Chapter 134

Demonic Cult

Tang Mujin stood in front of the Three-Eyed Buddha’s house, lost in thought.

“…Life.”

He had almost died at the hands of the Three-Eyed Buddha, and countless martial artists of the Jeomchang Sect had perished by him as well. Even Namgung Myeong had lost an arm.

And yet, now Tang Mujin was here to ask for the Three-Eyed Buddha’s help—because he was the only one he could trust.

When he thought about it, most of his ties had not been so different.

His connections with Namgung Myeong and Chu Sam had started from enmity, and when he first met Dan Seolyeong, he was only insulted. The only person who hadn’t been a problem from the beginning was Hong Geolgae.

“No, was he really not a problem?”

No one knew how fate—or life—would roll along. Just the same, no one could predict how a bond might end.

As Tang Mujin’s thoughts grew longer, the Three-Eyed Buddha’s voice came from inside.

“Why hesitate after coming all the way here? Come in.”

Tang Mujin didn’t refuse and entered. The inside looked a bit strange.

He wasn’t surprised to see Mani-cult style altars or paintings scattered about—those were common sights in the Demonic Cult. But there were two hanging scrolls of Buddhist paintings that unmistakably looked like they belonged in a temple.

“Didn’t he hate Shaolin?”

When Tang Mujin stared at the scrolls, the Three-Eyed Buddha, seated cross-legged, asked:

“What’s the matter?”

“I didn’t expect to see Buddhist paintings here.”

“I picked them up while wandering the Central Plains. They just came to mind.”

“I heard you turned your back on Shaolin.”

“It isn’t easy to turn your back on something. All the more so when you’ve spent decades in it, whether you loved or hated it. In the past, even hearing the word ‘Buddha’ made me furious. But over time, those feelings faded. Now, looking at those scrolls even brings me peace.”

“Is that so.”

“Anyway, why have you come?”

The Three-Eyed Buddha unfolded his legs, and Tang Mujin stepped closer.

Tang Mujin explained what had just happened—the straw-hatted man he had encountered again, the Poison-Blood Wine supposedly made by Magi, the sight of him feeding a bird, and the strange scroll that had come from the man’s robes.

He subtly emphasized that he had subdued a peak master all by himself, but the Three-Eyed Buddha showed little interest in that.

When Tang Mujin concluded that the Great Dharma Protector seemed suspicious, the Three-Eyed Buddha responded reluctantly.

“The grounds are too weak to suspect the Great Dharma Protector. Simply telling you not to overexert yourself? If he heard that, he would be hurt.”

It wasn’t wrong. Tang Mujin gave an awkward look, and the Three-Eyed Buddha advised:

“If you start attaching meaning to every word and doubting intentions, the outcome can spiral out of control. Be careful.”

“But the straw-hatted man reappeared with the Poison-Blood Wine that had been lost.”

“It may not have been the only one. And if you’re going to suspect someone for that reason, then you should first doubt the Dharma Protector’s subordinate who saved you—not the Dharma Protector himself. Besides, I’ve known him for decades. He isn’t the type to scheme from the shadows.”

Even what seemed certain could look flimsy through another’s eyes. Since Tang Mujin looked like he agreed, the Three-Eyed Buddha continued.

“Besides, if he had been involved, it wouldn’t have been the cult leader’s subordinate sneaking into the Cult Leader’s Hall—it would have been his own direct disciple. Don’t you think?”

“The cult leader’s subordinate?”

“Yes. The one who carried the Poison-Blood Wine into the Cult Leader’s Hall. I can’t recall his full name, but I do remember his surname was Wang. He was the cult leader’s man.”

Tang Mujin scratched his head. So he had entered the Cult Leader’s Hall by the cult leader’s own orders?

If that was the case, it couldn’t even be called trespassing.

But then why would the cult leader keep the bird locked up there? Tang Mujin couldn’t figure it out.

The Three-Eyed Buddha asked:

“Anyway, let me see that scroll you brought.”

“Yes.”

Tang Mujin unrolled the scroll before him. The Three-Eyed Buddha read it carefully.

Unlike Tang Mujin, he seemed to understand it—at least a little.

“Can you read it?”

“A bit.”

“What language is it?”

“One of the Western scripts. It was used in a country called Anxi.”

“What does it say?”

“I don’t know for sure. I only recognize some words. But since many are related to the human body and movement, it could be a martial manual.”

A martial manual from the Western Regions. Tang Mujin’s ears perked up.

Like many others, he had always been curious about the West, though he knew little. And martial arts from there?

“Do Westerners also learn martial arts?”

“Yes. Some legendary martial arts are said to have come from Persia in the West. But there are too many wild tales—awakening every ounce of one’s inner potential, freely changing the direction of force… none of it makes sense.”

Viewed cynically, yes. But positively? This scroll might contain fragments of transcendent martial arts.

When greed flickered in Tang Mujin’s eyes, the Three-Eyed Buddha chuckled.

