it was, the more virtuous he felt, and the more he believed he would be praised.

After some time, they reached the village and set down the boxes.

It was still hours before dawn, and no one was around.

They returned up the mountain, repeating the process of carrying boxes down to the village.

On his third trip, Hong Geolgae wiped the sweat from his brow and looked at the old man. Something seemed off.

Even in the early morning, it was quite warm. Carrying heavy loads up and down the mountain should have left him drenched in sweat, but the old man was barely sweating.

“Are you alright?”

“I’m fine.”

His voice lacked conviction. Hong Geolgae touched the old man’s forehead, finding it burning hot.

Sweating too much in the heat is dangerous, but not sweating at all is even more so.

“Please rest. I’ll handle the rest.”

“No. This is my task.”

The old man spoke with a dazed expression but a firm voice. Reluctantly, Hong Geolgae accompanied him back up Mount Song, carrying a fourth box down.

If it had been Tang Mujin, he might have forced the old man to stop, but Hong Geolgae couldn’t bring himself to do so. He understood how much the old man had invested in this one night.

With great effort, the old man set down the fourth box at the edge of the village and sat on it, panting as if struggling to hold onto his senses.

“I often wondered how I should end my life,” he said, breathless.

“Please, don’t talk. Just rest,” Hong Geolgae urged him.

Ignoring the plea, the old man continued, “In the hungriest, most desperate moment, I want to lay a mountain of food before the people and close my eyes. That would be the grandest way. Just a little more help, please.”

He tried to stand but nearly collapsed, clearly exhausted.

“We still have dozens more to move…” he murmured, dazed.

Hong Geolgae pondered. Should he move all the boxes alone? Could he finish before dawn?

Impossible.

But then, something unexpected happened. Led by the deputy head of the temple, elderly monks from Shaolin began descending the mountain, each carrying a box.

Not a single young monk accustomed to menial tasks was among them; instead, it was the senior monks, each holding a significant position, even the abbot himself.

“Ah…”

They used their martial arts to swiftly transport the boxes, and soon, a mountain of them stood at the village entrance.

The monks, having fulfilled their duty, raised a hand in a half-bow to the old man and departed. The old man watched them with a blank expression.

Soon after, the sound of a rooster crowing filled the air. Hong Geolgae hid out of sight, while the old man sat cross-legged in front of the boxes, waiting for people to arrive.

But the villagers were slow to appear. Whether they were busy with breakfast or too weak from hunger, it was unclear.

Yet the old man sat there, back straight, unwavering, waiting for them to come.

In his eyes, Hong Geolgae saw deep fatigue, but also a flicker of anticipation.

As dawn broke, a few villagers finally appeared, puzzled by the sight of the piled boxes.

“Who are you, old monk? And what are all these boxes?”

Instead of answering, the old man offered them round, unfamiliar food pellets known to martial artists but strange to ordinary folk.

“You must be hungry. Have one.”

The villagers chewed slowly. It tasted like clay or sawdust, yet it was food, and surprisingly filling for its size.

“What is this…?”

“It’s byokgokdan. I hope it helps you.”

Realization dawned on them that the boxes were filled with byokgokdan.

A middle-aged man asked, “Who are you, old monk?”

The old man just smiled.

But an elderly woman recognized him. “I know who he is. It’s Master Damjeong!”

“Master Damjeong? The one who saved our village from famine before?”

“Yes, it’s him.”

Listening from his hiding spot, Hong Geolgae learned the old man’s name was Damjeong, a name that seemed legendary among the people, who now whispered among themselves.

“When I saw him as a child, he wasn’t this thin.”

“And not this old either.”

“Saving us from famine twice now.”

Just then, the sun rose behind Master Damjeong, casting a halo around his head as the darkness retreated.

The villagers were moved, each reacting in their own way. Some wept, others prostrated themselves in reverence, but none dared approach him easily. Even those who came closer out of curiosity reacted similarly.

Finally, as hundreds of villagers gathered, pondering how to express their gratitude, Master Damjeong straightened his back and smiled with the utmost kindness.

And then, his head fell forward.

Silence enveloped the scene.

A village doctor hesitantly approached, placing a hand near Damjeong’s nose. No breath. He checked the wrist. No pulse in the frail arm.

The doctor, trembling, announced, “He has entered nirvana.”

“Woe is us!”

“Oh, Master, Master!”

The villagers trembled and wailed as if mourning a parent, as if forgetting who Master Damjeong was had been a grave sin, and as if not repaying him was a deep regret.

But unlike the villagers, Hong Geolgae watched Damjeong with narrowed eyes.

It seemed too perfect a moment for Damjeong to have died.

Recalling what he’d heard in the meditation hall, his suspicion turned to certainty. Damjeong couldn’t have died without savoring the people’s reactions.

And with careful observation, Hong Geolgae noticed the old man’s chest moving ever so slightly.

‘The art of feigned death?’

Damjeong wasn’t dead; he was pretending, to elicit the most dramatic response and savor it fully.

As Hong Geolgae watched with mixed feelings, a small problem arose.

Someone in the crowd asked, “How should we conduct the funeral?”

Being reliant on the Shaolin Temple, some knew of the monks’ funeral customs.

A voice, wet with tears yet full of conviction, suggested, “For a revered monk like him, a cremation ceremony is fitting. Gather plenty of dry wood, and someone should fetch the head monk from Shaolin to oversee it…”

Damjeong’s body trembled slightly.