I. The Journey to Dengfeng and the Zen Logic of Logistics
That morning, Shaolin Temple was still blanketed in the cold dew hanging on the ancient trees, but for Monk Zhao Huo, the deceptive calm that usually enveloped the early hours felt different. An invisible burden weighed on him, a task far heavier than merely managing the kitchen. After receiving a secret decree from Abbot Xuan Ye, his mind was no longer solely filled with cooking recipes, ingredient lists, or stock calculations. The kitchen, which had been his world, now transformed into a strategic center, an outpost for maintaining Shaolin's stability against an unseen threat. He fully realized that to secure the monastery from the incoming "whirlwind," he must first secure its logistical lifeline. This was not just about the food that filled the stomachs of the monks and guests; it was about the information circulating, the security gaps that might emerge, the vulnerabilities that could be exploited. The threat could come from anywhere, even from a grain of rice brought into the Temple, or from a faint whisper carried on the market wind, bringing the intrigues of the Jianghu (Martial World) to Shaolin's sacred gates.
Zhao Huo left the Temple before the Mao hour (5:00-7:00 AM), with silent steps he had practiced for years in his duty as a cook-monk. His movement was smooth and soundless, like a shadow gliding between the stone pillars. He carried only two neatly folded empty sacks, a simple walking stick he used for his shopping basket, and an unseen, steely resolve. His departure was quiet, attracting no attention from the other monks—except for Monk Hui Jian, who secretly watched him from behind the meditation gate. Hui Jian's eyes were filled with burning suspicion. To him, a kitchen monk sneaking out before dawn, for no clear reason, must have a hidden agenda—perhaps breaking his vow of simplicity, perhaps seeking worldly luxuries, or worse, getting involved in secular matters strictly forbidden to Shaolin monks. The frown on Hui Jian's forehead deepened, etching prejudice into his narrow mind, a bad premonition he attached to every move of Zhao Huo that he deemed strange.
In the Dengfeng market, located several li at the foot of Songshan Mountain, the hustle was already peaking even before the sun fully rose. The air was filled with the clamor of merchants shouting out their wares, the strong aroma of spices mixed with the smell of fresh vegetables, salted fish, and wood smoke, along with the dust kicked up by passing horses and carts. This market was Shaolin's logistical lifeline, the place where the monks interacted most closely with the mortal world, where the monastery's material needs were met, and where whispers of the outside world first reached their ears, bringing good and bad news from the Jianghu.
Zhao Huo's main destination was Old Man Li's stall, a food vendor who had supplied Shaolin's special ingredients for thirty years. Old Man Li was widely known for his honesty, friendliness, and impeccable reputation. He was a cheerful old man, fond of chatting, and always had a story to tell. However, Zhao Huo knew, after being warned by Abbot Xuan Ye, he had to regard every supplier as a potential spy, or at least as a channel of information that might unintentionally expose secrets. "See without seeing, hear without hearing," he whispered to himself, repeating his Zen lesson on mindfulness amidst the chaos. "Every merchant has an ear, and every ear has a tongue. And the tongue, often, is more dangerous than the sword. A piece of gossip in the market can be an early sign of an impending storm. In the Jianghu, information is a currency more valuable than gold and martial arts."
As Zhao Huo approached Old Man Li's stall, he saw an unusual sight. Old Man Li, who was usually beaming, looked tense. His wrinkled face was creased with anxiety as he whispered with a thin, shabbily dressed man, who looked like a common beggar but whose eyes were sharp and alert, scanning the surroundings with the movement of a wild beast. Zhao Huo sensed an aura of danger from the man, a keen intuition honed by years in the kitchen, recognizing the stench and hidden corruption beneath a simple facade. The man might be Black Fox Xing, a notorious paid informant who was watched by Shaolin for his vast network and ability to gather information quickly, often working for the highest bidder with no regard for morality or honor.
Zhao Huo approached calmly, his footsteps barely audible amidst the market crowd. He paused momentarily to observe the interaction further. The thin man handed a small pouch to Old Man Li, which was hastily accepted. They exchanged meaningful glances before Zhao Huo decided to interrupt. "Greetings, Li Laoweng," he greeted, his voice clear and relaxed, as if he were just an ordinary cook-monk coming to shop. "I came to inquire about the supply of black soybeans requested by Monk Wu Ming for this month."
