Murim School Record - Chapter 44

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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Chapter 44: A Confession (1)

Jin Mong slipped quickly through the door.
Whoosh—whoosh—whoosh!
Black smoke poured from Yi Mo Baek’s body as the Seven Technique burned it away.
The Demonic Energy that had seeped into the Eight Meridians ignited under the ferocious Chasing Palace Vital Point strike, expelling itself from his flesh.
Cheong Mong Seonsa’s posture had grown ragged.
He had expended a tremendous amount of Internal Energy.

‘Amitabha Buddha.’

He unleashed a great Lion’s Roar, pouring his final strength into a brutal compression of Yi Mo Baek’s lower dantian.
Whoosh—whoosh—whoosh!
The black smoke grew thinner, gradually turning white before fading altogether.
“Cough—cough—cough!”
Cheong Mong Seonsa staggered backward, his entire body drenched in sweat.
“I must rest a moment.”
Cheong Mong Seonsa left the room.
Jin Mong swiftly withdrew a round bamboo container from his robe—it was filled with black needles.
The Wood Crow Poison Needle, a secret method passed down through his lineage for generations.
Five varieties of deadly poison, each fatal in a single drop, infused into a wood called Luo Snow Wood, simmered for seven days and nights.
Thus crafted were needles from Luo Snow Wood, completely saturated with all five toxins.
In the end, poison needles.
Thunk!
Thunk—thunk—thunk!
The needles pierced flesh.
Five varieties of lethal poison embedded themselves in the vital points of Yi Mo Baek’s meridians, yet he showed no reaction whatsoever.
The needles began at his lower dantian and spread throughout his body, leaving it bristling like a chestnut burr.
Drop.
A bead of sweat ran down Jin Mong’s cheek.

Cheong Mong Seonsa walked along a narrow path through the Bamboo Forest.
Drained of much vitality, he appeared profoundly exhausted, his once-sharp gaze now dimmed and distant.
Not a breath of wind stirred.
There was no way forward.
The Way Out had been blocked.
If matters continued as they were, Shaolin would fall into a cruel trap, facing the gravest crisis since the Opening.
Then a figure appeared before him—Yi Mo Baek.
He was like a flame found in the darkness.
The more he gazed upon it, the brighter it burned.
One day, his resolve had hardened.
Without Yi Mo Baek, there was no way to resolve this.
‘Amitabha Buddha.’
A quiet chant whispered forth into the silent Bamboo Forest.

