Surviving as a Genius on Borrowed Time-Chapter 312: Hyeon-won (7)

"Uwaah! Aaargh—!"

A sudden commotion erupted in the snow-covered forest.

Jeon Baek tumbled through the air, crashing into the distance with a groan of pain. His severed shoulder slammed into the ground.

Jeong Yeon-shin's eyelids lifted slightly.

His sensory perception was still heavily diminished. The internal injuries inflicted by Twin Malevolent Palms and Internal Weighted Arts had significantly reduced his range of detection.

By the time he felt the force of the attack heading toward Jeon Baek, he hadn’t even considered stepping in.

Instead, he found himself pleasantly surprised.

Perhaps, after entering Yiphwang Fortress, he had grown more aware of his own solitude.

Yu Hyeon...?

Beyond the bushes encircling their makeshift campsite, he saw the distinct petal-like pattern within the Fist Wind that had struck Jeon Baek.

It was a presence he knew well. Plum Blossom Fist, Purple Haze Divine Art—refined techniques of the orthodox Nine Great Schools.

Had Yu Hyeon finally absorbed the Violet Small Pellet Jeong Yeon-shin had given him long ago?

His Footwork Art had evolved beyond comparison to before.

It was no match for the Shaolin Temple’s Hundred-Step Divine Fist, but the power of his strike, even from afar, had been enough to send Jeon Baek flying.

His old friend was steadily progressing—walking the long martial path of the Nine Great Schools, one that Jeong Yeon-shin himself could never truly step onto.

"Did he say 'a sacred beast of Shaolin'?"

He recognized the voice instantly.

Yu Hyeon had been tracking Jeon Baek and Gun Yu-rin.

"Which bastard—!"

Gun Yu-rin leaped to her feet, drawing the massive saber from her back in a swift motion.

Jeong Yeon-shin’s gaze swept over the surroundings.

There had to be an unfamiliar creature nearby.

Sacred beasts were rare in this world. Bred by noble clans using secret techniques, they were highly intelligent and skilled in special tracking arts.

Each one had its own unique abilities.

"There it is."

Perched on a snow-covered branch was a squirrel.

Its soft brown fur puffed out its cheeks as it stared down at him.

Its gleaming eyes shimmered with an intelligence far beyond that of a common animal.

He reached out his hand.

"Come here."

The squirrel’s eyes widened.

Tilting its head curiously, it hesitated before suddenly hopping onto his outstretched palm, sniffing at his fingers.

The delicate sensation of its tiny, needle-sharp claws pressing into his skin made his grip unconsciously tighten.

Jeong Yeon-shin’s lips curved into a faint smile.

Boom!

A deafening roar erupted from beyond the underbrush.

A gust of wind surged through the camp.

Hwaaaah—!

Gun Yu-rin had swung her saber.

Judging by the sheer force of the impact, Yu Hyeon had barely managed to block it.

Her voice rang out with unrestrained fury.

"You goddamn brat! How dare you pull your sword first?! You wanna die that badly?!"

"I was tracking a one-armed swordsman dressed as a scholar! He stole beef from the lower village! The sacred squirrel of Shaolin caught his scent immediately!"

"...What?"

"Did you think you could get away with it? If a bandit practices martial arts and crosses a wandering knight, they die on the roadside! Today marks the death anniversary of a Demonic Outsider!

"Beef? When?"

"Don’t play dumb. Your strength, clothing, and speech all mark you as his master. Right now, you’re facing a Daoist from Mount Hua, and this venerable monk beside me is a high-ranking..."

"I only ate wild game! Hey, Jeon Baek!"

"Demonic Cultist Jeon Baek? You bastards are from the Shadow Martial Alliance! I knew it—!"

"I... I needed proper nutrition! Miss, with these injuries, I had to eat well to recover my meridians!"

"You goddamn idiot! You said you were going to relieve yourself, and instead, you sneaked off to steal meat?! After I humiliated myself trying to save your sorry ass?!"

Gun Yu-rin’s roar was nearly as loud as her saber strike.

"My heart nearly stopped when I saw that Sword Assimilation technique—! And yet my subordinate—!"

"Miss? Are you Gun Yu-rin, the Crimson Phoenix Slayer? Hah, perfect. You’ll make a fine whetstone for my Plum Blossom Sword! Come at me."

"You arrogant brat! Do you think you’re the Flame Demon of Lotus?!"

