One Day's Enlightenment, Chickens and Dogs Ascend to Heaven!

The next day, just as dawn was breaking.

In the woodshed courtyard, the morning mist had yet to dissipate, but Su Haoran had already finished a round of meditation with the Meditation Scripture.

A night of breathing exercises had completely dispelled the fatigue from yesterday's assessment. His mind was clear, his Blood Essence was full, and he felt an inexhaustible surge of energy.

He was about to practice a set of Arhat Fist to fully circulate the surging Blood Essence when familiar footsteps sounded outside the courtyard gate.

"Knock, knock."

The knock was light, carrying a friendly politeness.

"Junior Brother Haoran, it's me, Cao Yi."

Upon hearing this, Su Haoran stopped his stance and went to open the door.

Outside, Cao Yi was dressed in the formal black robes of a Martial Monk, looking energetic.

In his hands, he held a neatly folded set of robes of the same style, along with a small wooden token.

"Senior Brother Cao," Su Haoran greeted with a clasped-hand salute.

"No need for formalities," Cao Yi said with a smile, handing over the items. "I've brought you something. Starting today, you are officially a Martial Monk of Prajna Temple. It's time to change out of those gray robes of a laborer."

His smile was sincere and gratified. "You've given me a tremendous surprise! The entire Labor Courtyard is buzzing with talk about the powerhouse we have from our sect, acing all three assessments. You've even put those arrogant disciples from the Martial Monk Courtyard in their place! Haha, that's fantastic!"

Cao Yi was genuinely happy. He had only helped Su Haoran out of appreciation for his talent, and he never expected Su Haoran to bring him such great honor.

Su Haoran took the robes and the token. They felt slightly heavy in his hands. The token was engraved with the character "Martial" in raised script on one side, and his Dharma name, "Haoran," on the back.

"Thank you for your guidance, Senior Brother," he said calmly, neither arrogant nor overly humble.

Cao Yi waved his hand, his appreciation for Su Haoran's steady demeanor growing. He continued, "Right, there are a few more things I need to tell you. Now that you're a Martial Monk, the temple will issue you three things. First, your accommodation. You'll need to re-register at the Affairs Hall. According to the rules, you should move to the Martial Monk Courtyard. The environment and provisions there are a hundred times better than here."

"Second, your weapon. All Martial Monks are issued a Monk's Knife. You'll need to go to the Weaponry Courtyard to collect yours. Third, and most importantly," Cao Yi's tone became solemn, "you can go to the Scripture Repository and choose any cultivation technique from the first floor to practice. This is a privilege only afforded to official Martial Monks, so make sure to seize this opportunity!"

Su Haoran's heart stirred. These three things, especially the last one, were incredibly good news for him.

"I understand," he nodded.

"Good, then change your clothes. I won't disturb you further. If you have any questions about cultivation in the future, feel free to come find me at the Martial Monk Courtyard," Cao Yi encouraged him again before turning to leave.

Su Haoran closed the door of the woodshed and unfolded the new black monk's robe.

The fabric was thick, and the stitching was fine, far superior to the faded gray robe he was currently wearing.

He quickly changed, and his entire demeanor shifted.

His previous delicate and reserved appearance was now complemented by a sharp and capable aura in the fitted robes.

Looking in the mirror, he saw a man with sharp eyebrows, bright eyes, and a tall, upright posture, already possessing the bearing of a master.

Tying the token that represented his identity to his waist, Su Haoran took a deep breath, pushed open the door, and walked towards the Affairs Hall on the mountain.

As he ascended from the secluded woodshed courtyard, Su Haoran immediately felt the vast difference that his change in status brought.

Previously, when he walked on the path, other monks generally treated him as if he didn't exist, unless it was absolutely necessary.

But today, any laborer monks he encountered, upon seeing his black monk's robe and the token at his waist, would stop several steps in advance, bow respectfully at the roadside, clasp their hands in prayer, and only rise to continue their journey after he had passed.

In their eyes, there was reverence, envy, and a deep sense of distance.

An invisible wall had now completely separated him from his past identity.

Halfway up the mountain, the number of pilgrims gradually increased.

Prajna Temple was a place of great renown, and even in these troubled times, many devout men and women came to offer incense and pray for blessings.

When the pilgrims saw Su Haoran, dressed in his black monk's robe, they also stopped, clasped their hands together, and respectfully said, "Greetings, Master."

Su Haoran returned their salutes one by one, his expression calm, but his heart remained undisturbed.

He could even sense that several young women, who had come to offer incense with their elders, were secretly casting glances his way. Their gazes were ardent and bold, filled with undisguised admiration.

In these chaotic times, a powerful, young Martial Monk from a prestigious sect was undoubtedly a great attraction to these ordinary women.

"One's fortunes change overnight, and even the chickens and dogs ascend to heaven," Su Haoran thought with a self-deprecating smile, but his pace did not falter.

