Chapter 92

“Victorious Fighting Buddha?”

Gwan Hwon muttered, still not fully sober.

Huh…that name rings a bell. Somehow that epithet feels familiar.

“Victorious Fighting Buddha!”

Only then did his eyes clear and he seemed to come to his senses.

“You are Victorious Fighting Buddha? That mad dog of Shaolin?”

Jong Haeng’s eyebrows twitched. Dull-witted Gwan Hwon didn’t notice.

“Yes. I, this humble one, am that Victorious Fighting Buddha…”

At that moment, Gwan Hwon chose the worst possible option.

He leveled the crescent-bladed polearm at Jong Haeng.

“It seems heaven sent me to test this cap’s spirit! If you’re Victorious Fighting Buddha, then fight me once!”

Half-drunk, Gwan Hwon wasn’t in his right mind. His usual arrogance toward martial folk didn’t help. Anyone who knew Jong Haeng’s temperament and saw this would surely think: what is that madman? Is this some new form of suicide?

Jong Haeng had never avoided a fight in his life. But today he held back—he’d come to solve a problem, not cause one.

“First, I will ask one thing.”

For Jong Haeng, not instantly knocking down someone who thrust a blade at him was already the height of forbearance.

But Gwan Hwon lacked the wits to tell right from wrong in the moment.

“No time for questions and answers! Take my cap’s spear!”

Gwan Hwon’s spear bent and swayed as he lunged. The move was short, orthodox, and without flourish; his temper was hasty and loud, but his martial skill was real. From where he once held military rank, no one could match his spear technique—at least in his small world he was the best in the land.

Snap!

When Jong Haeng snapped his finger and knocked the spear aside, Gwan Hwon couldn’t believe his eyes.

“Argh!”

The hand holding the shaft throbbed. The blade had struck a finger—how could it hurt him?

Beneath his white whiskers, Jong Haeng’s gaze had grown cold. He could forgive a bad temper, forgive recklessness, but he could not forgive someone boasting pitiful martial arts.

“You, Master, could stand to learn some humility.”

“What?”

“I’ve conceded a move, so this humble one will return the favor.”

“…What?”

Still with his hands clasped behind his back, Jong Haeng reached to the left—a sprightly motion like a grandfather playing with a grandchild, but the force behind it was anything but playful.

Whoosh!

Wind brushed across Gwan Hwon’s cheek. It wasn’t a cool breeze to wipe sweat—if it landed, it would tear flesh and break bones; a gale, no, a storm.

Koo-gwa-kwang!

An explosion of sound erupted behind him. When he turned, the Vajra warrior statue he’d boasted about lay shattered, not a trace left.

“Uh…”

So that was…a casually swung blast of qi.

Now he truly felt sober. His legs trembled and a cold sweat crept down the back of his head.

“Master, this humble one will ask but one thing.”

Hic!

Gwan Hwon hiccupped in reply.

“Is it true that you did awful things to the Brahmacharya Clan master?”

Yeon Mujin and Seo Nak-il—Seo Nak-yeon cautiously in tow—arrived at Dosanrim.

“…Are they gone?”

“They seem to have left.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“Phew!”

Yeon Mujin told Seo Nak-il to sneak a look inside the Garden. Even while tailing Jong Haeng, they must not be seen by him—no one wanted to be entangled with that man again; he was like a mad old fool who might suddenly unleash Baekbosin Fist.

“Good. We go in.”

“Yes?”

Seo Nak-yeon asked in surprise.

“What are you startled about?”

“What are you going to do by bursting in like that?”

“Just watch quietly.”

Yeon Mujin leapt the Garden wall in a single bound—swift as a bat, nimble as a weasel. Seo Nak-yeon was inwardly surprised; she hadn’t thought she could clear such a wall in one jump.

“Let’s go in too.”

Seo Nak-il said, and though it was hard for him as well, he landed atop the wall in one leap.

From above, his brother’s eyes watched Seo Nak-yeon.

“…Need a hand?”

“No, I’m fine!”

