Reaction

Meng Qi had been fretting over how to find an opportunity to leave the Servant Courtyard, only to be abruptly told that he could report to the Warrior Monk Institute tomorrow. It was as if he was walking down the road and suddenly got hit by a falling meat pie—dazed, startled, and delighted, with surprise far outweighing joy. For a moment, his expression froze, and he forgot how to respond.

Xuan Chi was not surprised by Meng Qi's reaction. His voice was deep but low as he said, "Zhang Yuanshan of the True Martial Sect and Jiang Zhiwei of Sword Washing Pavilion both praised you to the reception senior brother for knowing etiquette, understanding restraint, speaking well, and being good at self-control. It's rare for lay guests to speak so highly of a Shaolin sectarian monk, so you are being allowed into the Warrior Monk Institute to hone your martial skills, and in the future, to serve as a reception monk."

As a reception monk for a major martial arts sect, one's martial arts had to be at least somewhat decent, lest the sect lose face.

"I, this disciple merely tried my best to restrain myself." Meng Qi finally understood what had happened. While silently thanking Zhang Yuanshan and Jiang Zhiwei for their help, he let his inner joy show fully on his face.

"As a reception monk, restraining yourself, not giving in to reckless anger, and not losing face for the sect are of utmost importance." Xuan Chi replied to Meng Qi indifferently, then turned and left. As he walked, he carried himself with pride, striding like a dragon or tiger—not like a monk, but rather a hero who had roamed the martial world for years.

Xuanku gave Meng Qi a deep look and said flatly, "Once you enter the Warrior Monk Institute, all scheming is useless. Only by comprehending Zen principles, calming your mind, steadying your spirit, neither rushing nor losing heart, and training diligently is the true path. In this regard, Zhen Hui is better than you."

Meng Qi could hear the implication: Xuanku suspected that he had flattered Zhang Yuanshan, Jiang Zhiwei, and other guests to escape the Servant Courtyard. In the end, it was still too much scheming.

"To judge something as true or false without seeing or hearing it—can that be right? Martial Uncle Xuanku, once a fixation arises, it's like falling into an endless hell." Meng Qi was never one to suffer false accusations. If there were no other concerns, he would argue his point when he had reason.

He had originally wanted to quote Buddhist scriptures in his reply, but over the past half-year, he had only been learning to read and write Sanskrit and memorizing small morning chants, not yet studying the sutras. So for the moment, he could only refute in the way he knew best.

Finally, Meng Qi deliberately put on a solemn expression, pressed his palms together, and said, "Namo Amitabha."

"You!" Xuanku's eyes bulged. He clearly hadn't expected Meng Qi to counter-sarcasm him, and every word was reasonable, leaving him at a loss for how to refute.

"If you lack a Zen heart and only rely on sharp tongue, you will surely be expelled from Shaolin one day." He replied coldly, then turned and walked away. If you hadn't sweet-talked and schemed to please the guests from various sects, why would they speak up for a lowly sectarian monk like you? In this world, there is no effect without a cause.

Ah, Martial Uncle Xuanku is upright to the point of rigidity. He might fall into the demonic path someday... Meng Qi silently savored his verbal victory, but Xuanku moved fast and had already disappeared from the square.

At this moment, Zhen Hui gripped his broom tightly and looked at Meng Qi in confusion. "Senior Brother, are we going to the Warrior Monk Institute?"

"Of course, did you just realize that?" Meng Qi stared at Zhen Hui in astonishment. He had been talking with Xuan Chi and Xuanku for quite a while—this reaction speed was too shocking, wasn't it?

Zhen Hui revealed a naive, childish smile. "We're one step closer to the 'Buddha's Palm.'"

Pfft, Meng Qi spat out his saliva and had to admit he couldn't keep up with a fool's train of thought.

But he quickly perked up, brimming with excitement, and said to Zhen Hui, "'Buddha's Palm' is too far off. Once we've built up our Qi in the Warrior Monk Institute, we'll be able to access the Seventy-two Unique Skills. When that time comes, I'm definitely learning 'Nian Hua Finger,' 'Wu Xiang Jie Finger,' 'Yi Wei Crossing River,' and other supreme techniques!"

"Why?" Zhen Hui looked at Meng Qi uncomprehendingly, not understanding why he had to pick those specific martial arts.

