Chapter 46: Shaolin Temple

The worst of the summer heat had passed.

Occasionally, a cool breeze would tousle their hair, but the midday air remained stiflingly humid.

The group paused now and then to wipe their sweat, pressing on with determination.

For the past few days, a large mountain loomed in the distance, and today, Tang Mujin and his companions finally reached its base.

“This is Songshan,” Gwai Yi announced, sharing a tale everyone knew. They had been walking towards the Shaolin Temple on Songshan for days, so it was obvious.

Gwai Yi pointed to a peak off to one side. “And that’s Shaoshi Peak.”

Midway up Shaoshi Peak, nestled in the forest, was a temple—their destination, the Shaolin Temple.

Instead of heading straight up the peak, the group took a moment to survey their surroundings. They noticed others staring at Songshan with mouths agape.

But to Tang Mujin and Hong Geolge, the mountain wasn’t particularly impressive. After all, they hailed from Sichuan, known for its rugged terrain.

The two young men from the remote mountain village looked at the city folk with a hint of smugness, feeling an inexplicable pride.

“Do you think these people know what a real mountain is?”

“Ha, they’ll probably never know.”

Gwai Yi interrupted their musings. “Forget the mountains. Let’s eat first. I’m starving.”

“Let’s go,” Hong Geolge quickly agreed, nudging Tang Mujin.

“Still not begging for food these days?” Tang Mujin teased.

“Want me to beg for your meal?” Hong Geolge shot back.

“No, that’s alright.”

When they first met, Hong Geolge had no interest in fine dining. For him, a meal was whatever he could beg for and shove into his mouth.

But traveling with Gwai Yi and Tang Mujin left him no time or means to beg.

Reluctantly, Hong Geolge began eating the same meals as his companions, inadvertently developing a taste for good food.

Gone were the days of declaring, “I’ll beg for my own food.” Now, he followed Tang Mujin and Gwai Yi into inns without hesitation.

Though his attire and demeanor still screamed “beggar,” his palate had become quite refined.

The trio entered a nearby inn and ordered a simple meal.

“Four bowls of noodles, one rich dish, and your best baijiu.”

“Got it! Four noodles, one Eight Treasures Duck, and a bottle of our finest baijiu!”

Two of those noodle bowls were destined for Hong Geolge’s stomach.

Lately, he claimed he needed to eat more to compensate for the lack of elixirs, consuming twice as much as the others. To Tang Mujin, it just seemed like gluttony.

“What’s Eight Treasures Duck?” Tang Mujin asked.

“It’s a dish where they debone a duck without cutting it open, stuff it with rice, mushrooms, shrimp, and other ingredients, steam it, then roast it again.”

“Sounds like it takes a while to prepare.”

“Not really. They probably have it ready for customers like us. It’s a popular dish, and you won’t regret it.”

True to Gwai Yi’s prediction, the duck arrived alongside the noodles, and it was as delicious as promised. Tang Mujin finished his meal first and surveyed the bustling inn.

Despite its size, the inn was packed with people.

There were dozens of travelers, and several monks were present. Four martial monks and three scholarly monks.

The martial monks and scholarly monks were easy to distinguish.

The scholarly monks were slender and small, while the martial monks had broad shoulders and calloused hands. Shaolin’s martial arts were indeed centered around fist and palm techniques.

Tang Mujin observed the monks with curiosity. Male monks were a rare sight for him.

In his hometown of Chengdu, most monks were from the Emei Sect, and over eighty percent of them were nuns.

Moreover, it was rare for Emei monks to venture into the city, so encounters with male monks were even rarer.

“Different from the Emei Sect, right?” Gwai Yi commented.

“Yes, in many ways.”

“Emei monks tend to stay secluded on Mount Emei, but Shaolin is different. They have a strong presence in the surrounding villages. They’re considered the spiritual leaders of the orthodox sects for a reason.”

“Hmm.”

