A young man born in the 1980s is unexpectedly transported to ancient times and awakens as a monk. Before he can adjust, he discovers that he has also become the abbot of a struggling monastery and has been assigned an “Abbot System” with increasingly ambitious goals. The system expects him to master difficult martial arts, rebuild Shaolin's reputation, and eventually lead the wider martial world. He would much rather live an ordinary life, but abandoning the role is not so simple. Reluctantly, he begins strengthening the monastery and discovers that leadership may demand more of him than martial skill alone.
Chapter 5: The Storytelling Monk
There were several villages at the foot of Shaoshi Mountain, as well as Lüyě Town. On the first and fifteenth of every month, Lüyě Town held a market, and people from the surrounding villages would come, making it very lively. Huo Yuanzhen chose to come down the mountain today specifically for this market; he intended to promote his services there. Bidding Lin Rou a somewhat reluctant farewell, Huo Yuanzhen headed straight for Lüyě Town. By the time he arrived in Lüyě Town, it was already mid-morning. The market was bustling with people, and business was thriving. When people saw Huo Yuanzhen, they avoided him with a look of disgust. Huo Yuanzhen was a monk—and by nature a handsome, dashing young man—who normally wouldn’t inspire such aversion. But today was different: he’d just been in a fight and was filthy from head to toe, so of course people wanted to avoid him. Huo Yuanzhen didn’t care, though. As the saying goes, “It’s not the wrapper that counts, but the filling.” Don’t judge me by my appearance—I’ve got substance inside. Just wait a little while, and you’ll all be coming to me on your own. He looked around, searching for a good spot. As he walked to the center of the street, he suddenly saw two itinerant monks setting up a stall there to preach. “I’ve run into some fellow monks.” Huo Yuanzhen frowned. This was at the foot of Shaoshi Mountain, a territory he had long considered to be under the Shaolin’s jurisdiction. For outsiders to be preaching here showed they truly didn’t hold the Shaolin in any regard. Although the Shaolin Temple wasn’t very well-known these days, this kind of behavior was absolutely intolerable. However, he would need to give some thought to how best to handle the situation. The two monks were lecturing until their throats were parched, but the dry and hard-to-understand Buddhist teachings held little appeal. There were hardly any onlookers; most passersby would pause briefly before turning and walking away. As the sun climbed high in the sky and they hadn’t earned a single copper coin, the two monks were beginning to worry when suddenly another monk appeared before them. This monk was quite young—he looked to be under twenty—and had a handsome, delicate face, though he was filthy from head to toe. The look in his eyes as he regarded the two monks seemed somewhat hostile. The two monks exchanged a glance, and one of them chanted a Buddhist mantra: “Amitabha Buddha. Younger brother, might you have business with This Humble Monk and me?” The grimy monk across from them suddenly smiled and said to the pair, “I’ve been listening for quite a while now. Although what you two are preaching is authentic Buddhist doctrine, it seems no one is taking much interest in it.” Realizing the other party wasn’t there to cause trouble, the two itinerant monks breathed a sigh of relief and lamented, “Ah, you’re quite right, young monk. People are so ignorant—they don’t recognize the true teachings of our Chan school. My senior monk and I have been preaching here for two hours, yet we haven’t received a single copper coin as an offering. We don’t even have enough for our next meal.” The “filthy monk”—who was none other than Huo Yuanzhen—walked straight up to the two of them and said, “Fellow monks, how about we make a deal?” “What do you want?” the two asked, somewhat wary. “Don’t worry. Here’s what I propose: I think the spot you’ve chosen is actually quite good. Why don’t I take over the preaching, and you two stand by my side to cheer me on? If I collect any copper coins, we’ll split them fifty-fifty. What do you say?” One of the older monks pondered for a moment: “Junior Brother, I don’t think that’s right. We’re just standing by watching, yet we’d get half the copper coins. That’s not fair to you.” Huo Yuanzhen nodded to himself. These two monks seemed to be decent people; perhaps they’d never even heard of the Shaolin Temple. It looked like he’d have to adjust his plan. “Let’s settle it then. Maybe I won’t even make any copper coins.” Huo Yuanzhen sat down with a carefree air, and the two monks had no choice but to stand on either side of him. In truth, they weren’t entirely convinced. They themselves had devoted themselves to the study of Buddhist teachings, yet no one ever came to listen. How much spiritual attainment could a monk younger than them possibly have to dare claim he could earn copper coins? “Do you have a gong?” Huo Yuanzhen asked the monk beside him. “Yes.” The monk pulled out a tattered gong with a hole in it. “It’ll have to do,” Huo Yuanzhen said, taking the gong in his hands and striking it with all his might. As soon as he struck the gong, people all around turned to look. Generally speaking, whenever a monk or anyone else struck a gong on the street, it usually meant they were performing a street act. The crowd, who were always eager to watch such performances, immediately gathered around. Huo Yuanzhen paid them no mind and kept striking the gong until the crowd had formed layer upon layer around him; only then did he stop. “Come on, put this stool on top of the table.” He placed the stool the two monks had brought onto a rickety three-legged table, then sat down on it, looking down on everyone from above. The two monks standing