Body Refining Methods Before Tang

The old monk Kongming was shocked—truly shocked.

He scrambled to his feet, completely forgetting his composure and dignity.

Why?

Naturally, because he was the Head of the Arhat Hall.

The Arhat Hall, the Arhat Fist, and the Arhat Gong—a trinity.

Yet, in this day and age, while many practiced the Arhat Fist, not a single soul practiced the Arhat Gong.

In the dignified Arhat Hall, when one spoke of profound martial arts, what did the martial arts world think of?

The Great Tablet-Shattering Hand, the Wind and Cloud Hand, and the Arhat Life-Taking Spear.

Pah!

You tell me, you just tell me.

Aside from the one at the end bearing the name "Arhat," where is the Arhat spirit in those three?

Take that Arhat Life-Taking Spear, for instance. That thing isn't even orthodox Shaolin martial arts; it was the specialty of a spear-wielding traveler who sought refuge at the temple long ago. He was born during the chaos of the Five Barbarians, a fierce bandit by trade—though, given the circumstances, not a true villain. He entered the temple and left behind his techniques, but that spear style was truly vicious, with every strike aimed at taking a life.

It wasn't that Shaolin Temple lacked fierce martial arts; the Formless Calamity Finger, for example, was a top-tier, brutal technique that left the target's flesh charred as if scorched by fire.

But the Arhat Life-Taking Spear was different. Its cruelty lay not in the force, but in the intent and the moves—it was designed solely to kill.

If it could stab the lower body, it would never aim for the upper.

If it could strike from behind, it would never strike from the front.

A single spear, demonstrating the art of killing to its absolute limit, completely at odds with the profound and mysterious image of our Buddha's gate.

Therefore, despite occupying a spot among the specialized techniques, it was rarely taught to disciples.

Monks are meant to be compassionate; using a staff is already pushing it, but using a spear is truly unbecoming of their status.

Only a lay disciple surnamed Yang, who had descended the mountain not long ago, had been granted the technique. This was because his family had served the Great Song for generations as soldiers, fitting the spear's lineage, and both his father and grandfather had studied at Shaolin, giving him deep roots here.

Although the Arhat Hall was merely the entry point for martial arts at Shaolin—with most disciples moving on to the Bodhidharma Institute for advanced training once their skills deepened—it did not mean the Arhat Hall lacked a heart for martial inquiry. In fact, the Arhat Hall's desire to excel in martial arts far surpassed that of the Bodhidharma Institute; after all, they were young and full of vigor.

The old monk, too, possessed a persistent heart. That someone could leave the Arhat Hall without mastering the Arhat Hall's divine art was, he had to admit, a profound tragedy.

He grabbed Li Su's hand, his internal energy surging forth.

The moment it entered, before Li Su could even react, his already-converted Arhat Divine Art energy could not tolerate the intrusion.

The Arhat Divine Art was a transformation of the Arhat Fist's energy. It was inherently a "Hard" grade martial art, and once refined, it became the hardest of the hard, exceptionally domineering.

In an instant, a burst of energy rebounded, sharp as steel needles, piercing back at the intruder.

Had it been anyone of the same age, they would have felt the sting immediately and been unable to maintain their grip.

But what kind of person was the old monk Kongming? Forty or fifty years of internal energy was no joke. As his force rose, he instantly neutralized that rigid power.

Not only that, he continued to pulse his energy, probing from front to back, left to right. In the span of a single breath, he had coursed through Li Su's body seven or eight times.

The more he probed, the happier the old monk became.

There was no mistake.

That prickly, stubborn energy—it was undoubtedly the Arhat energy.

At this moment, being held by a half-hundred-year-old man while his energy surged in and out, Li Su's young face turned a bit green.

What on earth was this old man doing?

Cough, cough!

Realizing his actions were a bit excessive, the old monk released Li Su's hand with visible reluctance. Arhat energy—he had heard his master speak of it until his ears were calloused, and now, he had finally seen it.

It was worthy of being a martial art capable of cultivating the Arhat Golden Body. While it lacked the profound mystery of the Muscle Tendon Changing Classic or the vast, heavy nature of the Indestructible Diamond Divine Art, it possessed an incomparable trait.

It forged a powerful physique.

The Arhat Divine Art's energy was formidable, but its true brilliance lay not in its rigidity, but in its self-grinding nature.

Circulating the energy felt like being pricked by needles, sliced by knives, and stabbed by spears.

The further one progressed, the harder it became, and the more painful the practice. But once achieved, the body's strength would improve by leaps and bounds. Reaching the realm of Great Completion meant one's body would truly be like an Arhat, impervious to a hundred strikes.

Furthermore, using this as a foundation to transition into the Muscle Tendon Changing Classic or the Indestructible Diamond Divine Art would yield twice the result with half the effort.

"Xuankong, wait here for a moment."

Taking a breath, Kongming's figure flickered, and he vanished in a puff of movement.

Sitting in place, Li Su rubbed his wrist. At this moment, he desperately wanted to leave; he was full of regret, feeling he had come to the wrong place. The stimulation from just now had caused his internal energy to fluctuate violently, a sensation like being thrown into a Western iron maiden. Especially where he had been grabbed, it felt as if steel blades were scraping him.

If the other party hadn't pulled back quickly, Li Su would have suspected he was about to die in this meditation room.

Yet, the more he thought about it, the more intense his unease grew. He wondered if he had been practicing it wrong—otherwise, why would it be so agonizing?

After about the time it takes to brew a cup of tea, the old monk returned, carrying a fragrant scent.

Saliva involuntarily began to pool in his mouth. Li Su was stunned, staring at the old monk in disbelief.

