"Kindness"

Meng Qi was both shocked and furious. He struggled hard, but Zhen Guan's strength was not small either. Though he managed to shift a little, Zhen Guan still pressed him down firmly, the force in his hands undiminished.

After the initial panic and struggle, Meng Qi suddenly realized that while his breathing was difficult, it was far from suffocation. Zhen Guan's hands seemed to be "stuck" by his own muscles and skin, unable to effectively cut off his breath.

That's right, I know "Iron Cloth Shirt"! In Meng Qi's slightly dazed mind, this thought suddenly flashed.

Since he hadn't trained it himself, in the heat of the moment, he had actually forgotten that he possessed "Iron Cloth Shirt"!

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

Once he confirmed he wasn't in real danger, Meng Qi gradually steadied his panicked emotions. He focused his mind and drove his Dantian, and a warm current slowly rose.

As his Internal Energy circulated, Meng Qi used the strength of his waist, abdomen, and hands all at once, directly throwing Zhen Guan off. With a bang, Zhen Guan crashed into the wall.

Zhen Guan staggered from the impact but still struggled to his feet. His eyes were bloodshot, and he kept muttering "I'll kill you" and "You stole my chance to enter the Warrior Monk Institute" as he lunged madly at Meng Qi.

"He's lost it!" Meng Qi had already turned over and stood on the bunk bed, a mix of shock and anger in his heart. Instead of dodging, he stepped forward and threw a punch, a habitual "Black Tiger Steals Heart" that struck Zhen Guan squarely in the chest.

The wild swings of Zhen Guan's hands hitting Meng Qi felt no more than an itch.

Bang. Zhen Guan slammed into the wall again, producing a dull thud.

He clutched his chest with his right hand, struggling to stand, but Meng Qi's punch had used almost Full Power. No matter how hard he tried, his body was wracked with pain, weak and unsteady—there was no way he could get up!

"Kill... kill you!"

"You beasts! You lying bald donkeys!"

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

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

At this moment, Zhen Ying and Zhenhui had both been woken up, one looking bewildered and the other staring blankly at the scene.

Seeing Zhen Guan's deranged appearance, as if he wanted to leap over and devour his flesh and blood, Meng Qi thought about how, if he hadn't exchanged for "Iron Cloth Shirt" in the "Reincarnation World," he would have died just now. Anger surged within him. He jumped off the bunk bed and swung his fist at Zhen Guan.

Pfft. Meng Qi's fist didn't hit Zhen Guan. Instead, it struck a yellow cloth that appeared out of nowhere, feeling no resistance and making a light, airy sound.

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

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

And Zhen Guan, quite "cooperatively," glared viciously at Meng Qi and Xuan Xin, muttering "I'll kill you" over and over.

Xuan Xin looked at Zhen Guan with annoyance, curling his lip and saying, "With that look, who could you possibly kill?"

He took a few quick steps, kicked out, and sent Zhen Guan choking on his breath, unable to speak.

"What are you looking at? Get back to sleep! Do you want to carry water with iron buckets tomorrow?" Xuan Xin shouted at the Sectarian Monks who had appeared at the door, driving them back as they had woken up to watch the commotion.

"Useless trash!" Xuan Xin muttered to himself as he turned around. Zhen Ying on the bunk bed looked even more gloomy.

After saying this, Xuan Xin looked at Meng Qi and, in a miraculous second, transformed from furious to beaming: "Nephew Zhending, what do you think we should do about this?"

Meng Qi had some social experience, and his anger had mostly subsided. Since he hadn't suffered any real harm, he glanced at Zhen Guan and said, "I'll leave it to you, Martial Uncle, to handle it. But he's lost his mind. If it had been anyone else, there might have been a murder."

Xuan Xin coughed and gestured for Zhenhui to close the Zen Room door.

Zhenhui had been watching Xuan Xin kick Zhen Guan with rapt attention, as if a martial arts story was unfolding before his eyes, and he was quite excited. At the signal, he responded, jumped off the bunk bed, ran to the door with a clatter, closed it, and then stared wide-eyed at Xuan Xin and Meng Qi.

