"Good Intentions"

Meng Qi was both shocked and furious. He struggled with all his might, but Zhen Guan was strong too. Though Meng Qi managed to jolt him slightly, Zhen Guan still pinned him down firmly, his hands no weaker for it.

After his initial panicked struggle, Meng Qi suddenly realized that though breathing was difficult, he was nowhere near suffocating. Zhen Guan's hands seemed to have sunk into his muscles and skin, making it hard for him to effectively cut off Meng Qi's breath.

Right, I know Iron Cloth Shirt! The thought flashed through Meng Qi's slightly dizzy mind.

Since he hadn't learned it through his own practice, he had actually forgotten he knew Iron Cloth Shirt in the crisis just now!

And Iron Cloth Shirt itself didn't greatly increase his strength.

Once he realized he wasn't in danger, Meng Qi gradually steadied his panic and focused on driving his Dantian. A warm current slowly rose within him.

As his inner power circulated, Meng Qi heaved with his waist and both hands, flipping Zhen Guan straight off him. With a bang, Zhen Guan slammed into the wall.

Zhen Guan staggered from the impact, but still struggled back to his feet. His eyes were bloodshot, and he kept growling, "I'll kill you," and, "You stole my chance to enter the Warrior Monk Institute!" Then he hurled himself at Meng Qi again, crazed.

"He's gone mad!" Meng Qi had already turned over and stood on the sleeping platform. His anger and shock surging, he neither dodged nor retreated, but stepped in with a straight punch. His habitual Black Tiger Steals Heart struck Zhen Guan hard in the chest.

Zhen Guan's flailing hands hit Meng Qi, but it was like being tickled.

With a thud, Zhen Guan crashed against the wall again, making a dull sound.

Clutching his chest with his right hand, he struggled to get up. But Meng Qi had thrown that punch with nearly all his strength. No matter how hard he tried, pain wracked his body and his limbs felt weak and unsteady. How could he possibly stand?

"Kill... kill you!"

"You pack of beasts, lying bald donkeys!"

"I want revenge! I want revenge..."

He muttered like a madman, tears and snot streaming down his face.

By then, Zhen Ying and Zhenhui had both been woken by the commotion. One stared in confusion, the other in dazed silence.

Seeing Zhen Guan in his deranged state, as if he wanted to leap over and tear the flesh from Meng Qi's bones, Meng Qi remembered that if he hadn't exchanged for Iron Cloth Shirt in the Reincarnation World, he might already have been killed. Fury surged through him. He jumped off the sleeping platform and raised his fists to strike Zhen Guan.

Whoosh! Meng Qi's fist didn't hit Zhen Guan. Instead, it struck a yellow cloth that had suddenly appeared. His punch met no resistance and made a soft, airy sound.

"Stop!" Xuan Xin withdrew his sleeve and barked.

Meng Qi hadn't lost his reason. Seeing Xuan Xin appear, he immediately called out, "Uncle-Master Xuan Xin, Zhen Guan's gone mad! He tried to kill me!"

Zhen Guan also "cooperated" quite well, glaring viciously at Meng Qi and Xuan Xin while muttering "I'll kill you" over and over.

Xuan Xin looked at Zhen Guan in irritation and pursed his lips. "You think you can kill anyone looking like that?"

He strode over and kicked Zhen Guan, knocking the wind out of him so he couldn't speak.

"What are you looking at? Get back to bed! Or do you want to carry water with iron buckets tomorrow?" Xuan Xin shouted at the Servant Courtyard monks who had gathered in the doorway, driving them back to bed after they'd woken up to watch.

"Bunch of good-for-nothings!" Xuan Xin muttered as he turned around. On the sleeping platform, Zhen Ying's expression darkened further.

Then Xuan Xin looked at Meng Qi. In the space of a second, he went from seething with anger to beaming with a smile. "Nephew Zhending, what do you think we should do about this?"

Meng Qi had some experience with people, and most of his anger had already been vented. He hadn't suffered any real injury either, so he glanced at Zhen Guan and said, "I'll leave it to you, Uncle-Master. But he's already lost his mind. If someone else had been in my place, there might have been a death."

Xuan Xin coughed, signaling for Zhenhui to shut the Zen Room door.