After a satisfying meal, the group set off to climb Shaoshi Peak.

The path up the peak was crowded, but the atmosphere was distinctly different from the base.

The most noticeable difference was the absence of women.

“I must have seen at least fifty people, but not a single woman,” Tang Mujin remarked.

“That’s because of Shaolin’s rules,” Gwai Yi explained.

“Rules?”

“Women are never allowed inside the gates of Shaolin Temple. Since the only thing on Shaoshi Peak is the temple, there’s no reason for women to come here.”

“Hmm.”

“There are other rules too. Once expelled from Shaolin, you’re never allowed back. If you learn Shaolin martial arts without formal training, they’ll hunt you down. But none of that concerns us.”

With the knowledge that there were no women around, the fresh mountain air felt oddly suspicious.

It seemed to carry the scent of loneliness, or perhaps the faint aroma of night-blooming flowers.

As they neared the Shaolin Temple, Tang Mujin noticed someone unusual.

Was she a woman or a girl? Either way, she was the first female he’d seen on Shaoshi Peak, and she seemed around his age, maybe a bit younger.

Her appearance was plain, with long hair tied back carelessly, and her clothes were loose for ease of movement.

Her arms were toned from hard work, and her face and skin were tanned. She exuded vitality but also seemed stubborn.

Her actions were even more striking than her appearance.

As if to justify her practical attire, she was energetically digging the ground with a pickaxe.

In the trench she had dug, something long was buried.

While she was engrossed in her work, Tang Mujin cautiously approached to inspect the trench.

Buried in the ground was a long, thick wooden beam, slowly rotating.

‘How is she turning such a large beam?’ Tang Mujin wondered, following the beam with his eyes. It led to a stream, larger than one would expect on Shaoshi Peak, where a sizable waterwheel was turning.

Tang Mujin was familiar with waterwheels. The Dujiangyan irrigation system near Chengdu had many of them.

As he examined the waterwheel and the beam, the woman noticed him and approached. Tang Mujin felt a bit nervous.

‘Is she interested in me?’ he thought.

But before he could say anything, she scrunched up her face and shouted, “Hey, you jerk, get lost!”

Her first words were an insult. If a girl from his village had spoken to him like that, he might have retorted, “What’s gotten into you?” But this was a stranger.

Despite wanting to respond sharply, he found it difficult. Tang Mujin replied awkwardly, “Why are you suddenly yelling at me?”

“Weren’t you the one who broke the waterwheel last time while gawking at it?”

“That wasn’t me. This is my first time on Shaoshi Peak, and I’ve only been in Henan for a few days.”

“You look just like him,” she said, eyeing him suspiciously before waving her free hand dismissively.

“Anyway, just go. Shoo.”

“I was just curious and wanted to take a look.”

“Plenty of people have said that and then messed with the waterwheel. I’m busy, so leave. You’re distracting me.”

Perhaps realizing she had been too harsh, she refrained from further insults, though her tone remained curt.

Tang Mujin wanted to examine the waterwheel more, but he had no desire to do so under a barrage of insults. As he sheepishly retreated, Hong Geolge began to tease him.

“Getting cursed at before you even say hello? Not exactly popular with the ladies, are you?”

Tang Mujin felt a pang of truth in Hong Geolge’s words. He wasn’t particularly popular with the girls in his village.

In truth, it was hard to be popular when he spent hours each day fanning a decoction pot in his backyard. What charm could possibly be found in that?

But he wasn’t about to admit that to Hong Geolge.

“At least I’m more popular than you,” Tang Mujin retorted.

“What are you talking about? I was quite the heartthrob in Jueul Village.”

“Sure, if you say so…”

A beggar popular with women was an oxymoron. Tang Mujin didn’t take the conversation seriously and let it slide.

Turning his head, he saw Gwai Yi watching them with a smirk. It was the look of someone who had been genuinely popular with women.

Despite his age, Gwai Yi was undeniably handsome, hinting at his youthful charm and popularity.