Seo Nak-yeon had pride; she pushed off the ground and stepped twice on the wall before hauling herself up.

Meanwhile, things were already happening inside the hall.

Through the frantic, panicked crowd, Yeon Mujin dropped down and shouted, “Hands up! Don’t move! We’re robbers!”

Seo Nak-yeon felt her brother slap his palm to his forehead beside her. Where in the world was there such a brazen, clueless robber?

“Where is the owner of this Garden?”

“The master was taken by some white-haired monk…”

A servant, too flustered, blurted out the answer. Seo Nak-yeon realized that when someone hears something absurd beyond common sense, they answer before they think.

“Perfect, how delightful!”

In that instant, regardless of friend or foe, everyone felt the same bewilderment. What on earth is this kind of person?

“What brazen fool is causing a ruckus in Dosan Garden!”

At that cry, the Garden’s warriors who’d been hiding finally sprang out.

Yeon Mujin was pressed for time. He couldn’t knock down each warrior one by one, so he chose the quickest solution: break their will by displaying overwhelming force.

“Hup!”

Yeon Mujin hoisted the nearest Vajra statue high. Warriors, servants, even Seo Nak-yeon stared—the idol looked twice the size of a person and shouldn’t have been easy to lift.

“Die!”

He hurled it at the warriors. Among the scattering people like an ant swarm, the statue crashed and shattered.

While they stared at the broken idol, Yeon Mujin barked orders. “We come from Shaolin! If you don’t want to end up like that, stay put and behave!”

Since when does Shaolin bully commoners, and why would Shaolin rampage through here? Faced with too much that made no sense, people’s minds went numb.

One warrior mustered courage and shouted, “You just said you were robbers!”

The complaint sounded oddly pedantic, as if the ‘brazen fool’ remark had become a legalistic quibble. It’s understandable: when you meet someone who can toss a statue with bare hands, respect follows instinctively.

“Shut up! How dare you talk back to Shaolin!”

The crowd gave up trying to understand. Tonight must be possessed by spirits—far too many impossible things were happening.

“Even if the master is gone, isn’t the steward still here? Bring the account book that handled the Garden’s finances for the past three months! Servants, gather in one place and wait for my orders! Warriors…go stand against that wall with your hands up!”

Flustered, the people hesitated, then began to move. Yeon Mujin struck a nearby Vajra statue with his fist; the twice-sized stone broke apart at his blow.

“Move, move—don’t dawdle!”

Only then did they hurry.

Seo Nak-yeon watched, doing nothing but stare.

The time it took Yeon Mujin to rush in and set the hall to order wasn’t even an hour. In that short span, he’d completely taken control.

As people bustled and the warriors stood with hands raised, watching one another, Yeon Mujin approached the Seo siblings and whispered, “It seems the old monk… the envoy might move faster than expected. I’ll handle this place, so split up. You two go to the next Garden and secure evidence like you just did.”

Seo Nak-il accepted. “Yes, leader.”

Seo Nak-yeon felt as if possessed.

At Red Pillar Garden, where the Garden owners’ banquet had ended and cleanup was underway, the owner Oh Jeong-ok sat and slowly reviewed his plans: pull down the Brahmacharya Clan, seize Suzhou’s interests, and use that leverage to negotiate with the Drunken Flower Manor Lord to solidify the Gardens’ position in Suzhou. So far, the plan had proceeded smoothly—Brahmacharya was to be sealed in, and no one in Suzhou had condemned them.

‘If it continues like this…’

Oh Jeong-ok’s ambition did not stop there. Once power falls into your hands, it’s a shame to share it; former official Oh Jeong-ok knew this well. If negotiations with Drunken Flower succeeded, he could cut down empty stalks like Gwan Hwon one by one. In time, Red Pillar Garden—he himself—would monopolize Suzhou.

‘Did they think Oh Jeong-ok looked harmless and simple? What idiots.’

Use those with value, discard them when they’re gone. What he’d learned in Beijing politics as a civil official was exactly that: swallow the sweet, spit out the bitter. Having tasted the bitterness of losing power once, he wanted to make amends here in Suzhou.

