White-Clad Buddhist admitted defeat, and the Shaolin Temple disciples were thrilled.
Xuancheng and the others had become the talk of the entire younger generation at Shaolin Temple.
For days, people had talked about them countless times.
Li Su really didn't understand it. More importantly, the feeling of being stared at wherever he went made him terribly uncomfortable.
Seeing the senior brothers of the Profound generation looking at him with such admiration, Li Su felt a headache coming on. He had unquestionably been the least noticeable of the eight. But after that day, after he had pointed that finger, he had suddenly become someone who drew as much attention as Xuancheng—no, even more than Xuancheng.
That day, Xuankong had used one of Shaolin Temple's finest finger techniques: the world's most unyielding finger technique, the Two-Finger Formless of the Formless Calamity Finger.
It was a formidable finger technique that even the elders of the Heaven generation had not mastered.
And it wasn't just the Formless Calamity Finger. Xuankong had also mastered Arhat Gong, a technique no one at Shaolin Temple had successfully cultivated in a century.
By the way, Arhat Gong's full name was the Arhat Divine Art.
Other than the Muscle Tendon Changing Classic and the Indestructible Diamond Divine Art, it was Shaolin Temple's most difficult technique to cultivate. Yet anyone who mastered it had limitless prospects.
Once Xuankong matured, perhaps Shaolin Temple would produce another number one under heaven.
Somehow, voices like these gradually began to circulate through Shaolin Temple.
In that atmosphere, Li Su's days were hard to bear.
Where was your conscience?
Where was your compassion?
You were Shaolin Temple disciples! What was there to celebrate about defeating White-Clad Buddhist?
What about that lay disciple? And Xuancheng? No, Xuancheng was the one who'd been injured—had you all forgotten Xuancheng of the Profound generation?
Li Su couldn't help grumbling inwardly. Why was all the attention on him? Since when had Shaolin Temple cared about such empty fame?
Yet on the third day, when Xuancheng walked over with a smile to greet him, Li Su's face darkened.
The guy whose shinbone had been shattered was actually healed???
When he asked about it, Li Su's mouth twitched. For a moment, he felt sorry for Wuyazi.
A mighty master, the number one under heaven, and yet he'd fallen off a cliff and spent the rest of his life crippled.
Meanwhile, here, someone had suffered a compound fracture and recovered in three days.
How could that not be tragic?
Xuancheng and that lay disciple—no, the other man had officially become a monk now. Though he was quite old, he was still a disciple of the Profound generation, with the Dharma name Xuanye. That meant he had to call Li Su senior brother.
Both of them had recovered.
And the thing that healed them was nothing other than the Great Restoration Pill.
The pill was said in the martial world to bring the dead back to life and cure all internal and external injuries.
It was also said to greatly increase a person's inner strength.
Heh, when you thought about it, that made sense.
In Heaven Sword and Dragon Sabre, even the Western Domain Vajra Sect had a miracle medicine like Black Jade Intermittent Paste, which could restore Yu Daiyan, the third Wudang hero, after he'd been crippled for over a decade. Heh, a compound fracture. And he'd been broken for over a decade, too. Was it really possible to mend the bone just by breaking it again and applying medicine? If modern medicine tried to explain it, how many things would it involve? Nerves? Bones? Muscles? Cellular memory? If a mere Vajra Sect could produce such a miracle medicine, how could Shaolin Temple, the source of the Vajra Sect, not have precious medicines of its own?
Wuyazi had it rough.
He'd been crippled for thirty years, all because of a single rope.
Li Su shook his head, steadying himself, and decided to ignore the reactions around him.
There was no helping it. He'd already revealed himself. What else could he do?
Though he wasn't happy about it, he didn't have time to dwell on it.
Training had begun again.
The day after the White-Clad Buddhist incident, Monk Tianming arrived, bringing a large quantity of medicine.
That was right. Li Su had started cultivating the Arhat Divine Art again.
After stopping for over half a month, resuming his training gave him a whole new feeling.
As his qi increased, a smile appeared on Li Su's face. Though he'd paid a price, the rewards weren't bad.
********
"Senior brother abbot."
When Tianming arrived at Mahavira Hall, the hall was soon closed.
At that moment, Abbot Tianjian's expression was grave. Tianwen and the others wore deeply furrowed brows, as if they would never smooth out.
Tianming asked, puzzled, "Did something happen?" After repelling White-Clad Buddhist, Shaolin Temple's prestige had undoubtedly soared, and the disciples' enthusiasm had been ignited. They had taken Xuankong and the other seven as their examples and were working hard to catch up.
The expenditure had been considerable, but at this rate, it wouldn't be long before Shaolin Temple regained its former glory and once again showed the bearing of the righteous path's leading sect.
Amitabha Buddha. Though the Buddhist Sect shouldn't care about such things, they were still only cultivating Buddhism, not Buddhas.
"Take a look."
Tianjian brought out a fresh report.
Tianming paused, then took it and began to read. A moment later, his eyes widened.
"Kuxin has passed away? How could that be? And White-Clad Buddhist has announced his departure from Putian Shaolin?"
Reading the contents, Tianming was utterly stunned.
