Chapter 135
Demonic Cult
When the Three-Eyed Buddha’s fist cut through the air, the Great Dharma Protector drew his sword and deflected the blow.
Flesh met steel, yet the sword left no meaningful wound on the Three-Eyed Buddha’s fist.
Of course, his skin tore and blood flowed, but neither he nor the Dharma Protector considered that an injury.
The Three-Eyed Buddha’s attacks flowed like water.
They were strikes made with no expectation of being blocked head-on. Even among supreme experts, meeting the Three-Eyed Buddha’s raw power with equal force was close to impossible.
Boom!
When his fist slammed into the ground, the floor of the house caved in with a dull crash.
Though the Three-Eyed Buddha had long since passed seventy, his body had never once weakened since birth—it had only grown stronger.
He had lost before to superior mastery of martial arts, but never because his body lacked strength. That would never change.
Again and again, his fists swung. Forced into awkward positions while deflecting the blows, the Dharma Protector leapt back to widen the distance.
Only then did the Three-Eyed Buddha snarl his accusation:
“Was it you who brought in the bird?”
“So it seems that while you live alone without attendants, you’re still sharp in matters like this.”
“You mean to steal the martial arts passed down only to the cult leader?”
“A martial art the master neither intends to practice nor is capable of practicing—anyone else learning it is only right.”
“You wretch!”
The Three-Eyed Buddha shifted into a slanted stance, then sprang forward, fists swinging.
Six Harmonies Fist—one of Shaolin’s famous techniques. And following it, Arhat Fist.
Both were Shaolin martial arts, but neither were advanced.
The Six Harmonies Fist was the foundation of Shaolin boxing, while Arhat Fist was the intermediate style taught to monks after they had mastered the basics. Only after sufficient training in both could one truly be called a martial monk.
Which is why accomplished monks, once they became first-rate, never used them again. Shaolin’s martial lore was vast, and there were countless higher techniques to learn. No need to cling to the basics.
But when he was young, these were the only arts the Three-Eyed Buddha could steal glimpses of without arousing suspicion.
One day, Six Harmonies. The next, Arhat. Then Six Harmonies again. Anything more advanced was both too difficult to glimpse and too complex to imitate.
So to this day, he had never learned complex techniques requiring delicate finesse, such as Golden Threaded Hand or advanced staff arts.
Instead, he endlessly polished the basics that most abandoned after two or three years.
Once, he too had longed to learn the higher arts. But with time, he realized it was not the techniques themselves, but the person wielding them, that mattered.
Through ceaseless training, he could now unleash unimaginable power with the Six Harmonies Fist.
Even its creator could never have imagined the strength it could hold.
Even Bodhidharma’s Six Harmonies Fist could not compare to his—that was the Three-Eyed Buddha’s pride.
Each punch split the air with an explosive boom.
The Dharma Protector narrowly slipped past every strike. They were powerful, but not once had they landed a solid hit. A hair’s breadth between them—a gap not so easily closed.
“Petty tricks!”
Impatience flared in the Three-Eyed Buddha’s chest. His martial arts were rarely matched, but the Dharma Protector still stood above him.
A slight difference might not show in a few exchanges. But like two rods set nearly parallel, that tiny angle grew wider the longer they stretched—so too in a fight, the longer it went on, the harder it was to close the gap.
Bit by bit, advantage built into superiority, until one master inevitably crushed the lesser in the exchange of moves. And worse, the Three-Eyed Buddha was not skilled in such prolonged contests.
At last, he resolved himself.
“If it lands just once, that’s the end.”
But the Six Harmonies and Arhat Fist could not touch the Dharma Protector.
Then the answer was clear. The only higher-level martial art he had ever glimpsed from Shaolin.
When he was a boy, he had risked his life to spy on the Shaolin abbot’s movements.
So vivid they haunted his dreams, but only three years ago had he finally understood and reproduced them.
It had taken nearly fifty years.
Without proper foundational training, grasping a higher martial art by skipping all the middle stages required an almost impossible journey.
“Try this!”
The Three-Eyed Buddha lowered his stance, pitching forward as if to fall.
In fact, his body really was falling. The technique required such an unstable posture, or else even his massive frame would be blasted backward.
His arms swelled, drawn back taut as though about to burst.
In the next instant, both shot forward in a single blur. The motion of extending them wasn’t even visible.
Arhat Divine Fist
A massive wave of energy surged toward the Dharma Protector. Worse, in the enclosed space there was nowhere to dodge. The Three-Eyed Buddha was certain—it had hit.
But then a bizarre thing happened.
The Dharma Protector twisted his arms strangely, and the immense wave of force bent—turning back on the Three-Eyed Buddha himself.