Zhenhui had been staring intently as Xuan Xin kicked Zhen Guan, as if a tale of the jianghu were unfolding right before his eyes. He was quite excited. At Xuan Xin's signal, he answered, hopped off the sleeping platform, and trotted over to shut the door. Then he continued staring wide-eyed at Xuan Xin and Meng Qi.

"This is still an affair of our Servant Courtyard. It wouldn't do for everyone to hear about it. How about this? I'll find another pretext tomorrow and expel Zhen Guan from Shaolin." Xuan Xin smiled broadly.

Meng Qi understood. If the matter blew up and the Discipline Institute took over, the Attendant Monk in charge of the Servant Courtyard would have to shoulder some blame.

Just as Meng Qi was wondering whether to use this opportunity to build a good relationship with Xuan Xin and make things easier for himself later, the door was suddenly pushed open. A monk in yellow robes walked in, a string of brown-red prayer beads around his right wrist.

"Junior Brother Xuan Xin, if I hadn't happened to be patrolling nearby and heard the commotion, you might have covered this up." The Disciplinary Monk was a little over thirty, with narrow eyes and a rather cruel look. He spoke to Xuan Xin with a smile that didn't reach his eyes.

Xuan Xin's expression shifted a few times. He hurried over to greet him, smiling warmly. "I only wanted to spare you the trouble, Senior Brother Xuankong. This is such a small matter. Why would you need to come in person?"

He took something from inside his robes and discreetly slipped it into Xuankong's hand.

Xuankong weighed it in his palm, and his smile warmed. "No one was killed, and no one was injured. It is a small matter. But we can't keep this madman around."

"Don't worry. I won't put you in a difficult position, Senior Brother." Xuan Xin thumped his chest in assurance.

Meng Qi stared in astonishment. So even a Buddhist monastery wasn't entirely free of worldly entanglements—at least, the Servant Courtyard wasn't. It had its share of favors and social dealings, just like anywhere else.

Xuankong glanced at Zhen Guan, who was struggling to stand, then turned to Meng Qi. "Nephew, you have quite the Iron Body Skill."

Meng Qi instinctively touched his neck and felt several deep finger marks. His thoughts raced, and he carefully chose his words. "To answer you, Uncle-Master Xuankong, before I entered the monastery, I came into contact with quite a few martial arts passed down in my family. After finishing my chores, I had nothing to do, so I'd practice a little."

"Heh, don't be nervous. We all know," Xuankong said with a hint of mockery. "If not for that connection, why would the heirs of the Sword Washing Pavilion and the True Martial Sect speak up for you? Do you think they'd be swayed by a silver tongue?"

So that was what they thought... Meng Qi secretly breathed a sigh of relief. It wasn't impossible that he'd really said something that had satisfied the two heirs, but this explanation was easier to accept and better concealed his true relationship with Zhang Yuanshan and Jiang Zhiwei.

Xuankong's lips curled into a smile that was not quite a smile. "But Shaolin has never judged its disciples by their origins. If you make a mistake and fall into the hands of my Discipline Institute, we won't show you any mercy. Heh, I'm close to Junior Brother Xuanku. His attitude is my attitude."

With that, he turned and walked out of the room, leaving a light remark behind. "Junior Brother Xuan Xin, remember to handle this properly."

"Damn it, those bastards from the Discipline Institute can't stand anyone acting tough in front of them!" Once Xuankong had left, the rather vulgar Xuan Xin cursed bitterly, with no awareness that he was breaking the precepts. "Zhending, did you talk back to them?"

Meng Qi curled his lip. "If I've done nothing wrong, why should I be afraid of them?"

"Tsk, tsk. That's exactly the attitude they hate most." Xuan Xin looked Meng Qi up and down. "Only someone like you, born into a noble family and with nowhere to go back to, could be so fearless. Tell me, whose family are you from?"

How would I know? Meng Qi put on an inscrutable air. "My worries have fallen away, and I've left the mortal world behind. Whichever family it was, it has nothing to do with this humble monk anymore."

Xuan Xin spat. He didn't believe Meng Qi at all. Over the past while, he'd also noticed that Zhending was unusually mature, and that neither his words nor his manner seemed like those of a child. So he asked no more and looked at Zhen Guan with a sigh.

