Black and White Martial Emperor

Hwaun stared in shock.

“S-Shaolin?!”

Shaolin Temple.

Shaolin’s standing in the martial world was nothing short of extraordinary.

All martial arts under heaven originate from Shaolin.

Those seven words alone spoke for how the world regarded Shaolin.

But once one stepped beyond the martial world, the story changed entirely.

Shaolin Temple enjoyed unmatched renown among both the orthodox and Dark Paths.

Yet within Buddhism of the Central Plains, Shaolin’s stature far surpassed even the position it held in the martial world.

Bodhidharma, who was said to have brought the Dharma from distant India and spread it throughout the Central Plains, had attained enlightenment after nine years of wall-facing meditation on Shaoshi Peak of Mount Song, where Shaolin now stood, and founded the Chan school of Buddhism.

Buddhism had many branches, but not one failed to revere Bodhidharma. Naturally, Shaolin Temple, built upon the very ground where Bodhidharma had practiced, was regarded as a sacred site by Buddhists throughout the Central Plains.

No matter how exceptional Putuo Hermitage’s swordsmanship might be, could it compare to Shaolin?

No matter how great Putuo Hermitage’s reputation might be, could it compare to Shaolin?

That was the power carried by the name Shaolin. Even if some other Buddhist order possessed martial arts superior to Shaolin’s, none would dare casually challenge it.

Naturally, Hwaun froze like stone before the Shaolin monk who had appeared out of nowhere.

HMMMM.

Beomo raised one palm before his chest in greeting.

The one-palm salute was unique to Shaolin. Bodhidharma’s disciple Huike had cut off one of his own arms before attaining enlightenment, and so Shaolin’s one-palm salute could be said to carry on Huike’s spirit.

“Did you just say your name was Beomo?”

“That is correct. Beomo is this humble monk’s Dharma name.”

Beomo.

Hwaun might have been ignorant of worldly affairs, but she could hardly be unfamiliar with news circulating among Buddhist orders.

Her eyes trembled.

“The future Head of Arhat Hall...?”

Beomo shook his head.

“Amitabha. This useless monk is so lacking that I have yet to grasp even the hem of the Dharma. I am far too inadequate to take charge of Arhat Hall at the main temple.”

Terrifying.

Jeongan felt something frightening in Beomo’s tranquil tone.

Someone like this actually exists?

It came from the almost inhuman enlightenment she had sensed from him at first glance—the absolute correspondence between Beomo’s words and his emotions.

There was no falsehood in his speech. Every word—every single syllable—carried meaning, yet beyond that meaning, there was no trace of any hidden emotion or ulterior intent.

His eyes, his voice, and every word he spoke were exactly what they appeared to be.

And that could place far greater pressure on another person than the murderous ferocity of a killer brandishing a blood-soaked blade.

Not through force.

But softly, naturally, without the slightest coercion.

Yeon Hojeong asked,

“What do you make of these two, Monk?”

Beomo looked at Jeongan.

He did not even meet the eyes of Hwaun, who was staring at him with a trembling gaze.

As he studied Jeongan, a smile appeared on his face.

It was a benevolent smile.

“Your talent and gentle nature are both exceptional. Wherever you go, others will surely call you extraordinary. Yet I can also glimpse within you the wisdom to pursue enlightenment in your own way without becoming bound by the judgments of others.”

“Ah, thank you.”

“However, there is no reason that gentleness must remain confined within the Dharma.”

“Pardon?”

“The Dharma is not something one necessarily comprehends by studying it, nor is it something beyond the reach of one who has never studied it. More importantly, the eyes of a candidate destined to inherit the Wisdom Sword are, apart from that gentle nature, truly turned toward the world. Even if you grapple with the mortal world rather than confining yourself to the Dharma, I do not believe you will stray from the Buddha’s path.”

“Ah...”

“Go where your convictions lead you. Even if a harsh road of thorns stretches before you, if you do not lose your heart, why should this troubled world show an enlightened practitioner only what is corrupt?”

“...”

