I Am This Murim’s Crazy Bitch

The foundation of Shaolin lies in immovability of the heart.

According to Buddhist teachings, one must walk the path toward Nirvana with unwavering clarity, unshaken by any temptation. They do not rejoice loudly, nor do they succumb to easy anger. They avoid women their entire lives and keep all worldly pleasures at arm’s length—joy, rage, sorrow, and delight are nothing more than illusions. Temptation, known as “lust,” is itself just another part of this illusory realm, the Saha World.

Thus comes the teaching: “Form is emptiness, emptiness is form.” Delusion does not exist in truth. Only by emptying oneself can one allow the world to fully enter the heart.

That is why Shaolin martial arts are like Mount Tai.

A mountain that never wavers no matter the storm—a solid, unmoving heart anchored by an unbreakable body, guarding its place like the heaviest mountain under heaven.

And so, Master Muak, the greatest warrior-monk in the land, simply remained seated, holding his ground.

Even when his foolish disciple acted out with arrogant pride, he merely whispered the teachings of the Dharma, steadying his mind.

What could one do about the youthful blood of someone newly set foot in the world? One so young and reckless wouldn’t listen to reason, no matter how many lectures were thrown at him. He would only realize his shame later—after learning it the hard way.

But when the disciple became even more foolish, flailing around and recklessly blasting Fist Qi in all directions, even Master Muak’s expression began to harden.

Of course, since Surin Ximen’s disciple had already demonstrated her capabilities, this wasn’t a life-threatening, kill-intent level attack.

Wolbong, too, had acted with confidence in Qing’s resilience—his strikes were powerful, yes, but controlled.

But even so—what exactly was he supposed to gain from winning like that?