Killing Monks

With a whooshing sound as his leg swept through the air, an even more solid golden dragon shadow coiled around his leg and descended from the sky, aiming straight for Guangyuan's crown chakra!

Guangyuan still did not hide.

He looked up at the figure descending from the sky, a slight smile playing on his lips.

"receive."

Again.

That force, powerful enough to split rocks and shatter stone, was once again sucked into that bottomless abyss.

The old monk, suspended in mid-air, felt as if he had kicked into the boundless void, the force of which had been completely drained away.

"change."

Guangyuan's feet sank again.

This time, the gathered force unleashed even more ferociously. The moment it slammed into the ground beneath his feet, the entire mountain gate groaned in agony!

"Boom—!"

The ground seemed to have been struck by a giant hammer; the bluestone slabs shattered into dust, and fragments flew like rain. Cracks spread wildly, extending to the stone pillars of the mountain gate, to the lintel, and to the entire wall.

"Splash!"

The left half of the mountain gate collapsed completely. The stone plaque on the lintel fell askew and shattered in two on the ground.

Smoke and dust filled the air, and pebbles littered the ground.

The once solemn gate of the small Buddhist temple is now a scene of devastation.

Guangyuan stood in the center of the ruins, unharmed despite the smoke.

"What?!"

The old monk was startled, staring in disbelief at the scene before him.

He is a martial artist at the "Desire Realm of No Self", which is a whole realm higher than Guangyuan's "Form Realm of Hearing".

Both of his Heavenly Dragon Kicks were his signature moves, powerful enough to split mountains and shatter rocks; even martial artists of the same realm might not dare to take them head-on.

But the monk took both kicks without getting hurt.

What he didn't know was that in the past few months, Guangyuan had encountered almost all the martial artists in the Northern Zhou territory who practiced external strength training and followed the path of brute force.

Which one of them wasn't incredibly strong and fierce?

After fighting them many times, you'll naturally learn how to fight them.

A straightforward approach like that of an old monk is actually the easiest to deal with.

"It's my turn."

Guangyuan's aura suddenly changed.

Black and white mists rose up simultaneously, intertwining and swirling around him.

The black ones are the reversed versions of the "Karma Subduing Demon Skill" and the "One Thought of Withering and Flourishing Sutra," which are insidious and cunning. The white ones are his own understanding of the old Taoist's nameless mental cultivation method, which is like water, which is to do good and follow the natural course.

The two streams of true energy were incompatible, but he forcibly mixed them together in an almost reckless manner.

With a single movement, black and white intertwined, exuding a menacing aura.

They look quite formidable.

The old monk's expression changed.

He had lived most of his life and seen many ruthless people, but he had never seen anyone like this.

How can someone with conflicting internal energy forcefully twist their energies together? Are they courting death?

But at this point, he had no time to think further.

Guangyuan roared and threw a punch!

Black and white true energy swirled around the fist, carrying boundless rage, and rushed straight for the old monk's face!

Instead of retreating, the old monk advanced, suddenly spreading his arms wide, and then his bald head suddenly shone!

Golden light rose from above, instantly illuminating the entire ruins!

The light was warm and solemn, shining on the rubble, on the broken walls, and on Guangyuan's face, carrying a hint of the sandalwood fragrance of the Buddhist temple.

Golden Head Kung Fu!

Indestructible gold.

This is his true trump card.

In his youth, he practiced the Thirteen Bodyguards' Horizontal Training in the army. Later, he became a monk and integrated the Horizontal Training with Buddhist practices. After decades of arduous cultivation, he finally transformed his bald head into a true "Diamond Head".

A head can be severed, blood can flow, but a head cannot be broken.

He bent over, stomped his feet on the ground, and charged towards Guangyuan's fist like a golden cannonball.

"Duang—!"

The moment the fist collided with the head, a sound like a bronze bell reverberated, making the eardrums of the surrounding martial monks hurt, and they all covered their heads and squatted down.

Guangyuan retreated several steps, each step leaving a deep footprint on the gravel ground. He retreated seven or eight steps before he could finally regain his footing.

Blood splattered from his right fist.

The flesh rolled back, revealing the stark white bones.

The old monk was also suffering.

He stood there, his head buzzing, stars flashing before his eyes. The impact felt like someone had struck him hard on the head with a hammer, making his internal organs churn.

He's getting old, after all.

Although he was a martial artist at the Earth Realm with profound skill, his vital energy had already declined. Compared to Guangyuan, a young man who possessed several unique techniques, dared to recklessly practice them, and didn't care about luck at all, he was ultimately a bit weaker.

Guangyuan secretly used his internal energy to stop the bleeding from his hand.

He looked at his bloodied and mangled fist and cursed himself for being foolish.

Use your fists to strike soft targets, and your palms to strike hard ones. In a moment of impulsiveness, I punched someone's iron head, and miraculously, the bones didn't break—I was incredibly lucky.

He took a deep breath, and the black and white energies around him rose again. Just as he was about to ascend again, he suddenly heard the old monk shout:

"Wait a minute!"

"Hmm?" Guangyuan raised a cold eyebrow, his gaze as sharp as a knife as he looked at the old monk's face.

The old monk rubbed his still-ringing head and reached out to straighten his disheveled robes. His movements were slow, as if he were stalling for time, or perhaps trying to calm himself.

A moment later, he raised his head and looked at Guangyuan.

"How about... we talk?"

"What are we talking about?" Guangyuan said coldly.

The old monk opened his mouth, his gaze sweeping over Guangyuan's plain robes, his short stubble, and the black and white true energy swirling around him.

He hesitated for a moment, unsure of how to address the person in front of him.

He's a monk? He wasn't ordained.

To say he's a layman? The aura emanating from him is clearly that of Buddhist practitioners.

Finally, he carefully chose his words and said, "This... fellow practitioner."

Guangyuan did not correct him.

The old monk continued, "You have come for Prajna Temple."

"If I help you resolve the matter of Prajna Temple, we can remain neighbors and keep to ourselves. Why must we resort to violence?"

Guangyuan looked at him, a slight twitch at the corner of her mouth.

Why are you saying "we don't interfere with each other" now? Why didn't you say that before?

He said, "If you hadn't been so intolerant of Prajna Temple, would I have come here to demand an explanation?"

The old monk's facial muscles twitched slightly, then he forced a gentle smile.

"That's because... I don't know your abilities, Junior Brother?"

He softened his tone, his voice even carrying a hint of gentleness.

"If we had known earlier that our junior brother possessed such abilities, none of these misunderstandings would have occurred."

He really chickened out.

Those two collisions just now made him clearly realize...

Although the young man in front of me was not as skilled as myself, his chaotic and strange martial arts techniques were very unpredictable. If we really fought to the death, the outcome would be hard to predict.

More importantly, people will die.

He was no longer the young man who fought alongside his comrades in the army decades ago. Back then, death was death, and no one would even blink.

But now?

He was the head of a temple, the abbot of dozens of monks.

When a person dies, everything is gone.

With his death, the small Buddhist temple collapsed and its members scattered.

Therefore, he wants to talk.