The Shaolin Abbot Born in the 1980s

Chapter 1: I Am Master Yi Jie

Shaoshi Mountain is part of the Songshan mountain range. Its terrain is steep and rugged, featuring thirty-six peaks that rise and fall in a cluster, resembling a ring of banners. With mist and clouds drifting through the valleys and layers of peaks rising one after another, the landscape resembles a fairyland. There are three martial arts sects on the mountain: the Zhongyue Sect on East Mountain, the Dharma King Temple on South Mountain, and the Shaolin Temple on Yuzhai Mountain, the central peak. The Zhongyue Sect is a Taoist Temple situated at the pass of East Mountain. With its prime location, its leader, Mysterious Immortal Aomiao, is a Daoist priest of some renown in the Central Plains. Blessed with favorable timing, geography, and public support, the sect has recruited many disciples and amassed considerable assets, making it the largest sect on Mount Song. The Dharma King Temple on South Mountain is no slouch either; it occupies the entrance to South Mountain, and its leader, Dharma King Likong, possesses martial arts skills that are passable enough. The temple is home to dozens of disciples of all ranks. In contrast, the Shaolin Temple, situated on the central peak of Yuzhai Mountain, is the least impressive—it consists of just one senior monk and three disciples. The central peak might sound impressive, but the mountain is high and the forests dense; no one seeking to study martial arts under a master would want to venture deep into such a mountain. Staying there would make even getting food a problem—let alone practicing martial arts. Moreover, the Shaolin Temple has been holding a funeral these past few days; it seems that the Abbot, Master Xuanming, has passed away. There were already very few people there to begin with, and now there are even fewer. Abbot Xuanming of Shaolin Temple was also the temple’s first abbot. To be honest, Shaolin Temple hadn’t even been established for very long, and this martial arts school was virtually unknown in the martial arts world. As a result, no one came to pay their respects to the abbot; only his three disciples buried him and called it a day. After Xuanming’s burial, the eldest disciple, Yikong, voiced his thoughts. On his deathbed, the Abbot had passed the position of Abbot on to his second disciple, Yijie, rather than to his eldest disciple, Yikong. This left Yikong, as the senior disciple, deeply dissatisfied, though he had refrained from speaking out due to the authority of the late Abbot Xuanming. Now that the old monk was dead and only the three of them remained, Yikong could no longer hold back and voiced his thoughts. “Junior Brother Yijie, now that our master has passed away and only the three of us brothers remain, shouldn’t we discuss some serious matters?” Yikong was gaunt and frail, with mediocre martial arts skills, but he claimed to have profound understanding of Buddhist teachings and to have received the Old Monk’s true transmission, considering himself the best candidate for the second Abbot of Shaolin. Yijie looked at his senior brother, who was about to seize power, and felt a mix of emotions he couldn’t quite put into words. Yijie’s real name was Huo Yuanzhen. He wasn’t from this world—he was a college graduate from the 1980s generation on Earth. Back in school, he’d been adored by all the female students, and after graduation, he’d even managed to land a stunning beauty. Just as he was about to consummate their relationship, share a night of passion, end his long years as a young man, and undergo a transformative change, he never expected to suddenly find himself transported to this world—and become the future abbot of the Shaolin Temple. Huo Yuanzhen’s first thought was to run—what a nightmare! Of all the people he could have become, he had to end up as a monk! This monk, Yijie, was originally the trusted confidant of the elderly monk Xuanming and had long been groomed as his successor. The Old Monk Xuanming had three disciples: the eldest, Yikong; the second, Yijie; and the third, Yijing. All their names began with the character “Yi,” and it turns out the Old Monk had chosen these names with deep meaning. “Yikong” (One Emptiness): “One body, all emptiness.” The old monk’s original intention was that he didn’t need to worry about anything—dedicating himself to Buddhist practice was his true calling. The third disciple, Yijing, was obsessed with martial arts; he had no interest in anything beyond martial arts training, and his heart was pure and untainted. Only the name “Yijie” carries a deeper meaning. Buddhism has many precepts, and although Buddhist teachings aren’t particularly widespread in this world, Old Monk Xuanming—as the founder of the Shaolin Temple—was well-versed in Buddhist doctrine. He knew that many things must be abstained from, yet he happened to favor his second disciple, Yijie. By naming him “Yijie,” his original intention was to say, “You need only abstain from one thing; the rest can be taken with a grain of salt.” Yet it was precisely this “One Precept” that cost Huo Yuanzhen his life. Abstinence from sexual desire! To cultivate Yijie, the old monk had him begin practicing “Child’s Art” from a young age. However, Yijie was too fond of playing, so his practice was half-hearted; it took him ten years just