Murim School Record - Chapter 64

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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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Episode 64: Let’s Have a Match (1)

According to reports from below, the power of the Baek Gun Shin Kwon he deployed was beyond description.
Even ordained monks are not incapable of exaggeration.
But they don’t call a peach the size of an adult’s fist as large as one’s head.

‘I have never seen such a Baek Gun Shin Kwon before.’
‘A human body is kneaded like mud and shattered like rock.’

The technique was so difficult that even though most disciples recognized its merciless power, nearly all of them dropped out halfway.
He had done the same.
“That fellow will surely participate in the Alliance Leader selection tournament, won’t he?”
Cheong Dong Seonsa, the hot-blooded youngest of Sa Dae Geumangang, glared.
“If he had been satisfied becoming the Family Head of the Mo Yong Family, Mo Yong Cheon wouldn’t have so boldly opened the martial tournament.”
“Come to think of it, it seems he lifted the qualification restrictions precisely to prevent prominent family leaders from participating.”
“Has the disciple only now grasped the true intention?”
Cheong Ak Seonsa frowned.
Cheong Dong Seonsa was not one who knew only how to rage explosively; he was capable of thinking and calculating with composure.
“It’s Mo Yong Cheon’s calculation that the Family Head of the Mo Yong Family must become Alliance Leader again.”
“That madman—it looks like his plan might actually work.”
Cheong Dong Seonsa raised his voice, spraying spittle.
“It is Na Woong.”
It was the voice of Na Woong, who commanded the Shaolin disciples dispatched to the Murim Alliance.
“What is it?”
Cheong Dong shot out tersely, glancing toward the entrance.
“A visitor has arrived.”
“A visitor? Who?”
Cheong Dong asked again.
Swish!
The Red Curtain draped over the entrance rustled as a man stepped through.
A man.
Since he had been announced as a visitor, he was clearly not affiliated with Shaolin, yet none of them recognized him.
As the others frowned in confusion or waited for him to identify himself, only Cheong Ak Seonsa showed a look of surprise.
“Aren’t you that boy? Yi Mo Baek, the kitchen worker from the Kitchen Hall?”
“A kitchen worker?”
Only then did Sa Dae Geumangang and the other monks seem to grasp it, expressing shock.
“So you’re that fellow? The one who’s become the next Family Head of the Mo Yong Family?”
Cheong Dong asked coldly.
Yi Mo Baek smiled faintly.
“That’s right. I am indeed that fellow. The next Family Head of the Mo Yong Family.”
It was mockery—a deliberate parody of Cheong Dong Seonsa’s own words.
Snap!
Cheong Dong Seonsa’s expression turned frigid as he realized his own misstep and quickly closed his mouth.
No matter that he had become Family Head of the Mo Yong Family, until recently he had been nothing more than an unremarkable youth working as a kitchen worker in Shaolin’s Kitchen Hall.
In the martial world, status and position are reckoned as rank, but to Cheong Dong Seonsa’s eyes, Yi Mo Baek remained merely a kitchen worker who had come in with nowhere else to go, scrounging for meals—and his memory and consciousness of Yi Mo Baek were utterly fixed in that role.
Honorifics could never cross his lips toward such a person.
“What business brings you—”
Cheong Ak Seonsa too habitually began to use informal speech before quickly catching himself.
“Please, be seated.”
Cheong Buk Seonsa, the eldest of Sa Dae Geumangang, spoke.
He possessed a mild and composed temperament.
“It is not a matter grave enough to warrant taking a seat. I have come to report to the Deputy Alliance Leader, standing in for the Alliance Leader, that the leadership of the Mo Yong Family has changed.”
Distinguished families affiliated with the Murim Alliance were required to report immediately to the Alliance Leader whenever leadership changed.
“Have Sa Maeng Gwan come in.”
A moment later, the door opened and an elderly man in black pushed in a small table bearing a writing brush rest.
Upon one corner of the table lay a thick book.