The sun rose between the bamboo stalks.
Swaying reeds obscured the dawn, yet the great orb climbed steadily above the forest, and the door to the cottage opened.
Yi Mo Baek emerged.
His appearance was a difference between heaven and earth from the day before.
Though his garments were necessarily tattered, his complexion had grown ruddy, and his eyes blazed with vigor.
He paused.
In a courtyard where the morning sun had just begun to stream across one side, a bench stood where Cheong Mong Seonsa and Jin Mong were playing Go.
Yi Mo Baek stood for a moment, watching their game, then approached slowly.
He stopped short.
Yi Mo Baek bowed with a clasped-fist salute.
“Thank you for saving my life.”
“It wasn’t free.”
Cheong Mong Seonsa spoke without lifting his gaze from the Go board.
“Damn this cursed game.”
Cheong Mong Seonsa’s expression twisted.
“You won’t withdraw, will you?”
He looked at Jin Mong.
“I’d rather ask for your life back instead.”
Cheong Mong Seonsa tossed a stone and rose from the board, stepping back.
He descended from the platform and scrutinized Yi Mo Baek carefully.
“There’s still some lingering illness, but it will fade with time.”
He walked forward slowly.
Yi Mo Baek, sensing he had something more to say, followed quietly behind him.
“Mo Baek.”
“Yes, sir.”
“What do you think of Shaolin?”
Yi Mo Baek looked up at Cheong Mong Seonsa walking ahead.
He couldn’t grasp what the question meant.
“The Demonic Cult has infiltrated Shaolin.”
“Pardon?”
Yi Mo Baek startled and lifted his head.
Cheong Mong Seonsa turned around.
He stared at the astonished Yi Mo Baek as he spoke.
“Moreover, one of the disciples from the Cheong generation is among them.”
Yi Mo Baek’s mind conjured images of the Cheong generation monks.
There was Cheong Ak Seonsa, the sect master, along with Cheong O Seonsa, the master of the Arhat Hall, and the Four Vajras known as Cheong Buk, Cheong Nam, Cheong Seo, and Cheong Dong—that was the extent of them.
Their martial prowess was extraordinary.
At Shaolin Temple, being the sect master did not make one the strongest, nor did being among the Four Vajras place one beneath the sect master—such rankings held no fixed meaning.
“You don’t know either, sir?”
That meant he couldn’t distinguish who was the imposter.
“I don’t.”
It was shocking.
Disguise Techniques abound throughout the Jianghu Martial World.
There are methods ranging from makeup that alters appearance to the use of Skin Masks, and rising one step further, there exists the remarkable art called Face Transformation, which reshapes facial muscles and transforms one’s features entirely.
The problem is that no matter how much one conceals the face or uses disguise, one cannot hide the habits and mannerisms that a person carries.
If someone could evade detection even by a master like Cheong Mong, the face must be transformed through Face Transformation, and their habits, appearance, speech patterns, and mannerisms all perfected to flawlessness.
“There was no choice but for me to descend into madness.”
Yi Mo Baek’s eyes widened.
Now the reason for his descent into madness was revealed.
“Danger was approaching. I sensed the killing intent of those trying to end me, and I immediately began my descent into madness. Fortunately, my strategy succeeded. Once I relinquished the position of sect master to Cheong Ak, the surveillance on me withered away.”
“What do you mean? The surveillance on you weakened? Could it be that Cheong Ak Seonsa is the enemy?”
“Well, such suspicions are not unreasonable. However, this old man interprets it to mean that Cheong Ak is acceptable, but I am not.”
“Isn’t that saying the same thing? Since he himself is a Demonic Cult agent who has taken the position of sect master, there’s no longer any need to keep watch over you.”
“In any case, my descent into madness was a means to shake off their surveillance.”
Yi Mo Baek, who had traveled here and there, had never heard anything about what danger lurked at Shaolin Temple.
It was simply the arrogant Greatest Sect Under Heaven, looking down upon the Jianghu from its lofty heights.
Yet these unbelievable words now came from Cheong Mong Seonsa’s mouth.
It was an event that would shake the Central Plains to its core.
“Why can’t you believe it?”
“Honestly…”
It made no sense.
Who would believe that there was a false senior monk of the Cheong generation hidden within Shaolin Temple itself?
Whether he had infiltrated with a false identity from the beginning, or whether he had killed one of the Cheong generation monks and taken his place somewhere along the way, or had somehow won over one of them—none of it seemed to have been uncovered.
“Mo Baek, I am now merely an ordinary old man.”
“Why is that, sir?”
Yi Mo Baek knew him to possess extraordinary martial prowess.
Only rumors suggested that his madness prevented him from displaying his skills properly.
“I have transferred seventy percent of everything I’ve accumulated in my lifetime to you.”
“What?”
Yi Mo Baek’s eyes opened wide.
“It’s true. You won’t feel it yet, but in a fortnight you’ll know the difference.”
“Feel what, exactly?”
“The Gong Cheong Stone Dew, the Great Return Pill, and the internal energy from the Splitting Light Quick Sword—I’ve poured seven parts of this old man’s strength into you. Who could possibly be stronger than you now?”
A sudden rush of clarity swept through him.
His mind snapped awake.
He’d been so focused on Shaolin’s vulnerability to Demonic Cult infiltration that he hadn’t recognized the changes in himself.
What truly startled him was that Cheong Mong Seonsa knew he’d drunk the Gong Cheong Stone Dew, and knew he’d received the internal energy from the Splitting Light Quick Sword.
That meant the old master had never left his side.
“When I’m your only path, how could I abandon you?”
His voice had lost its strength.
He sounded like an aged man lamenting his lot in life.
“Your nerve is astounding—clinging to me for scraps when I never offered you anything.”
With a heavy thud, Cheong Mong Seonsa settled onto a roadside stone.
Yi Mo Baek perched on a small boulder nearby, its surface scattered with fallen bamboo leaves.
“When Shaolin falls, the Orthodox Martial World stumbles.”
A soft laugh escaped Yi Mo Baek.
“Isn’t that getting ahead of things? Everyone says Shaolin’s already past its prime, yet you seem buried in old glory, Master. The tournament results haven’t been impressive. No one even fears Shaolin anymore.”
It was factual enough on the surface, but his words dripped with venom.
During his years at Shaolin, not a single person had touched his heart.
Except for his fellow disciples, the monks all carried themselves like high officials of great importance, treating the kitchen staff with contempt and casual cruelty, sneering at them whenever they pleased.
“The Orthodox Martial World won’t miss Shaolin.”
An insult—delivered without restraint, right to the face of Cheong Mong Seonsa himself, who held the highest rank at Shaolin.
“Amitabha Buddha, I’ll beat you to death.”
The curse was aimed at no one in particular, yet Cheong Mong Seonsa’s expression darkened.
Yi Mo Baek spat onto the ground.
He was sick of being entangled with Shaolin.
Truly sick of it.
But entanglement meant facing those handful of monks again—their hateful faces burned into his memory.
As his chest swelled with rage, their faces rose unbidden.
U Mu, active in the Murim Alliance.
He wanted to beat him to death.
The man had even tried to kill him, wielding the weight of being the sect leader’s disciple.
U San, the kitchen master—how much must one endure before songs mocking him spread through the halls?
The bastard had made him bash his head into the ground more times than he could count.
A cruel monk indeed—one day Yi Mo Baek swore he’d drive that monk’s head into the gravel and keep it there.
The Great Return Pill incident alone had nearly killed him once.
The Cinnabar Seal Strike—thrown by Cheong Dong Seonsa, one of the Four Diamond Elders.
He’d survived, but the aftereffects lingered long.
And there was more than that.
They spoke of saving all sentient beings while sending anyone who passed by on random errands, snapping their fingers with careless authority.
One grievance piled atop another—endless, each more sickening than the last.
“Master!”
“Yes. Speak.”
“I won’t forget the life-saving grace you’ve shown me. But please—don’t ask me to do anything for Shaolin.”
“You hate it that much? Shaolin?”
“I can’t stand even the pillars that hold up the eaves.”
“Your hatred runs deeper than I expected.”
“You didn’t know. You were always watching from the shadows—if you’d seen how much I suffered—”
“I won’t deny it. But I didn’t think it was this bad.”
“The heart bends inward, you know.”
“That’s not quite it.”
“Drop it. I don’t want to raise my voice to the man who saved my life.”
“Don’t you think you’re being unreasonable?”
The door opened. Jin Mong stepped out into the yard.
He approached slowly, his brow furrowed.
“What do you think is the most precious thing in this world?”
“The most precious thing in the world?”