Step.

The commotion was exhausting.

Jeong Yeon-shin sighed, lightly stroking the squirrel’s cheek with his index finger before turning toward them.

If Yu Hyeon was even slightly injured by Gun Yu-rin, it would be a disgrace to both himself and the Mount Hua Sect’s Grandmaster.

Then—

"Amitabha."

A deep, resonant voice came from right beside him.

The rippling energy from the monk’s chant brushed against his shoulder, cool and unwavering, like the chime of a temple bell.

The mere presence of this monk evoked the imagery of ancient monasteries and the steady rhythm of wooden fish drums.

"A peculiar company, indeed. Benefactor, you do not seem to be of the Demonic Outsiders. What is it that you seek among those who so easily discard human life?"

His voice was calm and profound.

It was the kind of sound that, if transformed into an instrument, would be the perfect note of a bamboo flute.

Jeong Yeon-shin turned his head slowly.

The first thing he saw was the sharp contour of an ear—cleanly shaven.

Then came the gleaming bald head.

Wrapped in deep ochre robes, the monk radiated an air of tranquility.

A Shaolin Monk.

Despite his smooth, youthful face, there was no mistaking his age.

With a staff firmly planted in the snow, he stood like a celestial guardian.

"He closed the distance in a single step... ignoring space itself."

There were four supreme movement techniques in Jianghu, known as the arts that allowed one to dance above the clouds.

Cloud Dragon’s Eight Steps—of the now-extinct Kunlun Sect.Serpentine Body Art—practiced by the Blood Flame Cult.Azure Dragon’s Scale-Treading Step—of the Thirteen Heavens.And Diamond Unmoving Step—passed down by the Shaolin Temple.For a movement art to bear the term "unmoving," it meant it had reached the ultimate state of stillness within motion.

Though the monk had shown no discernible movement, he had suddenly materialized beside Jeong Yeon-shin.

If this wasn’t a feat of magic, then it was a technique bordering on the supernatural.

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Refined and yet immensely threatening.

"Who is this monk from Shaolin?"

Jeong Yeon-shin was genuinely curious.

If his senses were fully intact, how would he have perceived him?

"It may be that the one I seek... is you, Benefactor."

The monk didn’t look at him. He simply stared blankly ahead, speaking slowly.

“That Galhon isn’t even friendly with the temple’s young novices, yet I sense a temperament in you similar to that of the Ming Clan. If the children were to see you, they might feel envious. To my clan, that would be quite meaningful.”

The squirrel sitting atop Jeong Yeon-shin’s hand busily chewed, its cheek pouches bulging as if stuffed with acorns.

Jeong Yeon-shin lifted his index finger from Galhon’s cheek, his hand lowering to his waist with a slight twitch.

The sense of unity he felt with the monk beside him was overwhelming. Even the blurred aura that obscured his presence rang alarm bells—he was clearly a supreme master of Three Flowers Converging at the Crown. On top of that, he had mastered the millennia-old techniques of Shaolin.

Even though he sensed no hostility, it was difficult to let his guard down.

“They call me Wonjeok. I’ve long forgotten my worldly name.”

The monk spoke.

Jeong Yeon-shin was inwardly stunned.

‘So he’s that monk who spent a hundred years staring at a wall.’

It was an extraordinary Dharma name. A name widely known for its overwhelming martial prowess.

One of the Four Great Vajras of Shaolin.

Among the Nine Great Sects, Shaolin was considered the strongest. To be one of the Four Great Vajras meant that he was among the five most powerful figures in the entire martial world.

He was clearly above even the Eighteen Arhats in Shaolin’s hierarchy. He was also known as the Great Master Wonjeok, a figure widely respected throughout the land.

Since the founding of the Ming Dynasty, the barriers that once constrained Shaolin had disappeared, allowing it to flourish once more. Wonjeok had spent decades guarding the temple, ensuring its continued prominence.

In fact, he was the reason modern Shaolin had gained a reputation for its century-long Wall-Gazing Meditation.

“Patron, may I ask your identity— Hmm, the surroundings are quite noisy.”

Abruptly, Wonjeok opened his mouth wide.

And then, he roared.

“Gal—!”

A surge of mighty energy spread outward, flattening the bushes in front of them as if a sudden storm had crashed down.

The air howled from all directions. Beyond the brush, two figures were flung in opposite directions, sent flying the moment they heard the roar.