The Murim Records

These words appeared before him.
“Prepare yourselves to write this down.”
“Yes, Deputy Alliance Leader.”
An elderly man named Sa Maeng Gwan unrolled the Murim Records.
“Speak it yourself, directly from your lips.”
He turned to Yi Mo Baek.
Yi Mo Baek met his gaze.
“Yi Mo Baek, Family Head of the Mo Yong Family.”
Scratch-scratch-scratch.
Sa Maeng Gwan lifted his brush and began writing.
Yi Mo Baek spoke in detail about his age, birthplace, and family relations.
“What was that?”
It was then—when Yi Mo Baek’s father’s name, Yi Mil Bok, left his lips, that Cheong Dong Seonsa started visibly.
“Yi Mil Bok… wait, Yi Mil Bok, you say… Yi Mil Bok.”
He muttered as if drawing something from memory, then his eyes suddenly widened.
“Ah, that loud-mouthed fellow—now it comes back to me. The man who insisted that the kitchen workers should eat meat, whatever else you might say—that was Yi Mil Bok, wasn’t it?”
He turned to look at the other three of the Four Diamond Guardians being recorded.
“You remember, Cheong Buk, don’t you? When you scolded him because the bundle of wood on his back-frame was too small, and he had the audacity to say, ‘Why don’t you try it yourself, sir?’—that insolent rascal’s name was Yi Mil Bok, wasn’t it?”
“W-well, yes, that’s true.”
“And then, day after day, he’d be throwing punches in the air claiming he was practicing martial arts, and he’d tell you fellows who actually chopped wood, ‘Try it once before you criticize the bundle’s size.’ Wasn’t that what he said?”
“It’s a fact.”
“Ah, I still remember vividly how that wretch glared at me with those fierce eyes back then. So this is the son of that fellow?”
“Amitabha Buddha, enough, brother.”
Cheong Buk Seonsa, the eldest of the Four Diamond Guardians, stepped in.
“That rascal lorded it over people by using Cheong Mong as a backer. Now his lineage continues as a kitchen worker at Shaolin.”
He looked at Yi Mo Baek.
Their eyes met, and Cheong Dong Seonsa smirked.
“Woon Hak San is here. If he’s outside, have him come in for a moment.”
At that, everyone looked back toward the entrance.
Shortly after, Woon Hak San entered the room.
He was the man who had risen to lead the Black Merchant Organization on the strength of having quelled the Mo Yong Family rebellion.
“Do you know well the Four Diamond Guardians of Shaolin?”
“I know them well. In particular, our Black Merchant Organization has preserved thorough and precise records on Cheong Dong Seonsa, the youngest of the four.”
“Tell me.”
“Cheong Dong Seonsa is the son of a bandit.”
“What do you mean by bandit? You mean those thug gangs who beat up travelers on the road and rob them?”
“Exactly. And this gang was notorious throughout Shandong Province. Their main base of operations was Mount Taishan, under the leader Seo Saek Mong.”
“Seo Saek Mong?”
“That’s his name.”
“Then Cheong Dong Seonsa’s secular surname is Seo?”
“No. According to information gathered by the Black Merchant Organization, Cheong Dong Seonsa has no surname. He was abandoned by his mother at birth.”
Yi Mo Baek’s eyes widened.
“He was born when Seo Saek Mong’s gang attacked a passing merchant caravan and raped a woman traveling with them. That woman was named So Soo Ran, and she was the daughter of the rather prosperous So Family Merchant House in Shandong Province.”
“Ha ha ha! I see. I can picture the whole situation now. So So Soo Ran’s father threw away the son of a bandit leader born to his daughter.”
“He wasn’t even a bandit leader. He was a lackey.”
“A lackey? What’s that?”
“Someone who serves at the side of a bandit leader, attending to his needs. Seo Saek Mong served as a lackey and died in his youth—at only forty-five—by the sword of imperial soldiers.”
“What became of the child with no surname?”
“The former Sect Leader of Shaolin found the abandoned child on the roadside and raised him.”
The atmosphere in the room suddenly turned grave.
The Four Diamond Guardians, and even Cheong Ak Seonsa, were not ignorant of the secret of Cheong Dong Seonsa’s birth.
But no one dared to speak of it.
‘It would be like killing me twice.’
Cheong Dong Seonsa had made this clear.
Was there anyone in this world born as lowly as him?
And his father—a bandit.
And his mother—a woman who had abandoned her son, born not of her will but from violation.
There was a time when he thought of finding his mother and beating her to death.
Yet I have taken refuge in Buddhism.
That my teacher brought me to Shaolin was no mere chance—it was a destiny woven by heaven itself, a bond formed across countless kalpas of accumulated karma.
No one had ever spoken of the curse-like secret of his birth so openly in a public setting.
They knew of it, yes, but never had it been proclaimed before his senior brothers.
“I’ll tear that mouth of yours from your skull.”
Cheong Dong Seonsa, quick to anger at the best of times, erupted.
He hurled his force like lightning toward Woon Hak San, who stood frozen at the entrance.
Flash!
Hang Ma Geumangang.
They were Shaolin itself.
A golden hand shot forth like a thunderbolt toward Woon Hak San.
Too swift to evade entirely.
Yet meeting such a fearsome master head-on was no option either.
Whoosh!
A fist drove in from the side.
It was like striking a descending thunderbolt from the flank.
Crack!
The fist struck the force dead center.
Boom!
At the same instant, Woon Hak San extended his own palm.
No matter how formidable, one cannot simply absorb such a blow and live.
Cheong Dong Seonsa’s golden palm glanced past Woon Hak San like a whisper.
Because of this, the force that Woon Hak San unleashed struck Cheong Dong Seonsa’s chest head-on.
“Ugh!”
Cheong Dong Seonsa staggered, gasping.
It is impossible to redirect a torrential current with ordinary strength.
To redirect such a current requires a degree of power proportional to the task.
There exists a technique called the Four Ounce Deflection, which turns aside the opponent’s attack.
The saying goes that four ounces can deflect a thousand pounds—but to stand against such overwhelming force requires strength enough to match.
Yet in merely changing or redirecting the direction of force, four ounces suffice.
It is not wrong—a principle that holds true for masters of a certain tier.
But reach the zenith of the martial way, and such methods become worthless.
The stronger the incoming force, the stronger must be the deflecting blow from the side.
The redirected torrent naturally suffers impact.
Yet when Woon Hak San’s force joined from the front as well, Cheong Dong Seonsa’s face contorted.
He had not foreseen it.
He had marked Woon Hak San as his target, but failed to account for Yi Mo Baek stepping in between.
A fiery temperament sometimes invites such costly miscalculations.
Had he not been so inflamed, he would have adjusted his attack to account for Yi Mo Baek’s unpredictability.
All eyes turned toward Yi Mo Baek.
Shaolin martial arts, in a word, are power.
And the Hang Ma Geumangang above all—such power could topple mountains.
What degree of force was needed to deflect the flank of a typhoon tearing through with such ferocity?
Some claimed that four ounces alone sufficed to change its course, but it was no simple matter.
Difficult.
Strength alone would not suffice.
Even with great power, without instantaneous technique and profound understanding of the martial way, changing direction was impossible.
Regardless, Yi Mo Baek had altered the trajectory of the Hang Ma Geumangang Jang that Cheong Dong Seonsa had unleashed.
“Hah! You’ll have to wait your turn. First I’ll finish this one, then I’ll take your head.”
Cheong Dong Seonsa smiled gently.
But his words were brutal.
From the mouth of a monk of profound compassion, the word “kill” fell without hesitation.
‘Amitabha Buddha.’