“Please continue cultivating that serene heart. Even if you gain a fortune worth a thousand pieces of gold and seize the greatest fame under heaven, none of it will mean anything if you lose that clarity of heart.”

Beomo bowed his head.

“I sincerely pray that Shakyamuni’s blessing accompanies you on the road ahead.”

“Th-thank you.”

Those were not words of courtesy or blessing that could be accepted lightly.

Jeongan pressed her palms together and bowed deeply.

This is difficult.

Even Jeongan, who had read and interpreted countless Buddhist scriptures, found parts of Beomo’s words difficult to grasp.

And yet merely listening to him calmed her heart. It felt as though a ray of dawn had pierced the confusion filling her mind.

Jeongan turned his words over and over in her thoughts. She engraved them firmly into her memory so that she would not forget a single one, so that whenever she encountered hardship in the future, she could recall Beomo’s words and seek an answer within them.

Even that seemed innocent in Beomo’s eyes.

He burst into hearty laughter.

“No matter how profound words may be, how could they ever contain the entirety of one’s will and heart? There is the story of the Buddha holding up a flower before the assembly. If my intent and sincerity reached you, then I am satisfied.”

“Ah, yes!”

“And...”

Beomo’s gaze shifted from Jeongan to Hwaun.

Flinch!

Hwaun’s agitation was obvious.

It was not because Beomo was stronger than her.

Why is Shaolin here?!

She was shaken because a monk raised and taught at the foremost sacred site of Buddhism had been here all along.

And she was even more shaken because she did not understand why his presence disturbed her so badly.

Why? There’s no reason for me to...

Then Beomo’s voice slipped into her ears.

“The reincarnation spoken of by the Buddha is a principle of the universe—the cycle of life itself, and one of the laws governing the world. Those unfamiliar with the Dharma likely understand it only to that extent.”

“...”

“However, from what this inadequate monk has seen, I do not believe you spoke of killing someone because you had reincarnation in mind.”

Hwaun’s face instantly went pale.

Yes.

Only then did she understand why she had been so unsettled.

Because she knew she had done wrong.

And she had committed that wrong before none other than a monk of Shaolin, revered as the ancestral seat of Chan Buddhism.

She had exposed the ugliest side of herself before another person—and worse, before a Buddhist monk whom even Putuo’s name could not silence or control.

Hwaun’s heart began pounding wildly.

Beomo continued.

The voice that had once been filled with warmth and comfort had somehow become as clear and transparent as glass.

“This poor monk knows little of the martial world. I have spent my entire life doing little more than throwing punches. But there is one thing I do know. It is exceedingly rare for someone who has taken refuge in the Dharma to speak of killing another person.”

“M-Monk Beomo. That is a misunderstanding.”

Beomo’s eyes deepened.

“Will you not admit it?”

“What?”

“Have you forgotten that admitting one’s wrongdoing and changing oneself is the shortest road to forgiveness, and the greatest opportunity to draw closer once more to enlightenment from which one has strayed?”

“...!!”

“You seem perfectly aware of your own wrongdoing. Why, then, do you refuse to admit it and instead tremble in fear? Is acknowledging it truly so difficult?”

“I...!”

“A lifetime of cultivation may collapse because of a single mistake. Yet cultivation that has collapsed may also be restored through a single realization.”

Beomo shook his head.

“It is not this poor monk’s place to pass judgment on Putuo entering the martial world, or on conflict arising between its branches. What I see before me now is a single person who has fallen. I merely hope that person will acknowledge her mistake and recover the proper heart of a practitioner.”

“...”

“It is time you looked within yourself.”

Hwaun clenched her teeth.

She, too, could sense that Beomo’s voice contained a strange power.

Yes.

Beomo was an enlightened practitioner.

How profound his enlightenment might be, she could not know.

What mattered was that, as she was now, she could not gauge the depth of the monk standing before her.

No.

He had gone far beyond anything she could even begin to measure.

For an instant, Hwaun felt an involuntary urge to drop to her knees.

She wanted to kneel, press her palms together, and beg forgiveness for what she had done.

Not from Beomo.

From herself.

But then—

...?!

Jeongan suddenly entered Hwaun’s vision.

