Shaolin Temple – The Debate over Discipline
Tang Mujin could hardly believe his ears.
Wasn't it the Head of the Precepts Hall himself—the very Cheongyul who now accused him—who had once defended Mujin when monks took up the pickaxe in his stead, saying it was a good deed?
Back then he said nothing. Yet suddenly, he had reversed his stance completely, spouting words filled with malice. Mujin couldn't understand it.
It was like the behavior of a spider—laying a trap, waiting for its prey to thrash about until it bound itself fast.
How could a person bring forth such venomous words?
Mujin glared at the Precepts Head, but he found not a trace of ill will in his face. Cheongyul's expression was utterly dry, as though his words were nothing but common sense—colder even than the wooden men themselves.
Something surged within Mujin as he opened his mouth.
"But last time, you said—"
His protest was cut short almost instantly. A bellowing roar from Cheongbok, the Akgugye-seung, thundered over his voice.
"Cheong—yul!"
It wasn't quite a lion's roar, but his voice carried the force of a Shaolin elder, filled with the spirit of pasa-hyeonjeong—to destroy falsehood and reveal truth.
Though the shout erupted right beside him, Cheongyul did not so much as flinch. His gaze remained steady, his tone cold.
"What is it?"
"What is it? You dare ask that? Benefactor Tang has spent months restoring the Wooden Men Alley. Unlike swindlers, he delivered results that exceeded all expectation!"
"Yes. I agree."
Cheongyul gave a half-hearted nod, his indifferent tone making it sound as though he were mocking Cheongbok. The older monk's face flushed red.
Cheongbok was honest to a fault, never one for guile or hidden malice. That was why he had often spoken bluntly against the Wooden Men Alley in the past.
But things were different now. The Wooden Men were no longer an obstacle—they had become a lighthouse, shining upon his path forward. For that reason, he was ready to voice his support for Tang Mujin openly.
His voice grew louder, impassioned.
"And you dare speak like that, knowing the truth? It's been three hundred years. For the first time in three centuries, Shaolin has reclaimed the Wooden Men Alley. This is an achievement far beyond some legendary elixir!"
"Is that so?"
"Of course! An elixir may benefit a single person, but the Wooden Men will guide countless monks to enlightenment for generations. More than that, it will reignite passion in those who had given up on martial advancement. Even long-lost martial arts have been restored through it!"
Cheongbok's words spilled out in a rush, unpolished, but his intent was clear. The monks around him nodded in quiet agreement.
All except Cheongyul.
"Listen, Cheongbok."
"I'm listening."
"What does any of that matter? The fact remains—Benefactor Tang has violated the Precepts of the Great Three Realms."
Shock crossed Cheongbok's face. He opened and closed his mouth before shouting again, furious.
"Nonsense!"
"Bodhidharma himself declared—one cannot learn Shaolin's martial arts without a master's guidance. If you claim Tang did not violate the precepts, then tell us: from whom did he inherit his martial skills?"
Cheongbok's mouth trembled, his features twitching as though struck with palsy. Were it not for his standing as Akgugye-seung, he might have hurled crude insults fit for a marketplace.
Breathing hard, his voice rasped with rage.
"Precepts? You speak of precepts now? Yes, they matter—of course they do! But in this moment, they are not what we should cling to. What we should do is express gratitude, and consider how to repay him. That is not only the duty of a Shaolin monk, but the obligation of any Buddhist, any human being!"
"Cheongbok."
"Speak, then. Let's hear what lofty reason you can offer."
"Reason? None is needed. The precept is a precept precisely because it requires no reason."
Cheongyul's voice was unwavering.
"I do not say we shouldn't reward his labor. On the contrary, I believe Tang should be compensated fairly. But at the same time—his meridians must be destroyed, or his life ended. That is all."
The monks fell into stunned silence. Even Mujin himself felt the words strike him dumb.
Reward and punishment together? What twisted logic was this?
It was Cheonguk, the Manlyeok-seung, who broke the silence. His forehead veins bulged with fury.
"Cheongyul! I have known you since my youth, but never did I realize you were such a man. I am truly disappointed."
Other monks echoed the sentiment in rapid succession.
"Head of Precepts, do not disappoint me further."
"Cheongyul! What will the world think if they hear of this? That Shaolin is nothing but a den of ingrates, worse than beasts or the black-path sects! Not even they would say such things!"
Bitter reproach from men he had known his whole life—yet Cheongyul's expression did not waver.
"Is reputation higher than the precepts? At the next assembly, I will bring forth this matter for judgment."
"And what then? Do you think a single soul will side with you? Foolishness! You only disgrace yourself—and Shaolin itself!"
The hall seethed with rage, insults flung in veiled words.
Even as the storm raged, Mujin himself—the one at the center of it—could not speak.
But Cheongyul endured it all, silently, repeating only one point: the precepts must be upheld.
It was no dialogue—just voices clashing, heat without light.
The monks seemed on the verge of blows when suddenly, an old man entered the hall.
Older by far than the blue-robed masters present, his long white beard flowed down, and his very presence set him apart.
If the other monks were like stones—hard and solid—this elder was like a cool breeze through the forest.