Cheong Ak Seonsa murmured softly.
He wanted to stop this.
But the situation admitted no such intervention.
Whatever the reason, one of the Hang Ma Geumangang had taken a blow to the chest from the commander of Mo Yong Cheon’s subordinates—not even the Family Head himself.
If this spread across the realm, it would become mockery and shame.
“I hear the Baek Gun Shin Kwon is formidable. Let me see it for myself.”
His eyes blazed, yet his voice remained measured.
It meant he had mastered his emotions.
“What are you waiting for? Come now—show me the Baek Gun Shin Kwon.”
If word spread that he had struck first, he would become the butt of every joke in the martial world.
This was a youth—barely more than a boy.
To have initiated an attack against such a young man would be utterly shameful.
“I cannot, Seonsa. You must attack first.”
“Did I just ask you to attack me first?”
“If I strike first, you will have no opening.”
Yi Mo Baek laughed.
A tremor ran through him.
Cheong Dong Seonsa’s entire frame shook.
The anger that had briefly subsided surged up again—but now it transcended what had come before.
He had crossed beyond mere rage into an all-consuming fury.
“Hahahaha!”
He laughed to the heavens.
The furnishings hanging on the walls clattered to the floor, and the entire hall groaned and swayed.
His heart must have been crying out to spit blood.

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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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