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‘Why on earth has a man reputed to be the top Shaolin fist come all the way down to Suzhou?’
Putting that aside, Yeon Mujin knew painfully from his previous life’s experience.
‘Getting involved with that man is dangerous.’
Therefore.
‘Run.’
Yeon Mujin bowed his head and spoke to Jong Haeng.
“No. Our sparring is finished for today. Oh dear, we’re so tired we don’t even have the strength to walk.”
“The sponsor hasn’t even broken a sweat, though?”
“Peculiar constitution—ha ha! I normally don’t sweat.”
“He was really toying with the sponsor over there.”
“Did it look that way? No. We had coordinated our moves in advance.”
“I’d like to join in on that prank sometime.”
“Nah, it’s not something the Venerable would be interested in.”
Jong Haeng placed both hands on his rosary and quietly stared at Yeon Mujin.
“You know who I am, don’t you?”
“……!”
“I’ve never seen you before; how did you know to call me ‘Venerable’?”
Seo Nak-il cut in and asked, “Just who are you, monk? Are you from Shaolin?”
“My Dharma name is Jong Haeng.”
Upon hearing that, Seo Nak-il’s expression changed by the second.
“Master of Fighting Victorious monk…!”
Shock painted Seo Nak-il’s face.
The monk who symbolizes Shaolin might be the abbot, but name Shaolin’s most famous monk and it would be him.
Such were the incidents and renown the Fighting Victorious monk had brought across the martial world.
“I pay my respects to Venerable Jong Haeng!”
Seo Nak-il hurriedly bowed.
But Jong Haeng’s gaze did not linger on Seo Nak-il.
He had been staring intently at Yeon Mujin for some time.
“You didn’t flinch when you heard my Dharma name?”
“I’m just a country bumpkin; hearing your Dharma name alone didn’t tell me who you were.”
“Oh? You don’t know me? Then fight me once.”
“No. Actually, I did know.”
“Oh? You knew me and still weren’t surprised? Then fight me once.”
Yeon Mujin muttered every curse under his breath.
That mad old man.
That meddlesome monk never did anything halfway once he got involved. Never, ever let him get a hold of you!
Yeon Mujin respectfully clasped his hands in salute and bowed his head.
“From the standpoint of a junior in the murim world, how could I dare to exchange hands with a senior? I couldn’t commit such rudeness.”
“…Heh heh heh.”
Jong Haeng broke into a broad laugh while looking at Yeon Mujin.
Yeon Mujin glanced back and forced a smile.
“Ha ha ha!”
“Heh heh heh heh!”
“Ha ha ha ha!”
“Uhohohohoho!”
“Uhahahahaha!”
After laughing for a long while, Jong Haeng suddenly surged toward Yeon Mujin and threw a straight punch.
Yeon Mujin was ready. He extended his right arm and met Jong Haeng’s fist.
A thunderous crash erupted as the two fists collided.
“You crazy monk!”
Yeon Mujin’s curse burst out.
Jong Haeng’s white beard fluttered, revealing his eyes—eyes that seemed to ask, Oh? Can this one stop me?
They were not wrong.
Jong Haeng exclaimed as if delighted.
“What! Have you just called me a monk? As a Shaolin monk, I cannot let that pass. I’ll teach you a lesson!”
“You old codger, your mouth is smiling—your mouth!”
Jong Haeng stepped forward and struck another straight punch with his left hand.
Yeon Mujin countered with his left palm.
A single punch from Jong Haeng and a single palm from Yeon Mujin—another shockwave, stronger than before, rippled outward.
Jong Haeng’s sleeve fluttered, yet he did not stop.
He took another step and thrust his right hand forward.
Three punches in three steps—this was the foundational Shaolin art, the Three-Step Linked Fist.
The second punch is stronger than the first, and the third stronger than the second.
In the past three years, Jong Haeng had not met a single opponent who could absorb his Three-Step Linked Fist.
However.
Yeon Mujin met the final third punch with a double palm and deflected it.
“Huo!”
Jong Haeng’s genuine exclamation escaped him.