It wasn’t one of the Seventy-Two Supreme Techniques, yet it was one of Shaolin’s most iconic skills.

The Lion’s Roar.

***

In the world of the martial arts, conflicts were always resolved by the stronger party.

Gun Yu-rin, who had moments ago been lunging to kill Yu Hyeon, had fallen silent. Now, she was sitting slightly closer to Jeong Yeon-shin, casting alternating glances at Wonjeok, Yu Hyeon, and Jeon Baek across the campfire.

Her posture was bold—knees pulled slightly toward her chest, forearms lazily draped over them. It was the stance of someone ready to spring into action at any moment.

Jeon Baek, his refined scholar’s face marred with indignation, muttered,

“Why me?”

“Shut up, you faithless bastard.”

Meanwhile, Jeong Yeon-shin locked eyes with a young Taoist boy dressed in white robes.

He had lost some of his baby fat, and the pink plum blossom embroidery on his robe suited him even better than before. Even his voice, carried through Transmission, had grown more dignified.

― ...I was honestly shocked. I never expected you to pop up there. So, how have you been?

― I’ve been fine. You’re the one who popped up. Anyway, how’s Lady Yulha Nangnang?

― Master? Well, she’s recovered a lot. I had a hell of a time stopping her from going after the Blade Specter’s Leader to cut off his head. She’s even devised a new form of Plum Blossom Swordsmanship. Honestly, I’m just glad our paths crossed. I actually stopped by the Gongya Family while tracking you down. Had Galhon sniff you out. Then we followed the trail here after hearing about a meat thief.

― Sniff?

Galhon.

At some point, the squirrel had climbed onto Wonjeok’s shoulder and closed its eyes.

It was said to be a spiritual beast raised in Shaolin.

A creature that not only helped locate abducted civilians taken by martial artists but also pursued rogue monks to cripple their meridians and dantians.

― Fortunately, the Gongya siblings handed over some of your belongings. A torn piece of your robe and fragments of your sword. They had them stored away in some box like sacred relics. Both of them, mind you. Speaking of which, that brat from the Gongsun Clan apparently keeps one of your broken swords as a decoration in his room. At this point, you’re more like a mythical beast than a person.

― That’s...

― By the way, your name is spreading like wildfire. Oh, right! How exactly did you kill Zhuge Gaju? You did kill him, didn’t you? What level of mastery have you even reached—?

For a moment, the ear of Wonjeok, who had been seated in silent meditation, twitched ever so slightly.

But the conversation between the two friends continued regardless.

― You’re exaggerating.

― I knew you’d downplay it. You shook up the entire martial world, and now you’re pretending it’s nothing... Weren’t you supposed to be keeping a low profile? Are you sure she doesn’t know who you really are? I hope I didn’t just blow your cover by reacting like that the moment I saw you.

Yu Hyeon gestured toward Gun Yu-rin with a glance.

Just then, she snorted, shaking her head with an exaggerated motion that lifted a strand of hair behind her ear.

“What’s with all the whispering, you half-grown chatterbox?”

“You should be proud to be my equal, Yu Hyeon Zhenren. If not for your companions, my blade would have painted a plum blossom with your blood.”

“Equal? If that damned Shaolin monk weren’t here, you’d—!”

She cast a glance at Wonjeok, then briefly flicked her eyes toward Jeong Yeon-shin. Her fingers trembled ever so slightly. She was stuck between a rock and a hard place. The firelight flickered crimson against the back of her hand.

Between the crackling sparks of the bonfire, their conversation unfolded like casual banter, yet the late-winter air around them carried an odd chill.

A strange and unpredictable gathering.

The atmosphere of the camp was just like that. Martial artists from both the Thirteen Heavens and the Nine Great Sects were sitting together in the same place.

If not for Jeong Yeon-shin—who had to stay with them until Gun Yu-rin found the Salmun—a bloodbath would have already broken out.

“Patron.”

Wonjeok, who had been meditating with his eyes closed, suddenly spoke.

The twin rows of three marks ◆ Nоvеlіgһt ◆ (Only on Nоvеlіgһt) imprinted on his forehead became noticeably redder. Internal energy had begun to stir within his body.

A peculiar sense of pressure emanated from him, making even the campfire before them feel strangely ominous.

—What do you seek from those who so easily disregard the lives of the people?