Meng Qi's face lit up with enthusiasm. "Because those martial arts are stylish and elegant! In the future..."

He had originally wanted to say something like "white robes fluttering, longsword like lightning," but then remembered this was Shaolin Temple, so he tweaked his "imagined future" slightly:

"Little Junior Brother, haven't I told you the story of Monk Wuhua? A monk has to reach that level. Imagine it—a small boat drifting, white monk robes like snow, standing with a faint smile, holding a flower. How much of an expert vibe! How dashing and cool! Heh, and if you run into someone you don't like, you can just say to them, 'Benefactor, the sea of suffering is boundless, turning back is the shore'..."

The more he talked, the more excited he got, but then he suddenly thought of "Iron Cloth Shirt" and "Five Tigers Severing Gate Saber," and his expression dimmed, his enthusiasm dampened.

"No matter, this is just a temporary measure. It definitely won't turn out that way in the future..." Meng Qi silently comforted himself, his interest reigniting. But just as he was about to continue, Zhen Yan suddenly cut in from the side:

"Congratulations, Junior Brother Zhending and Junior Brother Zhen Hui, on escaping the boundless sea of suffering that is the Servant Courtyard. But this senior brother must remind you—the Warrior Monk Institute is no pure land of bliss either. After building up your Qi, only those disciples chosen by the various martial uncles and aunts can learn the Seventy-two Unique Skills. The rest will stay in the Warrior Monk Institute, continuing to train hard in the 'Dragon Subduing Staff Technique' as members of the Arhat Great Formation. So you must not be careless."

He had a smile on his face, but Meng Qi felt it was forced, and his words carried a sour note of cold water being poured.

"Thank you for the reminder, Senior Brother." Meng Qi could very well understand Zhen Yan's feelings at that moment. If it were him, after more than three years of servant life, desperately hoping day and night to enter the Warrior Monk Institute but failing, while newly arrived junior brothers suddenly escaped the sea of suffering, he would probably smile worse than he cried.

The rest of the journey was silent, save for Zhen Hui's occasional silly laughter, as the three returned to the Servant Courtyard.

Meng Qi knew that those around him were pitiable souls like Zhen Yan and Zhen Ying, so he refrained from showing off, lest he provoke them.

At dinner, Meng Qi specifically reminded Zhen Hui not to say anything foolish.

Slap slap slap, just as Meng Qi was enjoying his meat, a burst of applause came from the doorway.

Meng Qi turned his head and saw Monk Xuan Xin walking in. He was clapping with a bright smile. "Not easy, not easy for our Servant Courtyard! Today, two disciples have finally been selected for the Warrior Monk Institute!"

Slap slap slap slap, the sound of wooden chopsticks falling on the long table or the floor rang out continuously. Except for Meng Qi, Zhen Hui, and Zhen Yan, all the other sectarian monks froze as if time had solidified. In the dining hall, an eerie silence descended.

"Zhending, Zhen Hui, don't you have something to say?"

With Xuan Xin's words, the monks who had turned into statues all came back to life, turning their heads to look at Meng Qi and Zhen Hui. Their eyes were dark and unreadable, making Meng Qi's heart pound a little.

"Thanks to you, Martial Uncle Xuan Xin, for arranging for this disciple to clean the Chan Xin Courtyard." Meng Qi knew the reason couldn't be hidden from Xuan Xin, so he deliberately said this.

Xuan Xin chuckled. "It's also because you're alert and good with words. I know you love listening to martial world tales. Don't forget this place in the future. Hey, what are you all staring at Zhending and Zhen Hui for? Aren't you going to congratulate them?"

One sectarian monk slowly stood up, smiling worse than crying, and said, "Congratulations, Junior Brother Zhending and Junior Brother Zhen Hui, on becoming warrior monks."

"Congratulations, Junior Brother Zhending and Junior Brother Zhen Hui, on becoming warrior monks." The other sectarian monks followed suit, standing up. Different voices echoed through the dining hall—some self-pitying, some bitter, some hateful, some pained, some envious, some jealous—all kinds, too many to list.

Meng Qi sighed softly. "This junior brother merely received the Buddha's blessing. If you, senior brothers, sincerely worship the Buddha, you too will have such a reward in the future."

