Chapter 190

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Monk Changgeng, unexpectedly stroked the patch of graying triangular beard under his chin, his eyes showing a hint of warmth as he said: “This Yuan Xing is an orphan who grew up in a mountain village near Dalin Temple. Two years ago, while hunting in the mountains, he was gravely injured by a beast. He was at death’s door but was fortunately rescued by one of our temple’s monks. Later, he became a secular disciple of the temple. Seeing his honest and pure nature, I brought him into the Law Enforcement Hall.”

Ou Peng smiled and replied: “A compassionate act, as expected from a monk. Such virtuous deeds will surely be rewarded.”

Monk Changgeng continued: “This boy’s unassuming and simple nature matches my temperament. I intended for him to learn Dalin Temple’s martial arts from my disciples. Unfortunately, due to his age, his meridians have already formed. His prospects in the path of internal cultivation are rather bleak. I’ve been pondering how best to guide him in internal techniques.”

Ou Peng furrowed his brows, thinking to himself: “Simple nature? Does it match your temperament? Who would believe that? Still, why are you telling me all this?”

Noticing Ou Peng’s furrowed brows, Monk Changgeng elaborated: “Despite this limitation, Yuan Xing is naturally gifted in martial arts. Over the past two years in the Law Enforcement Hall, he has trained in countless fist and palm techniques. He’s developed significant skill in barehanded combat. I brought him along this time to your sect to broaden his horizons.”

Ou Peng remained puzzled and asked: “But what does this have to do with the special nature of the match? How is it different from the earlier ones…”

Before he could finish, realization dawned on Ou Peng. “Elder means the match will be purely about fist and leg techniques, without the use of internal force?”

Monk Changgeng nodded. “Precisely. This is purely an opportunity to exchange knowledge in unarmed combat.”

Hearing this, Ou Peng felt a twinge of unease. To be frank, there wasn’t a single disciple in the entire Piaomiao Sect who hadn’t practiced internal energy cultivation. For these disciples, using internal force in combat was second nature—almost reflexive. Asking them to avoid it in a match would be akin to cutting off their arm. How could they perform at their best in such conditions?

At this moment, Ou Peng thought of Zhang Xiaohua. This young boy seemed to have no understanding of inner force. However, earlier, Monk Changgeng had also suggested consulting disciples of the Piaomiao Sect. If Ou Peng pushed Zhang Xiaohua forward, it would appear as though he was handing him over to Monk Changgeng, giving him leverage. Moreover, Yuan Kong was still in the thatched pavilion, eyeing Zhang Xiaohua like a tiger watching its prey, waiting for an opportunity to avenge his junior brother. Letting Zhang Xiaohua step forward now would be inappropriate.

What should he do?

After some thought, Ou Peng called Zhang Chengyue over, and whispered a few words to him, Zhang Chengyue nodded. He then turned to Yuan Xing and said: “This Master, please follow me.”

With that, he led Yuan Xing out of the pavilion. Strangely, as Yuan Xing moved, Yuan Kong also followed him out. Zhang Chengyue found this odd, but when he leaped onto the stage and saw Yuan Kong lift Yuan Xing by the armpits and push him onto the platform, realization dawned. It turned out Yuan Xing, like Zhang Xiaohua, did not know Qinggong.

Once Yuan Xing steadied himself on the platform, Zhang Chengyue used his inner strength to announce the conditions for the match. He specifically mentioned that it required a disciple of the Piaomiao Sect.

Hearing the conditions of the match, Zhang Xiaohua felt a surge of excitement. Wasn’t this a competition designed perfectly for him? He was just about to step forward, eager to try, but then he heard the stipulation that it must be a disciple of the Piaomiao Sect. His enthusiasm instantly deflated. Although he belonged to Huanxi Villa, he wasn’t a disciple of the Piaomiao Sect. Since Zhang Chengyue had made this clear, he must have been referring to him. Among all the people in the plaza, he was the only one who didn’t belong to the Piaomiao Sect.

Zhang Chengyue’s conditions were quite demanding, and the entire plaza of Piaomiao Sect disciples fell silent. They had trained in inner energy for so long that it was difficult for them to guarantee a victory against this monk from Dali Monastery without using their inner force.

As Zhang Chengyue started to feel troubled, a voice came from below the stage: “Disciple Zhang Xiaohu is willing to give it a try!”

Zhang Chengyue raised his eyes to look, and sure enough, it was Zhang Xiaohu standing beside Zhang Xiaohua. Seeing Zhang Xiaohu volunteering himself, Zhang Chengyue frowned. He intended to refuse, but in the vast crowd of people in the square, Zhang Xiaohu was the only one who stepped forward. If he were not allowed to take the stage, it would surely dampen his spirit. Moreover, having just entered the sect less than two months ago, even if he lost to Yuan Xing, it wouldn’t bring shame to the Piaomiao Sect, and it would be easy to explain in the martial world later.

