Shaolin Temple
At Shaolin Temple's Hall of Longevity, regular meetings are held twice a month—once on the full moon, once on the new moon.
Today happened to be the day of the full moon, and quite a few monks had gathered in the hall. They were all monks who held some position, great or small, within Shaolin.
But there were just as many empty seats as occupied ones. The Abbot's closed-door training had not yet ended, and many monks had other duties that kept them away.
Since monks could skip these meetings freely if they had tasks to attend to, rarely did anything truly important get discussed during these sessions.
Though called a meeting, in reality it was more of an opportunity for monks who seldom crossed paths to see each other's faces and exchange words.
When the usual idle chatter disguised as "discussion" ended and a few impatient monks left their seats, one of the Ten Commandment Ten Monks, the Vow-keeper against Evil Speech Cheongbok, spoke up.
"Come to think of it, I heard the Wooden Dummy Hall was opened again. Is that true?"
The head of the Treasure Hall nodded.
"Yes, it is."
"Why on earth? Wasn't it decided that we would tear down the Wooden Dummy Hall before winter?"
Many monks had argued for its demolition. Among them, the two most outspoken were Cheongbok, the Evil-Speech Vow Monk, and Cheongjin, the Treasure Hall Master.
Cheongjin wanted it gone because he was the one left to clean up whenever swindlers pretended to be Wooden Dummy masters. But Cheongbok disliked it for a simpler reason—it stood right in front of his quarters, blocking the view.
Cheongbok knew well enough that it was a petty reason.
When he inherited his predecessor's quarters as Evil-Speech Vow Monk, he hadn't cared in the least whether the Wooden Dummy Hall blocked his doorway or not.
But when his martial progress stagnated for years at the level just beneath "Perfection," when his juniors surpassed him one by one—
—what caught his eye most sharply was that building looming before his residence.
Already weighed down by frustration at his stalled cultivation, watching the sunlight reduced to a mere sliver by the hall filled him with troubling thoughts.
He began to wonder about geomancy and feng shui, things he'd never cared about before, or the words of wandering Daoists who once remarked that his quarters seemed "blocked."
Could that be why he couldn't break through to Perfection?
Even if he tried to dismiss the foolish thought, the hall loomed into view every time he opened his door, making it impossible to banish from his mind.
Now he understood why his predecessor hated the Wooden Dummy Hall so much. As the one tasked with restraining Shaolin monks from foul speech, he found curses rising to his lips whenever he saw it.
Whether he realized Cheongbok's seething resentment or not, Cheongjin replied calmly:
"There is no special reason. Simply that someone capable of taking on the task has appeared."
"Which makes it all the harder to understand. Word is, it was some young swordsman brought by that fellow 'Goiyi' who took on the work."
At the mention of the nickname "Goiyi" (Monster), the monks less attuned to rumor stirred uneasily. The man had a poor reputation.
Cheongbok continued:
"I dislike it already—that Shaolin business should be entangled with Goiyi. I still don't know why that man has not been declared an enemy of the martial world. How is it that someone who kills as he pleases, even the innocent, escapes such fate?"
Then Manly Power Monk Cheonguk, head of the Arhat Hall, cut in.
"Anyone listening would think Yi Chung only killed innocents. Most of the men he slew were villains."
"But he killed innocents too! Tell me, is it justifiable to kill a physician simply because he refused to hand over a family medical book? Or to sever a patient's arm because he wouldn't pay for his medicine?"
Cheonguk fell silent. That much was undeniably one of Goiyi's crimes.
But he tried to steer the conversation in Goiyi's defense.
"Still, people must think his merits outweigh his wrongs—why else would he not be declared an enemy? Among great sects and families, who hasn't owed Yi Chung a favor? And have you ever once heard of him refusing treatment to the poor?"
"Perhaps the world forgives his sins for his deeds, but whether the Lords of the Underworld will judge the same, who can say? His disciple will be no different."
"That young swordsman is not his disciple—merely a companion."
"But don't they say, 'birds of a feather flock together'?"
"Enough."
The head of the Discipline Hall, who had been silent till now, cut off the squabble.
All the monks still present turned to listen. He was not one to speak idly, and his position was among the highest in Shaolin.
"This is a separate matter, but I heard recently that this swordsman completed a Wooden Dummy?"
"Yes. It was impressive."
Cheongjin nodded. His trust had not been betrayed—Tang Mujin had, within days, produced not one but two wooden dummies.