“Don’t expect too much from this. It’s too short to be a complete martial manual. At best, only fragments. If you recklessly try to practice from it, you’ll fall into qi deviation and be ruined.”

“But the fact that someone copied it from the Cult Leader’s Hall and escaped—that means the full manual is in there, doesn’t it?”

The Three-Eyed Buddha’s expression lost its smile, as though he had just realized the weight of the matter.

“…That could be true. But the cult leader himself has no interest in martial arts.”

“Then maybe someone else exploited an opening to smuggle it out. I don’t know why the cult leader’s subordinate would join in, though.”

The Three-Eyed Buddha closed his eyes. Yes, that would make sense.

But who had devised such a plan? It wasn’t that no one came to mind—it was that too many did.

The most obvious suspects were Guang Yeomra or Guiwang, both supreme experts of the Martial Path faction.

If not confined to that faction, even the Great Dharma Protector, as Tang Mujin had suggested, was possible. Likewise, the Left and Right Dharma Protectors.

And below the supreme masters, countless others could be suspected. The most suspicious among them was Wang, who had died by Tang Mujin’s hand. But there were many who would covet unknown martial arts. Half the people who had joined the Demonic Cult had studied martial arts.

After long thought, the Three-Eyed Buddha raised his head.

“…That may be so. In any case, we need to investigate further. Should I hold onto this scroll, or will you take it back?”

He held it out to Tang Mujin. From his detached attitude, Tang Mujin felt reassured that coming to him had been the right decision.

“No. It’s too much for me to keep.”

Knowing his own limits, Tang Mujin didn’t reach for it. If he took it and trouble arose, he would be the first to die.

Life was far more important than fragments of some uncertain martial art.

“Very well. You’ve done enough—get some rest.”

“Rest? I still have mountains of work to do.”

When Tang Mujin deflected as usual, the Three-Eyed Buddha’s face turned stern.

“Don’t overexert yourself. If you drag your feet and miss the timing, you’ll lose the chance to act.”

“What timing do you mean?”

“The festival season is ending. Once it’s over, Mani Cult will return to its doctrine of restraint and frugality. There’s no better time to rest than now.”

“Wasn’t the Demonic Cult always like this? Lively, indulgent?”

“No. From deep winter, the mood gradually rises, reaching its peak during the festival. Then it subsides, and for the rest of the year until autumn ends, life is quiet. Miss this, and even if you want to indulge later, you can’t.”

“…I understand.”

Feeling lighter, Tang Mujin left the Three-Eyed Buddha’s dwelling.

***

When he entered the Poison Blood Chamber, no one was there.

But soon Mok Wana appeared, having sensed his presence, her face full of expectation. He knew well enough what she was expecting.

But contrary to her hopes, Tang Mujin had brought no snacks. Only four gourds of wine. He planned to drink himself to sleep.

“….”

Mok Wana glared at him, clearly displeased. Her eyes said plainly: Can’t you hurry and bring me something sweet?

But Tang Mujin was unmoved.

“What, why? What’s wrong?”

“Didn’t you forget something?”

“Nope. Nothing.”

Still, Mok Wana watched him sip his wine with faint hope. Maybe, if his mood lifted, he’d go buy something. She racked her brain for ways to coax him.

But she didn’t get the chance. Tang Mujin suddenly went quiet, then collapsed into sleep.

Lately, he had been far too busy, and today had been especially exhausting. With drink on top of that, he had no hope of lasting long.

Mok Wana sulked and circled around him, then finally sighed and pulled out her box of fasting pills.

Maybe because her expectations had been so high, today’s pills tasted worse than usual. To make matters worse, they seemed to have more pine pollen than normal, leaving them dry and choking.

At that moment, something caught Mok Wana’s eye—the wine Tang Mujin had left unfinished. At least three gourds’ worth remained.

Mok Wana recalled the taste of the grape wine he had brought last time.

It hadn’t been exquisite, but the fragrance was pleasant, and the subtle sourness wasn’t bad either.

She slyly reached out and put one of the bottles to her lips. Her eyes widened. Unlike the wine she had drunk before, this one was much sweeter.

“Not bad.”

Mok Wana nibbled on fasting pills as a side dish and drank the grape wine alone.

***

Drinking made it easier to fall asleep, but it also made waking unpredictable.

Sometimes one could sleep soundly and wake up late, or wake far earlier than usual.

And Tang Mujin felt it was the latter this time. He didn’t feel like he had slept long. Though he couldn’t check the scenery outside, the night surely wasn’t over yet.

He thought of sleeping more and shifted his body—only to feel a prickling gaze.

Peeking his eyes open, he saw Mok Wana’s face right in front of him. Along with the strong stench of wine. Tang Mujin flinched and bolted upright.

“What the—?! You scared me!”

Perhaps because of the alcohol, Mok Wana’s words slurred slightly.

