He had lived out his allotted lifespan.

If birth was the will of the heavens, then so too was death.

Then, how should one face the approach of death?

Mu Myung had no desire to struggle desperately to avoid it.

He did not want to summon a physician to cure his old age, nor did he wish to take elixirs to replenish his energy.

His life had been one of many sins and burdens.

At night, when he closed his eyes, the faces of young martial artists who had perished along the way would appear before him.

‘Jang Gyeong, my friend…’

His dear friend, the Sword Emperor, had once gone through such a time as well.

A time when he had wandered between guilt and duty.

Looking back, he felt endless shame at how he had once rebuked his friend so loudly and brazenly.

‘How could you leave them all alone like that?’

His friend had ascended.

Leaving behind his mortal body, he had become an immortal and risen to the heavens.

When Mu Myung first heard the news, he had felt pure joy.

He had always trusted his friend more than anyone. Knowing that the ailing man had come to his senses and achieved enlightenment was a delight beyond words.

Yet, as time passed, he found that he could not simply remain joyful.

His aged body was crumbling.

When martial artists of his age began to deteriorate, everything changed in an instant.

The pure internal energy that had been supporting his body was slowly dissipating.

The energy concentrated in his dantian was gradually scattering, and his body, worn from years of strain, could crack under the slightest impact.

From the moment he realized he had less than a year left to live, Mu Myung began preparing for death.

But what tormented him most was the fact that he could not simply die like this.

The Jianghu he had spent his entire life protecting was in danger.

A maelstrom of war was sweeping through.

There was little Mu Myung could do.

He had already handed over the position of Lord of the Alliance to Baek Ryu-san and focused on training the next generation.

Teaching the young, nurturing new heroes.

In that sense, Yi-gang was the blessing that fate had granted him in his final years.

A force of renewal that would bring a fresh impact to the stagnant Murim.

A new hero.

At the Paper Flower Abyss, not a single successor had remained unaffected by his overwhelming presence.

Entrusting the five most talented among them to Yi-gang, he had witnessed an unbelievable transformation in just over a month.

And that very person had defeated the Green Forest Tyrant King and become one of the Twelve Stars of the Divine Land. The aftermath of such an event would not be small.

‘Hoohoo…’

He had made sufficient preparations for the future—was that not enough?

Mu Myung did not wish to simply die of old age.

He had resolved to burn himself away, offering his body as sustenance for others.

Even if he could not transcend humanity and become an immortal like his friend, nor attain Buddhahood—

At the very least, he could become a flame that would put an end to the conflicts.

He raised his finger toward the sky.

If Jang Gyeong were here, he would have done the same.

Had not the Shakyamuni Buddha done so at birth as well?

Pointing one hand to the heavens, he had proclaimed:

“Throughout heaven and earth, I alone am honored.”

The World-Honored One had done so upon his birth, but Mu Myung, a mere commoner, could only point to the sky at his death.

At his fingertips, True Samadhi Fire ignited.

With his dantian fractured from having passed on his internal energy twice, this was all he could muster.

With his frail, disease-ridden body, the flames spread in an instant.

Mu Myung had chosen to immolate himself.

Thus, through self-immolation, he had wished to become a Buddha.

To remain even after death as a statue of Buddha…

Yi-gang’s eyes met those of the Divine Monk.

The monk’s gaze was like polished glass.

And at the tip of his raised fingers, where the flames had begun—even before those flames could fully engulf the Divine Monk’s entire body—Yi-gang’s gaze shifted for a fleeting moment.

Beyond the solemn monks who were chanting the Brahmajala Sutra, a black serpent lay in the background.

He could not understand why, at such a critical moment, his attention was drawn to something as insignificant as a snake.

Yet, he found himself unable to look away.

No one else seemed to notice the snake’s presence.

Even as it slithered between the feet of the high-ranking monks, all remained silent.

Even as the Divine Monk’s body was engulfed in flames, Yi-gang’s gaze followed the snake.

It was as though the serpent existed in a different time than reality itself.

Midway through its crawl, the snake raised its body upright and locked eyes with Yi-gang.

Then, it resumed its path and coiled around the burning body of the Divine Monk.

Even until that moment, Yi-gang was the only one who could see it.

The others only realized that something was amiss when the flames consuming the Divine Monk’s body vanished as if it had all been a lie.

The chanting stopped abruptly.

It was no wonder—the flames burning the Divine Monk’s body had suddenly ceased, and someone had appeared behind him.

To the gathered crowd, it seemed as if the man had emerged from the very ground.

Only Yi-gang had witnessed everything.

‘The snake… became a man.’