He even showed one to Cheongjin, its limbs moving as if alive. Even Cheongjin, ignorant of martial arts, could only nod in amazement.
"But he completed it outside the monastery before bringing it in, correct?"
"Yes."
"That is a problem. As you know, Shaolin strictly forbids its martial knowledge from leaking outside. Should we lose one of those dummies, it could be disastrous."
At this, Cheongjin looked uneasy.
"I'm no martial monk, but losing one or two dummies hardly seems like a great leak of Shaolin's arts."
"Perhaps. But even a small matter should not be treated lightly. Caution beforehand is the wiser path."
"Then what do you suggest? At last we have someone able to repair the Wooden Dummy Hall—you're not saying we should stop the work, are you?"
"Of course not. But if dummies are to be made, it must be done within Shaolin's grounds."
It was a strict, old-fashioned view, but correct. Other monks nodded in agreement.
***
"…So that's how it is," Cheongjin explained sheepishly to Tang Mujin afterward.
"Surely they don't mean we must discard the ones already made and start anew?"
"No, not that. But from now on, you'll have to build them inside the monastery."
Understandable, but hardly easy to accept.
"Without Lady Dan's help, I can't repair the hall. She alone knows the precise structure of the Wooden Dummies."
His first success had given Mujin confidence, so he had tried making a second dummy relying only on Dan Seol-yeong's verbal instructions, without a prototype.
The result was disastrous. Two days making the dummy, two more trying to fix it alone—four wasted days with nothing to show.
He realized then: only by working with Dan Seol-yeong, first creating prototypes to grasp the structure, could he hope to succeed.
"I knew that, so I bargained as much as I could with the Discipline Hall Master. He said it's fine if you build partial prototypes outside—so long as they are not complete in form. Will that work?"
"That should be fine."
"I'm sorry for the inconvenience. But as it's the Discipline Hall's ruling, I had no choice."
Though it wasn't his fault, Cheongjin apologized sincerely, and Mujin nodded in acceptance.
**8
When Tang Mujin went to see Dan Seol-yeong, she was waiting with materials piled high.
Thinking of her joy when she had seen the dummy move, Mujin felt heavy-hearted. Still, he had to tell her.
"We can't build the dummies outside anymore."
"What do you mean?"
He relayed Cheongjin's words. Mujin thought she'd be disappointed, but unexpectedly she stayed calm.
"It's fine. I only want to repair the Wooden Dummy Hall. I wasn't planning to watch the finished dummies anyway. Just knowing the hall is being fixed feels like a dream. And honestly, I've been a little worried myself."
"Worried about what?"
She pointed to a half-dug, abandoned patch of earth.
"I have my own work too, but lately I've done nothing."
Indeed, Mujin hadn't seen her with her pickaxe in days. They had spent every moment together, focused on the dummies.
After a pause, she added:
"So… you won't be coming every day anymore?"
"Probably not. I'll come once every three days to make prototypes, but the other two I'll be inside the hall working."
For a moment, disappointment flickered across her face. She tried to act indifferent, but clearly she regretted not being able to see the dummies in motion.
Strangely, Mujin too felt his spirits sink.
But there was no helping it. Rules were rules because they could not be bent.
He forced a brighter tone.
"Anyway, don't worry about today. We can still make prototypes as usual—just don't assemble them fully. Moving the arms and legs separately is no problem."
"Mm. That's right."
Dan Seol-yeong gave a crooked grin, her expression still uncertain.
***
While Tang Mujin and Dan Seol-yeong were absorbed in repairing the Wooden Dummy Hall, and Goiyi was shut away in a corner scribbling in his writings, Hong Geolgae wandered through every nook and cranny of the village below.
Within just a few days, Hong Geolgae had become rather well known among the local beggars. Among beggars, three knots (signs of seniority) marked a person of considerable skill.
Naturally, there were also three-knot beggars at the Songshan branch of the Beggars' Sect, including the branch leader Wang Bong. Rather than clash with Hong Geolgae, Wang Bong chose the friendlier path.
At a glance, Hong Geolgae's martial skill was not to be underestimated, and he clearly wasn't planning on staying long in the branch's territory. There was no benefit in treating him with hostility.
"Ah, younger brother, you've come."
"Did you sleep well, elder brother?"
Likewise, Hong Geolgae had no reason to be hostile toward Wang Bong.
In fact, far from hostility, Wang Bong was older, carried three knots, and treated him warmly—so the honorific "elder brother" came naturally. Their temperaments matched well too.
During the day, the two of them idled about instead of begging, and when dusk approached, they strolled leisurely through the alleys near the inns.
Shaolin Temple was a sect of monks steeped in discipline. But not everyone who visited Shaolin shared that restraint.
In fact, the quieter Mount Song was above, the livelier the town beneath Shaolin became.
By evening, gamblers set up games in every corner. Drifters from all across the Central Plains who came to sightsee at Songshan gathered to roll dice, a daily occurrence.
Hong Geolgae and Wang Bong found that begging around the gambling dens was especially effective.
Wang Bong, always smiling, often received spare coins from gamblers who had won big and were in high spirits.
"Heh heh. Great Hero, did you win much today?"
"Wang, my friend! Of course I did! Here, take this and buy yourself something to eat."
The gambler happily rummaged through his pouch.
From the tone of his voice, it sounded as though he would hand over silver taels—but in Wang Bong's palm lay only a couple of coppers. Yet what did it matter? Found money was found money.
Hong Geolgae, on the other hand, attracted a very different sort of benefactor.
One gambler, clearly having lost heavily, tearing at his own hair in frustration, brightened the instant he saw Hong Geolgae.
"Ah! Young Hero Hong! Come over here!"
All Hong Geolgae had to do was walk closer, and unlike Wang Bong, he didn't even need to flatter them. The gamblers pressed five, sometimes ten coins into his hand at once. It looked less like charity and more like tribute.
The reason was simple: word had spread that Hong Geolgae brought good luck.
"Young Hero Hong! Throw the dice for me!"
"It's not difficult… but I can't promise it will land well."
"Ah, I know, I know. Don't worry, just throw."
The gambler was sweating profusely, even though the evening was cool, having lost a great deal at the game of chopuo (an ancient dice game).
Hong Geolgae took the two dice and rolled them. The result: 2–5. Ordinary.
But the gambler didn't blame him, clasping his hands as he waited his turn.
4–3. 3–5. 1–4. A series of ordinary rolls followed.
On Hong Geolgae's fifth throw, however, the dice both came up six. 6–6.
"Waaah! Waaaah!"
The gambler shrieked with joy. Having lost heavily, he had recouped it all in one stroke.
Normally such a roll might take thirty or fifty throws to appear. Yet with Hong Geolgae, it seemed to appear once every five or ten throws. He had no idea why—he had never even touched dice until a few days ago.
The gambler swept up his winnings, then pressed ten more coins into Hong Geolgae's hand. As tips went, it was a generous sum.
Still not satisfied, the gambler even stood behind him, massaging his shoulders with the respect due to a superior.
"Ah, Young Hero Hong, you've saved me! Won't you throw for me again? I'll reward you handsomely."
Hong Geolgae glanced around. The other gamblers' faces looked anything but pleasant.
They seemed torn—telling themselves it must just be luck, yet half-believing Hong Geolgae possessed some uncanny fortune. Gamblers were always superstitious.
"No. I can't."
He waved his hands and stood. Watching someone rejoice was pleasant enough, but he hated facing the resentment of others.
"Just once more. One more throw—please?"
"They say when fortune peaks, misfortune follows. I feel as though the worst possible roll would come next."
"Well, if that's the case… nothing to be done."
As Hong Geolgae rose, Wang Bong sidled over with a chuckle.
"The more I see, the stranger it is. I've seen countless beggars in my life, but you're the only one who ever got alms from a man who just lost his shirt."
"I suppose the dice simply favor me. I don't know how long it will last, though."
As they walked, Hong Geolgae spotted a beggar father and daughter. Both were so thin they looked pitiful.
He handed them every coin he had just received. A beggar giving alms to other beggars—an odd sight indeed.
The father's eyes went wide and he bowed repeatedly.
"Thank you, sir! Thank you, thank you!"
"Easy come, easy go. Take your daughter and buy something good to eat before it's gone."
"Yes, yes, we will!"
The little girl's eyes shone with excitement as she took her father's hand. Perhaps it was her first chance to actually taste the treats she had only ever smelled.
Watching the two hurry off, Wang Bong let out a hearty laugh.
"Even stranger than earning tips is giving them away again. Don't you regret it?"
"I've never in my life bought anything with money. And I never will."
"Is that so? Then maybe I should try giving alms too. Shall I treat my younger brother to supper tonight?"
"Gladly."
The two disappeared into a shabby alley.
And an old man stood watching Hong Geolgae's back as he walked away.