Heaven's Favored

Chan Xin Courtyard was where Shaolin received guests. It consisted of several nested courtyards, and at this moment, bare trees stood in rows beneath a thin blanket of snow.

Meng Qi swept away the remaining snow in the courtyard. Suddenly, the door of a side room opened, and a young Daoist with twin buns in his hair stood by the doorway and called out, "Hey, little monk, the room is a little dirty. Come clean it up."

"Yes, Benefactor." Meng Qi saluted one-handed, then carried his broom toward the side room. The still somewhat childish young Daoist had already returned inside.

When Meng Qi reached the door and looked in, he saw seven or eight people inside. They all wore different garments in a riot of colors, far more pleasing to the eye than Shaolin's monotonous robes.

Eh, there seemed to be girls too? Meng Qi did not dare inspect them closely, lest he violate propriety. Yet in that hurried glance just now, he seemed to have spotted a young woman in a light yellow dress.

It seemed the Shaolin of this world did not forbid female guests from entering... Meng Qi carefully stepped around several guests and prepared to sweep up a shattered teacup from the floor.

Suddenly, a foot stretched out from nowhere, landing directly before Meng Qi's feet.

Meng Qi had no time to pull back his leg and tripped over it. He immediately lost his center of gravity, stumbling forward.

In his surprise, Meng Qi vaguely saw that the person trying to trip him was the young Daoist with twin buns from before. His features were sharply defined, but most striking were his thick black eyebrows, like two flying daggers. At this moment, he did not even look at Meng Qi, his bright eyes fixed intently ahead of him.

Meng Qi flailed his arms, struggling to keep his balance and avoid falling. But the young Daoist had chosen his moment perfectly, keeping him from recovering his center of gravity. He could only mournfully watch the ground draw closer and closer, imagining the miserable sight of himself falling flat on his face.

At that moment, a flash of light yellow entered Meng Qi's vision. Then a longsword wrapped in a Bronze-Green Heavy Scabbard appeared out of nowhere like a soaring swan from beyond the heavens, lightly touching his chest.

The sword exerted very little force, and Meng Qi barely felt any pain. Yet its angle and strength were precisely right, immediately halting his fall and restoring his balance.

Somewhat dazed, Meng Qi raised his head and happened to see a face so radiant it defied description. She had dark brows, large eyes, and black hair simply pinned up before falling smoothly down her back. Dressed in a light yellow dress, she looked around sixteen or seventeen, yet not a trace of childishness remained on her face.

Her pink lips parted slightly, and her voice was crisp as an oriole's song. "The Xuantian Sect calls itself the Heavenly Emperor Lineage. Is this the sort of lineage that bullies children?"

"Hmph." The young Daoist from the Xuantian Sect did not answer, merely giving a soft snort.

The young woman turned to Meng Qi and suddenly smiled. Two dimples appeared faintly beside her lips, making her look exceptionally sweet. "Little Monk, don't mind that bad person. He merely wanted to use you to test my swordsmanship."

As she said this, she lightly pursed her lips and raised her chin a little. "But even if he saw my swordsmanship, so what?"

She did not state it outright, but Meng Qi could sense her pride and confidence in her own strength.

"Thank you for saving me, Miss." Meng Qi steadied himself and thanked her instinctively.

The young woman withdrew her sword and burst into laughter. "You speak more like a young master from an aristocratic family than a little monk. You should call me Female Benefactor."

Then she inverted her sword and returned the salute. "Mm, my name is Jiang Zhiwei, a disciple of Sword Washing Pavilion. I'm truly sorry for dragging you into our dispute."

At that moment, the young Daoist from the Xuantian Sect snorted again. "I simply hadn't expected Shaolin's disciples to be so weak, to be tripped so easily."

He raised his eyebrows. Combined with the childishness on his face, he seemed to be putting on a brave front.

"He's merely a Sectarian Monk. Why don't you let me weigh the martial arts of your servants and see whether they're as strong as you?" Jiang Zhiwei retorted with a smile at the corner of her mouth.

"You!" The young Daoist sprang to his feet.

"What are you doing?" A deep, heavy voice suddenly rang out from the doorway.

Meng Qi turned around and saw a young man in a Bagua Robe walking in with his hands behind his back. His long brows swept into his temples, his nose was high, and his gaze flashed like lightning.

At first glance, Meng Qi had thought this handsome, Yang man was in his twenties. But upon closer inspection, he saw from the man's brows and eyes that he was probably only seventeen or eighteen.

His bearing was so mature... Meng Qi suppressed the anger and frustration he had felt just now and silently assessed him.

"Senior Brother Zhang, Qing Jing tripped this little monk to test my swordsmanship." Jiang Zhiwei simply recounted what had happened, neither embellishing nor exaggerating.

Senior Brother Zhang looked at Qing Jing and said with an imposing dignity despite his lack of anger, "Now that you have left the Mountain Gate, every action you take represents the Xuantian Sect. Do not disgrace us."

"Yes, Senior Brother Zhang." The young Daoist answered somewhat aggrievedly. Still, it seemed this Senior Brother Zhang held great prestige among the young disciples of the various sects. The others in the room stayed silent, and no one spoke for Qing Jing.

"I was too rash." The young Daoist turned to Meng Qi, then quickly twisted his head away.

Meng Qi lightly drew a breath. He said nothing more, merely replying, "This little monk is Zhending."

Senior Brother Zhang nodded slightly and said to Meng Qi, "Junior Brother Zhending, I am Zhang Yuanshan of the True Martial Sect. Honored by friends from the various sects, I am called Senior Brother Zhang. I hope you can forgive what happened today."