The serpent had extinguished the flames clinging to the Divine Monk’s body.

And then, just like that, it transformed into a human.

The figure who appeared was anything but ordinary.

He had a slender yet elongated build, and his skin bore a slightly dark hue.

His clothing was just as peculiar—draped in layers of iridescent fabric, adorned in colors that seemed mismatched with the season.

Every ornament on him was embedded with large gemstones, radiating an overwhelming sense of grandeur.

It was precisely the kind of attire that one might expect from the royalty of Tianzhu.

And his facial features—

A sharply defined nose, long and delicate eyelashes, slightly wavy curls cascading down.

Yet all these details were overshadowed by one striking feature.

His golden eyes gleamed with an otherworldly light.

He looked like a mystical being straight out of folklore.

The sudden appearance of this man, with such an inhumanly exotic appearance, left everyone in stunned silence, merely watching the situation unfold.

Even the Divine Monk was taken aback by the stranger’s arrival.

Just moments ago, his entire body had been engulfed in flames.

The searing agony had burned even his consciousness white-hot, as if he were being consumed by an infernal blaze… yet his body remained unscathed.

Even his robes showed no signs of burning, with only the lingering embers in the air proving that this had not been a mere dream.

“You are…” the Divine Monk muttered as he stared at the foreign-looking young man before him.

Despite his youthful appearance, there was something about him that made the Divine Monk hesitate to speak disrespectfully.

“Jang Do-hyun.”

At that single, quiet utterance, the Divine Monk trembled as if struck by lightning.

Jang Do-hyun.

It was a name he had not heard in decades—a name that once belonged to Mu Myung before he renounced the secular world and became a monk.

“Your time has not yet come.”

The man then raised his hand and pointed directly at Mu Myung.

The movement was so fluid, so natural, that it was clear he was well accustomed to pointing at others.

The Divine Monk was horrified.

Mu Myung’s dantian had already been fractured.

The very life force that had been slowly leaking from his body—had suddenly stopped.

He had merely pointed a finger…

Yet, among the many present, only Yi-gang had realized the truth behind it.

From the moment the man had first appeared—or rather, from the moment the serpent had slithered forth—Yi-gang had felt a strange sense of déjà vu.

And when the man pointed at the Divine Monk, it became unmistakably clear.

Threads of light extended from the tip of his finger, gently wrapping around the Divine Monk’s entire body.

Only Yi-gang could see it.

That mesmerizing sight—he had seen it before.

Beyond Shaoshi Peak, deep within the Serpent Dragon Valley.

Where Bodhidharma resided…

“I am Bodhidharma.”

The man revealed his identity.

His pronunciation was unfamiliar.

If one were to mimic it, it would sound more like बोधिधर्म (Bodhidharma).

“A prince of Kanchipuram and a disciple of Prajnatara.”

Those who recognized the name Bodhidharma were astounded.

The masters of the unorthodox sects.

The masters of the orthodox sects.

Even the high monks of Shaolin—

All were left in utter shock. Bodhidharma looked upon his descendants and spoke, “I am your First Founder.”

A deathly silence fell over the crowd.

The first to move was the Divine Monk, who stood directly before Bodhidharma.

Tears welled in his reddened eyes, streaming down his face.

He fell to his knees and spoke in a trembling voice, “I, Mu Myung, pay my respects to the First Founder.”

All the high monks of Shaolin rose to their feet at once.

With solemn reverence, they pressed their palms together and bowed deeply.

“We pay homage to the First Founder.”

Their voices resonated in unison, filled with veneration.

Bodhidharma blinked his golden eyes as he accepted their reverence.

Then, after briefly glancing at Yi-gang, he surveyed the surroundings.

“The time has come. I have broken my thousand-year meditation and returned to the Saha World.”

Unlike the monks of Shaolin, the martial artists of Murim seemed unable to comprehend the situation.

Bodhidharma was a figure from a millennium ago, long before their sects were even founded.

Before the Ming, the Song, the Tang—an ancient figure from an era even further past.

The idea that this extravagant man who had suddenly appeared was someone from a thousand years ago was simply too absurd to accept.

Then, Bodhidharma spoke, “The worshippers of the Evil God have risen once more. Their eyes are even here.”

At the mention of the Evil Cult, the gathered individuals flinched.

A startled Baek Ryu-san hesitantly asked, “Their eyes… What do you mean?”

For now, he maintained a respectful tone.

Surprisingly, Bodhidharma answered kindly, “A spy is among you.”

“A spy? We’ve taken every precaution against Guiyi Gu!”

The one who interjected was Heaven’s Secret Scholar.

