Li Dangxin had barely led Wu Xuantian into the courtyard when Monk Longshu opened his eyes.
Li Dangxin was usually the temple's worst example of proper conduct. Whenever he sought out Monk Longshu, he barged in without so much as a bow. Huinen, who had long hoped to become abbot after Monk Longshu passed away, often told him, "If you were my disciple, I'd have beaten the manners into you long ago, you unruly monk."
Today, perhaps because Wu Xuantian struck him as no ordinary visitor, Li Dangxin did not want either himself or his master to lose face. For once, he bowed to Monk Longshu. "Master, this benefactor wishes to discuss something with you."
Monk Longshu showed no surprise at his disciple's sudden display of courtesy. He nodded and looked at Wu Xuantian. He had reached the ranks of the Saints of the Three Teachings—or, in the language of martial artists, the realm of a Land Immortal.
A few glances were enough for him to guess why Wu Xuantian had come to the Two Chan Monasteries. But that left him with a question: how could he see nothing of a man whose cultivation was only at the third rank?
"I am Wu Xuantian. Greetings, Monk Longshu."
Wu Xuantian had never been stingy with his respect for others. When one was weak, pride was nothing but laughable folly.
Monk Longshu rose. "I can roughly guess why you have come, benefactor. The Two Chan Monasteries have no forbidden grounds. You should find what you seek in the Hall of a Thousand Buddhas at the foot of the mountain's far slope."
"Ah..." Li Dangxin sighed beside him, exasperated by his master's lack of business sense. The saying that all the world's fist arts came from the Two Chan Monasteries was no empty