Came for the Indestructible Diamond Divine Art

With the Putian mountain-visiting challenge, the entire Shaolin Temple stirred into action in an instant.

The disciples of the Xuan generation rose one after another, the older ones unable to hide the expressions of shock and fury on their faces.

Over at the Arhat Hall, the secular disciples were equally incensed; they snatched up their weapons and charged straight toward the mountain gate.

A mountain-visiting challenge was, in effect, a declaration of war.

Tianjian and the others naturally could not sit still any longer.

Since the challenge had already been issued, the prospect of inviting the guests to the Mahavira Hall was clearly off the table.

Tianjian and his companions rose immediately and headed toward the mountain gate.

Soon, a large crowd had gathered before the gates of Shaolin Temple.

"Amitabha!"

With a single chant, Abbot Tianjian stepped forward, his gaze falling directly upon Master Kuxin—a man whose name had long been famous, yet whom he was seeing for the first time, and whose demeanor was entirely at odds with the rumors.

Before he could speak, Master Kuxin, who had remained silent until now, raised his head. "Kuxin has only one purpose in coming here: to seek the Indestructible Diamond Divine Art for my disciple, Chengkong. This humble monk guarantees that this technique will be learned by my disciple alone, and will not be passed on to any other."

"Audacious!"

As the words fell, the monk Tianxing, who had stepped out, erupted in fury.

As the head of the Discipline Hall, he possessed a fiery temperament; even ordinary disciples dared not breathe loudly in his presence.

The Indestructible Diamond Divine Art was the core treasure of the Songshan Shaolin, ranked among the four great miraculous arts and second only to the Muscle Tendon Change in power. How could it possibly be handed over to an outsider?

Abbot Tianjian pressed his palms together and said, "Master Kuxin, I am truly sorry, but I cannot agree to this request. This art is the foundational technique of our Songshan Shaolin; none but the heads of our halls may view it."

Tianxing, lacking such patience, roared, "A fine Kuxin indeed! You are a monk of high attainment; Putian Shaolin has its own inherited techniques—the Shaoyang Virgin Skill, for instance, is a top-tier art. If someone came to your door demanding it, would you give it away?"

Master Kuxin replied, "If Songshan is willing, this humble monk is prepared to trade our Putian Shaoyang Virgin Skill for the Indestructible Diamond Divine Art. Furthermore, the previous condition remains: aside from my disciple, it shall not be passed to another."

The crowd was taken aback by these words.

Putian was not the same as Songshan.

They did not possess many top-tier legacies, and the Shaoyang Virgin Skill was undoubtedly their sect's supreme technique, equivalent to the Shaolin Muscle Tendon Change.

Abbot Tianjian spoke directly, "Amitabha. Master Kuxin, I understand your intentions. Had it been any other technique, even without a trade, it would not have been impossible to pass it to your disciple. However, the rules for the Indestructible Diamond Divine Art were set by our predecessors long ago: none but a hall head may view it, and none but the Abbot may learn it."

Master Kuxin nodded. "Kuxin challenges the mountain."

As he spoke, a young man in white monk's robes stepped forward. "Putian Shaolin Temple, Cheng-generation disciple, Chengkong, requests your guidance!"

A Cheng-generation disciple...

Songshan and Putian used different naming conventions.

Songshan used Ling, Tian, and Xuan.

Putian used Wen, Ku, and Cheng.

Chengkong—this meant he was the White-Clad Buddhist who had recently become quite famous in the martial arts world.

The eyes of Tianjian and the others narrowed, their expressions turning grave.

Kuxin's mountain-visiting challenge was unexpected, and his goal was beyond imagination.

The challenger himself made the situation even more troublesome; since he was a Cheng-generation disciple, the Shaolin Temple could naturally only dispatch a disciple of the Xuan generation.

The Xuan generation consisted of three cohorts.

The eldest were seventeen, eighteen, or nineteen.

The middle cohort were thirteen, fourteen, or fifteen.

The youngest had only just entered the sect.

