The fire burned fiercely, occasionally crackling as sparks snapped in the air. A cold wind swept in through the door, making the flames flicker—much like the fear gripping everyone's hearts. The dimly lit hall was steeped in a solemn, almost suffocating tension. A group of people knelt on the ground, not daring to lift their heads, for seated before them was their new leader, Su Ran. Ruthless and cold-blooded, his methods of torture were known to be unimaginably cruel.
"Bring the person up," commanded a clear, cold voice. At first glance, it seemed to belong to a young man in his early twenties, but it carried a heavy, sinister aura that sent chills through everyone present. As soon as the words were spoken, several followers dragged in a disheveled, gravely injured man through the main gate. With bowed heads, they announced in low, solemn tones, "Master, the thief has been captured. We await your judgment."
The Sect Leader stood tall and slender, draped in a crimson robe, his face half-hidden behind a thick beard. Yet, his piercing eyes—sharp as a silent, bloodthirsty blade—gleamed with a cold, calculating light. Positioned high above, he cast a slow, deliberate gaze over the kneeling figures below. An overwhelming sense of indifference and tyranny radiated from him, weaving its way into the hearts of those present like invisible threads, causing their legs to tremble involuntarily.
For a long time, the hall was enveloped in an eerie, suffocating silence. Suddenly, with a surge of profound inner strength, he soared through the air and landed steadily in front of the thief. The two followers escorting the thief instinctively dropped to their knees, releasing their grip on the man and shuffling backward. In trembling voices, they muttered, "Master."
The red-robed leader remained silent, his lips curling into a sneer as he gazed down at the man crumpled at his feet. After a prolonged pause, he raised his foot and pressed it lightly against the man's grime-streaked face. Gradually, the pressure increased, distorting the man's features and forcing blood to trickle from his mouth. The man, struggling to prop himself up on trembling arms, lifted his furious face and spat through gritted teeth, "Su Ran, you will die a wretched death!"
Su Ran's eyes glinted with cold mockery as he stared down at the defiant figure. "The victor reigns; the defeated perishes. Neither death nor life holds pity," he replied icily. Almost imperceptibly, a crimson whip materialized in his hand. With a swift, merciless motion, he lashed it through the air. The whip struck with a sharp crack, slicing into flesh and drawing an immediate gush of blood. The man collapsed into a lifeless heap, unconscious and bleeding.
Su Ran's lips twisted into a disdainful smirk as he surveyed the motionless body. His cold, piercing gaze swept across the gathered followers, his voice resonating with authority and menace. "This is the fate of those who dare betray this venerable one, Su Ran!" The words echoed through the hall, a chilling reminder of his unyielding power and the consequences of defiance.
The final note of his words lingered in the air, stirring unease in the hearts of all who heard it. In an instant, the man on the ground was hurled out of the door by a powerful gust of palm wind, and Su Ran vanished from the hall just as swiftly. The bedroom door slammed open with a resounding crash. Su Ran, leaning heavily against the wall, staggered to the bed and slumped down. With a flick of his hand, the wide-open door snapped closed.
His eyes narrowed as he leaned back against the bed, his face now flushed with an unnatural hue and glistening with sweat. His lips parted slightly as he struggled to breathe, each exhale scorching hot. The commanding ferocity he had displayed in the hall was gone, replaced by a fragile vulnerability. His body burned as if consumed by fire, trembling uncontrollably with each labored breath.
With trembling, pale, and slender fingers, he reached into a hidden compartment in the bed, retrieving a small white jade medicine bottle. He hastily swallowed a pill, then tore open his belt, his hands falling limp at his sides. His slightly upturned eyes were half-closed, lashes damp, and his vision blurred. His cheeks, flushed a deep rouge, seemed painted with a color that refused to fade, softening the fierce image of the bearded man into one of fragility and pitiable weakness.
Even with the pill dissolving in his mouth, Su Ran's body remained wracked with dizziness and searing heat. Frowning, he struggled to prop himself up and sit cross-legged on the bed. But before he could begin his practice, his strength faltered, and he collapsed back onto the bed, breathing weakly. After a moment of adjustment, he exhaled deeply, focusing his internal energy into his dantian. Carefully, he guided the energy into his burning abdomen, and gradually, the scorching heat began to subside. His body slowly returned to a state of calm.
About an hour later, his eyes fluttered open, their usual fierceness and coldness restored. His fists clenched tightly, and as he raised his head, a surge of energy erupted from him, shattering the tables and chairs in the room into splinters. "Damn it!" he muttered through gritted teeth. "My internal energy has decreased by another 10%!" Su Ran narrowed his eyes, staring at his hands as a grim realization settled in. If this continued, not only would he lose the position of leader he had just secured, but he would also forfeit his life.
Far from the turmoil of Su Ran's world, the vast green mountains stood in sharp relief against the clear sky. Nestled within this serene landscape was the Shaolin Temple, renowned throughout the martial arts world. A clear stream meandered through lush trees, in a secluded clearing on the back mountain stood a simple thatched hut. In front of the hut, a tall monk stood in quiet contemplation, completely absorbed in refining his martial arts moves. So immersed was he in his practice that he failed to notice the figure approaching him from a distance.
"Shixiong![1] Shixiong! The abbot asked me to call you!" The repeated calls broke the stillness. Pushing aside the overgrown weeds and branches, the little monk finally emerged in front of the secluded spot where his Shixiong was practicing. Ji Chun, roused from his deep concentration, straightened his simple monk's robe and walked over to the young monk. He gently patted the little one's bald head and asked, "Shidi[2] Wu Zhi, what did Shifu[3] call me for?"