Old Man Li was startled; the thin man immediately vanished into the crowd like a shadow dissipating in the smoke. He stared at Zhao Huo with wide eyes, clearly not expecting the cook-monk's arrival.
"A-Ah, Zhao Huo... cook-monk! Why have you come yourself? Why didn't you send Da Xiong as usual?" asked Li, trying hard to look casual, but cold sweat was visible on his temples. His words were slightly stammered, betraying his genuine unease.
Zhao Huo smiled faintly, a smile that reached his eyes but revealed nothing of the thoughts swirling in his mind. "A change of duty, Li Laoweng. Soon the Temple will be crowded with honored guests from various sects for the Friendship Tournament, and the Abbot wants to ensure the best quality. I must smell every soybean, making sure every grain does not carry the seeds of worldly greed into the Temple. Also, the Abbot wants to ensure no strange whispers enter along with the food supplies. We must be vigilant against any form of disturbance that could disrupt the peace of the Tournament." He added the last sentence with a slight emphasis, observing Old Man Li's reaction with every fiber of his being.
The casual conversation was a test, a net that Zhao Huo cast to catch a reaction. He observed:
Timing: Old Man Li touched his left ear twice—a gesture he had never made before in thirty years of partnering with Shaolin. Was it a signal he received or gave? A signal he learned from Black Fox Xing, a secret code in the dark world?
Content: Li was too quick to divert the conversation to the quality of the goods, not the delivery logistics, an oddity that caught Zhao Huo's attention. His eyes also occasionally glanced towards the alley where Black Fox Xing disappeared, a movement too frequent for a coincidence, hinting at deeper involvement and a hidden secret.
Zhao Huo left Li with a sudden request: deliver the supply two days earlier. "We want to surprise the Elders with a special porridge to welcome the important guests," he reasoned, with a friendly tone. The request aimed to gauge the pressure put on Old Man Li, whether he would struggle to arrange an earlier delivery, or whether he had hidden resources that allowed such flexibility. This was Zhao Huo's way of measuring the depth of his supplier's networks and whether there were other parties who could influence him, penetrating his layers of disguise. Zhao Huo knew, in the intrigues of the Jianghu, even the most honest merchant could harbor secrets.
II. The First Encounter Amidst the Dust Swirl
As he turned into the narrow alley leading to the herb vendor, his mind was still busy analyzing his conversation with Old Man Li. A disturbing thought made him momentarily unguarded, and without realizing it, he bumped into someone quite hard.
BAM!
A monk should be calm and full of awareness, but the collision was hard enough to shake him, breaking his concentration. Three expensive herb jars fell from the basket carried by a young woman. Fortunately, the damp market floor slightly cushioned the impact, so the jars did not break, but some dried herbs spilled out, radiating a sharp aroma in the air.
"Good heavens, I apologize!" Zhao Huo exclaimed, immediately bending down to help pick up the scattered jars and herbs. A rare feeling of embarrassment arose in his mind. He had never met this woman before, but he recognized the faint Emei Sect emblem carved into her basket.
The woman was Mei Lin, a female warrior from the Emei Sect, now in her early twenties. She wore unassuming clothing, a simple robe covering her figure, but her aura—sharp and elegant like a newly forged sword blade—could not be concealed. Her face was beautiful, yet radiated a cold resolve, with focused and determined eyes, typical of the Emei Sect's female warriors known for their discipline and purity. However, there was a hidden kindness and courtesy behind her severity. She was not a woman who smiled or exchanged pleasantries easily, but she held firm to the principles of justice and manners, upholding her sect's honor.
Mei Lin looked at Zhao Huo, not with disgust, but with an expression of surprise and slight impatience. She did not raise her voice, but spoke in a clear and directed, yet polite tone. "It's alright, Monk. Please be careful next time. These herbs are important for our Sect's preparations. Let me help you." She also bent down to help collect the scattered herbs, showing a willingness to cooperate.
"I apologize for this carelessness," Zhao Huo said, feeling a touch of guilt. He saw Mei Lin slightly wince at the sight of the charcoal and oil stains on his robe, but she quickly regained her composure, showing no further condescending expression, only a flash of evaluation in her eyes.
Mei Lin glanced at him, then at Zhao Huo's robe, slightly stained with charcoal and oil from the kitchen. "It is nothing. I came to handle the early logistics for the Emei Sect. These items are for our accommodation preparations at Shaolin. Punctuality is a priority, as is meticulousness in every task."