With that thought, Zhang Chengyue nodded and said: “Then I’ll ask Junior Nephew Zhang to step onto the stage and give it a try.”

Hearing this, Zhang Xiaohua quickly ran to Platform No. 5. After all, the ladder was still there, untouched.

After setting up the ladder, Zhang Xiaohu solemnly climbed onto the platform. Zhang Chengyue asked him in a low voice: “Zhang Xiaohu, how many days have you practiced fist techniques? How many forms do you know?”

Zhang Xiaohu answered truthfully, and Zhang Chengyue nodded, saying: “Understood. Go ahead, but be careful.”

With that, Zhang Chengyue gracefully stepped down from the stage to report back to Ou Peng.

In the thatched pavilion, Ou Peng was delighted to see Zhang Xiaohu step onto the stage. How had he forgotten about this disciple? Zhang Xiaohu might be the only Piaomiao Sect disciple who didn’t know much about inner force. Moreover, he had just entered the sect recently, so even if he lost, it could easily be explained away. However, Ou Peng wondered about his martial arts skills—hadn’t someone mentioned before that his fists and kicks were quite decent?

With this thought, Ou Peng glanced at the disciples standing to his right. Coincidentally, Wen Wenhai was also looking over. The two exchanged a knowing look and nodded subtly.

Before long, Zhang Chengyue returned and whispered a few words into Ou Peng’s ear. Ou Peng’s expression changed slightly, and he blurted out:: “What, he only knows one…?” Realizing his slip, he immediately closed his mouth, waved weakly, and signaled Zhang Chengyue to step aside.

Monk Changgeng, observing the reactions of the Piaomiao Sect members, was quite sensitive to their behavior. He had brought Yuan Xing to the Piaomiao Sect partly to broaden Yuan Xing’s horizons, but more importantly, to present a difficult challenge and see how the sect would handle it. To his surprise, the Piaomiao Sect quickly found an opponent for Yuan Xing without much hesitation. This puzzled him. Could it be that the Piaomiao Sect also had a disciple like Yuan Xing, or were they merely throwing in a scapegoat to deal with the situation?

Monk Changgeng wanted to ask more, but at this moment, the match on the stage had already begun.

Yuan Xing was indeed fierce. He opened with the foundational fist technique of Dalin Temple—the Arhat Fist. This Arhat Fist was far superior to the versions commonly circulated in the Jianghu, with significantly more intricate and exquisite moves. As Zhang Xiaohua watched from below the stage, he even noticed that some of the techniques in Yuan Xing’s Arhat Fist closely resembled a few moves from his own Big Dipper Divine Fist.

This discovery left Zhang Xiaohua a little surprised.

Zhang Xiaohu, however, maintained a steady posture, countering with a set of Six Harmonies Fist techniques. His movements were smooth and deliberate, neither too fast nor too slow, perfectly matching Yuan Xing’s Arhat Fist move for move without losing any ground.

Before long, Yuan Xing finished his Arhat Fist. His techniques shifted abruptly, transitioning into the Dalin Temple’s exclusive Vajra Palm. This technique, normally executed with inner force, was known for its ferocity and power. Even without inner force, Yuan Xing’s movements carried an air of fierce strength, his punches generating audible gusts of wind. Yuan Xing had expected Zhang Xiaohu to counter with the secret techniques of the Piaomiao Sect. To his surprise, Zhang Xiaohu remained calm, continuing to use the same Six Harmonies Fist. This lack of response unsettled Yuan Xing—was this not a blatant insult to him? To counter his sect’s secret techniques with a mundane boxing form from the Jianghu? This thought provoked Yuan Xing, and he became more determined, changing moves continuously in an attempt to force Zhang Xiaohu to switch his techniques.

Yuan Xing’s skill, which had earned Monk Changgeng’s favor, was not without merit. He had thoroughly mastered the Dalin Temple’s various fist and palm techniques. At first, he used them one set at a time, but as the match progressed, he began seamlessly blending them together. His moves flowed as though all the Dalin Temple techniques were a single unified system, each strike appearing as a natural extension of the previous one.

Even so, Yuan Xing’s frustration only grew. Although Zhang Xiaohu was already struggling, he stubbornly refused to switch to the Piaomiao Sect’s techniques and continued using only the most basic Six Harmonies Fist.

“Isn’t this clearly looking down on me?” Yuan Xing fumed internally, his anger driving him to unleash an even more rapid barrage of attacks. His movements resembled a multi-armed Bodhisattva, striking toward Zhang Xiaohu from every possible angle.

