The Shaolin Abbot Born in the 1980s

Chapter 3: The Shepherdess at the Foot of Shaoshi Mountain

“Iron Head Technique.” Although it was a basic martial art, it still required arduous practice. He might even have to haul in a huge pile of green bricks and slam them one after another against his own head. This nearly masochistic behavior made Huo Yuanzhen’s heart tremble. At first, Huo Yuanzhen thought he wouldn’t be able to master it easily, but when he opened the book to study, the various key points of the Iron Head Technique suddenly flooded into his mind, and his entire head seemed to undergo a transformation as a result. This process lasted about ten minutes, after which Huo Yuanzhen opened his eyes. Huo Yuanzhen was now certain that he had fully mastered the Iron Head Technique—and had even reached its highest level. His entire head was as hard as iron; if he ever got so desperate that he wanted to commit suicide by ramming his head into a wall, it would be absolutely impossible—he wouldn’t even lose a scrap of scalp, even if he brought the wall crashing down. He figured that a trick like the “Oil Hammer to the Crown” would be about as effective as a tickle on him now. Running his hand over his bald head, Huo Yuanzhen didn’t quite know how to describe his feelings. It seemed this foundational martial art was indeed quite useful; even though he had acquired advanced martial arts, the Iron Head Technique remained indispensable. With a faint trace of inner energy cultivated from childhood and a head that had now become a lethal weapon, Huo Yuanzhen could no longer be considered a complete novice in martial arts. However, he still knew absolutely nothing about boxing, kicking, lightness techniques, footwork, or weaponry. Yet, relying solely on his head, a surprise headbutt to anyone would be more than enough to give them a world of pain. Still, unless absolutely necessary, Huo Yuanzhen would never reveal his martial arts skills—for no other reason than that it would be too embarrassing. The very thought of the venerable Abbot of Shaolin using his bald head as a battering ram was tragic enough. After finishing his training in the Iron Head Technique, Huo Yuanzhen glanced at the martial arts manual in his hand. It seemed to have changed—it had become a standard manual detailing the steps for practicing the Iron Head Technique. Huo Yuanzhen was certain that if he were to give this manual to someone else now, it would no longer possess that magical power that allowed one to master the technique at a glance. Still, this was for the best. The manual he’d used himself would be perfect for teaching his disciples—after all, one of his missions was to make Shaolin the number one martial arts sect in the land, and he couldn’t accomplish that alone. He took a wooden plank and struck his head with it; the plank shattered into pieces, yet he didn’t even feel a thing. Only after Huo Yuanzhen was certain he had truly mastered the Iron Head Technique did he put the manual away. Having mastered this first, albeit rather unimpressive, martial art, Huo Yuanzhen felt hungry. It had been two days since he’d arrived in this world, and he hadn’t had a proper meal yet; the moment his attention wandered, his hands began to tremble slightly. Before he could go out to find Yikong and Yijing to ask them to cook, Yijing had already pushed open the door and walked in. “Abbot Brother, isn’t it time to cook?” Huo Yuanzhen paused in surprise: “Am I in charge of cooking?” “Yes, you used to do it.” Huo Yuanzhen thought back for a moment; it seemed that was indeed the case—in the past, Yi Jie had always been in charge of cooking. But Huo Yuanzhen also remembered that the real challenge at Shaolin Temple wasn’t cooking—it was carrying water. Behind Yuzhai Mountain lay a small Yinma Lake where horses drank, but it was a good ten or more li away from the Shaolin Temple, and carrying water had always been a major headache. Rubbing his bald head, Huo Yuanzhen said, “It’s true I used to cook, but things are different now. I’m the abbot—have you ever seen an abbot cook for himself? And as for carrying water, that’s not the kind of work an abbot should be doing, is it?” “Then what should we do?” Yijing’s reaction was a bit slow; he had absolutely no idea how to butter up the new abbot. Even if he had tried to flatter him, it wouldn’t have helped—Huo Yuanzhen had no intention of carrying water. “It’s simple. From now on, you’ll be in charge of carrying water, and Senior Brother will be in charge of cooking. That’s settled.” Yijing scratched his head hesitantly. “Abbot, but I still need to practice martial arts.” “You can practice martial arts. I’ve just mastered the Iron Head Technique—I can teach it to you.” “Iron Head Technique!” Yijing’s eyes lit up instantly. The Shaolin Temple didn’t really have any profound martial arts to speak of; the previous Abbot Xuanming had only taught the Tiger-Subduing Fist and a half-baked set of footwork before passing away. As Shaolin’s top martial artist, Yijing was actually quite mediocre by outside standards. Hearing that his senior brother Shaolin Yijie was actually going to teach him a new martial art, he immediately became incredibly excited. “Do you want to learn it?” “Of course I do.” “All right, then. After you’ve carried water for ten days, I’ll teach you the Iron Head Technique.” Huo Yuanzhen laid out the condition, then pulled out the Iron Head Technique manual. He waved it in front of Yijing like a prized treasure, but after flipping through just two pages, he put it away. “No problem!” Yijing was practically drooling; he cast two eager glances at the manual in Huo Yuanzhen’s hands, then immediately turned and scampered out. With Yijing taken care of, Huo Yuanzhen took out the sutra left behind by the old monk. It was a fragment of the Diamond Sutra. The old monk had clearly been quite poor in his day—he’d treated two incomplete sutras as treasures and hadn’t even passed on this half of the Diamond Sutra to his disciple. Huo Yuanzhen didn’t care about that; he