He hunched desperately, but couldn’t avoid it entirely. The overwhelming energy struck his abdomen and lower body.
“Khak!”
Even his iron body couldn’t withstand the might of his own Arhat Divine Fist. He spat blood and croaked:
“What was that just now?”
“A martial art from far to the West, from Persia. It is called the Heaven-Earth Great Shift.”
He had never heard of it.
But if it came from the West, then surely it had been taken from the Cult Leader’s Hall, for Mani Cult itself had originated from there.
“But the scroll is still with me!”
“Do you think only one martial art was inscribed in the Cult Leader’s Hall?”
Dizziness overcame him.
How many martial arts had been recorded in that hall? How many had the Dharma Protector smuggled out?
If he had been no less powerful years ago, how far ahead must he be now?
“The odds are slim.”
He would not be crushed outright by superior strength, but he would not be made a fool by such half-sorcery, half-martial tricks.
At once, he spun and hurled himself at the back wall. Even in his battered state, breaking through a wall was nothing.
A gaping hole was left behind, the house tilting slightly as beams gave way.
The Dharma Protector looked after him. If he gave full chase, he could continue the fight and perhaps finish it.
But there was something more important. He picked up the scroll.
The final fragment of martial lore from the Cult Leader’s Hall was in his hands.
***
Mok Wana and Tang Mujin wandered the village until the roosters crowed.
No one recognized her, but everyone showed interest. Her skin, pale from never seeing the sun, drew eyes immediately.
Shy as ever, she half-hid behind Tang Mujin’s back, hardly looking like she was enjoying the sights.
But the important thing was—no one harmed her.
In fact, the villagers’ eyes were full of kindness. Even tense as she was, Mok Wana could sense that.
Fears that lived outside reason slowly faded before undeniable experience. Bit by bit, her dread and resistance ebbed away.
Tang Mujin looked back at her.
“Feeling a little better now?”
“…Not yet. I need more wine.”
Still taut with nerves, she tucked herself into an alley corner and drank more grape wine. Then wiped her pale lips with her forearm and let out a deep sigh.
Her back and shoulders were stiff with tension, but for a first attempt, this was admirable.
“Don’t want any more sweets?”
“…I ate too much. My tongue’s numb.”
Even as she said it, Tang Mujin knew she’d show interest again if candy appeared. He chuckled lightly.
“So this is how she’ll move forward, step by step.”
He turned back ahead. While Mok Wana looked at him with complex emotions, his own chest swelled with pride and a touch of smugness.
He felt like a great physician. Was it not said that true doctors heal not only the body, but the heart as well?
The faint light of dawn spread. Villagers emerged from their homes to enjoy the festival’s final day.
It was time for Mok Wana and Tang Mujin to return. The streets were filling, too crowded for her yet.
On the way back, he noticed the Three-Eyed Buddha’s house. It was damaged.
A gaping hole in the rear wall, with villagers peeking curiously inside.
“That wasn’t there yesterday. What happened?”
Still, Tang Mujin wasn’t worried. The Three-Eyed Buddha was far too strong for concern.
But when they returned to the Poison Blood Chamber, they found him sitting cross-legged inside, his belly bruised and livid with blood.
“—!”
Mok Wana froze, slipping behind Tang Mujin in fright.
Going out in broad daylight was frightening, but seeing the Three-Eyed Buddha like this inside the cave was even worse. Caught between the two, her eyes trembled madly.
Tang Mujin soothed her, then stepped forward.
“Elder… what happened? Your house was destroyed too.”
The Three-Eyed Buddha opened his eyes and spoke.
“The Great Dharma Protector has committed the deed. It was he who lured the bird into the Cult Leader’s Hall, and he who stole the martial arts recorded there and trained in them.”
Tang Mujin narrowed his eyes. What he had guessed at randomly turned out to be true.
“So then… what will you do now?”
“Tonight, the cult leader gives a sermon. I will reveal this truth before all and demand the Great Dharma Protector’s punishment. You must be the witness.”
“That’s no trouble. But before that… the cult leader won’t be harmed, will he?”
“Don’t worry. Even the Great Dharma Protector cannot easily harm the cult leader. During the festival, the Left and Right Dharma Protectors guard him personally. Not even he can pierce through two supreme experts to strike down the cult leader.”
The Left and Right Dharma Protectors belonged not to the Martial Path faction but to the Doctrine faction, and they were more loyal to the cult leader than anyone.
Tang Mujin and the Three-Eyed Buddha alternated resting, while Mok Wana retreated into her small nook in the cave and rested comfortably.
No one came until evening. When it was time, Tang Mujin stretched and called toward the hole in the back of the cave.
“Something might happen. Elder and I will go together. You’ll be fine, right?”
“Got it! I’ll be fine!”
