“Amitabha….”
Like the deep downstream of the Yangtze River, the monk’s thoughts grew heavier with each passing day.
Even in the secluded depths of the lofty mountains, where no footprints tread, he had built a hermitage, devoting the past three years solely to meditation.
Without food, water, or sleep, he endured the grueling practice of meditation.
What tormented him so… was undoubtedly the heart-demons (心魔).
Though his martial skills had reached the realm of the Human Immortal (人仙), and he had attained deep insight into the natural order of the world, the chaos of the martial realm was endless, keeping him bound to the heart-demons.
– Ah, Aaa…!
In the monk’s mind replayed the voices of their anguished screams.
He remembered them all—their faces, each scream vivid in his memory.
He also remembered the argument he had with Jade Flower (옥화).
– “Rejecting demons and exterminating evil (斥魔滅惡) is the only truth.”
– “How could you not understand the sacrifice of the few for the benefit of the many?”
– “If we had killed all those who fled by abandoning those children, we could have saved more people.”
During the Great War of Pure Blood (정혈대전), the monk fiercely debated with Jade Flower. Though there was never a clear winner in their arguments, it was from this point that the monk’s heart-demons began to take root.
At first, he wasn’t swayed by Jade Flower’s logic.
He believed everyone could be saved; that even evildoers, if given the chance, could be cleansed of their sins and returned to virtue.
Indeed, there were cases like the current Discipline Master of Shaolin, who had sincerely repented.
For those who refused repentance, there was always the option of sending them to Nirvana.
However, the problem was not with them.
– “Save me! Please save me!”
– “Puuuuuht!”
– “Hahahaha! Die! Die! Urgh? Shi… Shi, monk? Why are you her—.”
He had believed he could save everyone.
With his immense power, if he pushed his limits, sacrificed his own body as fuel, he could fulfill his purpose.
So, he chose a different path.
When conflicts with the Blood Cult (혈교) occurred, he prioritized protecting civilians and allies over hunting and killing the members of the Blood Cult.
He would spare as many Blood Cult members as possible, but when forced, would eliminate them. At the same time, he prioritized saving the people he could see and safeguarding the wounded, instead of chasing down the fleeing enemies.
This approach was the opposite of Jade Flower’s philosophy.
He thought this was the right decision.
If he only moved faster, if he worked his legs raw and exhausted his hands with palms thrust, he believed he could accomplish his goal.
To save everyone.
But the monk was not all-knowing.
The Blood Cult members escaping his grasp went on to create chaos throughout the lands.
For every victim he saved by letting ten criminals escape, they went on to create a hundred new victims.
He tried to stop them; he dashed to intervene, and each time, his body bore new scars. His physical form was far from the frail stereotype of a monk—his body became something entirely different.
Yet the victims kept appearing.
For ten years, the monk could only helplessly witness such atrocities.
Even with his formidable martial skills, he could not prevent the bloodshed occurring simultaneously in Hubei, Henan, and Sichuan.
If his actions had been wrong, he might not have fallen into the heart-demons.
For the monk, unlike Jade Flower, had no resistance against reflecting on his past. Instead, he valued the virtue of acknowledging and correcting his mistakes.
Yet, because of this, he could find no resolution.
Was it right to abandon the immediate people and pursue the Blood Cult? Or, as Jade Flower suggested, to sacrifice the few to eradicate the Blood Cult and prevent greater tragedies?
The monk could not bring himself to a conclusion.
If this were merely a matter of numbers, then the latter would certainly prevail. But was the value of a human life ever something to be measured in numbers?
This notion was entirely unacceptable in the monk’s Buddhist perspective.
Ultimately, his heart-demons led to self-loathing.
Why couldn’t he do both?
Why couldn’t he be like the Sword Sage (검성), saving all in his sight while capturing the Blood Cult members?
Power!
It was all due to his lack of power.
Though it might seem illogical for the monk, one of the Five Greats under Heaven (天下五絕), at the pinnacle of martial arts, to crave more power, that did not change his belief. If he couldn’t save all, then he was still lacking.
Of course, he was aware of the Sword Sage’s circumstances and the origins of his immense power—stemming from countless lives and incalculable time.
It was an arduous path of tribulation that no one, except the Sword Sage himself, understood better than this monk.
Still, even now, three years after the war had ended, he harbored regrets.
If only he possessed that power…
If only someone nearing death like himself, not a young and promising warrior like the Sword Sage, had held the ability of regression, could he not have saved more lives, achieved minimal casualties?
Such thoughts…
Of course, they were nothing but futile musings. The monk faced reality.
The reality he encountered was nothing but unresolved guilt and remorse.
