Wandering Swordsman |

Master Huikong watched him quietly, without showing any emotion. But his fingers subtly dug into his palm from his sleeve—though he didn't say anything, alarm bells were already ringing.

This person's words were impeccable, and his manners were impeccable, but the word "admiration" sounded too deliberate and too precise. Ordinary worshippers might know the name of the relic, but they would never be aware of its ability to "suppress demons and purify evil"—unless, of course, he himself was possessed by evil spirits and wanted to seize the relic to break its power!

"Amitabha Buddha." Huikong chanted the Buddha's name softly, his voice like a bell. "Since you know how to revere, you are destined to be with the Buddha. Go now, and don't miss the time to descend the mountain."

Jianzhen bowed deeply, and when he rose, he flicked his sleeves lightly, his movements as elegant as a scholar, without any air of violence.

He slowly walked out of the meditation hall, his steps steady, as if he were truly a lay Buddhist returning home laden with Buddhist teachings.

The setting sun had sunk below the mountain ridge, its afterglow like blood, splashing across the green tiles and white walls of Shaolin Temple. His shadow was stretched extremely long, diagonally across the stone steps, ancient cypress trees, and bronze bell, finally landing in front of the "Do Not Kill" stele—the edges of that shadow were sharp as blades, like a demonic sword hidden in its sheath, silently slicing through the tranquility of Buddhism.

Master Huikong stood at the entrance of the meditation hall, watching his retreating figure disappear into the distance, remaining silent for a long time.

The evening breeze swept by, ruffling his snow-white eyebrows and beard, and also dispersing the last wisp of sandalwood incense.

He muttered to himself, almost inaudibly: "Jianzhen... Jianzhen... His name is that of a Buddha, but his heart is that of a demon. If this boy's heart is not righteous, the martial world may face a great calamity."

Outside the mountain gate, Jianzhen glanced back at the majestic temple gate, a barely perceptible sneer curling at the corner of his mouth.

I am determined to obtain the Buddha's relics. As for you old monks... you can continue chanting your sutras for now. Once I take the relics, Shaolin Temple will have no reason to exist!

After that, he moved like a cat, silently making his way to the back cliff of Mount Song.

Here, the cliffs rise thousands of feet high, with vines hanging down like a dying giant python, a sight that would terrify ordinary people.

He leaped down, his toes touching the wall, using the vines to descend, his movements as light as a night bird soaring through the air, landing without even startling a single withered leaf.

He sat cross-legged behind a protruding rock, closed his eyes and regulated his breathing, his breath almost non-existent.

But those eyes remained sharp as a hawk's, fixed on the back of Shaolin Temple—the eaves of the Sutra Repository gleamed coldly in the moonlight, like the half-closed eyes of a Buddha, silently observing the world.

Higher up, a thousand-year-old pine tree with gnarled branches and twisted trunks stood, and Shen Mo was hidden among the dense foliage, his robes blending seamlessly with the shadows of the tree.

He held his breath, suppressing his heartbeat to its lowest point, his gaze fixed intently on Jianzhen.

This person is too quiet. He's not as quiet as a pilgrim who has just been persuaded to leave by a high monk; he's more like a lurking beast, waiting for the dark of night to pounce on its prey.

......

At the third quarter of midnight, the moon hid behind the clouds, and the world suddenly darkened.

Jianzhen suddenly opened his eyes, his gaze flashing with a cold light.

He moved with lightning speed, rising like a wisp of smoke, and in a few leaps he was already beneath the back wall of Shaolin Temple.

Instead of using his light-footed skills to force his way through, he walked close to the wall, lightly touching the brick seams with his fingertips, as if sensing the mechanism.

The patrolling monk walked by with a lantern, his steps steady, his robes brushing the ground, completely unaware that a deadly intent had quietly crept in from three feet outside the wall.

He scaled the wall and entered the temple, his movements as swift as a ghost, landing without a sound.

He quietly unfurled a yellowed sheepskin map, its surface marked with intricate ink lines—the entrance to the underground palace, the key mechanisms, the guards' shifts, the ventilation tunnels… nothing was missing.

Shen Mo followed at a distance, deliberately lagging behind by half a step. He knew that if the two of them stepped onto the same mechanism path, one of them would inevitably trigger the trap. He would rather be a step behind than miss the other's every move.

He clearly has extremely high martial arts skills, so why doesn't he launch a direct attack?