Her successor was looking at her with sorrow in those eyes, yet they remained unbearably clear and deep.

FWOOSH.

The flames of desire ignited once more in Hwaun’s eyes, which had been filled with confusion.

Why should I?

What had she really done that was so wrong?

Losing my temper at the arrogance of fools who know nothing of the world was indeed proof that my cultivation is shallow! But that only means I need to cultivate myself further. It is hardly something I should bow my head over!

Besides, countless villains slaughtered the weak and still lived full-bellied, comfortable lives.

Compared to them, she was practically a saint.

Had she not resolved to enter the world precisely so that she could punish such wicked people?

Why should this matter warrant such a struggle?

A sharp voice burst from Hwaun’s mouth.

“Wrongdoing?! As you saw yourself, Monk, the arrogant and ignorant one here is that man!”

Her finger pointed toward Yeon Hojeong, who stood with his arms folded.

Even as Hwaun pointed at him, Yeon Hojeong’s face remained utterly calm.

Not the slightest ripple disturbed his heart.

Hwaun’s face, by contrast, had twisted completely out of shape.

Her distorted features resembled some hideous painting of Mara, desire itself given form.

“A man who has never studied the Dharma dared speak of it and mock this poor nun! He used his paltry reputation and position to threaten me!”

“Enlightened Hwaun.”

“A mere eldest son of a clan that rules one small region dared treat me this way—me, an elder of Putuo, who seeks to save the Dharma of this world...!”

A terrifying flame suddenly erupted in Beomo’s eyes.

“ENOUGH!!”

BRAAAAAAANG!

Beomo’s thunderous shout sounded like a Buddhist temple bell shattering apart.

Hwaun’s mouth fell open.

The qi of the World-Honored One carried within that tremendous Buddhist Lion’s Roar shook the veil of confusion and malice covering her eyes.

“Since when did responsibility become the same thing as power?! Since when did holding an office become the same thing as possessing authority?! Do you truly call yourself a practitioner who has studied the Dharma for decades?!”

“D-don’t shout at me like that! I...!”

“LOOK STRAIGHT INTO YOUR OWN HEART!!”

BRAAAAAANG!

The sound of the shattered bell rang out once again.

FWOOSH!

A faint golden radiance began pouring from Beomo’s body.

It was dazzlingly bright, yet somehow placed not the slightest strain upon the eyes of those who looked upon it.

The light of enlightenment.

The light of wisdom.

The very radiance of the Wisdom Sword symbolized by Putuo’s Sword Empress wrapped around Beomo like a halo.

Shock spread across Hwaun’s face.

She had seen that radiance pouring from Beomo’s body once before, long ago.

The Great Power of Prajna?!

One of the Two Great Powers said to be attainable only by enlightened practitioners of Shaolin’s martial path.

The divine art of truth, symbolizing wisdom and the Dharma Eye, struck Hwaun’s vision.

“Aaagh!”

Hwaun clutched her eyes and collapsed where she stood.

Blood streamed from both of them.

It was an extraordinarily strange sensation.

The pain was enough to make her feel as though her soul might flee her body, yet at the same time she felt intensely refreshed. Blood poured down and covered her eyes, yet somehow she could still see.

SSSSSHHHH.

Hwaun felt something leaving her body.

Something formless that even one who had mastered the greatest martial art under heaven could never see.

Something visible only to one who had awakened to the Dharma.

Desire.

Confusion.

Beomo looked down at Hwaun with stern eyes before speaking in a calm voice.

“Open your eyes. And with those open eyes, look upon yourself.”

“...”

“Only then will you finally see the world. Is that not how Putuo Hermitage has always lived—by looking upon the world in precisely that way?”

Tears silently ran down Hwaun’s face.

They were tears of blood, yet they looked almost like tears washing away her sins.

Beomo let out a quiet sigh.

Then he sensed someone staring at him and turned his head.

Yeon Hojeong was winking at him with one eye while giving him a raised thumb.

Beomo turned away, shaking his head as though the man were beyond saving.

Apparently, even the power of Prajna could do nothing about that man’s personality.