Yeon Mujin didn’t dodge; he met the third punch head-on, which meant he had the confidence to deflect it.
‘This guy is something else!’
Fighting spirit surged and the corners of Jong Haeng’s mouth rose.
“You arrogant brat! How dare you insult Shaolin!”
“You old coot—you were the one who attacked, what nonsense!”
“I cannot forgive this! Let’s see if you can withstand my Fubo Palm!”
“Goddamn it…!”
The bluntly named Fubo Palm, famed for beating down tigers, was one of Shaolin’s roughest, most notorious methods.
Jong Haeng had not found an opponent who could deflect his Fubo Palm in nearly five years.
A blue aura gathered around Jong Haeng’s hands as he raised his internal power into form—sublime levels ordinary martial artists could hardly imagine.
‘If that hits, you’re dead!’
Seeing it, Yeon Mujin spat a hundred curses in his heart.
That was a monster. Even a graze could be lethal.
He had to respond with a technique comparable to the Fubo Palm.
A red aura began to form around Yeon Mujin’s hands.
It was the Red Blossom Palm—the most powerful palm technique he knew.
Jong Haeng’s eyes sparkled. At his age, to display that degree of internal power?
He extended his Fubo Palm toward Yeon Mujin.
“Try and block this!”
“All right, old man, let’s die together today!”
Jong Haeng’s Fubo Palm and Yeon Mujin’s Red Blossom Palm collided.
Jong Haeng purposely used no tricks; he simply wanted to test Yeon Mujin’s skill.
The two clashing palms wavered back and forth in a contest of strength.
Jong Haeng purely enjoyed the fight. How long had it been since he’d felt like this?
“Uhaha! Feel the power of Shaolin!”
“Ugh! You crazy old man!”
Yeon Mujin felt himself pushed back by the Fubo Palm’s power.
A frontal clash with this monster was impossible. He seemed like an old man who’d swallowed his age the wrong way.
If he kept going like this, he’d be a corpse. The moment he decided, he switched tactics and began to dissipate his force.
“Oh ho!”
Jong Haeng genuinely admired it.
To maintain the force lock while changing direction to throw off the pressure—remarkable!
It was a strange method even he had not seen before. Yeon Mujin twisted his whole body to survive…
‘How fun! This is so much fun!’
If he had decided to press him down, he could have.
But Jong Haeng willingly relinquished the initiative. He still wanted more enjoyment.
“Hotcha!”
Yeon Mujin let out a strange grunt as he channeled and shed the pressure.
Jong Haeng’s force toppled the compound wall of the Brahmacharya Clan.
Sounds of panicked feet and shouts echoed everywhere.
Sweat beaded on Yeon Mujin’s forehead as he escaped the crisis.
“Phew! That’s enough for now….”
Yeon Mujin’s face paled as he looked at Jong Haeng again.
A stance with legs shoulder-width apart, the right hand brought beside the navel….
He realized what that posture meant.
“To have deflected my Fubo Palm—impressive! Then how about this?”
“Venerable, have you truly lost your mind?”
It was surprising to hear that from Yeon Mujin. Usually he was on the receiving end of such remarks, not the one saying them.
But this time, curses slipped from his lips as well.
Because that was…
“Try and withstand my Hundred Step Divine Fist!”
“Has he really gone senile?”
The Hundred Step Divine Fist—the pinnacle of Shaolin striking arts said to shatter rocks beyond a hundred steps.
In present-day Shaolin, those who can properly execute it can be counted on one hand.
It is truly the essence of Shaolin martial arts, a secret technique among secrets not to be recklessly displayed outside the Shaolin gate.
And he was about to perform the initiating form of that Forbidden Fist.
Yeon Mujin knew it was impossible. Absolutely impossible.
That technique wasn’t meant for duels. It was a final decisive move, only to be used against mortal enemies when it was kill or be killed.
‘Damn it, this is exactly why I didn’t want to get involved with that old man!’
Even if he unleashed every palm technique he knew, he had no chance against the Hundred Step Divine Fist.