nearby frowned slightly. This young novice seemed a bit too flashy—completely at odds with the Buddhist spirit of modesty. Could he possibly be a beggar posing as a monk? “Ladies and gentlemen, I wonder if you’ve ever heard the story of a certain person.” “Who is that?” someone nearby asked. “This man was handsome in his youth and sworn brothers with His Majesty the Emperor. He enjoyed free meals for his entire life. He rode a divine horse, wore designer clothes, ate from a purple-gold lunchbox, and traveled across The Continent accompanied by two pets and a servant. Everywhere he went, he was received with great hospitality, and women from every country went wild trying to spend a night of passion with him,while the men were so enraged they’d have loved to tear him to pieces—yet neither men nor women ever succeeded.” “Is this guy a divine being?” someone nearby asked, intrigued. “No, but even the immortals have to give him face.” “Then who is he? We’ve never heard of anyone like that.” Huo Yuanzhen smiled faintly. It worked. In fact, he was referring to Tang Seng. When Huo Yuanzhen first traveled through time to this world, he suspected that the Old Monk Xuanming was a fan of *Journey to the West* based on the names of his three fellow disciples. But after inquiring carefully, he discovered that *Journey to the West* didn’t exist in this world at all—no one knew the story, and the names of his three fellow disciples were purely coincidental. Since no one knew about it, things would be easy. Huo Yuanzhen’s plan was to begin lecturing on *Journey to the West*—after all, it was still a Buddhist tale, and explaining it would benefit his Shaolin Temple. Once these people were hooked, things would fall into place. After all, the Shaolin Temple’s reputation would ultimately depend on these listeners. “My two senior brothers, please fan me.” It was quite hot, so Huo Yuanzhen didn’t hesitate to give orders to the two monks beside him—he couldn’t just stand there and expect to earn any coins. “The story goes like this: One day, Guan Yu took some of Zhang Fei’s pork without paying…” “Wait, that’s not right. It goes like this: When heaven and earth first opened and yin and yang first separated, the world was divided into the Four Great Continents: the Eastern Divine Land, the Western Niuhe Continent, the Southern Jambudvipa, and the Northern Kululu Continent. Our story begins in the Eastern Divine Land.” “Where is the Eastern Divine Continent?” Someone nearby asked a question but was immediately silenced by those around him. Huo Yuanzhen’s story was so fascinating—they’d never heard anything like it before—and yet this annoying fellow had to come along and disrupt things. “Good question. The Eastern Divine Continent is vast; the very ground beneath our feet is part of the Eastern Divine Continent.” The two monks behind him, who had been fanning Huo Yuanzhen, were also captivated; their movements slowed. “Don’t stop—keep going, keep going.” Just as Huo Yuanzhen turned to look at the two monks behind him, someone in the audience called out a reminder. The two monks hurriedly resumed fanning him, hoping only that Huo Yuanzhen would continue his story quickly. Clearing his throat, Huo Yuanzhen continued, “The Land of Dongsheng Divine Continent lies near the great sea. In the sea stands a mountain called Mount Huaguo, which is the ancestral vein of the Ten States and the source of the Three Islands. On this mountain lies a stone that draws upon the spiritual energy of heaven and earth and absorbs the essence of the sun and moon. Battered by wind and rain, the stone has grown larger and larger…” The Sun gradually began to set in the west; it was clearly nearing dusk. The two monks fanning Huo Yuanzhen had sore wrists; at some point, they simply sat down on the ground to listen to Huo Yuanzhen’s explanation from above. “After Patriarch Bodhi struck Wukong on the head three times, Wukong realized he was being told to go to his room at midnight—he was about to be taught supernatural powers and magical arts…” At this point, Huo Yuanzhen paused and glanced around. By now, many of the market-goers had dispersed, but the crowd gathered around him had grown even larger—at a glance, there were likely nearly a thousand people. “Well then, it’s getting late today, and This Humble Monk must return to the mountain. I’ll stop here for now.” “Hey, hey, Master, don’t go yet! You’re only halfway through the story—what happens next?” The audience around him protested. They weren’t having it—this was no way to play the game; it was a total letdown. “This Humble Monk, it’s not that I don’t want to continue, but it’s simply too late. My two fellow monks and I haven’t eaten yet, and we still don’t have the money for dinner.” “I see. Well, that’s easy to fix!” The crowd’s enthusiasm was piqued, and they didn’t think twice about it. Many generously reached into their pockets—most contributed a single copper coin, while some wealthier patrons tossed a handful of coins, and a few even went so far as to throw in a silver ingot. Huo Yuanzhen motioned to the two monks beside him to quickly collect the money, then said to the crowd, “Since you benefactors are so generous, This Humble Monk has no choice but to present the complete story. However, it is a very long tale—even if I were to stay up for three days and three nights, I still couldn’t finish it. If you’re interested, you may come to the Shaolin Temple first thing tomorrow morning; This Humble Monk will be waiting for you there.” Although somewhat dissatisfied, it was already too late, so the crowd finally dispersed reluctantly, still chatting animatedly about that magical monkey. Finally, when most of the crowd had left, Huo Yuanzhen turned around and saw the two monks staring at a huge pile of copper coins and even scattered silver pieces, so excited they didn’t know what to do with their hands.