Zhao Huo felt a bit awkward, but he remembered the Zen Principle he always adhered to: Calm outside, sharp inside. He had to be humble, yet vigilant.
"I am Zhao Huo, the Head Chef of Shaolin," he replied in a calm voice, introducing himself. "If Lady Warrior is handling Emei's logistics, then the two of us will be 'neighbors' at Shaolin for the next ten days." He smiled faintly, trying to ease the tension, and giving a bit of information about himself.
Mei Lin let out a short sigh. "The kitchen is a busy place, Monk. Emei is coming for the Tournament, an event of honor, not for kitchen affairs. Do not equate your mundane tasks with our important mission. Although I appreciate your hard work, every task has its own place." She did not intend to be condescending, merely stating a fact she believed about the hierarchy in the Jianghu, where warriors and martial artists stood at the peak, far above domestic duties.
Zhao Huo nodded. "True honor requires energy and inner peace, Lady Warrior. I guarantee the Emei Sect's energy while you are at our Temple. The Shaolin kitchen is a foundation of unseen strength. Without food, even the greatest warrior will fall. And without inner peace, the strongest sword can be dulled."
Mei Lin was slightly surprised by the cook-monk's calm and meaningful reply. She had expected him only to nod obediently and apologize repeatedly. There was something different about this monk, a depth she hadn't anticipated from a head chef. A flash of curiosity appeared in her sharp eyes.
Before she could reply, another, louder voice interrupted from a distance. "Mei Lin! Why are you wasting time with a confused-looking monk? We must meet the Abbot!"
It was Liu Zhen, a disciple from the Wudang Sect. He had a sturdy posture and wore an expensive Taoist robe, but his expression was arrogant and condescending. He looked at Mei Lin with an inappropriate gaze full of interest, and then stared at Zhao Huo with disdain, as if Zhao Huo were dirt on the road. "You, Monk, move aside. We are here for important matters. This is a matter between the Two Great Sects. Your place is not here, in the middle of the road blocking and disturbing true warriors."
Mei Lin, who despised Liu Zhen's arrogance and impolite behavior, surprisingly defended Zhao Huo—albeit with the cold tone she used for everyone, including Liu Zhen. "He was just helping, Liu Zhen. It is none of your business. Handle your own Wudang affairs, and learn some courtesy before speaking to anyone." Her tone clearly indicated her dislike for Liu Zhen.
Liu Zhen snorted, annoyed that Mei Lin did not side with him and instead defended a cook-monk. Before the conflict could escalate, someone else appeared, breaking the tension that was beginning to build.
"Liu Zhen! I told you not to try to stand out in front of Mei Lin; it will not make you look good, and instead shows how shallow you are," a deeper and softer voice reprimanded.
He was Feng Yu, a warrior from the Wudang Sect. He wore a simpler dark blue Taoist robe than Liu Zhen, but his aura was more dignified, like a sturdy mountain peak that could not be easily shaken. Unlike Liu Zhen, Feng Yu exuded a calmness and wisdom rare for a young man his age, a natural charisma that commanded attention and respect.
Feng Yu approached, bowing slightly to Zhao Huo respectfully. "Please forgive my fellow disciple's arrogance, Monk. My name is Feng Yu. We came early to finalize Wudang's logistics."
Zhao Huo returned the salute with perfect monastic demeanor. "Zhao Huo. Head Chef. If Wudang needs logistics or chef security, please convey it to me. The Shaolin kitchen is ready to serve."
Feng Yu was slightly impressed. "A chef? You have a tranquil aura, Monk Zhao Huo. You are the first person from Shaolin I have met, and you reassure me that this Tournament will be well managed. It seems there is more than just a kitchen behind your robe. A clear mind is a sharper sword than the finest steel, and a calm heart is the strongest shield."
This brief encounter became the basis for the dynamics to come:
Mei Lin: The beginning of curiosity (attracted by Zhao Huo's unexpected calmness and his way of handling Liu Zhen without losing control). She began to see more than just a cook-monk, perhaps someone with hidden depth.
Liu Zhen: The beginning of rivalry/contempt (He looked down on chefs and Zhao Huo personally, seeing him as an obstacle and someone unworthy of Mei Lin's attention. This will be the seed of future conflict).
Feng Yu: The beginning of respect (He appreciated Zhao Huo's calmness and wisdom, seeing potential beyond his appearance and realizing that this monk had unusual depth. He saw a potential ally).