And if the one performing it was Jong Haeng, considered the greatest martial artist in Shaolin’s history?
If he could defeat that bare-handed, he could justifiably tattoo “the world’s best” on his forehead from today on.
That could not be dodged or deflected.
The terrifying thing about the Hundred Step Divine Fist is that it’s not just a palm technique but a striking formation.
The moment the fist is launched, a strike shoots out faster than an arrow and more powerful than a shell. How could one possibly dodge that?
Therefore, Yeon Mujin had only one option.
He had to cut him down before Jong Haeng could execute the Hundred Step Divine Fist.
He even felt confident—Jong Haeng was focused on the technique and therefore vulnerable, wasn’t he?
But….
‘If I strike the Fighting Victorious monk, can I handle the consequences?’
Touching someone who symbolizes Shaolin was tantamount to touching Shaolin itself.
No matter who Yeon Mujin was, he could not handle making an enemy of Shaolin right now.
‘Damn it!’
A true catch-22: he could neither dodge nor cut him down.
Unaware of Yeon Mujin’s dilemma, Jong Haeng cheerfully completed his preparations for the Hundred Step Divine Fist.
Cornered, Yeon Mujin had no choice but to reach for the hilt.
“Did you know? It’s been ten years since I last performed the Hundred Step Divine Fist.”
“What grudge could you possibly have to perform that in front of me!”
“Wahahaha! Here it goes!”
Yeon Mujin’s lips dried up, and at the very moment Jong Haeng’s right hand shot forward—
“No, what on earth is happening!”
Seo Tae-gon, head of the Brahmacharya Clan, pushed through the crowd and appeared in a hurry.
To Seo Tae-gon’s eyes, the collapsed wall and the shattered state of the manor came into view before he saw the two fighters.
Next to catch his eye was the Fighting Victorious monk, Jong Haeng.
Sensing the abnormal atmosphere, Seo Tae-gon shouted loudly. Seeing the ruin, he was far from himself.
“Venerable Jong Haeng! What is the meaning of this!!!”
Jong Haeng’s focus wavered for a moment under Seo Tae-gon’s roaring shout filled with internal qi.
Yeon Mujin did not miss the opening. With the sword still sheathed, he struck hard at Jong Haeng’s right hand.
Isn’t it said that sincerity moves heaven?
Yeon Mujin’s strike, charged with determination, disrupted the path of the Hundred Step Divine Fist.
The force of the technique flew past Seo Tae-gon, over the heads of spectators, and slammed into the towering gate of the Brahmacharya Clan.
The gate was blasted away without a trace.
After a long silence, Seo Tae-gon finally uttered one phrase.
“By Vairocana Buddha in the heavens….”
He raised a finger and pointed at what remained of the gate—the base alone.
It had been the gate of the Brahmacharya Clan he had guarded his whole life… or rather, it had been.
“How… how did this happen…?”
“Clan leader Seo, calm yourself and listen to what I have to say.”
“Th-the… Brahmacharya… the gate…?”
“Clan leader Seo? Your breathing is odd. Calm down and take a deep breath. Huh? Can’t you hear me?”
“Gasp!”
Seo Tae-gon clutched the back of his neck and collapsed, leaving a single cry behind.
Jong Haeng dashed over, eyebrows flying, and caught the collapsing Seo Tae-gon.
In that instant, a line the Shaolin abbot had said to him when dispatching him to the Brahmacharya Clan flashed through his mind.
—Heh heh, Venerable Jong Haeng. Because of the trouble you cause, Shaolin’s pillars might be uprooted, heh heh heh. You wouldn’t cause trouble even for such a simple task of conveying the temple’s wishes, would you? Heh heh heh heh. If you cause trouble again, I’ll shave that proud beard off and lock you in the repentance hall until it grows back. Heh heh heh heh heh.
He had said it with a smile, but he was not joking.
Jong Haeng knew from his long monastic life that when the abbot was truly angry, he tended to smile rather than shout….
So.
“Grrrk!”
“Clan leader Seo-o-o-o!”
He must protect his beard. Absolutely.
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