took the sutra to find Yikong. Yikong had been eyeing this sutra for quite some time. When he saw that Huo Yuanzhen was giving it to him—on the condition that he take charge of cooking from now on—he agreed without a moment’s hesitation. After settling the cooking arrangements, Huo Yuanzhen returned to practice his palm techniques. A short while later, dinner was served. Behind the small temple was a dining hall—nothing more than a dilapidated thatched hut. Huo Yuanzhen smoothed out his monk’s robe and walked into the dining hall with dignified bearing. Before he could even put on airs as the abbot, he was stunned by the meal on the table. Three shriveled yellow noodle bowls and a plate of unidentifiable wild mountain vegetables—not a trace of oil in sight. “Is this what we usually eat?” He had been very hungry, but now his appetite had completely vanished. “Yes, that’s exactly what we eat.” Yikong and Yijing, however, didn’t seem surprised at all; they sat down to eat. Huo Yuanzhen couldn’t help but feel a bit exasperated. Even in his previous life under the old social system, the standard of living had been better than this. He never imagined that after traveling through time and gaining a higher social status, his standard of living would actually decline. Reform and development were needed—the Shaolin Temple absolutely could not remain like this. Holding a shriveled steamed bun, Yuanzhen forced it down with difficulty and silently resolved himself. With such meager rations, Huo Yuanzhen had no energy left. He lay down on the hard wooden bed, lit a small oil lamp, and began drafting a plan for Shaolin’s development. There was no point asking Yikong Yijing about this; the only solution they could offer was begging, and they couldn’t come up with any better ideas either. Begging for alms was essentially begging for food. Huo Yuanzhen didn’t like begging, but with the Shaolin Temple now completely destitute—not a single copper coin to its name—there really wasn’t much else they could do. Back when the old monk was alive, every three to five months—or once a year or so—he’d perform Buddhist rituals for people, earning a few coins to make ends meet. Now that the old monk was gone, those rituals were no longer possible. It seemed he would have to properly train his senior disciple, have him study Buddhist teachings, and send him out to perform rituals to earn money. Of course, relying on the senior disciple alone wouldn’t be enough; the Shaolin Temple also needed to recruit other disciples. With at least eight or ten monks going out together to perform Buddhist rites, they’d make quite an impression, and they’d be able to ask for a larger donation. In the past, Shaolin emphasized that everything depends on karma. As the saying goes, “Medicine cannot cure an incurable illness, and the Buddha saves only those with karmic affinity”—only those with karmic affinity could enter Shaolin. Huo Yuanzhen believed this was absolutely unacceptable. First of all, you need preferential policies and generous benefits to attract a large number of people to join the Shaolin Temple. Otherwise, with so many martial arts sects recruiting disciples these days, why on earth would anyone come up to the mountain to live on thin air with you? Even those who’ve had a rough go of life, suffered setbacks in love, lack the will to live, and have no resolve to die—and who’ve decided to take monastic vows—would likely find this austere lifestyle unbearable. Even if their spirit can endure it, their stomachs might not. After pondering the matter for most of the night, Huo Yuanzhen devised numerous rules that subverted Buddhist precepts, but he couldn’t reveal them just yet. He hadn’t yet attained the authority where his word carried absolute weight, and Yikong Yijing didn’t really take him, the abbot, very seriously anyway. He still needed to recruit disciples—ones who were absolutely loyal to him. Once he had enough followers and supporters, he could announce his plan; by then, the resistance would be much less. Early the next morning, Huo Yuanzhen made do with a bowl of porridge containing barely a handful of grains of rice, then headed down the mountain. The environment on Shaoshi Mountain was serene and tranquil, with ancient pines and evergreen cypresses, and lush green grass carpeting the ground. Bird songs and cicada chirps echoed through the woods from time to time, and one could occasionally spot squirrels or small rabbits darting about among the trees. Huo Yuanzhen, who had been racking his brains over how to develop the sect, felt a bit better as he walked, taking in the scenery of the woods. From afar came a melodious song—a woman’s voice, clear and pleasant. “It’s her!” Huo Yuanzhen recognized the voice immediately—it belonged to the shepherdess from the foot of the mountain. Having taken over Yi Jie’s body, Huo Yuanzhen had naturally inherited Yi Jie’s memories and retained a vivid impression of this shepherdess, who had been adorable even as a child. The shepherdess’s name was Lin Rou; she was from Fenglin Village at the foot of the mountain. She had known Yi Jie since childhood, and now, at sixteen, she had blossomed into a radiant young woman. Every day, she tended her sheep on the mountainside accompanied by a large black dog. Whenever the shepherdess sang, the people working nearby would take a break to listen to her mountain songs—it was both a pastime and a pleasure. This kind of unadulterated singing was something he had never heard in his previous life—back then, the air was filled with nothing but pretentious, maudlin whining. Now, to Huo Yuanzhen, such singing held a special charm. As he walked slowly, completely engrossed in the music, he suddenly heard Lin Rou’s startled scream from the distance, accompanied by the laughter of several men. “Oh no!” Sensing that something had happened to Lin Rou, Huo Yuanzhen could no longer maintain his measured stride. He tucked his shabby, earth-yellow monk’s robe into his waistband and ran quickly toward the source of the sound.