I Am This Murim's Crazy Bitch-Chapter 271: Transcendent Qing (8)

“Ah, monk. Are you alright?”

Qing crouched down in front of the fallen Wolbong.

Her eyes curved into a dazzling, almost bewitching smile. Or perhaps, it was more apt to call it wicked and seductive.

“I-I’m fine. I-I’m perfectly fine.”

“In that case, why don’t you get up already? Here.”

Qing straightened up and extended her hand.

Wolbong obediently reached out and took her hand—

“Hngh.”

Suddenly, Wolbong yanked his hand away as though he had been scalded. His eyes darted away, his expression a mix of devastation, embarrassment, and discomfort. His posture, caught mid-rise, remained awkwardly frozen in place.

“Monk?”

“G-Go ahead. I’ll follow shortly.”

He must be mortified after falling flat on his face while using lightness techniques. Qing shrugged it off, the crisp sound of her training shoes clicking against the ground as she caught up to the Shaolin monks who had already moved far ahead.

“Haha, that kid. But don’t tease him too much. Living in the mountains all his life, he’s not used to women. Don’t be too hard on him. It’s a natural response, after all.”

So, being clueless and flustered is a “natural response,” huh?

Qing tilted her head, unconvinced. Muak, however, only chuckled mischievously and muttered something ominous about adding twelve hours of horse stance training.

Wait. Twelve hours of horse stance training? Isn’t that... a full day? Even for a martial arts expert, that’s enough to warrant a prayer for his soul.

“But what about that maiden back there? Are we just going to leave her?”

Another member of their “not quite a group.” Seol Iri, the icy beauty, was following at a distance, her gaze fixed solely on Qing.

“Well, she’s free to go wherever she wants. It’s not exactly our concern, is it?”

“Usually, people would ask to accompany the group, wouldn’t they? Quite the peculiar character.”

If she were truly following them, she would at least try to hide her presence. But it seemed Seol Iri either didn’t care about being noticed or was too arrogant to bother. She followed openly, her eyes locked onto Qing.

Either way, Songshan was just a stone’s throw away from Kaifeng—less than three hundred li.

In a place where even a scrawny youth with no martial arts skills could carry a heavy load for a hundred li, three hundred li was nothing for martial arts masters.

For them, it was a half-day trip at a leisurely pace, just enough to break a light sweat and get the muscles slightly warmed up.

Of course, that was assuming one was at least at the Absolute Peak Level or particularly confident in their lightness techniques.

Thus, Seol Iri gradually fell further behind. The intense gaze that had clung to Qing from the start eventually disappeared over the distant ridge.

But Seol Iri maintained her ambiguous attitude—neither friend nor foe, just another shadow. Since they were headed to Songshan anyway, it wasn’t as if the mountain could up and run away. She would follow regardless.

And so, Songshan!

There were five famous mountains in Zhongyuan, collectively known as the Five Great Mountains. Zhongyuan’s obsession with categorization extended even to mountains.

In order from east to west: Taishan, Huashan, Hengshan, and Hengshan again.

Each of these famous peaks housed a martial sect that specialized in swordsmanship, earning them the collective title of the Four Sword Sects.

And Songshan was the center—Middle Peak.

If Shaolin had taken up the sword as well, all of the Five Great Mountains’ martial arts would have been sword techniques. But thanks to the clueless monks, that never came to pass.

And so, Shaolin Temple!

The most renowned Buddhist temple in Zhongyuan and the leading sect of orthodox martial arts.

Starting from the temple gate, the imposing structure was more reminiscent of a military fortress than a religious sanctuary. The sheer grandeur of the entrance alone was enough to elicit gasps of awe.

Inside were the famous Shaolin landmarks—the Guest Hall, the Eight Great Halls, the Hall of Heavenly Kings, the Great Hall of Buddha, and the Sutra Pavilion.

But Qing didn’t know that.

Nor did she need to know.

Shaolin was, after all, a forbidden ground for women. It wasn’t like she’d ever set foot inside while she was alive.

However, as they neared Shaolin’s gate, a commotion echoed across the grounds, filled with shouting voices.

“Insolent! How dare you block the path of the Empress Dowager?! Even if there were no laws in the world, what child would dare obstruct their own mother’s way?!”

“Amitabha. Lord Gong, you are well aware of Shaolin’s precepts. Please, we implore you to withdraw your words.”

“What are you fools doing?! Clear the path at once!”

By the time Qing arrived, the confrontation between the monks blocking the gate and the royal guards trying to force their way through was well underway.

It wasn’t an intense confrontation, though.

The Shaolin monks wore sleeveless robes that exposed their rock-solid muscles, each one a clear indication of their mastery of both internal and external martial arts.

It was common knowledge that Shaolin monks trained in both internal and external martial arts. Dressed in their distinctly revealing attire, they were formidable enough to make the royal guards hesitate.

But the monks had no intention of drawing blood on their sacred grounds.

Thus, a bizarre spectacle unfolded—guards pretending to charge and monks half-heartedly pushing them back. It was less of a battle and more of a farce.

“Oh, for the love of...”

Muak Dae-sa let out a brief sigh, muttered a short Buddhist prayer, and then—

“GAAAAAAL!!!”

The Shaolin Lion’s Roar—Gal. The original roar.

The “Gal” was a scolding shout, akin to “You bastard!” but more refined. Shaolin monks refrained from shouting “You bastard!” to avoid unnecessary enmity.

The origin of the Lion’s Roar was from the Buddhist Vimalakirti Sutra, which stated that just as the roar of a lion subdues all beasts, so too does the Buddha’s teaching subdue all demons.

In martial arts, the Lion’s Roar became a technique that could cleanse one’s mind of evil and calm an agitated spirit—a form of sound therapy, if you will.

The moment the powerful, resounding voice echoed, the chaotic scene fell silent.

It was the strongest Lion’s Roar in the world, delivered by the strongest martial artist in the world.

But the one most affected by it wasn’t the monks or the guards—it was Qing.

Her vision swam, her insides twisted painfully, and a bitter, acidic taste surged up her throat. Swallowing hard, her eyes sparkled with clarity, as if she had just gulped down a cup of ice-cold water.

“Amitabha. This is a Buddhist temple, everyone. Even if Shaolin has grown more worldly, this is still a place where monks chant scriptures. How can you not respect the sanctity and persist in causing a disturbance?”

“Abbot!” “Great Monk!” “Venerable One!”

The Shaolin monks’ expressions brightened instantly. They looked like children caught squabbling who suddenly saw their father approaching.

Interestingly, the royal guards’ expressions also lightened. After all, even the Emperor’s decree wouldn’t compel them to charge to their deaths against the strongest martial artist in the world.

“Hm.”

At that moment, a man stepped forward, his head held high in arrogance. At his signal, the guards withdrew and formed a defensive line.

The man’s expression was haughty and proud—until he opened his mouth. Then, his demeanor changed dramatically.

“I am Eunuch Man Lihyung of the Capital. A humble servant of the Empress Dowager, the mother of all under heaven. Her Majesty wishes to offer prayers at the most sacred temple under the heavens for the next three months.”

His voice wasn’t quite as saccharine as a typical eunuch’s, lacking that exaggerated, feminine lilt.

But the effeminate timbre, so ill-suited to his square-jawed, masculine face, was enough to send shivers down the spine.

Despite the eunuch’s effeminate tone, the words of Eunuch Man Lihyung carried significant weight.

The Empress Dowager herself—the mother of the Emperor—had personally arrived.

Indeed, behind him stood a lavish carriage, dazzling in its opulence, its golden trim gleaming so brightly it was almost blinding.

“Ahem. As for the act of offering prayers, it is not determined by the size or fame of a temple. And even if Shaolin is the most renowned monastery under heaven, it gained its reputation through martial prowess rather than through the study of Buddhist scriptures. If it is spiritual guidance and blessings that the Empress Dowager seeks, would not the esteemed masters of Emei in Sichuan be better suited?”

In other words, just because you’re at a famous temple doesn’t mean your prayers are going to be more effective. Rather than forcing your way into a place that doesn’t welcome you, why not go to Emei, where they specialize in these things?

“But how could Her Majesty, the Empress Dowager herself, lower herself to kneel and pray at some nameless, obscure temple? Shaolin’s current prestige is, after all, due to the benevolence of the Imperial Family. Would it not be appropriate for you to show some gratitude and allow the Empress Dowager to share in your blessings?”

In other words, are you seriously going to turn away the Empress Dowager herself? Don’t forget, all the lands surrounding Shaolin were granted by the Imperial Family. You accepted the lands as a great honor, and now that the Empress wants to pray here, you’re turning her away?