In the end, having lost faith in his own righteousness, he vowed to retire completely from the martial world before retreating into seclusion.
But then, news from the outside world reached him through an unexpected visit from the Lord of the Alliance (맹주).
It was in that moment that he realized the irreversible mistake he had made.
*
“Your preparations are complete, I see.”
The monk addressed Zaping, who had now picked up a staff and a wooden fish, ready to leave. Zaping’s appearance was unmistakably that of a wandering monk.
“Yes, Great Grandmaster.”
“Very well, what decision have you made?”
“I intend to gather people first.”
“People?”
Zaping spoke with great vigor, his eyes burning with ambition.
“I must seek out my father who was expelled by the Nan Gong family, for I now have nothing to my name. I need to establish my footing in the martial world. Only then will people hear my father’s defense when I present my arguments.”
“An excellent plan. Indeed, there is nothing more effective than the word of a powerful person.”
“Thank you.”
“Indeed, how do you plan to establish your standing?”
Zaping stood up. The staff tied to his back fluttered confidently, a cherished tool that would soon aid his journey.
“I intend to take the journey of the Hundred Man Martial Trial (百人比武行).”
“…! The Hundred Man Martial Trial!”
At Zaping’s words, the monk was profoundly startled.
What was the Hundred Man Martial Trial?
On the streets, amateurs and third-rate wanderers often boast of their prowess after defeating a few random duelists. But the true Hundred Man Martial Trial was something entirely different.
It involves defeating each and every one of the Hundred Greatest Martial Artists in the land, each of whom number only two or three per province.
Throughout the history of martial lore, few have succeeded in this grueling trial. While undoubtedly there were capable warriors with the skills to attempt it, the risk made it a daunting task.
Imagine traveling across all of central China, tirelessly seeking out and battling an unbroken string of a hundred opponents. The physical toll, the injuries, the sheer exhaustion would make it a monumental challenge.
The monk’s surprise was understandable.
“I can do it. It’s possible.”
But it was a necessary challenge for Zaping now.
If successful, the Hundred Man Martial Trial would garner immense attention and recognition. Similar to past legends like the Sword Immortal (검선) or Sky Star (천성), he would instantly rise to prominence in the martial world, gaining standing rivaling the leaders of the great sects.
Not only would it aid in vindicating his father’s reputation and exposing the false accusations, but it would also provide the strength needed to support his cause.
How could it not be an urgent necessity?
“My father… if I search thoroughly, I must be able to find him. Even if a tiger hides, it cannot remain completely concealed.”
Of course, it was not an endeavor to be undertaken lightly.
Though impulsive and driven by youthful vigor, it was also a decision made with heavy responsibility and resolve.
He was not afraid of the martial artists he might encounter.
What weighed him down was the significance of his first step into the martial world.
With his father’s honor resting on his shoulders, the burden felt immense.
Crack!
Zaping clenched his fists in determination, fists that had pounded the cave walls tens of thousands of times, now rough and hardened.
“Do not doubt the Shaolin martial arts. No matter the opponent, what body could be harder than stone?”
Arhat Fist (羅漢拳), Hundred-Pace Divine Fist (百步神拳), Shaolin Five Fists (少林五拳), Hundred-Refined Divine Fist (百鍊神拳), and more…
During the thirteen years he had trained, Zaping had mastered every fist technique Shaolin had to offer, accumulating inner strength far beyond the average practitioner.
While he was unsure how much the martial world had changed since then, he was confident he could match anyone.
It wasn’t mere arrogance.
The wind of destiny blew powerfully upon his departure from the temple.
Through all his senses, the world felt malleable, soft.
As though with his two fists, he could defeat anything.
“Then, farewell, Great Grandmaster.”
“Amitabha… May the grace of Maitreya Bodhisattva shine upon you.”
Zaping paid his respects with a clasped-hand bow and stepped resolutely away from Shaolin.
The monk watched the broad departing figure calmly. From his parched lips came a murmuring sigh.
“Unfortunately…”
His aging eyes lingered in deep reminiscence. Memories of the past, at least thirty years earlier, flashed through the monk’s mind like lantern lights.
“Changtian Sword Emperor… If it weren’t for you, the Sword Sage would not have met such a ruinous fate…”
The bitter sorrow of being unable to do anything but watch the tragedy unfold.
The sadness for the disciple choosing this arduous path,
And the deep resentment towards the one who had set the stage for all this tragedy.
“If you’re watching from the afterlife… I hope you repent even now. Your karmic debts are being repaid through the efforts of your son and grandson.”
The monk’s muttering was interwoven with a tangle of complex emotions.
“Amitabha…”