Xuancheng and his peers belonged to the middle cohort and had yet to fully mature.

"Arrogant! I shall meet you!"

Since the challenge had been brought to their gates, there was no room for retreat.

The speaker was a secular disciple who had been at Songshan for five years and was among the strongest of his peers.

He practiced the Shaolin external hard-body technique, the Iron Cloth Shirt; his frame was massive, his muscles like iron. Merely by standing there, he exerted an indescribable sense of oppression upon the crowd.

"Hah!"

A low shout, sharp as a thunderclap, struck at the heart.

He went all out from the very first moment.

He had been a commoner, but after his family was driven to their deaths by corrupt officials, he had taken his revenge and fled his home, eventually finding his way to Songshan to become a secular Shaolin disciple.

Having already taken lives, his temperament was far fiercer than that of an ordinary monk.

He raised his iron fist and struck directly at the challenger, Chengkong. Given his physique, speed, and strength, a direct hit would likely shatter even blue stone.

Yet, facing the incoming fist, the White-Clad Buddhist did not move an inch, allowing the terrifying blow to land squarely on his chest.

Thud!

The sound was like a stone falling into the sea; it did not stir even the slightest ripple.

The man froze, a look of disbelief crossing his face.

The White-Clad Buddhist raised his head, his calm expression unchanged, and reached out to grasp the fist that had been inches from his chest.

With a gentle squeeze.

Snap!

A sound rang out, and that iron fist, which should have been incomparably hard, shattered like tofu at that very moment.

"Ah!"

With a miserable shriek, the lay disciple collapsed to his knees, his face deathly pale; the excruciating pain surging from his arm instantly sapped him of all strength.

The White-Clad Buddhist raised his right hand and, under the stunned gazes of the crowd, swept a palm across the lay disciple's body.

Thud!

The man, nearly two meters tall and weighing over two hundred pounds, flew through the air like a scrap of paper before crashing to the ground.

"You bastard!!!"

Facing this scene, the monk Tianxing and the others felt their hearts explode with rage.

Since the lay disciple's protective energy had failed to break through, he had naturally lost; that squeeze had been unnecessary, to say nothing of the palm strike that followed.

Abbot Tianjian drew a breath and recited a Buddhist chant: "Amitabha!" His voice carried a tremor, revealing the turmoil within his heart.

"This is bullying!"

The Xuan-generation disciples could no longer hold back.

Although lay disciples were different from ordained monks like them, they were by no means strangers.

In particular, the lay disciple who had just attacked was actually preparing to be tonsured; in other words, everyone would soon be formal martial brothers.

Humans are social creatures; after five years of living together, how could one not have close friends?

"Xuanxin, I request your guidance!"

A monk of eighteen or nineteen years stepped forward, his aura steady, his eyes sharp, his strength truly extraordinary.

Xuanxin was a first-generation disciple of the Shaolin Temple's Xuan generation. His strength was not lacking, and he was a genius of his cohort. He also practiced the Great Strength Vajra Palm, though he could not compare to Xuancheng or Xuanci. However, having focused solely on this skill for ten years, the power of his Vajra Palm was astonishing.

He was not a lay disciple, and for the first time, a rare look of seriousness appeared in the White-Clad Buddhist's eyes.

He understood the distinction between external techniques and true internal arts.

Shaolin Temple lay disciples generally only practiced martial arts and rarely touched upon internal cultivation; after all, lay disciples usually only stayed for one to three years before descending the mountain. As for internal arts, aside from a few geniuses, it took three to five years just to enter the gate, and seven or eight years of hard work to achieve any real results.

Therefore, those staying for only a short time were not taught such arts.

After all, the internal arts of the Shaolin Temple were extremely domineering, and those with poor temperament could easily suffer from qi deviation.

Spreading his hands, Xuanxin might have been far inferior in physique to the lay disciple who had just been carried away for treatment, but his momentum was even greater.

As he began the Great Strength Vajra Palm, the fierce and peerless Vajra energy began to manifest.