“If I become the king of Suzhou, I could become an ally of the Drunken Flower Manor Lord. Isn’t his family said to hold the most gold in the land? Do I look like someone who would be satisfied with Suzhou?”

Beyond Suzhou to Guangdong, from Guangdong to the whole realm—this small Suzhou land would be the stepping stone for his revival.

“Heh heh heh. Good.”

It was Oh Jeong-ok’s grand, sweet dream.

“Man Oh Jeong-ok—how will you put the sea into a teacup? Those who abandoned me will surely regret it!”

He flashed his hand up toward the pavilion ceiling. In his palm lay a golden rope he imagined could draw the world’s gold. Now was the time of the crouching dragon; if he endured a little longer and bore his patience…

Thud.

A strange sound reached the man lost in dreams—something had been thrown onto the floor. Had a scolding servant dropped a dish?

Oh Jeong-ok, annoyed, looked up.

“Hm?”

It wasn’t a servant. An old monk in white robes with long white whiskers stood before him.

Oh Jeong-ok glanced down at what had been dropped at his feet. The thing with hair standing in disorder and foam at its mouth was none other than…

“…Gwan hyung?”

Just a couple of hours ago, Gwan Hwon had staggered off completely drunk. Oh Jeong-ok sensed something had gone awry.

“Who are you?”

“This humble one’s dharma name is Jong Haeng.”

The white-robed old monk answered.

Fortunately, Oh Jeong-ok was more perceptive than Gwan Hwon; he immediately grasped the other’s identity.

“Victorious Fighting Buddha, Jong Haeng…!”

“I don’t understand why everywhere I go they show such disrespect to this humble one. Are all the Garden owners ignorant of manners?”

Oh Jeong-ok hurriedly rose and composed his expression. “I pay my respects to the Great Monk!”

Jong Haeng waved his hand as if bothered. “Enough. I’ll ask one question; answer it.”

“Do you have something to ask me?”

“Is it true that you did awful things to the Brahmacharya Clan leader?”

At the question, bells seemed to ring in Oh Jeong-ok’s head. His gaze fell on the collapsed Gwan Hwon.

‘Didn’t I tell you not to intervene until things were finished!’

Something foolish had surely caused this fiasco. ‘This is why you shouldn’t work with ignorant civil men! You monk, couldn’t you hold yourself and not cause trouble already?’

If he could, he’d have liked to beat the fallen Gwan Hwon. But the die was cast. The man before him was Shaolin’s Victorious Fighting Buddha—known as Shaolin’s mad dog for his hot temper and inability to be reasoned with.

‘For now, deny it. If I play dumb, is there any sharp move Victorious Fighting Buddha can make?’

Avoiding immediate crisis was his priority. When he raised his head again, Oh Jeong-ok’s face mixed brazen embarrassment with fear. Isn’t composing one’s expression the quality of a civil official?

“I don’t know much about it. Which Garden spread such filthy rumors?”

Jong Haeng’s expression was obscured by his thick beard and brows.

“…Heh heh, well then.”

Oh Jeong-ok put on the most sycophantic, sly expression he could manage, so focused on it he forgot what he’d just said.

Jong Haeng’s voice cut through. “I never called it a filthy rumor. How do you know things this humble one didn’t ask about?”

“…What?”

Thunk!

Oh Jeong-ok’s memory ended at that retort. Jong Haeng’s fist flew like the wind and buried itself in his solar plexus. Oh Jeong-ok fainted before he felt the pain.

Jong Haeng sighed, slung the two unconscious men over his shoulders, and murmured, “Which is the next Garden? I’ll ask until someone who knows comes out.”

Shortly after, two figures arrived at Red Pillar Garden after Oh Jeong-ok had been taken away.

One was a hulking spearman carrying a great spear like a yoke on his back, the other a woman wrapped in a suspicious face-covering cloak.

The woman spoke to the retainers rattled by their master’s kidnapping. “W-we’re robbers. You sons of bitches. If you want to live, lower your heads and listen to us….”