Kuxin was the head of Bodhi Hall at Putian Shaolin, one of Putian's most renowned masters.
And White-Clad Buddhist needed no introduction. He was not yet twenty, yet his demonstrated strength already came close to that of a first-rate master.
In another decade or so, he would undoubtedly have become a pillar of Putian Shaolin Temple.
One dead, one expelled?
What were they thinking over in Putian?
"Is the report true? Why did this happen?"
"This time, the provocation against Songshan Shaolin was entirely Kuxin's decision. He had no face to return to Putian, so he took his own life. And White-Clad Buddhist, after losing to the second generation of disciples from the Profound generation, took off his monk's robes and announced his departure from Putian under the weight of that devastating blow." Tianxing opened his mouth. He was short-tempered and had little regard for Putian, while he was furious with Kuxin and White-Clad Buddhist. But at that moment, he didn't know what to say. "This is..."
Why???
For a moment, a great question hung over them all.
They couldn't understand it. It made no sense.
Why had Master Kuxin done such a thing? Why had he taken Putian Shaolin Temple's most gifted disciple in a century down with him?
Though South Shaolin had been flourishing in recent decades, its reputation growing ever greater, everything would be different now.
"A lizard abandoning its tail."
A voice suddenly rang out, as frail and aged as a guttering candle in the wind.
"Master!"
At the sound, Tianjian and the others immediately bowed.
Another person had appeared in the hall. He was unkempt, with thinning hair and the faint traces of scars on his crown. His eyebrows were white, and his face was covered in wrinkles.
He was Monk Lingquan, one of the only two remaining elders of Shaolin Temple's Spirit generation.
"Master, did you leave Shaolin Temple?"
Seeing the old man's travel-worn appearance, Tianjian and the others couldn't help but be startled.
"They've already come knocking at our mountain gate. Was I supposed to sit around in the temple and do nothing?"
Old Monk Lingquan found a bench and sat down. He poured himself a cup of tea and drank it, then said, "Tianjian."
"Here!"
"Make preparations. Open Shaolin Temple's storehouses and use everything we have to cultivate the new generation of disciples."
"Huh?"
"I met that young Kuxin three times. Once, fifty years ago, when he was still a child. And again, twenty years ago, when he was already the head of Bodhi Hall at Putian."
Old Monk Lingquan slowly set down his teacup. "The first time we met, he was young and full of vigor, with a compassionate heart. The second time, he was mature, and had grasped Buddhist teachings deeply. As for his realm, he'd already touched the stage where 'a mountain is still a mountain,' I suppose. All things are emptiness. That boy understood Zen better than this old monk."
At this point, Monk Lingquan paused. "Then, the third time, I met him two days ago."
Tianjian and the others froze at his words. Tianming couldn't help exclaiming, "Master, you didn't make a move, did you?"
Old Monk Lingquan smiled. "We monks cultivate the emptiness of the four elements and speak of having no desires and no demands, but how could such things be easy?
"If we truly saw through everything, what would be the point of staying alive? Enlightenment, enlightenment—if you really became a Buddha, you ought to die. Since this old monk is still alive, I naturally haven't become dispassionate and desireless. They'd come right to our doorstep. If we'd simply let them leave, Shaolin would probably have no peace for the next hundred years. Fortunately, the younger generation fought well and showed their mettle, so we old fossils didn't have to come out and embarrass ourselves. By the way, what was the name of the young fellow who used the Formless Calamity Finger?"
Tianming answered, "His name is Xuankong."
"Xuankong? Good, good."
He picked up the teapot. Instead of pouring the tea, he tipped it straight into his mouth and drank in great gulps.
Only after draining the entire pot did Lingquan set it down. Looking at Tianjian and the others, he said, "Do everything you can to cultivate them. Don't worry about the expense, and don't hold back. Raise them as quickly as possible, as far as possible."
Tianjian and the others exchanged glances. Then Tianjian nodded. "I understand, Master. We'll do everything as you said."
"Mm!"
Lingquan nodded. Before he could say anything else, blood slowly trickled from his mouth.
"Master!!!"
They were all horrified.
"It's nothing." Monk Lingquan waved a hand. "On the way back, I crossed hands with someone. Heh, that fellow was quite formidable. He hit me with a punch. His force was strange—cold enough to freeze the bones, yet hot enough to burn the heart. Still, he didn't get off lightly either. I struck him with my palm. But I have to admit, there's no fighting old age. Thirty years ago, I would have... Never mind."
He blinked. Lingquan didn't continue. "So that's it. Emptiness of the four elements isn't about casting things aside, nor is it about giving them up. It's about keeping them in your heart all the same. I wondered why, even after reaching the state of seeing a mountain as a mountain again, I still returned to this mortal world. Turns out, I'd never left it in the first place."
"Remember, don't announce my death."
With those words, Lingquan slowly lowered his head and breathed his last.
In an instant, the three of them shuddered, their eyes widening in disbelief.
"Master...?"
But the voice they'd been used to hearing for decades never sounded again.
"Ah! Ah! Ah!"
Tianxing was the first to break. His eyes were bloodshot, brimming with tears. Who was it? Who? Who could have done this???