"This is ultimately a matter for our Servant Courtyard. Making it widely known wouldn't be good. How about this: tomorrow, I'll find another excuse to expel Zhen Guan from Shaolin," Xuan Xin said with a full smile.

Meng Qi understood now. If the matter blew up and the Discipline Institute took over, Xuan Xin, as the Attendant Monk in charge of the Servant Courtyard, would inevitably bear some responsibility.

Just as Meng Qi was considering whether to use this opportunity to build a good relationship with Xuan Xin for future convenience, the door was suddenly pushed open, and a yellow-robed monk walked in. On his right hand hung a string of brownish-red prayer beads.

"Junior Brother Xuan Xin, if I hadn't happened to be patrolling nearby and heard the commotion, you would have tried to cover this up," said the Disciplinary Monk, who looked about thirty, with narrow, long eyes that carried a hint of malice. He spoke with a smirk that didn't reach his eyes.

Xuan Xin's expression Changed a few times. He quickly stepped forward, smiling ingratiatingly: "I just didn't want to trouble you, Senior Brother Xuan Kong. Such a small matter, why bother you personally?"

He pulled something from his bosom and discreetly slipped it into Xuan Kong's hand.

Xuan Kong weighed it, and his smile warmed a little: "No deaths, no injuries—indeed a small matter. But this madman can't stay."

"Don't worry, I won't make things difficult for you, Senior Brother," Xuan Xin assured him, patting his chest.

Meng Qi watched in stunned amazement. So even this monk temple wasn't a pure place—at least the Servant Courtyard wasn't. There was still "human sentiment and worldly wisdom" here.

Xuan Kong looked at Zhen Guan, who was struggling to stand, then turned to Meng Qi: "This nephew, you have quite a good Iron Body Skill."

Meng Qi instinctively touched his neck, feeling several deep finger marks. His mind raced as he carefully chose his words: "To report to Martial Uncle Xuan Kong, before becoming a monk, I came into contact with many family martial arts. After finishing chores, when I had nothing to do, I would practice a bit."

"Heh, no need to be nervous. We all know," Xuan Kong said with a hint of sarcasm. "If not for that connection, why would the heirs of Sword Washing Pavilion and True Martial Sect speak up for you? Do you think they could be moved by sharp tongues alone?"

So that's what they think... Meng Qi secretly breathed a sigh of relief. While it wasn't impossible that his eloquence had truly satisfied those two heirs, this explanation was more acceptable and better concealed his real relationship with Zhang Yuanshan and Jiang Zhiwei.

The Corner of Xuan Kong's mouth curled up in a half-smile: "But Shaolin accepts disciples regardless of their background. If you make a mistake and fall into the hands of our Discipline Institute, we will show no leniency. Heh, I am on good terms with Junior Brother Xuanku, and his attitude is mine."

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

"Damn it, those bastards in the Discipline Institute hate it most when someone stands up to them!" After Xuan Kong left, Xuan Xin, who had a rather vulgar temperament, cursed bitterly, showing no awareness of breaking his vow of speech. "Zhending, did you talk back to them?"

Meng Qi curled his lip: "If I walk upright and sit straight, why should I fear them?"

"Tsk, it's that attitude. That's the attitude they hate most." Xuan Xin looked Meng Qi up and down. "Only someone like you, with a noble background and no lack of a fallback, can be so stubborn. Tell me, which family are you from?"

How would I know! Meng Qi pretended to be Profound and Unfathomable: "When troubles fall away and the red dust is far behind, no matter which family, it has nothing to do with this humble monk."

Xuan Xin spat, completely unconvinced by Meng Qi's words. Over this period, he had also noticed that Zhending was quite mature for his age, his speech and behavior unlike a child's. So he didn't press further, sighed, and looked at Zhen Guan.

"Speaking of Zhen Guan, he's pitiable too. Born into a merchant family, he never had to worry about food or clothing. But then his family ran into the ruthless Seventy-Two Bandits of Helian Mountain while traveling for business. No survivors. From young master to orphan overnight. Later, to take revenge, he threw himself into our Shaolin, but how could he hide that burning hatred from Xuanku? He was sent straight to our Servant Courtyard."