Feeling a subtle sense of defeat, both Hong Geolge and Tang Mujin fell silent. The three continued their journey towards the Shaolin Temple in silence.

Soon, the gates of the Shaolin Temple came into view.

Two monks stood guard at the entrance, raising their right hands in a gesture that was neither a full bow nor a prayer. As Tang Mujin and his companions approached, they returned the gesture with a light fist salute.

Tang Mujin, curious about the unusual greeting, asked the enigmatic man beside him, “Why do they greet like that? It’s not quite a bow or a prayer.”

“It’s a tradition from Shaolin,” the man explained. “Long ago, a monk named Huike waited in the snow to become a disciple of Bodhidharma. Bodhidharma said he would accept him when the white snow turned red. So, Huike cut off his left arm to stain the snow with his blood. That gesture comes from Huike, who had no left arm.”

“Shaolin seems more intense than I thought,” Tang Mujin remarked.

“People were like that back then. Even the robes of Shaolin monks reflect this history. They cover their left side with one part of the robe, inspired by Huike’s appearance.”

As they reached the temple gate, the monks recognized the enigmatic man.

“Ah, it’s you, benefactor. What brings you here?”

“Just visiting an old friend. Is the Arhat Hall Master inside?”

“Please wait a moment.”

One monk hurried inside and soon returned with another monk. Tang Mujin’s first thought upon seeing him was, “Can a person really be that square-shaped?”

The man had broad shoulders, a chiseled jaw, and thick arms, exuding strength with every step.

The Arhat Hall Master greeted the enigmatic man with a raised hand and a casual smile. “Yi Chong, it’s been a while. What trouble have you gotten into this time? You should join the monastery before it’s too late to cleanse your sins.”

“Too late for that,” the enigmatic man replied with a smirk.

The Hall Master looked shocked. “You don’t mean…?”

“Not what you’re thinking. At least, not yet.”

“That’s a relief. Come on in.”

As they walked into the temple, the Hall Master finally noticed Tang Mujin and his companion.

“And who are these two, and why have they come with you?”

“Hey, monk, it’s polite to introduce yourself before asking others,” the enigmatic man chided.

“Ah, right. My apologies. I am Qingwook, the Arhat Hall Master.”

Tang Mujin was taken aback. Even someone like him, not well-versed in martial arts circles, had heard of this man.

“The Mighty Monk Qingwook!”

“Some call me that,” Qingwook acknowledged with a nod.

Though a master of martial arts, Qingwook was unique among his peers. Whenever discussions arose about who might break through to the highest level, his name was always mentioned.

If Qingwook were to achieve this, Shaolin would boast two supreme masters.

Tang Mujin and his companion, Hong Geolge, introduced themselves with a hint of nervousness.

“I’m Hong Geolge from Jueul Village, a member of the Beggars’ Sect.”

“Pleasure to meet you. Members of your sect are known for their hearty nature. And you, sir?”

“I’m Tang Mujin, a physician from Chengdu, Sichuan.”

“A physician…?” Qingwook glanced at the enigmatic man, puzzled. To his knowledge, the only person who was both a physician and a martial artist was the enigmatic man himself.

The enigmatic man waved his hand dismissively. “He’s not my disciple, just a companion.”

“I see… And what brings you here?” Qingwook asked.

“Is the Wooden Man Alley still around?” the enigmatic man inquired.

“Yes, though it’s covered in dust. It’s still there for now.”

“For now?”

“Yes, the Abbot plans to tear it down soon.”

The enigmatic man raised an eyebrow. “Tear it down? The Wooden Man Alley?”

“Yes, it hasn’t been used in over three hundred years. They want to replace it with a training ground.”

“That can’t happen,” the enigmatic man insisted.

“Why not?” Qingwook asked.

Pointing to Tang Mujin, the enigmatic man replied, “If anyone in the last three hundred years could repair the Wooden Man Alley, it would be him.”