He knew very well that all this respect and admiration was not directed at him, Su Haoran, personally, but at the identity of a Martial Monk, and at the strength he had displayed on the training grounds yesterday.

Without that strength, he would still be the laborer enduring hunger and cold in the woodshed, liable to be kicked out at any moment.

Soon, he arrived at the Affairs Hall.

The monk in charge of registration was a Scripture Monk in his forties, whose attitude was neither warm nor cold.

Su Haoran presented his token.

The Scripture Monk glanced at it, nodded, and took out a thick register. "Su Haoran, is that right? There's still one vacant room in the C-grade Zen room of the Martial Monk Courtyard. I'll register you, and you can take this slip and go there yourself."

"Thank you, Senior Brother," Su Haoran said gratefully, but he did not take the slip. Instead, he said, "However, I would like to request to not stay in the Martial Monk Courtyard and to continue living in the original woodshed."

"What?" The Scripture Monk looked up, staring at him in surprise. "Have you thought this through? The Zen rooms in the Martial Monk Courtyard are cleaned daily, and the monthly allowance and provisions are far beyond what the Labor Courtyard offers. You... why would you seek hardship?"

In his opinion, such behavior was simply incomprehensible.

So many laborers were desperately trying to get into the Martial Monk Courtyard, and this person, given the opportunity, wanted to refuse it.

"I'm used to it. The woodshed is quiet and undisturbed, which is more beneficial for my cultivation," Su Haoran's reason was simple and direct.

The Martial Monk Courtyard was crowded and full of prying eyes. He carried the secret of the system panel, and his cultivation speed far surpassed ordinary people. Living in the woodshed, a place no one cared about, was the best choice.

The Scripture Monk frowned. Seeing Su Haoran's determined gaze, which didn't seem fake, he pondered for a moment before finally nodding: "Fine, since you insist, I'll record it for you. But don't blame me if you regret it later; you won't get such a good opportunity again."

He crossed out "Room C" on the roster and added a note next to Su Haoran's name: "Residing in the Woodshed."

With that settled, Su Haoran turned and left, heading straight for his next destination—the Weaponry Courtyard.

The Weaponry Courtyard was located behind the Martial Monk Courtyard's mountain. It was a vast compound built with bluestone, and the sounds of "ding ding dang dang" from blacksmithing could be heard there all day long.

The air was filled with a unique scent, a mixture of rust and tung oil.

Su Haoran presented his token and explained his purpose. A burly Forge Monk then led him into a storeroom.

Inside the storeroom, rows of weapon racks were neatly stacked with standard Monk's Knives, staves, and clubs.

The Forge Monk took down a Monk's Knife and handed it to Su Haoran, saying in a gruff voice, "New junior brother, this is your knife. Our Prajna Temple's Monk's Knives are forged from hundred-refined steel mixed with three qian of cold iron ore. They can slice through hair and are incredibly sharp. If you haven't learned knife techniques, it's best to keep it in its sheath and be careful not to injure yourself."

Su Haoran took the Monk's Knife. It felt heavy in his hand, weighing about seven or eight pounds.

The blade was long and narrow with a beautiful curve. Even in the dim light of the storeroom, it still gleamed with a cold, sharp light.

He lightly flicked the blade with his thumb. With a "hum," a clear, lingering sound emanated, attesting to its superior material.

"Good knife," Su Haoran praised.

Seeing that he seemed quite knowledgeable, the Forge Monk showed a hint of pride on his face.

However, the next moment, his pride turned into astonishment.

Su Haoran held the knife in his left hand, with the back of his right hand facing up, and lightly drew the sharp blade across the skin of his own hand!

"You!" The Forge Monk was greatly alarmed and was about to shout a warning.

"Sss—"

A very faint sound, like tearing silk, was heard.

As the blade passed, Su Haoran's hand only bore a shallow white mark, not even breaking the surface layer of skin!

[Cultivation Technique: Iron Cloth Shirt (Major Accomplishment 45%)]

With the Iron Cloth Shirt in Major Accomplishment, his skin and membranes were tough. Under the surge of Blood Essence, he was no longer afraid of ordinary swords and knives.

Even though this Monk's Knife was sharp, it couldn't break through his defense.

The Forge Monk's eyes were about to pop out. He stared intently at Su Haoran's hand, then looked at the Monk's Knife in his own hand, as if he had seen a ghost.

"You... you?!" he stammered.

Those who could enter the Weaponry Courtyard had some discernment.

He knew very well how difficult it was to have a blade against one's body without injury!

But this young man before him, who looked no more than eighteen or nineteen, how could he possess such profound body-hardening skills?

Su Haoran didn't answer. He just smiled slightly, sheathed the Monk's Knife, and hung it at his waist.

This weapon wasn't of much practical use to him, but it was a symbol of his status as a Martial Monk, and he couldn't do without it.

"Thank you, senior brother."

He clasped his hands in gratitude towards the still-shocked Forge Monk and strode away, leaving only his tall, straight back.

Today's last stop, and the most important one—the Scripture Repository!