Even the Five Poison Divine Lord nodded in agreement.

They had already fortified their defenses against the Evil Cult’s most terrifying weapon—the ability to manipulate minds.

A method to identify Guiyi Gu had also been devised.

Among those gathered here, not a single person carried the Gu poison within them.

Instead of answering, Bodhidharma lifted his gaze and extended his hand.

At that moment, a tree bent its branches toward him as if responding to his call.

Bodhidharma plucked three leaves from the tree and flicked them into the air.

Piiing—

The leaves split into three directions, soaring through the wind.

They flew toward the mountain peaks surrounding Shaolin Temple.

Though no one could see exactly what had occurred—

“Those who were watching from afar are now dead.”

Bodhidharma spoke of killing as though it were nothing.

If there were ranks to the ways one could take a life, was this of the highest or lowest kind?

The idea that he had merely flung leaves and slain the spies hiding in the mountains seemed utterly absurd.

“That’s impossible…!”

The Crimson Moon Demoness ground her teeth as she stepped forward.

Clearly, Bodhidharma was no ordinary being. But she refused to believe that the real Bodhidharma had survived all this time.

The Divine Monk rebuked her sternly, “Restrain yourself, Crimson Moon Demoness. Do you not know of the Six Divine Powers?”

The Six Divine Powers referred to the six supernatural abilities attainable by Buddhas and Bodhisattvas.

Divine Eye. Divine Ear. Mind-Reading Power. Past-Life Cognizance. Supernatural Travel. Extinction of Defilements.

If Bodhidharma had mastered all six of these legendary abilities, such a feat would indeed be possible.

With a scowl, the Crimson Moon Demoness grumbled and sat back down.

If what the Divine Monk said was true, it was an utterly terrifying notion.

With Mind-Reading Power, one could hear the thoughts of others. With Past-Life Cognizance, one could perceive past and previous lives. With Divine Eye, one could witness everything occurring in the world—even glimpses of the future.

It seemed impossible for such outlandish abilities to exist, yet the mere thought of them left an uneasy feeling.

Moreover, Bodhidharma uttered words akin to a prophecy, “The ones called the Demon Cult in Xinjiang are preparing for an invasion.”

The martial artists flinched.

This was a more immediate and tangible threat than the Evil Cult, yet it was something they had all been aware of.

“The snow will fall, and before it has melted, they will invade the Central Plains.”

“What…!”

But the latter part of his statement could not be so easily dismissed.

The invasion of the Demon Cult was still expected to be some time away.

Yet, Bodhidharma’s words suggested that it had been drastically accelerated.

“I cannot believe this.”

Even the Unorthodox Union Leader voiced his doubts.

Both the righteous and demonic sects had their eyes closely trained on the movements in the Shingang region.

Yet, there were no visible signs of an imminent invasion.

“You do not believe me? Then, if I show you proof, will you?”

His tone was peculiar.

“Sama Yun.”

At the mention of that name, there was a slight delay before someone responded—none other than the Shaolin Abbot himself.

Hearing his birth name rather than his Buddhist title, the Abbot hurriedly pressed his palms together in a respectful bow.

“A courier carrying a letter should have arrived at the base of the mountain. Go and retrieve it. It was sent by the Dalai Lama from Potala Palace.”

His speech was far too natural for someone who supposedly lived a thousand years ago.

That was what caused the martial artists to remain skeptical. However, if this truly was Bodhidharma, a master of all Six Divine Powers, then such knowledge was plausible.

The Abbot swiftly instructed a Hyun line high monk to retrieve the letter.

The Hyun high monk, using his pinnacle movement techniques, descended the mountain at great speed.

At the same time, the Unorthodox Union Leader ordered one of his subordinates to follow him.

Bodhidharma made no move to stop them.

Not long after, the Hyun high monk and the Unorthodox Union Leader’s subordinate returned.

Their faces were pale, as if they had seen ghosts. In their trembling hands was a silk-lettered missive.

The gathered martial artists rushed forward to read its contents.

“…Ah, it’s true.”

“I never thought they would move this quickly.”

It was a letter from Potala Palace, the stronghold of foreign forces within Xinjiang, where the Demon Cult’s headquarters resided.

There was no doubt—the letter was indeed from the Dalai Lama.

“The Demon Cult will begin their invasion within three months… They are requesting reinforcements.”

And just as Bodhidharma had foretold, the letter contained the exact same warning.

“You refuse to believe unless you see it with your own eyes,” Bodhidharma spoke.

Yet, there was no trace of satisfaction in his voice, no hint of smugness or relief—only the detached indifference of a true transcendental being.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep