Chapter 153: Loyal Heart, Southern Shaolin

Since ancient times, fabricating an identity label has always been the first step in paving the way for cooperation.

Because sometimes, the true reason behind one’s actions is inconvenient to reveal.

For instance, Chu Tianshu came to the Southern Shaolin Temple intending to consolidate its power, using it as a foundation to pry open other factions and grow stronger, crushing all nearby pirates and bandits in one sweeping blow.

Why?

Because after arriving in this world, he looked around and found everything displeasing.

If something displeases you, you change it—that’s perfectly normal.

Moreover, he sought to seize the Mandate of Heaven and still harbored a desire to accumulate experience for his future influence back home.

But these true motives were unsuitable to tell the abbot of the Southern Shaolin Temple.

A mysterious master with unknown origins, unless powerful enough to seize complete control of the entire Shaolin and force them to rely on him,

would find the driving force reaching the lower ranks of Shaolin too weak.

You must give them a grand hope and a near-term goal to ignite their own motivation.

Fortunately, when traveling abroad, one’s identity is self-created.

The title “Heir of Zongheng,” regardless of how credible it may be, at least gives people a first impression.

The Heir of Zongheng naturally evokes the image of the Zongheng School.

Historically, the Zongheng School specialized in turbulent times, propping up one faction, stirring up chaos everywhere, and profiting from the turmoil.

Su Qin served Duke Wen of Yan, using the strategy of vertical alliance to stabilize Yan’s development and help it recover lost territory, laying the foundation for Yan’s later expansion a thousand li into Liaodong.

Zhang Yi, as chancellor of Qin, enabled Qin to grow even stronger—no need to elaborate.

All those aided by the Heir of Zongheng escaped hardship and gained tremendous benefits.

Abbot Miaofan heard this and indeed thought of the Zongheng School, yet instinctively felt some doubt.

After all, the last time the Zongheng School shone brightly was so far removed from the present era.

But he couldn’t help feeling a flicker of interest.

Simply because the Southern Shaolin Temple had long been in crisis.

“Namo Amitabha Buddha.”

Abbot Miaofan used this Buddhist chant to steady his mind, “In today’s world, the existence of a Heir of Zongheng is hard to fully believe.”

“Moreover, if you truly were a Heir of Zongheng, why not enter court service, yet fix your gaze upon our martial world?”

Chu Tianshu paid no mind and smiled, “The imperial system has undergone multiple transformations; under today’s court structure, how much room would a Heir of Zongheng have to maneuver?”

“Besides, the Great Ming is decaying, while martial and civilian factions across the land are actively growing stronger.”

“In today’s martial world, talent is welcomed without restraint—everywhere teems with vitality and potential.”

“Who knows? The future rulers of the realm may well emerge from today’s martial circles.”

Chu Tianshu spoke calmly and steadily, but his tone softened at the end.

“Of course, the world is vast and cannot be easily plotted.”

“I came to the Southern Shaolin Temple merely to help it escape its crisis, secure a position of dominance, and then speak of the future.”

Abbot Miaofan fell silent in thought.

Chu Tianshu knew the abbot was already beginning to bite.

With an identity label, the other party fills in the rest of the impression in their mind, deepening it further.

Later, when he reveals his strength and intervenes in concrete affairs, it won’t be mere coercion by force.

It will be: “No wonder—he is truly the Heir of Zongheng!” “I have gained the full support of the Zongheng School!”

That faint yearning for ancient achievements, exaggerated and beautified through generations of legend, sometimes matters little—but sometimes matters greatly.

“The Southern Shaolin Temple is indeed in peril.”

After a long pause, Abbot Miaofan spoke again, admitting the truth.

Over the years, the Southern Shaolin Temple has grown rapidly—and thus made many enemies, especially among its lay disciples who operated in the world and inevitably clashed with other sects and gangs.

At the time of the recent dynastic transition, when everything was in ruins and everyone still had room to grow, most still had ties to the government and cared about their reputation, maintaining a balance of conflict without outright rupture.

But in recent years, Ming authority has weakened, and the pirate threat has provided too many excuses; many gangs now operate without restraint.