Zhang Xiaohu, however, was trapped in a bitter predicament. The only technique he truly excelled at was the Six Harmonies Fist. While he had dabbled in a few other styles, his practice with them was superficial, and using them in combat would expose glaring weaknesses. It was better to rely on the solid foundation of Six Harmonies Fist. Moreover, Zhang Xiaohu lacked extensive combat experience, having had few opportunities for sparring. Though he had mastered Six Harmonies Fist, his lack of refinement left him struggling against Yuan Xing. If not for Yuan Xing’s insistence on forcing him to reveal the Piaomiao Sect’s secret techniques, Zhang Xiaohu might already have been knocked off the platform.

Yuan Xing’s relentless offense bore down on Zhang Xiaohu like a mountain, stifling him and leaving him short of breath. The pressure reminded Zhang Xiaohu of how he had felt a few days ago while watching Zhang Xiaohua’s match—a crushing sense of despair. He could feel something in his heart being worn away, bit by bit.

“Perhaps failure is just around the corner.” Zhang Xiaohu thought to himself. His movements became sluggish, and his techniques lost their sharpness.

Seeing this, Yuan Xing was secretly delighted. “This fool is so arrogant! Even now, he refuses to take me seriously. Watch how I knock you off this stage.”

With that thought, a look of contempt naturally flashed in his eyes.

That look fell into Zhang Xiaohu’s sight, branding itself into his heart. It brought back memories of his experiences in the Piaomiao Sect—some disciples’ disdain, others’ flattery, and even Chen Chen’s words: “If it were Senior Sister Changge, she would settle this in just two or three moves.”

These thoughts flashed through Zhang Xiaohu’s mind, sparking a stubborn resolve within him. A voice roared in his heart: “Heroes are not defined by their origins; miracles are created by determination!”

With that realization, a spark of vitality returned to Zhang Xiaohu’s eyes. His punches and kicks gained renewed strength, and his previously rigid movements grew smoother and more fluid with each exchange.

As mentioned earlier, Zhang Xiaohu, like Zhang Xiaohua, lacked experience in competitions. Zhang Xiaohua’s Big Dipper Divine Fist had only gained its power through gradual tempering during the second trial. Similarly, although Zhang Xiaohu was well-versed in the techniques of Six Harmonies Fist, his experience in actual combat was even less than that of his younger brother. However, the pressure exerted by Yuan Xing during their exchanges had become a catalyst for Zhang Xiaohu’s growth in martial arts.

This sudden change in Zhang Xiaohu left Yuan Xing stunned. Initially, he had intended to force Zhang Xiaohu into revealing the Piaomiao Sect’s secret techniques. However, Zhang Xiaohu stubbornly refused to switch styles, and his moves were riddled with openings. Just as Yuan Xing decided to abandon his plan and simply knock Zhang Xiaohu off the stage, an unexpected shift occurred—while Zhang Xiaohu’s techniques remained the same, the essence of his boxing had transformed. His movements became brimming with vitality, each strikes more aggressive and resolute.

Yuan Xing realized the danger and doubled down, unleashing even more fist techniques. The onlookers below the stage were left in awe, with a singular thought running through their minds: “This monk is truly remarkable. It seems like he’s mastered all the martial arts of Dalin Temple!”

The disciples in the plaza watched Yuan Xing’s endless array of moves with dazzled eyes, all pondering the same question: if they were in Zhang Xiaohu’s place, unable to use inner force, how would they defeat such an opponent?

Countless strategies might have come to mind, but one shared sentiment united them: If they were on stage, they would surely perform better than Zhang Xiaohu! At the very least, they wouldn’t rely on anything but a repetitive set of Six Harmonies Fist.

They also believed Zhang Xiaohu’s defeat was inevitable—only a matter of time.

Although they fervently hoped this wasn’t the case, the unfolding scene seemed to confirm their fears.

Perhaps everyone in the plaza thought this way. Perhaps Ou Peng and the others in the thatched pavilion harbored the same thoughts. Maybe even the martial artists across the Jianghu shared this belief. But standing below Platform No. 1, with fists clenched and his heart in his throat, Zhang Xiaohua thought differently.

Deep in his heart, he firmly believed that his second brother would win, even though he had just witnessed signs of Zhang Xiaohu’s weakness and declining morale. Though Zhang Xiaohu was still at a disadvantage, Zhang Xiaohua’s sharp eyes caught the rising determination in his brother’s punches and kicks. He saw the unyielding spirit embedded in those techniques, steadily growing stronger. Yet, it was precisely because of this that Zhang Xiaohua’s anxiety only intensified. He feared that before his second brother could fully realize his potential, he might be defeated by the monk.

