Chapter 51

Chapter 51
## Chapter 51: Shaolin Temple (2)

“Are they familiar to you, Divine Martial Envoy?”

Eom Ak inquired with a sense of wariness, his sharp gaze sweeping over his subordinates.

Among the chiliarchs of the Embroidered Uniform Guard, Eom Ak stood as one of the elite five, serving as the most trusted lieutenant to Jo Ryong.

“I wouldn’t say familiar…”

Jo Ryong’s voice trailed off. He began to covertly direct his internal energy toward Sima Geon and Cheol Woo, who were currently moving past the temple’s mountain gate.

It was a pressurized aura, far too subtle for a commoner or even a standard martial artist to detect.

However, for the intended recipients, Sima Geon and Cheol Woo, the sensation was unmistakable.

Cheol Woo’s eyebrows twitched at the sudden, freezing wave of murderous intent directed their way.

[Boss, who is that guy? He’s playing some petty games.]

[Ignore him. Keep moving.]

[Do you think he’s figured out who we are?]

[Hardly. He’s just testing us because we look out of place.]

[True. Still, it’s annoying.]

Sima Geon suppressed the urge to tell Cheol Woo that it was his own conspicuous presence that drew such attention.

“Hmm, perhaps I was mistaken?”

Jo Ryong tilted his head in confusion when his targeted killing intent elicited no visible reaction from the pair.

While those nearby remained oblivious, the intent he had projected was sharp and deliberate. To a trained martial artist, failing to sense it would be nearly impossible; yet, they hadn’t flinched.

‘There are only two ways to read this. Either they truly lack any martial foundation, or they are skilled enough to have completely masked their reaction.’

After a moment of silent calculation, Jo Ryong spoke softly.

“Chiliarch Eom.”

“I am listening.”

“Those two.”

Jo Ryong signaled toward Sima Geon and Cheol Woo as they began to blend into the gathering crowd.

“Have them followed.”

A cold glint sparked in Eom Ak’s eyes.

“Do they pose a threat?”

“Not necessarily a threat… just a lingering bad intuition.”

“As you wish.”

Eom Ak didn’t hesitate; he knew Jo Ryong’s instincts were rarely wrong.

“By the way, when is Lady Ilhwang-suk expected?”

“I believe she will arrive late tomorrow afternoon,” Yang Hu-gu, positioned to Jo Ryong’s left, chimed in.

“And your brother is the one guarding her? It has been quite some time.”

A small, genuine smile touched Jo Ryong’s mouth.

“Actually, no. I’ve heard the Escort Commander won’t be joining the party.”

Jo Ryong, who had been looking forward to seeing an old brother-in-arms from their brutal days on the northern front, looked visibly let down.

“Did a problem arise?”

“I’m not certain. It seems his duties shifted at the last minute.”

“Then who is overseeing her protection?”

Yang Hu-gu paused, looking around to ensure their privacy before lowering his voice to answer Jo Ryong.

“The Commander is coming himself.”

Jo Ryong’s expression soured instantly at the news that the supreme leader of the Embroidered Uniform Guard was making a personal appearance.

“That piece of trash?”

“Divine Martial Envoy!”

Eom Ak and Yang Hu-gu gasped in unison, eyes darting around to see if anyone had caught the insult.

Jo Ryong let out a dry snort at their panic and added with a smirk.

“Perhaps I should just take his head while he’s here?”

The color drained from Eom Ak and Yang Hu-gu’s faces.

“Haha! Look at you both. It was a joke. Calm down.”

Jo Ryong laughed, but his subordinates remained tense. They were well aware that with him, such “jokes” often carried a grain of deadly intent.

—

Upon entering past the gate, the first landmark to greet Sima Geon and Cheol Woo was the Hall of the Heavenly Kings.

Sima Geon looked up at the towering, fierce statues of the Four Heavenly Kings and let out a soft laugh.

“These Four Heavenly Kings look the same no matter the temple. One of them actually looks a bit like you.”

