The Shaolin Temple…
Let us first examine the name itself. The word "Shao" represents the Shaoshi Peak on the Songshan mountain range. The word "Lin" simply means Forest.
To be precise, Shaolin translates as The Temple in the Woods of Shaoshi Peak.
The Shaolin Temple is situated on the Songshan Mountains in Henan Province. It was founded in 477 AD during the reign of Emperor Xiaowen.
Just as all rivers and streams flow inevitably to the sea, all martial arts are universally accepted to have their headwaters at the Shaolin Temple.
In truth, rather than saying Shaolin is the source of all martial arts, it would be more accurate to credit the Indian monk, Bodhidharma (Damo), who arrived at the temple around 500 AD. (A brief historical note for context.)
The reader will recall the dying words of the White Horse Fortress Master: "The Nine Yin Manual has resurfaced." A variant of the Nine Yin Manual had been secretly stored in the Shaolin Temple's scripture repository for nearly a century.
What, then, was this Nine Yin Manual Variant? To speak of the variant, one must first speak of the original.
Over three hundred years ago, there existed a martial arts manual of staggering fame: The Nine Yin Manual. Its pursuit caused the widespread death and destruction of countless martial artists.
Young sisters lost their elder brothers. Wives became widows. Children became fatherless. Elderly mothers grieved for their lost sons. It was a bleak, dark age when the entire jianghu was stained red with blood.
The struggle for the manual finally culminated in a grand martial arts contest held on the summit of Mount WuHsan, where the five great masters of the era clashed for ownership—the victor would claim the prize.
Amidst the swirling mists of deep winter, the five masters fought for seven days and seven nights.
While the skills of the other four masters were closely matched, the martial art of Hermit Wang Chongyang, the man who would go on to found the Quanzhen Sect, possessed a slight, critical edge. He emerged victorious, claiming the manual and the title of the martial world's supreme master.
Why did the people of the jianghu crave the Nine Yin Manual so desperately? The reason was simple: its immense, incalculable value.
What kind of martial arts did the manual contain? It was a compendium of martial wisdom, compiled over nine grueling years by Bodhidharma after his arrival in China. It detailed his experiences fighting with Chinese martial artists, methods for healing internal injuries, and a trove of mysterious, unprecedented techniques.
It was rumored that to master even a single technique from the manual was enough to elevate a person above all others in the martial world. It was little wonder that people were consumed by desire for such a treasure. Are not all men, after all, merely prey to their own greed?
Following the collapse of the Song Dynasty, martial artists collectively determined that some of the manual's techniques were excessively cruel and unfit for practice.
They unanimously agreed to extract these brutal skills and seal them away, secretly storing them within the Shaolin Temple.
From that time onward, the martial world had enjoyed a long, fragile period of peace. The events had passed into the mists of history.
As the years rolled on, the original Nine Yin Manual gradually vanished, lost to time. Only the special variant, stored discreetly within the Shaolin Temple, remained. This is the origin of the Nine Yin Manual Variant.
It was the transition from late winter to early spring, and the world was bathed in a poetic, enchanting beauty, half-shrouded in mist and half-bathed in light. It was a time of year ripe for wistful melancholy. Had a sentimental soul witnessed this scene, they might have been driven to tears.
The location was a mountain path on the Songshan range in Henan Province. A youth, barely seventeen years old, was walking steadily.
Though the surroundings were beautifully and mournfully picturesque, the young man seemed oblivious to the scenery. Head bowed, he maintained a tireless, rhythmic pace.
Despite the great distance he had traveled, the youth showed no hint of weariness or fatigue. He was agile, energetic, and keenly alert. His slightly short and bowed legs seemed more than capable of supporting his sturdy, well-developed upper body.
The youth's long, sinewy fingers were now strong and firm. He looked as though he could clutch the entire world in his hands and crush it to dust at will.
This young man was none other than Little Monkey, who had undertaken this journey toward the Shaolin Temple to fulfill the desperate, dying request of the White Horse Fortress Master.
The mountain path was growing increasingly steep. However, the path was wide, paved with neat stone steps, making the climb relatively comfortable.
In truth, the very steps had been commissioned by Emperor Xiaowen himself, the founder of the Shaolin Temple on this very Songshan Mountain.
Upon rounding a sharp, winding bend, a traveler would surely be astonished by the sight that unfolded above them.
An immense, vast temple compound. Within its walls stood massive, sprawling halls. This was the great Shaolin Temple, the luminous beacon of the martial world.
Little Monkey ascended the stone steps steadily. Suddenly…
"Layman, halt! For what purpose have you come here? State your business!"
A voice called out sharply. Little Monkey looked up to see two young monks standing directly in his path.
One was short with rather narrow, squinting eyes. The other was tall, appearing sharp and alert. The one who had spoken to Little Monkey was the short monk.
"I need to speak with a responsible elder monk of Shaolin. I have a crucial message I must deliver."
In reality, Little Monkey was only there because of the dying request of the White Horse Fortress Master. He intended to deliver the message, discharge his duty, and then be done with it. It was, in essence, a perfunctory act.
Due to this underlying indifference, his expression was neither overly respectful nor overly defiant; it was merely neutral. However, his tone carried a subtle hardness, a slight edge of resentment. This was rooted in his bitter disillusionment with the world itself.
Furthermore, his face was already naturally scowling and stubbornly unattractive—the kind of look that instantly irritated others. When this naturally abrasive appearance was combined with his unyielding tone, Little Monkey instantly became an object of contempt and revulsion to the two young, less-than-enlightened Shaolin novices.
The quality of one's disposition is not determined by the place one inhabits, nor by the robes one wears. It is determined solely by the individual's inner heart and convictions.
"Your tone is very arrogant, Layman. Do you not know that Shaolin is a place where dragons and tigers reside?"
The short monk snapped, and with a sudden, swift motion, he reached out to claw at Little Monkey's shoulder.
The technique the novice used was one of the Seventy-Two Shaolin Arts, called Monkey Stealing Fruit.
Derived from a systematic, rigorous training regimen, the monk's move was high-level, precise, fast, and applied with perfectly calibrated force. It was a technique capable of cleanly shattering a normal man's shoulder bone.
Surprised by the sudden, aggressive attack, Little Monkey was momentarily stunned. Instinctively, he lashed out with a martial art he had practiced for hours, days, and months, allowing it to become fused with his very flesh, blood, and mind.
It was the very first technique from the White Horse Fortress Master's notes: Mountain-Splitting Fist. He crouched slightly, keeping his left fist close to his waist for defense, and drove his right fist straight at the chest of the Shaolin novice.
This technique was imbued with the full force of his Quanzhen internal energy, making it powerfully overwhelming. When combined with the bracing effect of his left fist, the strike was an unstoppable surge, like a bursting dam.
With a muffled CRACK, the Shaolin monk was sent flying backward. He instantly vomited a gush of blood, his head slumped, and he was dead.
The consequence of his arrogance and contempt: a life was extinguished.
The remaining novice was utterly terrified.
"You… you are merciless! Murderer! Murderer!" he screamed, spinning around and running full-tilt back towards the temple grounds.
For Little Monkey, the situation was beyond dire; his first-ever real fight had resulted in an accidental killing. Worse yet, his victim was a Shaolin monk.
Little Monkey whirled around and fled, scrambling down the steps of the Songshan Mountain path with all the strength he could muster.
Run, Little Monkey, run! Run, though you may never reach the end of the world!