All Heavens: A Role-Playing System Starting from Tianlong

Chapter 127 The Imperial Preceptor Displays His Skills, Overpowering Shaolin; The Prince Consort Leads His Crowd into the Mountain Gate

Seeing that Tong Lao was sitting behind her, Li Qiushui simply relaxed and leaned back on Tong Lao's shoulder, saying in a telepathic voice, "Senior Sister, it's been a long time."

The old woman replied telepathically, "It's only been three days since we last met, what are you yelling about?"

Li Qiushui's lips curled slightly: "When I don't see my senior sister, it truly feels like an eternity. Three days like this feel like three years."

Granny Tong snorted, knowing that she wouldn't gain the upper hand in a verbal contest with Li Qiushui, and unwilling to be disrespectful by arguing with her in front of so many people, so she simply ignored her and instead asked about Zhang Cheng and the others' experiences over the past three days.

As Zhang Cheng rode forward, he recounted his experiences in Bianjing over the past three days via telepathy. Tong Lao listened attentively, occasionally interjecting with questions about the details.

Before they knew it, the group had traveled dozens of miles.

The Valley of Deafness and Muteness is not far from Shaoshi Mountain, and the group of people were either elite soldiers or skilled in martial arts, making them much faster than ordinary people.

By the time Zhang Cheng finished recounting his experiences over the past three days, the group had already reached the foot of Shaoshi Mountain. Shaoshi Mountain stood majestically, shrouded in mist, with the eaves of temples and pavilions faintly visible.

Zhang Cheng reined in his horse and turned to instruct the soldiers behind him to rest at the foot of the mountain. He forbade them to act without orders. He also instructed them not to stop or pay attention to any martial arts practitioners going up or down the mountain.

Then, he, along with Granny Tong and Li Qiushui, picked up Duan Yanqing and the others and took them up the mountain.

The leaders of the nine departments of Lingjiu Palace followed behind and served on either side. Seeing this, the leaders of the thirty-six caves and seventy-two islands also told their disciples to stay where they were, while they themselves followed behind Zhang Cheng and the others to bolster their momentum.

The group climbed the mountain path, their figures gradually disappearing into the lush green forest.

The atmosphere was solemn in the square in front of the Great Buddha Hall of Shaolin Temple.

In the arena, an old Shaolin monk was fighting a dignified-looking Tibetan monk, attracting a crowd of monks to watch.

The two stood facing each other, several feet apart, their finger strikes powerful and unpredictable. The foreign monk unleashed several finger strikes in quick succession, the wind from his fingers sharp and swift, whistling through the air. The old Shaolin monk struggled to parry, but was already struggling to keep up.

With three soft "pop pop pop" sounds, three arrows of blood suddenly shot out from the chest of the old Shaolin monk, spraying several feet, and he fell backward as if struck by lightning.

The monks around them exclaimed in surprise.

The Tibetan monk flicked his sleeve, and a gentle surge of internal energy stopped the bleeding from the old monk's chest. He then clasped his hands together, bowed slightly, and said humbly, "I have long admired Master Xuandu's masterful 'Flower-Picking Finger' technique. I wonder if you could offer some guidance on my earlier moves?"

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Xuan Du was helped up by his disciple. His face was pale, and he said with a bitter smile, "The Great Wheel King's Flower-Picking Finger Skill is so amazing! This old monk is in awe." After saying that, he closed his eyes to regulate his breathing and said no more.

Kumārajīva smiled slightly, no longer looking at him, and turned his gaze to the leader of the Shaolin monks: "Abbot, now that all the Xuan-generation monks have been defeated, I wonder if there are any other virtuous monks in Shaolin Temple who can instruct this humble monk in a few moves?"

Xuan Ci felt a bitter taste in his mouth. Today, they were supposed to be invited by the imperial court to go down the mountain to preside over the demon-slaying assembly, but they had just set off when they ran into Kumārajīva.

Although this person's arrival was abrupt and impolite, he was nonetheless of extraordinary status, being the very National Preceptor of Tibet, forcing Shaolin Temple to lavish a reception. Unexpectedly, this Great Wheel King first debated Buddhist scriptures, then moved on to discussing martial arts.

