North of Samul Gaya, Mount Goybong was famous not just for its breathtaking natural scenery, but for someone far more renowned—the abbot of Worl'Gwang, or Moonlight Temple, Jiduck. However, before he took his vows, he had already been a well-known figure in Samul Gaya: Baram, the fifth prince.
Baram had been a man of exceptional talent, excelling in both scholarly pursuits and martial prowess. He possessed a deep knowledge of Confucian and Buddhist teachings and was undefeated in battles against Seraburl. Yet, more than his skills in war and wisdom, he was most famed for his appearance. With a strong physique and an unearthly beauty, he captivated the hearts of many.
Such brilliance, however, was not solely a blessing. His talents and appearance earned him the envy of his brothers—and more dangerously, the wrath of his own father, Gahn, the ruler of Samul Gaya. The reason was simple: the youngest concubine whom Gahn loved dearly had secretly harbored an infatuation for Prince Baram.
The concubine's feelings, written like a diary of devotion, were discovered. As she had already been the subject of jealousy and intrigue among the other concubines, rumors soon spread that she and Baram had been involved in an illicit affair. The king, though enraged, could not afford for such a scandal to escape the palace. Instead of executing his own son, he ordered Baram to take vows and become a monk. For Baram, the decree was earth-shattering. Soon after, he received news that the concubine had passed away in her sleep—though many whispered that she had been murdered. Realizing that he, too, stood on the edge of a blade, he left the palace and entered Moonlight Temple.
As a reward for his obedience, Gahn expanded Moonlight Temple into a grand sanctuary. However, by decree of Gahn, the temple limited the number of visitors, ensuring that only monks seeking enlightenment and those devoted to Buddhist teachings were allowed entry. Moonlight Temple thus became a sanctuary of study and devotion.
Initially, Jiduck struggled in the cloistered life. But one day, as he read the Dhammapada, he came across a passage: "Greater than the one who conquers a thousand men in battle is the one who conquers himself." The words struck his heart with a force greater than any sword. From that moment, he buried himself in scripture. Twenty years passed, and the sutras he transcribed and annotated spread throughout Gaya. As his teachings gained renown, memories of Prince Baram's famed beauty faded into obscurity.
One sunny day, a child monk hid within a thicket along the mountain path leading down from Moonlight Temple. His small hands clutched his robes tightly as he silently chanted Amitabha's name, praying that the monsters would not find him. The rustling of leaves and the murmurs of unnatural voices grew closer. The boy held his breath. Then, abruptly, the sounds ceased.
From below the mountain, the voice of a man echoed. The child monk dared to peek. A traveler? Today was not a day the temple accepted visitors, and he was certainly no man of Samul Gaya. What should he do?
The stranger's footsteps drew nearer, accompanied by a quiet hum. The child monk scanned his surroundings again. The monsters had disguised themselves as trees once more. A trap! Then that man—
Without hesitation, the boy bolted from his hiding place, shouting, "Sir! Run away!"
As he sprinted, the trees came to life. Their branches stretched out like arms, grasping for him.
"The monsters have taken this mountain!" he cried.
Suddenly, his body was yanked upward. One of the tree demons had caught him. Tears welled in his eyes, but he gritted his teeth and shouted, "Fine! Kill me like you killed my master! Let me reach Nirvana alongside him!"
A deep, amused laugh filled the air. The boy and the monsters turned to its source.
A man with a steel blade strode forward, cutting down three tree demons with effortless precision. He smiled.
"I came in search of the Living Buddha said to reside on Mount Goybong. And now, I see the rumors were true."
The remaining tree demons shrieked in fury and charged at him. The man moved with the fluidity of a dancer, his blade slicing through them as though they were mere twigs. The child monk watched in awe. Is he a general blessed by the heavens? The hardest of tree demons fell as easily as soft tofu under his blade.
When another three fell, the man finally sheathed his blade.
"To risk your life for a stranger at such a young age… You are the true Living Buddha."
The remaining monsters howled in rage. The one holding the boy tightened its grip. The man then unsheathed his second sword—a bronze gladius. As sunlight struck its surface, the blade gleamed like pure gold.
A sacred sword! Could it be the Sword of Wisdom? Then… this man—is he Manjusri Bodhisattva himself?
With a single slash of his golden blade, a wave of radiant energy erupted, washing over the tree demons. They let out an eerie, keening wail before turning back into mere trees, their roots torn from the ground. The child monk plummeted.
But before he could hit the earth, the man caught him. The boy clung to him in relief. "Are you truly Manjusri Bodhisattva?" he whispered.
The man chuckled, setting him down.
"I'm no Bodhisattva. The Living Buddha is you, child."
The boy stared at him.
"Who… are you?"
The man smiled.
"My name is Goi. Nice to meet you."
The child monk's eyes widened.
"But, Goi sir—you wield divine power! Will you please—?" He hesitated, unsure how to voice his thoughts.
Goi knelt to meet his gaze.
"What is it, young master? I cannot ignore a request from a Living Buddha."
The boy fidgeted. "Then… may I ask a favor?"
"If it is within my power," Goi replied warmly.
Reassured, the boy nodded.
"I live in a temple up the mountain. Something terrible is happening there. The sacred tree in the temple courtyard has been enraged. They say it turned into a woman—or a monster… She captured our abbot, and she has already killed my master and others."
The boy's words tumbled out in a rush of desperation.