The Demonic Cult Master's Strength

"You!" Kongzhi flew into a rage. As one of the Four Great Divine Monks of Shaolin, he had mastered eleven of Shaolin's Seventy-Two Unique Skills, ranking second only to Xuan Cheng and Fangzheng within the sect. He had always been proud and arrogant—when had he ever suffered such humiliation?

However, the other man was the Cult Master of the Sun Moon Holy Cult, so he had some reservations. Yet with nowhere to vent his anger, he could only strike the railing around the pavilion with his palm. With a crack, every rail snapped apart. Splinters flew everywhere, and the wood shattered at once. The force of that palm strike was truly astonishing.

Ren Woxing's gaze sharpened. "Kongzhi, you bald donkey, who are you trying to intimidate here? Do you take me for one of these railings, to let you chop at me as you please? If you have the guts, trade a few moves with me. You only dare show off against lifeless objects—what a joke."

Zhang Sanfeng could not help but feel a headache coming on. Seeing that the two sides were on the verge of fighting, he wanted to stop them. But Ren Woxing was the head of a sect, not a member of Wudang. He had come up the mountain with them out of goodwill, so Zhang Sanfeng could not interfere forcefully.

Kongzhi had only just managed to suppress his impulse, but after hearing Ren Woxing's taunts, how could he endure any longer? He roared, "Why would I fear you?" Then he swung his palm and attacked.

Although Xuan Ci felt this was inappropriate, Kongzhi was one of the temple's foremost experts. Now that he had struck out in fury, how could Xuan Ci possibly stop him in time?

"Good!" Ren Woxing had been provoking him all