"If that's the reason they won't take Senior Brother Zhen Guan as a disciple, why give him even a thread of hope?" Meng Qi frowned.

"Heh heh, Xuanku's just that kind of person. He kept Zhen Guan here, hoping the temple's sutras and Buddha's name would dissolve the hatred in Zhen Guan's heart, to quell a karmic slaughter. Amitabha Buddha, boundless is the Dharma." Xuan Xin recited the Buddha's name with dripping sarcasm.

"Ha, why doesn't he go persuade the Seventy-Two Bandits himself to drop their blades and attain Buddhahood on the spot?" Meng Qi said, slightly angered.

Xuan Xin clicked his tongue. "That would require him to actually be able to beat them."

He turned his head to look at Zhen Guan, who was slowly calming down. "Ai, Nephew Zhen Guan, you should head down the mountain tomorrow. Quickly find another sect. Maybe you'll still have a chance to learn profound martial arts."

"Down the mountain?" At those words, Zhen Guan snapped awake. He covered his face with both hands and muttered in pain, "Father! Mother! Your son is unfilial! Your son is unfilial! Five years have passed, and I haven't yet slain a single bandit..."

Meng Qi sighed. He didn't stop Xuan Xin from telling Zhen Guan to go down the mountain. Staying here held no hope for him.

And this only steeled Meng Qi's resolve to learn martial arts well. He didn't want to end up without even the ability to avenge someone one day.

"You two?" Standing among the newly promoted warrior monks, Zhende and the others stared in shock at Meng Qi and Zhenhui appearing at the front of the line.

Hadn't they said no one from the Servant Courtyard had become a warrior monk in a very, very long time?

That slick-tongued brat and that fool actually became warrior monks?

Proud as they were of the Warrior Monk Institute, they instinctively felt some resistance toward Meng Qi and the other.

Seeing their expressions, Meng Qi laughed inwardly and badly wanted to shout, "Your old pal Hu Hansan is back!"

Xuan Chi stood with his hands behind his back, looking at the warrior monks who had entered the temple in the past year. He said to Meng Qi and Zhenhui, "Starting today, you will learn martial arts with them. Your instructor monk is Zhen Miao."

Zhen Miao? Meng Qi turned his head to look at the refined young monk beside him. Him? Same "Zhen" generation, and while they were still warrior monks at the qi-gathering and body-tempering stage, he was already an instructor monk!

Zhen Miao wore a yellow monk robe. He seemed gentle, but standing there, he gave off a sense of mountain-like steadiness.

He nodded without a smile. "You two, go to the back of the line."

Meng Qi and Zhenhui had no objections and quickly found their spots.

"Today, we continue practicing the Arhat Fist. I will demonstrate again. Make sure you watch carefully." Zhen Miao watched Xuan Chi leave, then swept his right hand to part the hem of his robe, settled into a horse stance, and first demonstrated the "Worship the Mountain, Bow to Buddha" posture.

"Practice this posture first. In the way of martial arts, you must lay a solid foundation. Do not be greedy and rush ahead." Zhen Miao instructed the monks to begin their fist practice.

Meng Qi and Zhenhui had both learned the Arhat Fist for several months and could keep up with the pace. So they punched over and over, from the first posture to the eighteenth, until gradually, sweat poured like rain.

"Stop!" Suddenly, Zhen Miao walked over to Meng Qi and stared at him sternly. "Your Arhat Fist has many irregularities. How have you been practicing? You haven't yet reached the stage where you can use the forms freely and naturally. If you lose proper form, it will plant hidden dangers!"

Meng Qi knew that his Arhat Fist came from reading the manual and the occasional guidance from Zhen Yong. There were bound to be many problems. So he said sincerely, "This humble monk has been practicing from the fist manual. Please, Senior Brother, point out my errors."

"Practicing like this is worse than not practicing at all. You'll need to spend even more effort to correct it." Zhen Miao frowned, then turned his head to the side. "Zhende, come out and spar with him. Let him see what harm unregulated forms can do."