This smell?

The scent of meat?

"Come, eat!"

The old monk's face was wreathed in smiles. Unfazed by Li Su's reaction, he raised his hand and produced a three-to-five-pound pork trotter. It was a deep, glistening red, with grease practically dripping from it.

Li Su was stunned, staring blankly at the man. This was the Shaolin Temple, and his master was the Head of the Arhat Hall.

A giant trotter like this—never mind where it came from—was it even appropriate given their status?

They weren't the Esoteric Sect.

Wait, that wasn't quite right. The Esoteric Sect supposedly only ate meat because they lacked vegetables, so the Buddha granted them special dispensation. Li Su was skeptical of that logic; after all, they were also allowed to marry. To borrow a phrase, since their population was small and everyone was a devout Buddhist, if they didn't marry, where would the next generation of Buddha's children and grandchildren come from? Perhaps the Buddha had agreed to that, too. Furthermore, the Buddhist prohibition against meat was actually decreed by Emperor Wu of Liang. The original "abstinence from pungent foods" referred to things like garlic that caused foul breath, not meat itself.

But rules were rules.

Besides, what was this old monk playing at? He had just mastered the Arhat Divine Art, and now his master wanted him to break his vows?

The old monk said, "The Arhat Gong was created before the former Tang Dynasty. It is a rare method of body refinement that requires the support of highly nourishing medicine to practice. While our temple has the ingredients, we have yet to refine the corresponding medicinal pills. For now, you must substitute them with meat. Even so, you are forbidden from practicing the visualization method for a short time, or you will damage your foundation. Wait until you have the proper pills to balance the practice."

"When you practice now, you must feel your internal energy moving like needles pricking your meridians, and it is becoming increasingly unbearable. This is a sign of refining the body. Normally, one would adapt quickly, but because you lack the necessary supplements, the sensation is intensifying to an intolerable degree."

Hearing this, Li Su finally realized the cause of his condition.

So that was it.

No wonder his energy flow felt like a deviation; his nutrition wasn't keeping up with his body's demands.

"Eat!" The old monk smiled and handed the trotter to Li Su. "Eat this for a week; it should basically alleviate the pain of your qi circulation. Once the pills are ready, we will use them for your training."

Fine. Since the old monk had put it this way, there was no point in Li Su being polite.

After all, he had been living on pickles and radishes for over two years. While there were stir-fried dishes, the diet was bland, devoid of onions, garlic, or even MSG. If not for the allure of martial arts, he would have fled long ago.

He took it without ceremony, opening his mouth to take a bite.

However, after a moment's thought, he picked up a brush and wrote: "Master, would you like some?"

The old monk smiled. Meat, eh? Amitabha. To say he didn't want any would be a lie. Unfortunately, he truly couldn't eat it. Li Su's situation was a byproduct of his cultivation, but if he ate it, it would be a genuine violation of his vows.

"From now on, come to me every day until the pills are ready. Leave the leftovers in the room; I will come to collect them later."

With that, the old monk Kongming stood up. "I must step out for a moment."

Seeing Li Su nod and begin gnawing on the trotter, the old monk smiled and headed out.

He went straight to the Mahavira Hall.

"Abbot, Brother!"

Hearing the voice, the old monk Tianjian frowned. It wasn't that he minded the man's arrival, but he smelled the scent of meat.

Eating meat—honestly, even in the Shaolin Temple, it hadn't been completely eradicated. There were channels, and occasionally people would try it to avoid the rot of excess; eventually, it would be cut off entirely.

As for the compassion of not killing? When did "not killing" become the sole definition of compassion? The resentment of spirits? Once it was roasted, where was the resentment? The soul? While they chanted about the Six Paths of Reincarnation, there was no need to take it so literally. As an old monk who had lived through the chaos of the Five Barbarians, he had seen the world turn into hell; he had slaughtered plenty of barbarians back then, and he hadn't seen any resentment clinging to him.

Eating meat wasn't a big deal.

But he was the Head of the Hall, a role model!

Reeking of pork trotters—who was he trying to disgust?

Because of the recent decline in talent—though a new disciple named Xuancheng was promising—the Abbot was already in a foul mood thinking about the state of the martial arts world. He said unhappily, "Junior Brother, you..."

"It's done!"

Tianming was so excited that he completely ignored the issue of the trotter. He grabbed the Abbot's hands with his own greasy palms.

Feeling the grease on his palms, Tianjian's face turned black, especially under the strange gazes of the three junior brothers sitting nearby. Done? Done with what? Braised trotter? Steamed trotter? His temper flared.

"Done with what? Pulling and tugging, what kind of decorum is this!!! I say, Tianming, you've been practicing Buddhism for decades. Look at yourself, what have you become???"

Tianming froze and looked down. Seeing his greasy hands, he realized what had happened, but the next moment he didn't care. He would be stuck with this scent for a while anyway.

"Abbot, Brother, it's not me—it's Xuankong! He's done it!"

"What do you mean it's not you, it's Xu... wait, Xuankong???" Abbot Tianjian had been preparing to shake off Tianming's hands—not only were they greasy, but how long did he intend to hold on? But as his arm rose, he froze in mid-air, looking up at the man in disbelief.

"Which Xuankong?"

"The one I brought to register with you a month ago!"

"The disciple learning the Arhat Gong??? You say he's done it—do you mean he has entered the threshold of the Arhat Divine Art? That he has generated Arhat internal energy?" Tianjian's pupils constricted as he instantly connected the dots, exclaiming in shock.

"Yes! He succeeded. I just confirmed it myself!"

"Hiss!~"