Meanwhile, all factions are expanding, and the earlier buffer zones have been entirely eroded; disputes between them are nearing irreconcilability.

Fortunately, the Southern Shaolin Temple’s enemies also have feuds among themselves, so the situation remains stable.

Until the pirate leader at sea began selling Japanese swords to coastal pirate gangs.

The Liuyun Mansion also began shipping curved blades from beyond the passes to the southeast.

The situation shifted abruptly, highlighting the Southern Shaolin Temple.

Why do other sects lack weapons? Some lack production capacity in their workshops; others have no mining or iron-smelting industries at all.

Yet the Southern Shaolin Temple can produce its own weapons—and sells them in large quantities?

If the Southern Shaolin Temple were merely a weapons workshop, lacking excellence in grain, clothing, medicine, or martial arts, and dependent on the outside world,

people could tolerate it.

But upon closer inspection, they discovered the Southern Shaolin Temple was thriving in all these areas as well.

Who could possibly tolerate this?

It could be said that all pirates along the coast are already restless, eagerly awaiting a chance to unite and tear the Southern Shaolin Temple apart, devouring it whole.

In the Central Plains, the Liuyun Mansion watches with hungry eyes.

“Many discerning people have recognized the Southern Shaolin Temple’s crisis and offered kind warnings; I merely held onto my pride and refused to reveal my true thoughts to you.”

Abbot Miaofan sighed, “But our Southern Shaolin Temple never imagined the situation would evolve to this point…”

The previous abbot’s plan was that by managing these industries well, the Southern Shaolin Temple could bribe successive officials and even present gifts to the court, maintaining steady relations with the imperial regime.

Thus, although the Temple’s assets kept growing, they also kept diminishing.

Its overall scale would never draw undue attention, while its patronage and connections would grow ever stronger.

Who knew that after Zhu Yuanzhang died, the Jingnan Rebellion erupted; after Ren and Xuan passed away, the Tumu Crisis followed, and an emperor captured by barbarians returned to reclaim the throne?

The changes in court politics were too revolutionary.

For the past few decades, the Southern Shaolin Temple dared not take sides, quietly cultivating within the martial world.

Since the sect’s revival, its foundational tone was sound; the lay disciples were united and capable.

Abbot Miaofan’s generation, in their prime, thought this was fine, even finding their elders’ constant warnings overly cautious.

Only when they became abbot and senior elders, reviewing the full picture, did they suddenly realize how vast the Southern Shaolin Temple’s accumulated wealth truly was.

Once something surpasses a certain threshold, trying to cut back assets or bribe connections becomes impossible—internal members won’t agree, and outsiders won’t trust.

Without purging the entire upper echelon, who would dare accept the Southern Shaolin Temple’s gifts?

Even the court would see the current Southern Shaolin Temple as nothing but a group of sinister schemers.

If the previous abbot had secretly revealed his heart, he would surely have said:

“Our Southern Shaolin Temple once possessed at least half a heart of loyal devotion—visible to heaven and earth! It is the Great Ming’s fault for failing!”

In truth, the previous abbot was still more of a martial man; his remarkable management skills likely stemmed from innate talent, not rigorous early training.

Otherwise, he would have known that throughout history, many folk factions, unable to halt their own growth due to shifting circumstances, met similar fates.

For example, the Quanzhen Sect flourished in early Yuan times but could not stop expanding, and was later crushed by Yuan emperors.

Nor were there lacking wealthy merchants who grew too powerful and were ruthlessly eliminated by rivals.

“In my view, the Southern Shaolin Temple’s greatest problem now is not its inability to defend its assets, but your leaders’ indecisiveness and excessive weakness.”

Chu Tianshu spoke bluntly, “Abbot, why don’t you dare fight them with real swords and spears?”

Abbot Miaofan paused, saying, “If we strike first, won’t we give them an excuse?”

“If you do nothing, will you just wait until they unite and deliver the Southern Shaolin Temple a catastrophic blow?”

Chu Tianshu said calmly, “When that day comes, the entire countryside will be filled with cries of slaughter.”