It was only because my martial arts were weak... Meng Qi did not say those words aloud. He nodded to show that he would not take such a small matter to heart, then pressed his palms together, softly uttered a Buddhist invocation, lowered his head, swept the floor clean, and left the room.

"That little monk has some backbone..." From far away, Meng Qi vaguely heard Jiang Zhiwei make that remark.

When he returned to the Servant Courtyard, there was still some time before the midday meal. Meng Qi's heart was in turmoil, and he desperately wanted to practice martial arts. Yet the Hundred Days Foundation Establishment had already been completed, while he had no method for Meditative Qi Accumulation. Thus, he could only hide in his Zen Room and practice Arhat Fist again and again, tempering his body through it.

At the midday meal, Zhenhui and the others had not returned. Rumor had it that they had been assigned to clean the Damo Courtyard, where disciples from the various sects would spar and exchange pointers this time.

It was not until evening that Meng Qi saw Zhen Yan, Zhenhui, and the others return. Their faces were full of excitement, and they chattered endlessly among themselves.

"The matches and sparring began this afternoon?" Heart Moved, Meng Qi quickly walked over and asked.

Zhenhui nodded vigorously. "Mm, it was wonderful! Too bad Senior Brother wasn't there."

Zhen Yan nodded slightly, then sighed. "They're about the same age as me, but their martial arts are ten times better than mine. Sigh..."

Compare people to people, and it could drive one to death... This phrase suddenly surfaced in Meng Qi's mind. Then he asked curiously, "Who won in the end?"

"The finale was amazing, longsword, Daoist..." Zhenhui waved his hands as he excitedly described it, but his words were too disorganized for Meng Qi to understand.

Zhen Yan smiled and said, "The final battle was between Zhang Yuanshan of the True Martial Sect and Miss Jiang Zhiwei of Sword Washing Pavilion. Hehe, they had previously defeated the young disciples of every sect, including Zhen Miao and Zhen Ben."

Regarding the defeat of the two senior brothers who had entered the temple alongside him, Zhen Yan looked positively delighted by their misfortune.

"True Martial Sect, Sword Washing Pavilion?" At some point, Xuan Xin had walked over. "Heh, the young disciples of those two sects really met as enemies on a narrow road."

"Enemies on a narrow road?" Meng Qi felt that Zhang Yuanshan and Jiang Zhiwei did not have a bad relationship.

Xuan Xin clicked his tongue. "The Daoist schools possess a divine art comparable to Buddha's Palm, called the Heaven Severing Seven Swords. It too has been lost for ages. The foundations of the True Martial Sect and Sword Washing Pavilion each lie in one move from it. Between them, heh, their relationship is much like that between Vajra Temple and our Shaolin. Moreover, Sword Washing Pavilion venerates only the Dao Ancestor and does not join the Daoist schools. So who lost in the end?"

"Zhang Yuanshan of the True Martial Sect lost to Miss Jiang Zhiwei by half a move." Zhen Yan hurriedly answered. He was repeating the judgment of Venerable Monk Kong Jian, the Chief Monk of the Damo Courtyard.

Xuan Xin froze for a moment. "That little girl from Sword Washing Pavilion won? Could she be another Su Wuming? Hehe, be careful—what is too rigid is easily broken."

The monks discussed this round of matches and sparring until very late. After returning to the Zen Room, Meng Qi was unable to calm his heart for a long time. Thinking of Zhang Yuanshan and Jiang Zhiwei, such dragons among men and phoenixes among women, then thinking of himself, he became unbearably restless.

Outside the window, the bright moon shone through thin clouds, casting a scene of shallow rippling water before his bed.

"When will I be able to leave the Servant Courtyard and truly begin martial cultivation..." The more Meng Qi thought, the less he could hold back. He decided to ask Zhen Guan and Zhen Ying, the two long-serving Sectarian Monks. Martial Uncle Xuanzang must have had a purpose in assigning him here.

"Senior Brother Zhen Guan, Senior Brother Zhen Ying, do you know how to leave the Servant Courtyard? Or are there any specific requirements?" So long as the requirements were clear rather than something that existed only in one's heart, Meng Qi believed he had hope of meeting them.

Upon hearing this, the sleep-loving Zhen Ying abruptly sat up and burst into loud laughter. "After exhausting every scheme, I finally entered Shaolin, only for three years after another three years to pass, and I remain trapped here. In two more years, I'll be sent out of the temple. I've accomplished nothing, hahaha, nothing at all! How am I supposed to face the elders back home!"

His laughter sounded even worse than weeping, carrying a faint air of a cuckoo crying blood.

"Leave the Servant Courtyard? Hmph, in seven years, I've never seen anyone succeed! Heh, that bald donkey Xuanku is simply talking big to trick us into hard labor!" Zhen Guan said through gritted teeth, as though he wanted to eat someone's flesh and drink his blood alive.

Hearing their answers, the hope that had just risen in Meng Qi was extinguished by a basin of cold water, leaving his inner heart utterly blank.

After Zhen Ying and Zhen Guan made a fuss for a while, they fell silent again and returned to their "shut-in" state. Meanwhile, Zhenhui's breathing grew longer and steadier, clearly showing that he had fallen into deep sleep.

Meng Qi stared out the window, unable to sleep. He felt like a small bird trapped in a cage, unable to break free no matter what he did. Restlessness, urgency, and dejection rose and fell one after another.

Only after an unknown length of time did Meng Qi finally fall asleep.

Moonlight flowed like water over Meng Qi, as if draping him in a gauzy veil. Suddenly, a blue-green glow lit up from his chest, bewitching beyond measure.