Of course—Mok Wana was more familiar with the cave than anyone.
Tang Mujin and the Three-Eyed Buddha headed to the lower village.
The sky darkened again, and the mood was even more festive than usual. Everyone was squeezing the last joy out of the festival.
The cult leader stood on a low platform, flanked by the Great Dharma Protector and the Left and Right Dharma Protectors, speaking to the crowd.
No one was forced to gather, yet none left his presence. His words naturally drew people in.
But when the Three-Eyed Buddha strode toward the platform, the crowd parted. The Great Dharma Protector grinned at him, but the Three-Eyed Buddha ignored it, ascended the platform, and pressed his palms together to seek the cult leader’s leave.
“I have something to say.”
“It seems urgent. Go on.”
The Three-Eyed Buddha raised his voice for all to hear.
“Forgive me for interrupting such a day with these words! But I must speak now!”
Everyone turned to listen, even those far off. The Three-Eyed Buddha rarely spoke in public.
“You all know that the bird has taken perch atop our sect’s main hall, causing hardship for more than a year! Do you know whose scheme that was?”
Every ear was on him—even the Great Dharma Protector’s.
“It was the Great Dharma Protector! He orchestrated it all to steal the martial arts passed down only to the cult leader! Last night, when I discovered the truth, we fought! I even have a witness!”
The crowd’s eyes shifted to the Great Dharma Protector.
The Three-Eyed Buddha turned, ready to bring Tang Mujin up as witness, when the Great Dharma Protector spoke.
“And what of it?”
His voice was low, but it carried to all. It was, in essence, a confession. The entire crowd stiffened.
“What?”
“Let me ask you instead. Is it right to lock away such magnificent martial arts, never to be used?”
“Absurd!”
The Great Dharma Protector tilted his head back, gazing at the sky. Then he stepped toward the center of the platform.
At that moment, the atmosphere changed.
It was no ordinary step.
On top of his already overwhelming presence, a crushing force bore down—an aura of arrogance, of profanity, of a man who had never once stood beneath another, who belonged above all.
The weak collapsed where they stood. Even the Three-Eyed Buddha’s knees trembled.
The Great Dharma Protector swept his gaze across the crowd.
“Tell me. Why are we here, in Qingjiang, at the foot of the Heavenly Mountains? Was it because you loved Mani Cult, brought from the West? Nonsense. How many of you even knew its doctrine before you came?”
Arrogant words, yet undeniable truth. They had settled and found Mani Cult here, not come because of it.
He continued.
“There was one reason only—we were exiled. For resisting injustice, for shouting against the suffocating world. But why should we have been exiled? Why should we have fled? I always hated it. Always pondered it.”
His voice, heavy with inner force, pressed upon the people.
A voice laced with demonic charm. Seductive words. Where the cult leader’s presence was gentle and magnetic, the Great Dharma Protector’s was heavy, oppressive, yet compelling. The people bowed their heads and listened.
“Why do you think such a transcendent martial art was hidden beneath the Cult Leader’s Hall? To cower in fear at the edges of the world? No. Of course not.”
He smiled faintly. His face was kind, but the crowd felt not closeness but awe and dread.
“Everyone has their own circumstances. But in the end, we were driven out because we lacked strength. Now, we have gained it.”
The Three-Eyed Buddha shouted:
“We? Nonsense! You alone learned the demonic art!”
But the Great Dharma Protector only laughed.
“No. We have gained it. For I will teach what I have learned to all of you. Whoever desires strength, whoever has the talent—come to me. I am prepared. All that remains is your resolve.”
The people stirred. They could see plainly the bruised belly of the mighty Three-Eyed Buddha.
If even he had been crushed, then what kind of power was this? If they could seize it, if they could return home armed with such might—
The Great Dharma Protector’s voice was calm.
“Of course, some of you may not agree. Some may be genuinely moved by Mani’s doctrine, or simply not wish for martial arts. Those people should rise now.”
A few elders rose timidly. Most were already too old to learn martial arts.
“You would follow the cult leader?”
One of the bolder elders nodded.
“…Yes.”
The Great Dharma Protector turned his eyes to the cult leader.
Or rather, to the Left and Right Dharma Protectors at his side.
The Left Dharma Protector’s arm flashed pale—an instant later, the cult leader’s head flew, blood spraying high. The Right Dharma Protector didn’t even flinch, simply watching.
It was unreal.
The Great Dharma Protector turned back to the elder.
“You would follow the cult leader?”
“…No.”
He stepped to the headless corpse and picked up its staff.
The staff that had been passed down through generations of Mani Cult leaders.
Now it was in his hand.
He asked the elder again:
“You would follow the cult leader?”
“…Yes.”
“A wise choice.”
The new leader of the Demonic Cult smiled gently.