"Come to think of it, Zhen Guan's a pitiful fellow. He came from a merchant's family and never wanted for food or clothing. Who could have known that his family would encounter the Seventy-Two Bandits of Helian Mountain on a trading trip? They were ruthless, and not one survived. From a young master, he became an orphan. Later, he joined Shaolin to take revenge. But how could Xuanku fail to see all that hatred in his heart? So he sent him to our Servant Courtyard."

"If that's why you wouldn't take Senior Brother Zhen Guan as a disciple, why give him even a glimmer of hope?" Meng Qi asked with a frown.

"Heh, that's just the kind of person Xuanku is. He kept Zhen Guan here hoping that the temple's sutra chanting and Buddha's name would dissolve the hatred in his heart and lessen the killing karma. Amitabha Buddha—Buddhism's power knows no bounds." Xuan Xin recited the Buddha's name with unmistakable sarcasm.

"Heh, why didn't he go persuade the Seventy-Two Bandits to lay down their butcher's knives and become Buddhas?" Meng Qi said, somewhat indignant.

Xuan Xin clicked his tongue. "He'd have to be able to beat them first."

He turned to Zhen Guan, who was slowly calming down. "Ah, Nephew Zhen Guan, you'll have to leave the mountain tomorrow. Hurry and find another sect. Maybe you'll still get the chance to master some profound martial arts."

"Leave the mountain?" At those words, Zhen Guan suddenly came to his senses. He covered his face with both hands and whispered in anguish, "Father, Mother, your son has failed you! Your son has failed you! Five years have passed, and I still haven't killed a single bandit with my own hands..."

Meng Qi sighed. He didn't stop Xuan Xin from sending Zhen Guan away. There was no hope for him if he stayed here.

And this only strengthened Meng Qi's resolve to master martial arts, lest he someday lack even the ability to avenge someone.

"You?" Zhen De and the others in the newly promoted Warrior Monk ranks stared at Meng Qi and Zhenhui, astonished to see them at the front of the group.

Hadn't they said that no one from the Servant Courtyard had become a Warrior Monk in ages?

The slippery kid and the simpleton had actually become Warrior Monks too?

Since they took pride in the Warrior Monk Institute, they couldn't help feeling a little resentful toward the two.

Seeing their expressions, Meng Qi snickered to himself. He wanted to shout, "Your grandpa Hu is back!"

Xuan Chi stood with his hands behind his back, looking over the Warrior Monks who had entered the monastery in the past year. He said to Meng Qi and Zhenhui, "Starting today, you'll learn martial arts with them. Your instructor is Zhen Miao."

Zhen Miao? Meng Qi turned his head to look at the refined young monk beside him. Him? They were all of the Zhen generation, and while they were still Warrior Monks working on their breath and physique, he had already become an instructor!

Zhen Miao wore a yellow monk's robe. He seemed refined, but standing there, he had the bearing of a towering mountain and a deep abyss.

He nodded without smiling. "Go to the back of the line."

Meng Qi and Zhenhui had no objections and quickly found a place.

"Today, we'll practice Arhat Fist as usual. I'll demonstrate it too, so watch closely." After seeing Xuan Chi off, Zhen Miao swept aside the hem of his monk's robe with his right hand, settled into a horse stance, and demonstrated the first move, "Pilgrim Worships Buddha."

"Start by practicing this move. The way of martial arts begins with a firm foundation. Don't try to learn too much too fast." Zhen Miao instructed the monks to practice their fist forms.

Meng Qi and Zhenhui had both studied Arhat Fist for several months, so they could keep up. They threw punch after punch, from the first move all the way to the eighteenth, until sweat gradually poured down them like rain.

"Stop!" Suddenly, Zhen Miao walked over to Meng Qi and looked at him sternly. "Your Arhat Fist has many flaws. How have you been practicing? You haven't reached the stage where you can perform the moves freely and effortlessly. If you don't keep them precise, you'll leave yourself with hidden dangers!"

Meng Qi knew the Arhat Fist he'd learned from the manual and Zhen Yong's occasional guidance was bound to have many problems, so he answered sincerely, "I've been practicing from the manual. Please, Senior Brother, give me your guidance."

"If you keep practicing like that, you might as well not practice at all. It'll take a lot more effort to correct your mistakes later." Zhen Miao frowned, then looked to the side. "Zhen De, come spar with him and show him what happens when his moves are sloppy."