Thousand-Handed Buddha, Beopgong.

He was the Abbot of Shaolin Temple, known throughout the martial world as the greatest in both fist and palm techniques.

When he ascended to the position of Abbot at the age of fifty—the age of understanding Heaven’s will—he had already been counted among the Ten Masters Under Heaven.

Alongside his own master, the former Abbot.

Beopgong turned around.

Seolhwa and Yu Pyo respectfully raised their fists in salute.

“We greet the Abbot of Shaolin Temple.”

Beopgong’s gaze turned to Seolhwa.

Though he wore a gentle smile, Seolhwa felt ❖ Nоvеl𝚒ght ❖ (Exclusive on Nоvеl𝚒ght) as though a massive golden dragon were looking down on her from lofty heights.

It was a sensation that made her breath catch—an oppressive pressure similar to when she had first faced Namgoong Mucheon.

But unlike Namgoong Mucheon’s overwhelming, mountainous presence, this one was softer—yet not merciful.

The Overlord of the Central Plains.

That was the kind of majesty exuded by the Abbot of Shaolin.

“You are Namgoong Seolhwa, is that right?”

Seolhwa once again offered a proper greeting.

“A girl of the Namgoong Clan greets the Abbot of Shaolin Temple.”

“Would you spare a moment of your time? It seems we have much to discuss.”

“I’ve been waiting for your summons.”

“Heh heh.”

With the Abbot’s appearance, the confrontation that had filled the air just moments ago dissipated in an instant.

Hyeon carried off the fallen Doryang, the Shaolin monks busied themselves cleaning the wreckage, and then scattered.

Yu Pyo, too, offered his farewell to the Abbot and withdrew. Seolhwa followed Beopgong toward the Abbot’s Chambers.

The building that housed the Abbot’s Chambers was large, but rather than grand, it felt plain and quiet.

So quiet, in fact, that the recent chaos felt unreal.

As Beopgong walked ahead, he made no sound—not even the softest footfall.

Despite seeing him plainly, Seolhwa couldn’t sense a trace of his presence.

“Withdraw,” Beopgong said quietly, stopping just before the door to the Abbot’s Chambers.

“....”

Seolhwa raised her senses and scanned the surroundings.

She sensed eight powerful presences.

The Eight Diamond Guardians.

An elite Shaolin unit tasked with guarding the Abbot’s Chambers and its master.

Officially, their duty was to protect the Abbot, but...

“They’re ready to kill me if needed, aren’t they?”

The hostility was excessive.

So thick, she could feel it crawling across her skin.

As if they regarded her as a monstrous public enemy of the martial world.

“Because of what just happened?”

But even before the duel with Doryang, the Shaolin monks had been on edge.

They had been wary of her from the very beginning.

“I won’t say it again. Withdraw,” Beopgong repeated.

At his second command, the auras encircling the Chambers finally dispersed.

Now only Beopgong and Seolhwa remained in the area.

He opened the door and stepped inside.

A subtle fragrance of incense wafted out.

“Please, sit.”

After Seolhwa sat down, Beopgong disappeared for a moment and returned carrying tea.

When she moved to rise from her seat, Beopgong shook his head gently to stop her.

“It’s only proper for a host to serve his guest.”

The delicate aroma of tea mingled with the lingering incense, forming a scent reminiscent of aged wood.

Only after pouring Seolhwa’s tea himself did Beopgong fill his own cup.

“I must apologize for the disgrace you were subjected to.”

Seolhwa looked up at him in surprise.

He set down the purple clay teapot and sat upright.

Steam curled softly from the teacup before him.

“I acknowledge that I tested you without your consent, and in doing so caused you discomfort. On behalf of Shaolin Temple, I offer my apology.”

Beopgong lowered his head in a half-bow.

It was a sincere apology, conveyed with full courtesy.

Seolhwa stared at him in a daze. She hadn’t expected an apology to come directly from the Abbot himself.

When he raised his head again, his expression was calm, still wearing that ever-gentle smile.

The silence felt unreal—like something not of this world.

No pressure, no hostility, but neither warmth. A presence so quiet, it bordered on emptiness.

Seolhwa lowered her gaze slightly and asked in a slightly tense voice.

“...What was it... you wanted to find out?”

“I wanted to determine whether the energy of blood flows within you.”

“!”

Her head shot up.

Energy of blood...? Blood qi? He means blood qi?!

“How could Shaolin know about blood qi?”

So they hadn’t merely suspected her over the missing Great Restoration Pill?

Could it be... they even knew of the Blood Demon Cult?

“Those words,” Seolhwa said urgently.