to sense the flow of qi, and he was still a world away from even a modest level of mastery. Moreover, since the “Virgin’s Art” was an internal cultivation practice, Yi Jie had no expertise in external martial arts. His actual combat prowess was even inferior to that of his senior disciple, Yikong—not to mention that martial arts-obsessed junior disciple of his. In his previous life, as the school heartthrob, Huo Yuanzhen had never lost his virginity. Now that he’d been reincarnated, he’d planned to really let loose—but instead, he ended up practicing this damn “Child’s Art.” Now everything’s fucking ruined. To master the Virgin’s Art, one must abstain from women until reaching full mastery; otherwise, over a decade of arduous training would be completely wasted. Huo Yuanzhen had been reincarnated into the body of Yi Jie, who looked exactly like him—tall and well-built, quite handsome, and even a few years younger—and had also inherited the other’s Virgin’s Art. Although this guy had practiced the Celibacy Art quite well, he was still a world away from mastery—who knows when he’ll ever see the light at the end of the tunnel. Having inherited Yi Jie’s memories, Huo Yuanzhen recalled that when Yi Jie was a child, the old monk Xuanming had earnestly advised him: “Yi Jie, Master is asking you to abstain from sexual relations so that you may master the ‘Child’s Art.’ This is for your own good—so please stop constantly thinking about that shepherdess down the mountain.” At the tender age of five, Yijie had already resolved to marry the shepherdess living down the mountain; she was only three at the time, yet Yijie had already set his sights on her. Children don’t know what love is, but they do know that little girls are adorable. Yi Jie showed signs of being a lecher even in his childhood, which is why the old monk came up with such a devious scheme. The old monk instructed Yijie: “Yijie, everything I say is golden advice, golden rules—all coming from the bottom of my heart. Once you’ve mastered these ‘childhood disciplines,’ you’ll be as indestructible as a diamond, protected by a golden bell, and as unyielding as a golden spear… uh, a skill worth its weight in gold. What more do you have to hesitate about?” “Will I be able to get married? Will I be able to take a wife?” Yijie was beyond hope. “Yes, you can. Once you’ve mastered it, marrying not just one, but even a hundred women won’t be a problem.” The old monk’s tone was firm and his words were unequivocal. Looking at his master—with his graying beard and the air of a highly enlightened monk—Yi Jie believed him and began practicing this “Child’s Art” from that day forward. It would have been fine if Yi Jie had continued practicing on his own, but then the old monk passed away. Heartbroken beyond measure, Yi Jie fainted and even found himself on the brink of death. Just then, that unlucky fellow Huo Yuanzhen traveled through time and saved Yi Jie—only to swap souls with him. Huo Yuanzhen’s first thought upon arriving was to run away. This world was clearly unlike any he knew, yet its customs and traditions felt similar to those of ancient China: there was an imperial court, a martial underworld, literati composing poetry and painting, and heroes of the martial world vying for supremacy. As a college graduate from the 1980s with a wealth of knowledge, where couldn’t he make a name for himself? Why should he be left out in the cold on Shaoshi Mountain? He’d rather return to secular life as a carefree wanderer of the martial arts world—having three wives and four concubines was his ideal. But just as he was about to run, a problem arose. He had become the future abbot of the Shaolin Temple, and to his surprise, he now possessed an “Abbot System.” The system stipulated that Huo Yuanzhen could not simply renounce his monastic vows; to do so, he had to fulfill several conditions. The first was to master the “Virgin’s Art” to perfection. Second, the Shaolin Temple must become the foremost martial arts sect. Third, Huo Yuanzhen must become the Alliance Leader of the martial arts world; only after completing a full term as Alliance Leader would he be allowed to leave the monastic life. If even one of these three conditions remained unfulfilled, he would meet a violent death the moment he renounced his monastic vows. Huo Yuanzhen read through the system’s requirements, drenched in sweat, his heart filled with a hatred so deep that not even all the waters of the four seas could wash it away. But since he’d already been reincarnated, hating it was useless. To avoid a violent death, this Shaolin abbot had no choice but to continue in his role. Fortunately, the system offered many rewards and benefits. Just as Huo Yuanzhen finally resolved to take on the role of abbot, Yikong, the senior brother before him, stepped forward, seemingly harboring his own ambitions for the position. Huo Yuanzhen looked at his so-called senior brother and sneered, “Senior Brother, what do you consider to be the most important matter at the moment?” Yikong coughed and cleared his throat, first glancing at Yijing beside him. But this third junior brother wasn’t even looking at either of them; he was standing there gesturing, as if studying some martial arts form. He was nothing but a martial arts fanatic, with no interest in anything beyond martial arts. Yikong