Xuan Ci initially intended to treat him with courtesy and not to compete in martial arts, but the Imperial Preceptor's words pressed him relentlessly. Xuan Sheng, unable to contain himself, challenged him with his Vajra Fist.

To everyone's surprise, Kumārajīva also met the attack with the Vajra Fist, his moves were refined and his internal strength was profound, even surpassing that of Xuan Sheng.

Upon seeing this, the monks rebuked him for secretly learning Shaolin's unique skills.

Kumārajīva, however, did not take it seriously. Instead, he said that Shaolin's ultimate skills were originally passed down from India and were just trivial skills, not worth mentioning. Only Shaolin would be so arrogant as to call themselves ultimate skills and forbid others from practicing them.

He claimed to be proficient in all seventy-two minor martial arts techniques, and that any master who doubted him was welcome to step forward. How could the Shaolin monks tolerate such a statement?

Subsequently, the monks of the Xuan generation took turns fighting, but all of them were defeated by their own unique skills. After a series of battles, they were not only defeated in one-on-one combat, but also failed to gain an advantage in a series of battles.

Xuan Ci sighed deeply and slowly said, "Only today do I realize that there are heavens beyond heavens and people above people. My decades of hard study are truly nothing in the eyes of the Imperial Preceptor."

Kumārajīva smiled and nodded: "The abbot's words acknowledge that your sect's seventy-two unique skills were not created by your sect. The word 'unique' needs to be changed."

Xuan Ci remained silent, his heart aching as if being stabbed. Was Shaolin's thousand-year-old reputation about to be destroyed in an instant?

A tall, elderly monk from the Xuan class said sternly, "The Imperial Preceptor has already gained the upper hand, why is he still so aggressive and leaving no room for maneuver?"

Kumārajīva remained calm and smiled slightly, saying, "This humble monk merely wishes to ask the abbot to grant a request so that all martial arts practitioners in the world may be informed."

In my humble opinion, Shaolin Temple might as well disband from here on out. All the eminent monks could seek refuge in various temples such as Qingliang and Pudu, and pursue their own futures. Wouldn't that be better than living a life of quiet desperation in the undeservedly prestigious Shaolin Temple?

Upon hearing this, even the most composed Shaolin monks could not contain themselves and began to loudly rebuke him.

"Insolence!" "You wicked monk, how dare you speak like this!" "Shaolin Temple, an ancient temple with a thousand-year history, how dare you spout such nonsense!"

Just then, a young monk stumbled and ran towards the mountain gate.

He looked extremely disheveled, his monk's robes covered in dust. He barely managed to steady himself as he approached, panting as he called out, "Reporting to the Abbot! There are many people outside the mountain gate—many of them are armored soldiers!"

Before he could finish speaking, he suddenly felt a weight on his shoulder. It felt like a hand was gently resting on it.

The young monk froze. He slowly turned his head and looked down his arm. A man in black armor was standing behind him, silently, as if he had grown out of thin air from the shadows.

The man lowered his head and smiled at him: "Thank you for leading the way, young master."

The little monk stared blankly, his mouth agape, unable to utter a sound.

He was a welcoming monk at the foot of the mountain. He had just seen a troop of soldiers approaching from afar, so he ran back along the mountain path to report the news.

He ran so fast he didn't even dare to catch his breath, but this person was wearing iron armor, and his footsteps should have made a clanging sound, so how could he have silently crept up behind him?

Is this person a human or a ghost? This thought terrified the little monk so much that his legs went weak and he almost collapsed to the ground.

The man in black armor ignored the stunned little monk and addressed the crowd, saying, "Grand Preceptor, it's been a long time."

When Kumārajīva saw who it was, a strange light flashed in his eyes. He then put his hands together and smiled slightly: "So it is Zhang Junma."

It's quite a coincidence that I'd run into you here.

"I wonder why the Prince Consort is dressed like this? According to the laws of the Southern Dynasties, possessing armor is a capital offense. I know the Prince Consort is a peerless warrior, so I am naturally not afraid, but this action may damage the harmony between Dali and the Song Dynasty."

Before Zhang Cheng could answer, a red figure suddenly pounced out from behind him, heading straight for Kumārajīva in the arena.