"As long as you, senior brothers, focus on cleaning, focus on eating, and focus on sleeping, you'll definitely get into the Warrior Monk Institute too," Zhen Hui said foolishly.

Meng Qi knew this was the real method, but looking at the expressions of those sectarian monks—some sneering, some hateful, none showing any sign of belief—if they didn't know that Zhen Hui was simple to the point of being dull, they might have thought he was mocking them.

Pressing his palms together and reciting a Buddha's name, Meng Qi pulled Zhen Hui down to sit and buried himself in eating. Dinner ended in that indescribably awkward silence, and Xuan Xin's "storytelling" began in the same atmosphere.

"Junior Brother Zhending, Junior Brother Zhen Hui, this senior brother knew you weren't ordinary people. Once you're in the Warrior Monk Institute, remember to look out for each other," Zhen Yong, who had come over to listen as usual, said with a grin.

Meng Qi was fairly familiar with him by now and said bluntly, "Senior Brother Zhen Yong, you'll have to take care of this junior brother too."

Zhen Yong laughed. "The senior and junior brothers in the Warrior Monk Institute all love hearing martial world tales, but they're not as willing to lower themselves as I am. They just wait for me to come back and retell them. So I have a bit of face in the Warrior Monk Institute. Heh, as long as you often tell similar stories, they won't make things difficult for you."

"That's my strong suit." Meng Qi nodded lightly. Zhen Hui also nodded vigorously. "I know a lot of stories too!"

Xuan Xin coughed, stopping the murmuring below. "Today's farewell to the various sects—don't take it to heart. It's just that our Shaolin values etiquette, not that we're actually afraid of them. Think about it—Great Jin has only three Dharma Body masters, and Shaolin accounts for one of them. What other sect can contend with us?"

"Do you know what the most sensational event in the martial world over the past ten years is?"

This monk really has a strong sense of Shaolin pride, looking down on other sects... Meng Qi shook his head inwardly and answered loudly, "We don't know. Please enlighten us, Martial Uncle Xuan Xin."

The other Sectarian Monks also responded weakly with "Don't know."

Xuan Xin paid no attention to their state and continued smugly: "Decades ago, the Heaven Destroying Gate among the Nine Demonic Paths produced a peerless genius. Before reaching fifty, he had already condensed a demonic body, nearly rivaling the Evil Demon Emperor of the Mythological Era. His surname was Han, given name Guang, and he styled himself 'Demon Master.' He shook the martial world, and no one in the unorthodox paths dared disobey him. But it could also be said that the Demon Master committed too many evils and reaped his retribution. Less than a year after condensing his demonic body, his whereabouts were exposed, and the Abbot intercepted him."

"That battle nine years ago—tsk, tsk—mountains split, the earth cracked, darkness covered heaven and earth, and a great lake appeared in the heart of the Taiyue Mountain Range. Only the Abbot Master walked out alive. Rumor has it that the Demon Master was either slain or suppressed by him."

"After that battle, the prestige of our Shaolin completely overshadowed all other sects!"

Xuan Xin kept boasting about the glorious deeds of the various eminent monks, making Meng Qi and the others' blood boil with excitement, wishing they could take their place.

When would the day come that they themselves possessed such power to move mountains and overturn seas?

After listening to Xuan Xin's "storytelling," they returned to the Zen Room. Zhen Guan and Zhen Ying immediately buried their heads and fell asleep, paying no attention to Meng Qi or Zhenhui. Zhenhui meditated for a while and then quickly drifted off.

Meng Qi practiced the "Iron Cloth Shirt Method" once, tossed and turned for a long time, and only then suppressed his excitement and entered dreamland, somewhat envying Zhenhui's simple thoughts and few distractions.

Darkness pressed down heavily. Meng Qi felt his breathing grow more and more difficult, his body as if crushed by thick soil.

"Sleep paralysis?" Meng Qi had a faint awareness in his dream and struggled to wake, only to see a twisted, ferocious face.

Zhen Guan's hands were clamped around Meng Qi's neck, his body pressing him down, making it impossible for him to move. His gaze was vicious, but his voice was like sleep-talking: "Kill you, kill you!"

"Stealing my chance to enter the Warrior Monk Institute!"

"If I can't get in, no one can!"