What could be more precious than that?
Nothing came to mind immediately.
“Is there anything more precious than one’s life? If there is, tell me. Dreams, love, money—none of these matter without life. Once you’re dead, it’s all for nothing.”
“That is… that is true.”
“If Cheong Mong had merely stood by and watched you fall, do you think you would be standing here now as you are?”
Yi Mo Baek said nothing.
“He didn’t just save your life—he gave you seventy percent of the Internal Energy he’d cultivated and refined over a lifetime. You know what the Chasing Palace Vital Point technique is, don’t you? Tell me if there’s a greater or more excellent gift than Life-Saving Grace itself. If there is, I’ll say no more.”
Yi Mo Baek remained silent still.
“A person ought to have shame. What are you doing? Go on, get out of here. Foaming at the mouth praising such a wretched fool—you should have more dignity than that. Won’t you leave?”
He barked the words at Cheong Mong sharply.
“Ah… yes, I understand. I’m going… I’ll go.”
Cheong Mong stumbled forward, faltering in his steps.
But he kept glancing back over his shoulder.
Yi Mo Baek simply stood there, motionless.
“Sigh.”
Yi Mo Baek exhaled a weary, irritated breath.

The courtyard was alive with the bustle of carriages coming and going.
Clatter!
Thud-thud-thud-thud!
A man walked forward between the dust-kicking carriages of the Jeok San Transport.

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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