In the crowd, Xuanci and the others couldn't help but gasp. Even though they were geniuses, their time spent practicing was too short, and they naturally couldn't compare to Xuanxin on the field.

Immediately, they couldn't help but shout, "Senior Brother, go for it!"

On the field, facing the advanced-level ultimate technique of the Shaolin Temple, the White-Clad Buddhist took a breath and set his stance.

"Taizu Long Fist, please!"

Xuanxin's pupils contracted, and not just his—at this moment, the expressions of most of the Songshan Shaolin Temple disciples changed.

Taizu Long Fist could not be called obscure, as it was created by the founding emperor of the Song Dynasty, but it was a boxing style, not an internal art. It wasn't that they looked down on it, but its philosophy was completely different from the martial arts of the jianghu; after all, the person who created this style did not possess internal energy.

"How arrogant!"

The Putian Shaolin Temple was not without its own martial arts.

But to use Taizu Long Fist against him—it was clear that this White-Clad Buddhist did not respect him at all. Even with a temperament tempered by over ten years of Buddhist practice, Xuanxin's composure shattered.

Gathering Vajra energy into his palms, he opened with a heavy strike.

Crouching Star Subduing Tiger!

This move had two key points: the crouch and the pounce.

It sounded simple, but it contained many intricacies. If used poorly, one could not unleash the power and would instead disrupt one's own momentum.

But when used well—with a single step, without any superfluous movement, Xuanxin crouched and rose, his terrifying power erupting as his hands thrust forward, the momentum of the Subduing Tiger fully formed.

The White-Clad Buddhist showed no panic. As he moved, he closed the distance while Xuanxin was only halfway through his move, executing a Twisting Single Whip. He used his footwork to disrupt Xuanxin's stance and his whip-fist to attack.

Seeing this, Xuanxin felt a surge of panic, and the power he had stored in his crouch instantly dissipated. However, having practiced for over a decade, he had experience; he sank his feet, forcibly holding his crumbling stance, and pulled back with his waist. As he retreated to create distance, he unleashed half a Subduing Tiger with both palms.

The White-Clad Buddhist's expression remained unchanged. Mid-whip, he shifted into Seven Star Progression.

In an instant, his fists rained down like a storm. Before Xuanxin's palms could land, he used speed to overcome power, striking Xuanxin seven or eight times in a single moment. Though it was a rapid-fire attack, the White-Clad Buddhist's strikes were not chaotic. Every punch aimed directly at Xuanxin's vital points; as the blows landed, the qi throughout Xuanxin's body was scattered.

Ghost Kick!

Without waiting for Xuanxin to retreat, the White-Clad Buddhist stepped between his legs and instantly delivered three kicks, slamming them directly into the area below Xuanxin's knees.

Crack!

Accompanied by the sound of snapping bone, the White-Clad Buddhist threw another punch: the Heart-Piercing Fist.

Thud!

By the time he could react, Xuanxin only had time to let out a miserable groan before he was sent flying backward, crashing into the crowd.

"Senior Brother Xuanxin!!!"

With a sharp cry, the disciples of the Xuan generation immediately fell into a panic.

"How vicious!"

However, upon closer inspection, everyone's expression shifted. Not only were Xuanxin's legs hanging at an unnatural angle, but his chest had also caved in, leaving a visible fist print, and his face was as pale as gold paper.

There was no doubt about it; the opponent had struck with the intent to kill.

Facing the crowd's furious glares, the White-Clad Buddhist's expression remained calm. He glanced at them indifferently and said, "Amitabha. Is this the highest level the Xuan-generation disciples can reach? If this is all there is, it is truly disappointing. The so-called century-old Shaolin Temple, the titan of the righteous path—it is nothing more than this!"

That single remark of "nothing more than this" caused the already enraged crowd to seethe with fury.

Xuanci exploded on the spot, leaping forward with a face full of rage.

"Amitabha, you bastard! You've smiled like Maitreya for so long that you've forgotten that our Buddha also has a temper!!!"

"I will meet you!!!"