Although Shaolin is strong, it may not be able to stop him.

Shen Mo's mind was filled with surging doubts, like waves crashing on the shore.

Shen Mo lay prostrate behind the chiwen (a mythical creature) on the roof of the Sutra Repository, watching Jianzhen slip into the underground palace entrance like a ghost.

The entrance was hidden beneath the base of an Arhat statue, and the mechanism was activated silently, as if the earth had opened its mouth to devour light.

The wind suddenly stopped.

The entire Shaolin Temple seemed to hold its breath.

Deep within the underground palace, darkness reigned, with only a faint phosphorescent glow in Jianzhen's hand illuminating the cold, greedy smile on his lips.

As Shen Mo followed Jianzhen, his doubts grew stronger and stronger—the underground palace of the Shaolin Temple's Sutra Repository was a place of utmost importance in Buddhism, enshrining the Buddha's relics, yet not a single martial monk guarded it? Although the entrance mechanism was ingenious, there were no living people patrolling, making it seem like an empty city, just waiting for people to walk into its trap.

"Something's not right..." A chill ran down his spine. "Shaolin would never be so negligent. Unless... they knew someone was coming, and the real guards weren't manpower, but..."

Before the thought even finished, Jianzhen had already broken through the third layer of mechanisms. The stone door suddenly sank inward, and golden light surged out like a tide, instantly illuminating the entire underground palace.

In the center, a crystal lotus platform sits quietly, its petals as translucent as ice, and inside, the Buddha's relics are as white as jade, surrounded by a faint golden light that seems to flow slowly as if it were alive.

Around the relics, the low, resonant chanting of Buddhist hymns, not just heard, but directly entered the mind—like a thousand monks chanting sutras, like the Buddha whispering, clearing the mind and eliminating all distracting thoughts.

In the air, the phantom of a lotus flower could be seen appearing and disappearing, its fragrance penetrating to the bone and cleansing away evil spirits.

Jianzhen stood before the lotus platform, his eyes burning with greed, yet he forced himself to suppress it. He slowly raised his hand, his fingertips trembling slightly, as if he were overwhelmed by the Buddha's light, or as if he were driven by his inner obsession.

"Finally... I'm about to get it," he whispered, his voice hoarse as if sandpaper was grinding against his bones.

Just as his fingertips were about to touch the relic—

"Splash—!"

In the darkness of the underground palace, the iron chains suddenly taut, emitting a piercing clang! A dark figure leaped up like a ghost, carrying a stench and a murderous aura, rushing straight towards Jianzhenmen!

Shen Mo's pupils contracted sharply, and he almost lost his voice.

The man was wearing a tattered black kasaya, which had long since faded to gray, and the kasaya was stained with blood, as if it had not been washed for a hundred years.

His face was covered with a bronze demon mask, as ferocious as an Asura, and his eyes were as red as blood. He had no humanity at all, only a surging killing intent.

Most astonishingly, both his hands and feet were bound by thick, black iron chains, each as thick as a child's arm. The other end of the chains was deeply embedded in the stone wall, their range of motion just covering the lotus platform.

Even this area, which can only cover the lotus platform, is enough to change the color of the sky and earth!

Caught off guard, Jianzhen hastily raised his hand to meet the attack.

After three exchanges, the air surged and the stone wall cracked!

With his first move, he forced the shadowy figure back half a step.

The second move was a backhand claw that tore his sleeve;

The third move came from a dark figure who roared like thunder and unleashed a "Great Compassion Heart-Shattering Palm". Jianzhen was forced to retreat two steps, his blood and qi churned, and he felt a sweet taste in his throat!

"How is this possible?!" Jianzhen's heart was filled with shock, and fear appeared in his eyes for the first time. "This person's internal strength is as vast as the sea, and his moves are fierce yet compassionate. He is clearly a true Shaolin disciple! But this aura... is also mixed with extremely Yin and evil energy, like a Buddha and a demon, making it impossible to distinguish the real from the fake! Does the Central Plains martial arts world actually harbor such a monster?!"

He steadied himself, forcefully suppressing his surging inner energy, and demanded sharply, "Who exactly are you?!"

The masked monk slowly raised his head, his bloodshot eyes devoid of any emotion. His voice was hoarse and low, as if it came from the depths of hell: "I am but a sinful monk, and I have no name... naturally."