“Blood will stain the Great Hero Hall; fire will burn the Southern Shaolin Temple—like crimson lotuses blooming across the mountains, a magnificent sight indeed.”

He slowed his pace, speaking sincerely, “Since the flood of curved blades and Japanese swords began pouring into the southeast, it is clear they will strike the Southern Shaolin Temple.”

“Strike first, establish momentum, project power—this will transform the Southern Shaolin Temple itself and force those who see only honey but not the knife to reconsider.”

Abbot Miaofan pondered, “What is your advice? Speak it all.”

“The Liuyun Mansion is a Central Plains sect; though infamous, attacking them first would make the conflict appear as a mere martial dispute.”

Here, Chu Tianshu’s eyes gleamed, and he raised one finger, his voice resolute.

“So, first rule: strike the pirates first!”

“Though some pirates are fake marauders originally from fishing and merchant families, their raids have caused countless deaths; the crimes of the true Japanese are beyond description.”

“Killing pirates is righteous; it is the best opportunity to transform the Southern Shaolin Temple’s reputation, and it will aid future recruitment of local militias and massive expansion of our sect.”

Abbot Miaofan hesitated, “Among the pirates, there is one supreme leader named Chen Zuqi, known as the Heavenly King General; he commands over ten thousand men, plus a thousand true Japanese, fierce and battle-hardened.”

“Our Southern Shaolin disciples, even when fighting other pirates or his elite bandits, are not afraid.”

“But he himself is the greatest problem.”

Many prominent pirate leaders were originally wealthy merchants or noble families with substantial resources.

But Chen Zuqi began as merely a lowly disciple of a coastal gang.

He rose to become the most powerful Heavenly King General because of his exceptional talent, superior martial skill, and ever-growing cultivation, earning immense prestige through force alone.

In early clashes with imperial troops, he led from the front, storming into cities.

The southeastern martial world once had several proud sects, confident in their martial prowess, who, even against large pirate bands, could strike and retreat, achieving notable victories, vowing to exterminate pirates.

Chen Zuqi personally led raids, lightly armed, slaughtering every one of these sect’s masters.

He has become the supreme authority in the pirate ranks, revered as a god.

Nan Shaolin had indeed considered striking back at the pirates, but whenever they thought of this man leading his personal guards into battle, their hearts grew uneasy.

If they angered him and he disregarded the risks to actually attack Nan Shaolin, the temple might fall even sooner.

Abbot Miao Fan had even considered inviting a few true masters from Songshan Shaolin to come assist.

But such invitations could never be a lasting solution.

Moreover, Songshan Shaolin lay in the Central Plains, and the largest faction there now was Liuyun Mansion.

Nan Shaolin was not full of cowards.

Yet figures like Chen Zuqi and the Lord of Liuyun Mansion exerted such overwhelming intimidation that they could not help but think twice.

“I’ve heard that among the Miao-generation monks of Nan Shaolin, four are among the pinnacle masters of the Jianghu.”

Chu Tianshu asked, “If all four of you joined forces against Chen Zuqi, who would win?”

Abbot Miao Fan smiled bitterly: “With our four lives, we might at least wound him.”

Chu Tianshu said, “What if there were five Miao-generation monks?”

Abbot Miao Fan fixed his gaze on him and said, “Do you truly have such confidence in your own martial skill?”

“What if there were six Miao-generation monks?”

Chu Tianshu did not pause, “Beyond the four masters, if two more—Abbot Miao Fan himself—were added, could that force Chen Zuqi to retreat after the clash?”

Abbot Miao Fan’s heart stirred deeply.

There were other experts among the pirates, but Nan Shaolin was not limited to just these four old monks.

If they could truly stand against Chen Zuqi, many things might be worth attempting.

“Amitabha.”

Abbot Miao Fan said solemnly, “When you speak of adding two more of me, do you mean you and your disciples—or...?”

Chu Tianshu gave a light laugh and turned his gaze back to the massive rock.

“Master, if two Abbot Miao Fans fought one, how many strikes would it take to defeat you?”

(End of Chapter)