Zhang Xiaohua saw the spirit of martial arts and Zhang Xiaohu’s indomitable will, while the disciples of the Piaomiao Sect focused only on the power of the techniques. As time passed, Zhang Xiaohu did not collapse as they had expected. Instead, he resembled a blade of grass growing under the immense weight of a boulder. Slowly, gradually, and almost imperceptibly, he began to lift the massive stone. From the cracks, tender shoots emerged, and by then, the boulder could no longer suppress or snuff out this tenacious life.

At this moment, Yuan Xing felt very much like that boulder. He was filled with both regret and a certain understanding. He regretted not striking decisively earlier to knock his opponent off the platform. He also realized he had overestimated his adversary—it seemed Zhang Xiaohu truly only knew a single set of Six Harmonies Fist.

Anger surged within Yuan Xing. I came to exchange techniques with the Piaomiao Sect, presenting the Dalin Temple’s martial arts one by one as an invitation for mutual learning. And yet, you meet me with nothing but this one Six Harmonies Fist set? Is this the Jianghu where courtesy is reciprocated?

But regardless of his anger, astonishment, or resentment, it no longer mattered. The opponent before him was no longer the same person who had stepped onto the platform. Yuan Xing had lost the ability to defeat Zhang Xiaohu with ease. The Six Harmonies Fist had been honed to perfection. No matter what fist or palm techniques Yuan Xing used, Zhang Xiaohu could dissolve them effortlessly with a single move. And if Yuan Xing’s focus faltered for even a moment, Zhang Xiaohu would find the opening with a simple technique, forcing Yuan Xing to immediately switch moves to cover his vulnerabilities.

The disciples of the Piaomiao Sect watched as Zhang Xiaohu’s techniques grew more powerful. From barely holding the defensive line at the beginning, he had now begun to counterattack, gradually turning the tide. Hope sprang from within their hearts. Once that spark of hope took root, it spread like wildfire. Their gazes burned with fervor, their throats tingled, and before they knew it, someone shouted: “Zhang Xiaohu, keep it up!”

That lone voice was quickly echoed by the crowd, and soon the entire audience was cheering: “Zhang Xiaohu, keep it up!”

In the thatched pavilion, Ou Peng and Monk Changgeng, from the very start of the match, seemed as if they already knew how it would end. Both men were seasoned martial artists, and a single move was enough for them to judge the relative strength of two opponents. Thus, they casually discussed Jianghu affairs, unconcerned by the unfolding match.

Monk Changgeng, confident in his disciple’s abilities, paid little attention to the platform. In a contest without the use of inner force, there was no risk of injury, so there was no need to worry. Especially since it was evident that the Piaomiao Sect disciple, with just one technique, was inferior to Yuan Xing.

However, Ou Peng continued to watch while chatting. If it were anyone else falling into a disadvantage as soon as they stepped onto the stage, he might have stopped paying attention. After all, he knew Zhang Xiaohu only knew a single set of Six Harmonies Fist, and against Yuan Xing, who was flinging the Dali Temple’s techniques around like they cost nothing, how could Zhang Xiaohu possibly stand a chance?

The reason Ou Peng kept watching, however, had its own particular cause.

Since Zhang Xiaohu joined the Piaomiao Sect, Wen Wenhai had yet to teach him any martial arts. It wasn’t that Wen Wenhai, as a master, was neglecting his duty—far from it. Instead, he was deeply troubled. The disciples of the Piaomiao Sect were usually trained from childhood, learning martial arts from a young age. There had never been a disciple as old as Zhang Xiaohu joining the sect. Someone like Great Aunt Qin from Ming Cui Hall, for example, had entered the sect as an adult but hadn’t apprenticed under a specific master; she already possessed her own martial arts foundation. Zhang Xiaohu, on the other hand, needed to start from scratch.

Since Wen Wenhai had accepted Zhang Xiaohu as a disciple, he naturally didn’t want to shortchange him. After much deliberation, Wen Wenhai approached his master, Ou Peng, to seek permission to teach Zhang Xiaohu the Piaomiao Sect’s core inner energy technique—the Piaomiao Divine Technique. However, Ou Peng immediately refused. Although the Piaomiao Divine Technique was exclusively taught to direct disciples of the sect and Zhang Xiaohu was technically qualified, his circumstances were unique. He hadn’t entered through the formal process, and his aptitude for martial arts was still unknown. Most critically, his age posed a significant problem. At his stage of life, his meridians had already matured—how could he possibly cultivate the Piaomiao Divine Technique to its full potential?

Ou Peng hoped instead that Wen Wenhai would select another, slightly less advanced inner energy technique to teach Zhang Xiaohu.

But Wen Wenhai, being a first-time master, held great affection for his older-than-usual disciple. He wanted to give Zhang Xiaohu the best possible foundation and repeatedly pleaded with Ou Peng. Yet Ou Peng remained firm in his refusal.

As a result, Zhang Xiaohu, despite being in the sect for nearly two months, had found himself in this neglected position where no one had taught him anything!
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