“Where? I’m much better looking than these guys.”

Used to such banter, Cheol Woo struck a pose identical to one of the statues, answering with total lack of shame.

Sima Geon walked to the large incense burner standing before the hall and took a stick of incense. When he offered one to his companion, Cheol Woo waved it away.

“No thanks. That’s for normal people. A guy like me with a reserved seat in hell has no business here. The Buddha would probably close his eyes if he saw me coming.”

“Heh, you have a point.”

“You’re one to talk, boss. It’s not like you’re a candidate for sainthood.”

“I never claimed to be. But this isn’t for my sake.”

“Then who?”

“The children. I’m praying for their full recovery.”

Sima Geon turned back and lit the incense with genuine reverence. Cheol Woo, having approached silently, ended up lighting a stick as well.

As Sima Geon looked back, Cheol Woo gave a self-conscious shrug.

“For the kids, too. And I figured we might as well ask for a bit of forgiveness ahead of time for what we’re planning to do to this place.”

The two men shared a quiet laugh before continuing their walk.

Beyond the hall lay a wide training plaza that led toward the Great Hero Hall. The area was lined with ancient ginkgo and pine trees, some so wide they would take ten people to encircle, their age clearly spanning centuries.

“Now that is impressive.”

Cheol Woo craned his neck back, staring at the canopy.

“They have stood as long as Shaolin itself. Look at this.”

Sima Geon gestured toward deep indentations and holes scarred into the trunk of a ginkgo tree. It wasn’t just one; every tree nearby bore the marks of generations of Shaolin monks’ martial practice.

“Tsk, those poor trees. What did they do to deserve that? You can practically feel the pain they went through.”

Cheol Woo ran a hand over the smooth, barkless wood where thousands of strikes had landed.

“Over there.”

Sima Geon signaled with a tilt of his head toward a structure behind them.

“Ah! That must be the legendary Luohan Hall.”

In the world of martial arts, Shaolin was the undisputed peak. And within Shaolin, Luohan Hall was the crown jewel, famous for the 108 Arhats and their invincible Luohan Formation, a tactic that remained unbeaten through the ages.

Cheol Woo watched the young monks moving in and out of the hall with a critical eye.

“They look like they know what they’re doing.”

“The baseline for talent here is very high.”

“Doesn’t really matter. They wouldn’t keep the prize in a place like that, would they, boss?”

“Highly unlikely.”

Sima Geon shook his head and kept walking.

To any onlooker, they appeared to be simple travelers taking in the sights, but their minds were focused on a single objective: the Great Reversion Pill.

There are various paths to acquiring what one desires.

The simplest is to buy it. Another is to offer a fair trade or appeal to the owner’s mercy.

The issue was that the Great Reversion Pill had no price. The resources and time required to create a single pill were staggering. In the entirety of Shaolin’s history, the process had only been successfully completed three times, with the most recent being over two centuries ago.

It was uncertain if any pills remained, and even if they did, Shaolin would never sell them. It wasn’t a matter of wealth.

Because of this, Sima Geon had known from the moment he left Sohyung that there was only one way to get it.

“Let’s scout the area thoroughly. We’ll start with the Great Hero Hall.”

Sima Geon walked toward the central building.

“It’s a bit small for a Great Hero Hall. The one at the Demon Buddha Temple was three times this size.”

Sima Geon sighed at Cheol Woo’s comparison.

“This is actually a standard size. The Demon Buddha group was just insane—everything they did was over the top.”

“True. Monks who worshipped Buddha but hungered for human meat.”

Cheol Woo shuddered, the memory clearly disgusting him.

The Great Hero Hall, housing the Shakyamuni Buddha, was packed with pilgrims. While standing in the crowd, Sima Geon noticed a separate, long line forming nearby. He leaned over to ask an elderly man standing ahead of them.

“Excuse me, sir, but what is that line for?”

“Ah, those people are waiting to participate in the tile renovation merit service.”