“You bad man! I thought you’d bring me sweets! Do you know how much I was looking forward to it?”

Shameless. But Tang Mujin wasn’t about to back down.

“If you want them, go get them yourself. Do you think I’m your errand boy?”

Mok Wana was at a loss for words. She knew even as she spoke that her demand was unreasonable.

But reason and emotion belonged to different realms. Disappointment piled on top of betrayed expectations, and with alcohol scratching at her heart, her emotions churned. Tears welled at the corners of her eyes.

She suddenly shot to her feet and shouted:

“Fine! I’ll go buy them myself! Even if it kills me, I’ll get them!”

Her obsession with safety had grown so severe that she grossly overestimated the dangers outside the cave. Still, she pushed open the Poison Blood Chamber’s door and staggered out.

Tang Mujin lay back down with indifference. She was only talking big; there was no way she’d actually go outside.

But Mok Wana didn’t return right away.

“…Damn it.”

He had already woken up once, and now with this weighing on his mind, there was no way sleep would come again.

Tang Mujin got up.

The path leading from the chamber’s door to the outside showed no sign of Mok Wana.

“So she really did go out.”

He stepped outside.

The world was dark. The tail end of night—the darkest hour before dawn.

Tang Mujin spotted Mok Wana standing a short distance away, only about ten paces from the cave’s entrance.

But she was rooted to the spot, unable to move toward the village.

Sometimes it happened like that—when the first attempt failed, the second was even harder to make. For Mok Wana, stepping outside was just such a thing.

Everyone faced turning points in life. Some were vast, like the legendary heroes of history. Others, like Mok Wana’s now, were small.

She breathed shallowly, eyes squeezed shut. Yet still, she only hovered, on the verge of moving forward but never doing so.

Tang Mujin watched for a moment, then walked up and asked:

“How long has it been since you came this far?”

“…About five years. Last time I tried to take a look outside, I got beaten up.”

He could guess well enough who had done it. Tang Mujin sighed deeply and stood before her.

“Let’s go.”

He took a few steps forward.

But Mok Wana still didn’t follow.

“We have to go today. The festival’s ending.”

“…That’s exactly why it’s a problem. I think it’d be better to come out when fewer people are around.”

As she turned back, Tang Mujin stopped her.

“People? There won’t be many. Tomorrow’s the last day of the festival—most will rest early tonight so they can celebrate all night tomorrow.”

“But—”

“If you want to eat sweets to your heart’s content, today’s your only chance. Go out tomorrow, and it’ll be meaningless.”

Tang Mujin stepped close, then turned back again.

“We’re not going far. Just keep your head down and follow my heels.”

He took a step forward—very slowly. Mok Wana matched him with a single hesitant step.

“Don’t worry. We won’t go anywhere crowded. Just watch from a little distance.”

Yes. That much might be okay.

Mok Wana lifted her head to gaze at the night sky, brimming with stars. A spring dawn’s sky, so full it looked ready to spill over.

Her expression turned dazed. Reality blurred. Fear ebbed away. Someone was leading her.

Tang Mujin smiled faintly at the sight.

“Hunch down a bit more. Don’t let the chill blow away your tipsiness.”

Following his words, Mok Wana hunched down. She clung to the sweet, dizzy warmth that wine had given her.

Her heart beat faster. Tingling spread to her fingertips and toes. She tucked away that sensation, and the chirping of night insects, into her memory.

“Let’s go slowly.”

“Alright.”

With her head bowed low, Mok Wana fixed her eyes on Tang Mujin’s heels and took a step.

“Like this, I feel like I could go anywhere.”

That was what she thought.

***

In the early dawn, as Tang Mujin and Mok Wana wandered along the edge of the village—

The Three-Eyed Buddha sensed someone approaching his house.

At first, he thought it was Tang Mujin, but soon realized who the visitor was.

“Come in.”

The one who entered was the Great Dharma Protector. Wearing a troubled expression, he bowed to the Three-Eyed Buddha.

“Forgive me for coming at such an hour.”

Though his martial standing might have been higher, in front of the Three-Eyed Buddha he remained polite and deferential—a sign of respect for a senior of long years.

“What brings you here?”

“Have you seen Young Lord Tang?”

“I saw him earlier. Why?”

“I wished to ask him something regarding the bird, but his dwelling was empty.”

“Then you should have tried the Poison Blood Chamber.”

“He wasn’t there either.”

The Three-Eyed Buddha half-closed his eyes and studied him.

He noticed the Dharma Protector’s gaze sweep across the room—then linger briefly on the scroll lying upon the table.

The Three-Eyed Buddha drew in a long, slow breath.

Just a single breath—but his frame swelled, towering with such force that it seemed to dominate everything around him.

In a low, rumbling voice, he asked:

“Great Dharma Protector. Are you still so curious about where Young Lord Tang is?”

With a gentle smile at his lips, the Dharma Protector answered:

“No.”

The Three-Eyed Buddha swung a massive fist at him.