The words he had spoken earlier.

Shaolin’s compassion had always been directed toward the common folk.

The banners of Demon-Slaying and Evil-Eradication (Cheokma Myeolsa, Pasa Hyeonjeong) were testament to the righteous sects’ merciless stance against the heretical paths.

The blades of the orthodox martial world were sharp indeed—unyielding, ruthless to their enemies.

Shaolin was no exception. While they abhorred the accumulation of killing karma, their fists and staffs embodied profundity, purity, and an undeniable martial dominance.

They had long crushed the limbs of the heretics without hesitation.

There were very few in the vast world who did not recognize the name of the Four Great Vajras of Shaolin. Time, martial prowess, and reputation had ensured it.

“I humbly request that you exchange hands with me. Just for a brief moment.”

“...!”

Yu Hyeon, Gun Yu-rin, and Jeon Baek each showed varying degrees of shock.

One of Shaolin’s Four Great Vajras had just requested a duel.

The implications were too heavy to brush aside.

***

Wonjeok could hear Transmission.

The moment his Wall-Gazing Meditation surpassed seventy years, his hearing had sharpened in an unprecedented way. The Shaolin Abbot had called it the beginning of the Six Divine Perceptions.

An extreme level of sensory awareness granted primarily to monks of the Ming Lineage.

To him, it held no special meaning.

Over a century ago, Wonjeok had lost his family to the Ming Cult.

Even on the day he first set foot on Mount Song, even on the day his head was shaved and the seal of ordination was branded onto his forehead, he had seen the faces of his parents screaming within the jet-black flames.

It had been the Trifold Purification Flame of the Heavenly Demon, an infernal fire that appeared in every era.

To counteract such things, one needed more than just sensory perception.

Going against demonic qi and sorcery required fundamental, opposing principles. Yet, Shaolin’s martial monks had long failed to recover the Avalokiteshvara’s Clear River Palm, the sole counterbalance to such power.

It had been lost so long ago that even the Scripture Pavilion contained no remaining records of it.

Even the Abbot disapproved of reconstructing lost techniques on blank scrolls, believing that the monks should focus on mastering the martial arts already within the temple.

—You’re going after Ma Gwang-ik... Yes, I knew you’d say that the moment you left seclusion. However, I cannot allow you to go alone... The issue is that no disciple is fit to accompany you. If I ordered someone to serve you, they would surely be terrified. You should have been a little more considerate toward others.

—What is so wrong with expecting a monk to cultivate the way of monks? I can go alone.

—You might be fine, but Shaolin would not be. A monk who has stared at a wall for a century has neither etiquette nor proper worldly experience. This old one is deeply concerned.

He let it pass through one ear. Wonjeok was long accustomed to the Abbot’s empty lectures.

Now, observing the exchange between the Mount Hua disciple Yu Hyeon and the young man before him, he confirmed what he already suspected.

This boy truly was Ma Gwang-ikju.

His hands remained still, lowered at his sides.

Yet, even though his stance was as close to a natural posture as possible, it was flawless. Any Shaolin monk who saw it would have been compelled to admire his martial potential.

However—

This was a man who associated with the demonic and heretical paths to further his own goals.

That could not be allowed. If Ma Gwang-ikju truly possessed the power of the Dharma, he should act accordingly.

A junior of such talent required proper guidance. He had no way of knowing why the boy had accepted the challenge, but—

As a senior of the martial world, it was his duty to guide him.

With that thought, he prepared to unleash Hundred Step Divine Fist.

But then—

Suddenly, an unusual energy began to flow from Seomye.

He had unveiled the internal power he had been concealing.

Wonjeok furrowed his brows. He steadied his heart against a pressure greater than anything even a century of Wall-Gazing Meditation could have granted him.

A being with such divine energy was bound to fulfill a great destiny. Guidance had to come first.

But—

Saaaa—

The air within the forest filled with a translucent, white radiance, brushing against his skin with an otherworldly touch.

It was—

It was simply too auspicious.

The slowly spreading waves of energy filled his entire body with an overwhelming sense of refreshment. It was something close to pure bliss.

Even the Shaolin Abbot’s Supreme Grand Dharma—an ability so unfathomably powerful—now seemed excessive and crude by comparison.

Huh-huh. Hoo-hoo-hoo.

Wonjeok’s lips curled upward, and a quiet chuckle escaped.