“Tile renovation? What does that involve?”

Cheol Woo popped his head over Sima Geon’s shoulder to listen. The old man jumped at the sight of Cheol Woo’s rugged, intimidating face and took a step back.

“Haha! Don’t mind him. He looks like a brigand, but he’s harmless.”

Sima Geon pulled Cheol Woo back by the ear. The old man let out a nervous laugh and continued.

“You know about the dedication ceremony for the Samantabhadra Hall, yes?”

“Yes, that’s why it’s so crowded.”

Sima Geon feigned knowledge of the event.

“Well, they say the roof tiles on the new Samantabhadra Hall are already showing wear, so they are replacing them. If you donate, they engrave your name on a tile that goes onto the roof. People are desperate for the merit. It shows their devotion.”

“I see.”

Sima Geon nodded thoughtfully.

“Hmph, what a joke. You get merit just by putting your name on a piece of clay? Right, boss?”

As Cheol Woo mocked the idea, Sima Geon had already finished thanking the old man and was stepping into the “joke” of a line.

“…”

Finding himself under the awkward gaze of the old man, Cheol Woo wiped his mouth and followed Sima Geon into the queue.

The wait was long, with at least fifty people ahead of them.

“I can’t believe this. I never thought I’d see the day you stood in line for something like this, boss.”

Cheol Woo kept muttering to himself, finding the situation absurd.

“I’m just putting the kids’ names down. I don’t know if it actually works, but this is Buddha’s home. I haven’t done much for them, so I can at least do this.”

Sima Geon pulled Cheol Woo closer and whispered.

“And as you said, it’s good to ask for some forgiveness before we start our real work.”

“Heh! Now that makes sense.”

Cheol Woo laughed, feeling more at ease.

“And there’s one more reason, of course.”

“Which is?”

“You’ll see soon enough.”

Sima Geon gave a small smile and fell silent.

After nearly an hour, they reached the front. A young monk at the desk began asking for names, ages, and birth details. Sima Geon provided the information as best as he could remember.

“And the names and ages of the donors, please.”

Sima Geon shook his head at the monk’s request.

“Not necessary. What about you?”

“Skip me. My name would probably bring a curse to the roof.”

The young monk looked at Cheol Woo like he was a lunatic. His lack of experience was evident in his shocked expression.

“Very well. Just the three then. For the registration fee…”

The monk started to mention the standard donation, but his voice died in his throat. His eyes fixed on the small pouch Sima Geon had placed on the table, which had fallen slightly open.

“D-Donor… this is…”

The monk looked from the pouch to Sima Geon, his hands trembling. Inside were two heavy gold ingots. Each was worth at least ten taels of gold.

The standard fee for a single tile was less than half a tael of silver. This was an astronomical sum.

“Is there a set limit on the donation?”

“N-No, but this is far too much. I don’t know if I can accept this.”

“Then just take it.”

“But…”

“It’s fine. Please, accept it for the temple.”

Sima Geon remained perfectly calm, but the monk was paralyzed. The surrounding pilgrims noticed the commotion and began to whisper.

“Gwangyeon, what is going on here?”

A monk named Mu Ho approached with a stern look, having just returned from managing the guest quarters.

“M-Martial Uncle, you’re back.”

Gwangyeon looked relieved to have help.

“What’s the problem?”

Mu Ho asked Gwangyeon, but his eyes were locked on Sima Geon and Cheol Woo. He noted Cheol Woo’s massive frame and scars with deep suspicion.

“These two donors wish to register for the tile service. However…”

“However what? Is there a complication?”

Mu Ho, expecting a confrontation, relaxed slightly as he spoke.

“The donation is simply… too large.”

“Too large? What do you mean by—”

As Mu Ho’s brow furrowed, Gwangyeon pulled back the flap of the pouch.

“This is what they offered.”

“A-Amitabha!”

The holy name escaped Mu Ho’s lips in a startled gasp.