couldn’t be bothered to pay him any mind; he’d deal with Yijie first. “Second Junior Brother, here’s the situation: as you know, our venerable Master has passed away. Now there are only the three of us brothers left at Shaolin Temple. Shouldn’t we elect an abbot first? After all, a martial arts school cannot function without a leader.” “Master has already designated me as the abbot. Why do we need to elect one?” Yikong smiled and waved his hand. “Our Master has passed away; the situation is different now. It’s most important that the three of us brothers choose among ourselves. Junior Brother, do you want to be the Abbot?” Yijing shook his head and said nothing. Huo Yuanzhen wanted to rebuke Yikong, but he didn’t. His senior brother was determined to seize power; bringing up their late Master was now pointless. His junior brother likely wouldn’t get involved in this either, so he’d have to rely on himself. If this were the Yi Jie of the past, he truly wouldn’t have been able to do anything about his senior brother’s power grab. But Yikong didn’t know that the junior brother standing before him was no longer the same person he used to be. Huo Yuanzhen stood up and brushed the dust off his monk’s robe. To be honest, that earth-yellow robe was truly unsightly. Once the Shaolin Temple was stabilized, Huo Yuanzhen was determined to implement reforms—at the very least, those robes would definitely have to be replaced. He then twirled the prayer beads around his neck a couple of times. These were the abbot’s token left behind by the late Master Xuanming; now that they hung around his own neck, for Yikong to still dare to seize power was nothing short of audacious. “Senior Brother, do you know what this is?” Yikong’s expression flickered a few times; after all, he wasn’t quite that thick-skinned yet. He couldn’t help but blush slightly as he replied, “The abbot’s token.” “Well, at least you haven’t gone so far as to twist the truth—you still know this is the abbot’s token.” In Yikong’s memory, Yijie had never been one for fine words. Faced with Yijie’s mockery, he felt a bit embarrassed, but he still held his ground and said, “You’re not fit to be Abbot Yi Jie; your understanding of Buddhist teachings isn’t as profound as mine.” “You think you’re so well-versed in Buddhist teachings, do you? Then let me ask you: Who was the Buddha’s father?” Yikong had never actually studied who the Buddha’s father was. Caught off guard by Huo Yuanzhen’s question, he scratched his bald head for a long while before stammering, “The Buddha has no father.” “Wrong. The Buddha was from India… no, from Tianzhu. He was the son of King Shuddhodana of Tianzhu. His father was King Shuddhodana—don’t you know that?” Yikong froze. It seemed that was indeed the case—how had he not thought of it just now? “That doesn’t count. Ask me another one!” Yikong still wasn’t convinced. Huo Yuanzhen curled his lip in disdain. “All right, then. I’ll ask you: Who was the Buddha’s mother?” Yikong thought for a long time before finally saying, “King Śuddhodana’s wife.” “Wrong!” “How is that wrong?” “Do I even need to ask? Let me ask you: Was the Buddha a mortal?” “Of course not.” “Exactly. When the Buddha was King Śuddhodana’s son, he hadn’t yet become the Buddha—he was just a mortal back then. King Śuddhodana’s wife was merely his mother during his mortal life; she wasn’t the Buddha’s mother. Once he became the Buddha, he no longer had a mother.” “Oh, I see.” Yikong was feeling a bit dizzy from Huo Yuanzhen’s convoluted explanation—and had just been taught another lesson. “Then let me ask you this: Who was the Buddha’s mother?” Yikong froze again. Was there a difference between “mother” and “mother”? But he still had to answer the question. Having learned his lesson twice, Yikong was much more cautious and replied carefully, “He has no mother.” “Wrong!” “How is that wrong again? You just said he had no ‘niang’ (mother).” “He has no ‘niang,’ but he does have a ‘mother.’ Back in the day, the Buddha was swallowed by a Peacock, broke out of its body, and later brought the Peacock to Mount Ling, where it was revered as the Buddha’s mother. Don’t you know this story?” Yikong slapped his thigh in frustration. How could he have forgotten that? It was all Yijie’s fault for asking such random questions—he’d completely muddled his thoughts. “Look at you—you don’t know who the Buddha’s father was, you don’t know who his mother was, and you don’t even know who his ‘Mother’ was. What do you actually know? And yet you dare to claim you understand Buddhism? Do you even know who the Buddha’s maternal uncle was?” Yikong shook his head in confusion. “Dapeng! The Peacock’s younger brother.” Yikong was taken aback. “See? You don’t even know that—what else do you know? Let me ask you this: in the Buddha’s eyes, do you think I’m better suited to be the abbot, or are you?” “I guess… I guess it’s you.” Yikong lost all confidence. “Wrong. Let me tell you: in the Buddha’s eyes, all sentient beings are equal—we’re all the same. It’s only we ourselves who think one person is more suitable than another. Junior Brother, who do you think is more suitable—me or Senior Brother?” Yijing glanced at Yijie, who was speaking eloquently, then at the bewildered Yikong. After a moment’s thought, he said, “Second Senior Brother, I think you’re more suitable.”