“Amitabha. But the Buddha himself decreed that we should abstain from worldly desires and refrain from allowing women to enter the temple grounds. This is not because women lack merit, but because we monks are feeble-minded fools who cannot resist temptation. If spiritual blessings from a woman are what you seek, would not the Emei Sect in Sichuan be more suitable for such prayers?”

What good would it do to have a woman pray in a place filled with monks who have sworn to abstain from worldly desires? If you really want to pray with women, then go to Emei. They’re the experts in that area.

“Of course, I respect your teachings, Venerable Abbot. But Shaolin’s precepts are not the law of the land, are they? How can a Buddhist monk, one who claims to be a guide for the lost, so heartlessly turn away those seeking spiritual refuge?”

I know you let women in secretly from time to time. Don’t play dumb. You might as well let the Empress in now while I’m asking nicely.

In truth, Shaolin’s decree banning women from the temple was not an official law, stamped and sealed by the government.

Shaolin’s precepts were internal regulations, more about preventing monks from being distracted than about enforcing a law against women.

Of course, that was Abbot Muak’s more lenient interpretation of the rules.

In reality, every year, several women—around one per season—disguised themselves as men to sneak into the temple to pray.

That was just the number of women caught. The number of women who successfully got in without being discovered was probably much higher.

“Ahem.”

Muak Dae-sa let out a heavy, uncomfortable sigh.

After all, how could he severely punish a desperate commoner who had only come to pray? Usually, they were just quietly escorted out with a gentle reprimand.

Of course, the rules were different for martial artists.

“That may be so, but if Her Majesty’s purpose is merely to offer prayers, why bring such a large entourage of soldiers and make such a spectacle of it? A temple is a place of peace and purity. Invading it with such a display of power is hardly appropriate.”

If she really wanted to pray, she could’ve come quietly. Instead, she brought an entire army and made a scene, as if deliberately trying to provoke Shaolin and humiliate them in front of the whole world. How do you expect us to let that slide?

And so, the verbal jousting between the two proud leaders dragged on without end.

Of course, if they were true martial artists, they would have settled things with fists, not words.

But if a fight broke out now, the royal guards would be slaughtered to the last man.

And even if Shaolin emerged victorious, the aftermath would bring a rain of fire and cannonballs upon them. History would repeat itself.

Muak Dae-sa had already sensed that he was losing the battle.

No matter how firmly they adhered to the principle of “Imperial Authority Does Not Infringe Upon Temples,” Shaolin could not openly defy the Emperor’s command.

And so, he sighed deeply, his mind heavy with dark premonitions.

The Imperial Family is making another power play against the martial arts world, he thought.

Another bloody disaster might be on the horizon.

It was at that moment—

Click.

Clatter.

A soft click as the carriage door opened, followed by the faint sound of something rolling down to the ground.

But that tiny, almost insignificant sound rippled through the courtyard like a tidal wave.

“The Empress Dowager has emerged! Show your respect immediately!”

At once, Shaolin monks, royal guards, and commoners alike fell to their knees, pressing their foreheads to the ground. Hands folded in prayer, they bowed so low their foreheads touched the earth.

Qing hastily imitated Muak Dae-sa, realizing a moment too late that she was performing the monk’s prayer stance.

Quickly correcting herself, she dropped to her knees and performed a formal kowtow.

But then someone nudged her in the side.

She turned her head to see Seol Iri, seated demurely with her knees together, her back slightly rounded. With a slight shake of her head, Seol Iri subtly indicated that Qing was doing it wrong.

Oh, not a kowtow? Qing quickly adjusted herself to the formal ◈ Nоvеlіgһт ◈ (Continue reading) obeisance stance.

Not that Seol Iri was particularly well-versed in courtly etiquette either, so in the end, it hardly mattered.

The specific posture for paying respects varied based on one’s rank, age, and gender. But one thing was certain—

As the Empress Dowager, the mother of all under heaven, no one was permitted to look her in the eye.

And so, before Shaolin’s great gate, where even the sound of an ant crawling could be heard in the oppressive silence, only one sound echoed clearly—

Tap.

Tap.

A pair of weak, unsteady footsteps slowly approached, each step devoid of strength.

What the...? Are those footsteps getting closer?

And then, a voice.

“Child. Would you... lift your head and look at me?”