“How... how did you come to know them?”

“‘Energy of blood’ is simply the term we’ve chosen to use.”

“What led you to name it that? What was the cause?”

“Before I answer, I’d like to hear your reply first.”

Seolhwa’s hand, curled into a fist, trembled slightly.

The possibility that Shaolin might know of the Blood Demon Cult made her uneasy.

But unease clouds judgment.

She calmed her breath and gave a slow nod.

“Ask me anything.”

“Hwaoru.”

“...!”

“Are you affiliated with them?”

Her clenched fist trembled again—smaller this time.

Blood qi... and now Hwaoru.

He had named both. Clearly, Shaolin knew something.

Seolhwa steadied the pounding in her chest and answered.

“Do you know that I stole the Great Restoration Pill during the transfer between Shaolin and Mount Hua?”

“I do.”

“I took it.”

“I see.”

“I needed to erase what remained of them inside me.”

She looked down at her own hand.

“I carried the energy you speak of. For a very, very long time.”

And in her eyes, for the briefest instant, a dark, blood-red aura flickered.

It was killing intent—a force she had not let surface in a long time.

So intense it could only come from one who had slain thousands.

And for the first time, Beopgong’s expression hardened.

He stared into her, gauging her presence.

Fsssshh...

After a moment, Seolhwa suppressed the murderous aura and spoke again.

“I was taken by them as a child—raised as an assassin, my memories lost.”

One day, she discovered her identity as a child of the Namgoong Clan and decided to return home.

“But I couldn’t go back with that energy still inside me. I feared my clan would never accept me.”

A child’s fear.

The fear of being rejected by the family she sought to return to.

In the girl who spoke so matter-of-factly, Beopgong saw a child bearing a burden far too heavy for her age.

Alone, without help, and without complaint.

“You asked if I was connected to them. I want to destroy them. I want to reclaim the time of pain and sorrow they stole from me and my family.”

She raised her gaze—and once again, that killing intent began to rise.

Suppressed for so long, it awakened every time she remembered the Blood Demon Cult and its horrors.

“They placed a restriction on me. If you wish, you can verify it yourself.”

Seolhwa extended her right hand toward Beopgong.

In martial society, this gesture from a warrior meant total disclosure—nothing to hide.

Beopgong slowly closed his eyes.

She had revealed everything with honesty. It was now Shaolin’s turn.

“When the sound of penance echoes through Songshan, how could it not be a sorrowful affair?”

He murmured some unknown phrase, then opened his eyes and looked at her.

Seolhwa slowly withdrew her hand.

“Not long ago, Shaolin discovered spies hidden among our own.”

“...!”

“Not just one or two. There were many.”

Seolhwa could not help but be shocked once more.

Shaolin had uncovered the presence of infiltrators from the Blood Demon Cult.

Even the most powerful sects and clans had failed to do that.

“They were our brothers, our disciples... even our masters. They entered Shaolin long ago, disguising themselves as those we loved, and gnawed away at us from within.”

Beopgong’s voice was thick with grief.

The betrayal of those they trusted still tormented him deeply.

“We tried to eliminate them quietly. But they were faster. They realized we had uncovered them.”

And what followed was even more shocking.

Knowing their identities had been exposed, the spies committed mass suicide that very night.

They embraced fellow disciples and exploded like bombs.

The Abbot and Shaolin elites fought desperately to contain the damage, but they could not save everyone.

The infiltrators who failed to die were imprisoned in the Penance Cavern.

From them, Shaolin learned that Hwaoru was behind them—and that they wielded a power unlike any martial arts known in the Central Plains.

“That incident took place only fifteen days ago.”

“Fifteen... days ago?”

Only half a month?

Wasn’t that right around the time of the Five Clans' meeting?

“We lost many of our dearest brothers that day. Shaolin was forced to enter isolation training.”

It sounded polite, but in truth, Shaolin was practically sealed off.

That’s how grave the damage was.

“So that’s why they were so hostile?”

Blood qi was an unknown force to Shaolin monks.

And in the martial world, the unknown is always a threat.

Their brothers had died at the hands of the Blood Demon Cult, and their wounds had not yet healed—only for the former mistress of Hwaoru to appear before them.

They had been afraid.

Afraid of losing more brothers.

But even so, Seolhwa couldn’t shake her confusion.

“Did this happen in my previous life too...?”

She knew Shaolin had eventually crumbled.

But she hadn’t known they were already aware of the Blood Demon Cult, or that they had fought the infiltrators directly.

Then—

“How did you know?”

How had Shaolin figured it out?

“That there were spies hidden within the temple?”