Goiyi whispered softly,
"That's the Divine Monk. He must have completed his seclusion."
The Abbot of Shaolin. One of the Six Pillars of the Orthodox. A man whose name could never be left out when speaking of the greatest under Heaven.
All eyes turned toward him.
"What disgrace is this? To brawl before our benefactors?"
"Abbot! The Precepts Head—"
"Silence."
At his single word, the hall fell quiet, so quiet one could hear the breathing of every man present.
The Divine Monk spoke with authority, his tone brooking no argument.
"To propose punishment for one who has broken the precepts—that is the right of the Head of Precepts. None may gainsay it."
Faces darkened with discontent.
But no one dared oppose him openly. His authority was too great—and, besides, none truly believed Tang Mujin would be punished.
After all, the Head of Precepts could only propose. For punishment to be carried out, the assent of the other elders was still required.
The problem was that the other monks did not want Tang Mujin to be punished.
Surely the Precept Head also knew that punishment could not follow through. That was why the warrior monks found him even harder to understand.
The Precept Head notified them:
"Tomorrow, we shall hold an emergency council at the Hall of Longevity. Any who wish to express their opinion on this matter should attend."
With that, the Precept Head left the Wooden Man Alley.
The atmosphere grew heavy.
There were plenty of monks eager to test themselves against the Wooden Men, but the mood had become so grave that they could not bring themselves to step forward.
Tang Mujin too left the alley with a complicated heart.
***
He did not return to the Hall of Attendants to rest. There was somewhere else he needed to go first.
Tang Mujin passed through the mountain gate. The warrior monks of the Arhat Hall who stood guard there did not stop him, even though they muttered about him being a violator of the precepts.
His destination was Dan seol-yeong's dwelling. She was seated beside the waterwheel, lost in thought.
Only today, her hands held neither pickaxe nor carving knife. It was the first time Tang Mujin had seen her idle.
Hearing his approaching footsteps, Dan seol-yeong turned her head to look at him. She patted the spot beside her, inviting him to sit.
Tang Mujin sat down next to her. Instead of the usual smell of sweat, a faintly sweet scent drifted from her. Familiar, and yet somehow strange.
Dan seol-yeong glanced at him and asked,
"Well? The Wooden Men moved properly, didn't they?"
At once, Tang Mujin recalled the Precept Head's cold words in the alley—debating punishment before gratitude.
But he did not want to burden Dan seol-yeong with such talk. If anyone deserved to hear only joyful things today, it was her.
"Of course. The monks nearly fell over in shock when they saw the wooden men move."
"Really?"
Her expression brightened immeasurably. Seeing it, Tang Mujin gave a small laugh.
"Of course it's true. There's this monk named Cheongbok who always scowled at me whenever I passed by. Today he was the first to challenge the Wooden Man Alley."
"Oh? How did that go?"
"Want me to show you?"
Tang Mujin stood up and mimicked Cheongbok's movements—walking a few steps, then flailing as if struck by invisible wooden men, finally collapsing and rolling in the dirt.
He sat back down with a dazed look, glancing around as if bewildered. Dan seol-yeong burst into laughter.
Dusting off his clothes, Tang Mujin added,
"He only made it six steps before getting knocked flat. And he's no random nobody—he's a master at the Absolute Peak level!"
"Truly?"
"Of course!"
A riddle is satisfying only when someone fails to solve it. Even renowned masters had failed here. Pride shone on Dan seol-yeong's face.
"Did anyone make it to the end?"
"No. You know the Arhat Hall Master, the Ten-Thousand-Strength Monk Cheonguk?"
"I've heard his epithet. They say he's second only to the Abbot."
"Even he only managed eleven steps. Not even a third of the way."
Tang Mujin carefully and vividly described the Wooden Man Alley—their movements, the monks' reactions. He had never spoken so much, so eagerly.
Dan seol-yeong closed her eyes, listening intently. In her mind's eye, beneath her lids, Tang Mujin's words drew a clear picture: the wooden men, the astonished and delighted elders.
Tang Mujin found himself watching her. The breeze stirred the strands of hair by her cheek, and a soft smile played on her lips.
When he finished, she opened her eyes and smiled brightly, showing white teeth.
"I'm more than satisfied. I have no regrets now."
Hearing this, a question rose in Tang Mujin's heart.
What would Dan seol-yeong live for now?
"The Wooden Man Alley is fully restored. What will you do next?"
"What else? I'll live here, tending the waterwheel so the alley won't break down again. Now that there's more leeway, maybe I'll even spend some time in the village below."
"You're staying here?"
"Of course. Where else would I go?"
For some reason, Tang Mujin felt a pang of regret. He asked the question that had lingered inside him.
"Aren't you sorry you never saw the Wooden Man Alley with your own eyes?"
"Fool. Who says I never saw it?"
"Hm?"
"Everyone else may have seen it only now, but ever since I was ten, all I had to do was close my eyes to see it vividly."
Dan seol-yeong grinned with confidence.
Yet looking at her, Tang Mujin felt a small sorrow.
The thought that perhaps—just perhaps—she might have been able to smile even more brightly.