Wu Zhi blinked up at him with a smile, shrugging to indicate he didn't know the reason. Still, he visibly enjoyed the affectionate pat from his Shixiong. "Maybe... maybe he just hasn't seen you in a while. Hmm…" he offered innocently.
Ji Chun nodded thoughtfully. If his Shifu had sent for him, it must be something important. He decided not to dwell on it further—he would find out soon enough. "Then let's go back," he said.
Leaving the tranquility of the back mountain, they made their way through the courtyards where several monks resided, eventually arriving at the meditation room of Abbot Hui Kong. Ji Chun knocked gently on the door, and a calm, aged voice responded from within, "Is that Ji Chun? Come in."
Pushing the door open, Ji Chun stepped inside. Abbot Hui Kong looked up at him, his gaze steady and wise. "Ji Chun," he began, "how long have you been in seclusion?"
"Shifu, it has been one year and five months," Ji Chun replied respectfully, his head slightly bowed. His voice was calm and measured, his demeanor as still and composed as a serene landscape painting.
"Well, it has been over a year," the abbot mused. "Not long ago, the Ouyang family, who once aided our temple, was tragically wiped out. Only a young son survived, and he is now residing in the Tiangang Sect, clinging to life. Fortunately, the Xue Shenyi intervened to save him. It is a blessing, yesterday I received a letter from Xu Zhen, the head of the Tiangang Sect. He mentioned that the crucial medicinal ingredient needed to treat young Master Ouyang is the Qixi Ginseng from our temple. He hopes Shaolin can assist. That is why I called you here today—to task you with delivering the medicinal herbs to Jeju as a gesture of Shaolin's compassion. Are you willing to undertake this journey?"
"Ji Chun will follow the Shifu's arrangements," he answered, his voice as calm and respectful as ever.
"Good, good," the abbot said with a nod. "Since you entered the temple at the age of three, you have never had the opportunity to venture beyond the mountain. This will be your first long journey. Remember, do not let the temptations of the world blind you. Keep your Buddhist heart pure and treat others with kindness..."
As Ji Chun listened to the abbot, who had always shown him compassion and care, he clenched his fists slightly. He understood his Shifu's reluctance and worry, knowing that this journey was not just a task but a test of his resolve, character and heart.
"Shifu, must not worry. Ji Chun will always keep your teachings close to heart and will never dare to slacken after leaving the mountain," Ji Chun assured, his voice steady and sincere. He raised his eyes, meeting Hui Kong's aged and clouded gaze with a clear, unwavering resolve.
"Good, good," Hui Kong replied with a slow nod. "It is getting late. Go and pack your belongings, take some money, and retrieve the meridian-cleansing ginseng from your Shishu [4]Hui Dao. Then, you may descend the mountain. Be cautious on your journey." The abbot raised his wrinkled, spotted hand and gestured for Ji Chun to leave.
Without another word, Ji Chun bowed deeply and exited the room. He followed the winding corridor, passing the solemn Buddhist halls, until he arrived at the Zen room where he had lived for so many years. During his more than a year of seclusion, his Shidi, Wu Zhi, had occupied the room alone. Just as Ji Chun reached out to push the door open, it swung inward, revealing the round, cheerful face of Wu Zhi.
"Shixiong! What did the abbot call you for just now?" Wu Zhi asked eagerly, stepping aside to let Ji Chun in. He trailed behind his Shixiong, curiosity lighting up his face. Wu Zhi had been assigned to live with Ji Chun in this room, but after only half a year together, Ji Chun had left for the back mountain to practice. Though their time together had been brief, Ji Chun's reputation and character within the temple had left a deep impression on Wu Zhi, who admired him greatly.
Wu Zhi was one of the most respected and beloved martial brother in the sect. "Shifu has ordered me to go down the mountain to take care of some matters. I'm here to pack my belongings," Ji Chun explained briefly, his tone as calm and steady as ever. His expression remained indifferent, like a wisp of cloud drifting across a clear sky—gentle and untroubled—or like a mountain stream flowing quietly, serene and eternal. There was neither excitement nor joy about leaving the mountain, nor any trace of worry or fear about the journey ahead.
"Then, Shixiong, when will you return? You must be careful on your way," Wu Zhi said, stepping forward to help pass items as he spoke. His voice carried a hint of reluctance. Ji Chun had just returned from the back mountain and was leaving again after barely an hour. This left Wu Zhi feeling both disheartened and concerned.
Ji Chun didn't have much to pack—just two sets of monk's robes, some needlework, a water bag, and a few scriptures. When traveling, simplicity was key, especially for a monk from the temple. He slung the bag over his shoulder and stood up, gently patting Wu Zhi on the shoulder to reassure him. "I'll return once my task is complete. Fear not, Shidi," he said softly.
With those words, Ji Chun walked out of the room and made his way to the treasure pavilion. There, he retrieved the meridian-cleansing ginseng, carefully storing it away. After bidding farewell to his fellow martial brothers, he set off down the mountain alone, his bag on his back, his figure steady and resolute against the fading light of the day.
The journey from Shaolin Temple to Jeju typically took a month. Fortunately, the doctor who had stabilized the life of the leader's son was a renowned genius from the Yisheng Valley, which meant time was not as pressing. This allowed them to send a letter requesting Shaolin's assistance. Ji Chun, by nature, was both rigorous and responsible. Upon receiving this task, he wasted no time and set out for Jeju early in the morning, determined to fulfill his duty without delay.
Translator's Notes: I didn't want to add this information since it spoils a little bit and I am a very hands off kind of translator. Meaning I do not like to add my opinions or add future detailed information about the story because I firmly believe everything will be revealed if you continue to read. There's really no need for me to make a note but alas the beard is FAKE (~_~)
[1] Older Martial Brother
[2] Younger Martial Brother
[3] Master
[4] Martial Uncle