Zhao Huo had now felt the true Whirlwind of the Jianghu. It did not come in the form of flashing sword blades, but in the form of glances, sarcasm, and whispers in the middle of the vegetable market, a subtler yet equally dangerous storm. This encounter was a glimpse into the complexity of the Jianghu, a world far more complicated than even the most intricate cooking recipe, a stage where everyone had a hidden role and every interaction could have consequences far beyond what was visible.
III. The Loss of the Artifact: A Shadow of the Past Rises
While Zhao Huo was busy in the market, analyzing interactions and gathering information, a much more serious event shook the heart of Shaolin Temple. In the late afternoon, in the Abbot's private chamber, the atmosphere was heavy and tense. Only Abbot Xuan Ye and Monk Fa Xing were present, their faces pale. The monastery's tranquility seemed to be swallowed by a deep apprehension, replaced by the shadow of fear.
Abbot Xuan Ye, usually as calm as a ripple-less lake, now showed deep anxiety. The wrinkles on his forehead deepened, and his eyes emitted a rarely seen worry, a shadow of the past he thought had been deeply buried.
"Fa Xing," he whispered, his voice hoarse and almost inaudible, yet filled with bitter despair. "The Green Jade Ruyi... the grand Green Jade Artifact... has been stolen."
Fa Xing, who was responsible for managing the Temple's valuable possessions and often assisted Xuan Ye in administrative duties, staggered backward. His usually composed face now showed an expression of deep shock and fear. His heart pounded, realizing the implications of this news.
"How is that possible, Sifu?" Fa Xing's voice trembled, unable to believe what he was hearing. "That Ruyi... it was kept in the secret cabinet under the Thousand-Hand Bodhisattva Statue. A place known only to you, the Elders, and a few selected senior monks. I swear it was there the last time I checked two weeks ago when cleaning the area, gleaming and safe!"
Xuan Ye closed his eyes, pressing his throbbing temples with his wrinkled fingers. "I know, Fa Xing. The Ruyi is not a scripture containing kungfu techniques, but that artifact... it is a symbol. A symbol of the peace and unity we strive for, a bond that unites the Murim Alliance. Its loss before the Murim Alliance opening ceremony is a severe blow to Shaolin's dignity, a blatant insult in front of the entire Jianghu. More than that, it is a message. A message that could only be sent by someone from within, someone who knows the Temple's deepest secrets."
Abbot Xuan Ye took a long breath, a shadow of the dark past flashing in his mind, an old wound he thought had healed. "That is what I fear most, Fa Xing. A spy who has infiltrated long enough to know our deepest secrets. A spy who might have been here for years, disguised as a loyal monk, or even a humble worker."
"Could it be the Demonic Cult?" Fa Xing mumbled, his face growing paler, imagining the horrors of the past.
Xuan Ye opened his eyes, staring blankly at the wall, as if seeing the ghosts of the past there. "No, it's impossible. The Demonic Cult was annihilated 20 years ago. The Great War in the Jianghu destroyed them down to their roots. The Murim Alliance was formed precisely so that a history of great war like 20 years ago would not repeat itself, so that we could ensure eternal peace and prevent the resurgence of such evil. But the loss of this Green Jade Ruyi, the artifact that symbolizes the hope of unity, makes me recall the horrific events of the past, an old wound I thought had healed. A chill pierced Xuan Ye's bones. This is not just an ordinary theft, this is a provocation, a signal. A warning that the darkness we once eradicated may not have completely vanished, and the shadow of the past is starting to move again in the Jianghu, ready to divide the Alliance from within."
Xuan Ye looked at Fa Xing with a sharp and serious gaze, a new determination etched on his face. "Keep this a secret, Fa Xing. No one must know, not even the other Elders need to know yet. We cannot scare the guests and trigger panic. This will make us look weak and unstable in the eyes of the entire Jianghu. The Tournament must proceed as if nothing happened. We will find out who the mastermind is, and what their motive is. And we must do it very carefully, because that spy is still among us, lurking in the shadows."
Zhao Huo, the head chef busy with supply matters, not involved, nor aware of the great intrigue now threatening the core of Shaolin. He was still outside this circle of secrets, but the threads of destiny were slowly winding around him, pulling him into a darker and more dangerous vortex. The Jianghu world had shown its darkest side, and Shaolin was on the brink of an unseen crisis.