Eight Fourteen- to Fifteen-Year-Old Second-Rate Fighters

I have been completely looked down upon.

Li Su covered his head and sighed. Although he had guessed that the current reputation of Shaolin Temple might not compare to the Tianlong era, he had not expected it to fall to the point of being questioned by some random wanderer of the pugilistic world.

After all, when they set out, the monk Tianming had explained a few things along the way.

For instance, the high probability of being provoked.

After all, no Shaolin Temple disciple had descended the mountain to walk the pugilistic world for over twenty years. In a place like the Jianghu, if one doesn't make a sound for a few years, they are forgotten, let alone twenty-plus years.

Uh, you ask about secular disciples? Shaolin Temple does have secular disciples, but when they descend the mountain, they usually go to escort agencies or organizations related to the government; they rarely involve themselves in the martial arts world. After all, secular disciples practice martial arts but not internal energy.

Xuanci had curiously asked why no Shaolin Temple disciples had walked the Jianghu for so long. Although Tianming replied that the Xuan generation had not yet matured, Li Su could tell from the monk's expression that the Tian generation was clearly not very impressive either.

Furthermore, to make a name in the Jianghu, one must rely on the younger generation.

The Tian generation certainly had enough strength, but if you descend the mountain at forty or fifty years old, do you really have the face to strike against a group of teenagers?

Not striking is a loss of face, but striking is an even greater loss of face.

Therefore, before Xuanci and his peers, the status of Shaolin Temple was quite awkward.

As for the hard power of the mountain gate, even the Xiaoyao Sect did not fear them, but when it came to the younger generation, it was a real headache—there wasn't a single one worth showing off.

"Not convinced? Then shall we trade a few blows?"

The lively-natured Xuanci was the first to speak. With a single stride, he leaped directly from the staircase.

After a flip in mid-air, he landed with an eerie, slow grace.

Following Xuanci's movement, the eyes of many in the hall narrowed in an instant, their faces turning solemn.

Whether one has true kung fu or not, one must first show a hand.

And this hand was somewhat terrifying.

"Second-rate???"

"Hiss!"

Are you kidding me???

Watching the crowd's reaction, Li Su sighed. Well, that's that; Shaolin Temple disciples were now bound to receive massive attention.

Martial artists are categorized.

The levels are quite simple, five in total.

They are ninth-rate, third-rate, second-rate, first-rate, and super-first-rate.

Those who know a set or two of martial arts, have practiced stance training, and have cultivated internal energy are ninth-rate—the so-called "small shrimp."

Those who have practiced a set of martial arts to a profound level, mastered "lethal" techniques, and developed a certain climate of internal energy are considered third-rate. This category generally has some fame in the Jianghu; this Wang Er who jumped out is roughly at this level.

There is only one standard for the second-rate: the Circulation Realm. Internal energy forms a circulation, allowing true energy to permeate the entire body and perform feats that defy certain physical principles.

As for first-rate experts, those recognized by the Jianghu as such are those who can fight three or more people without being defeated. Currently, the Tian generation of Shaolin Temple belongs to the first-rate, and Guan Tiannan, the leader of the Beggar Sect, also belongs to the first-rate.

As for the super-first-rate, it relies entirely on one's battle record and recognition by the martial arts world.

Therefore, although they were fresh out of the mountain and lacked practical experience, it was clear that, not to mention the nearly twenty-year-old Xuanjie, including Li Su himself, the eight little monks who came this time had undoubtedly completed their circulation—meaning they had all stepped into the second-rate level.

With a jolt, the somewhat drunken Wang Er immediately sobered up.

Xuanci, with an eager face, curled his five fingers and clawed into the pillar beside him, saying with a smile: "Let this little monk learn a few moves from you, to see exactly what a Shaolin Temple disciple is made of."

Crack!

The incredibly hard stone pillar instantly split with five shocking claw marks, each a full centimeter deep.

Hiss!

On the stairs, Wang Jiantong's eyelids twitched. Great Vajra Finger? Dragon-Capturing Skill? At this level of mastery, if this were to grab onto a person, flesh and bone would surely rot, right?

Holy crap, what is this thing!

Wait, hold on?

Dragon-Capturing Skill...

Suddenly, Wang Jiantong recalled a rumor from two years ago.

The story of the White-Clad Buddhist Chengkong, a disgraced disciple of the Putian Shaolin Temple, challenging the Shaolin Temple and being defeated by a group of twelve or thirteen-year-old children.

Undoubtedly, after it spread, it was taken as a joke.

After all, everyone knew that the younger generation of Shaolin Temple couldn't be brought out to face the world; the powerful ones were all old fogies.

But Wang Jiantong was different. He knew the White-Clad Buddhist, and having met him later, he had asked about this matter during a chat.

He still remembered the White-Clad Buddhist's expression at the time. He had smiled bitterly and nodded—it was true. Only after witnessing those few did he realize how vast the world was.

Five of them were slightly inferior, but their strength was still good; they had already completed their circulation, and becoming second-rate was only a matter of time.

Then there were two who were extremely strong, no worse than him.

Not only was their Vajra Finger quite well-honed, but they had also practiced the top-tier martial art, the Dragon-Capturing Skill, to the "lethal" level. They would definitely be first-rate in the future.

As for the last one, how could he describe him?

Monster!

That was the only word for it.

He had practiced the Demon-Subduing Sleeve for ten years and had only just touched the threshold of the One-Sleeve Demon-Subduing Realm.

Yet, the boy before him, no more than eleven or twelve years old, had already cultivated the Formless Calamity Finger—a top-tier, notoriously difficult Shaolin technique—to the level of Two-Finger Formless.

To be honest, if the boy were his age, he would be the one losing, one hundred percent.

Perhaps some might find it strange; it was just a clawed stone pillar, what was so terrifying about that?

To think that way was to truly oversimplify things.

Setting aside the fact that fingers and fists were two entirely different concepts, one look at Xuanci's finger force revealed it was true qi, not some external hard-body training.

While external hard-body training could achieve such effects, it required over a decade of grueling practice, and that was without mentioning the most critical factor: true qi carried a secondary damage effect. A scratch from external training was just a scratch, but a scratch from internal true qi—even a tiny wound on the back of the hand—could render an entire arm useless.

With that in mind, he glanced at Wang Er.

The man was not only sober now, but his entire body was trembling uncontrollably.

This brought up another point: why was the Circulation Realm the benchmark for second-rate experts? The reason was simple: only those in the Circulation Realm could resist true qi that broke through the body. If one side had it and the other didn't, even a superficial scratch could cause grievous injury, whereas killing the opponent would be incredibly difficult. Even the weakest Circulation Realm expert possessed a certain level of defensive power.

Wang Jiantong took a deep breath and re-examined the young monks, excluding their leader, Xuanjie.

These eight individuals were very likely the ones the White-Clad Buddhist had spoken of.

Tsk.

Eight fourteen or fifteen-year-olds in the Circulation Realm? Everyone knew the younger generation of Shaolin Temple wasn't particularly impressive. Was this a joke?

Wang Jiantong drew a breath and spoke up: "Little Master Xuanci, please, stop!"

"Hm? Why? Isn't he unconvinced?"

Xuanci was taken aback. Although he was unhappy that his sect had been insulted, it was quite interesting to spar with someone other than his fellow disciples. After all, Xuancheng was too monstrous, Xuankong was too perfunctory in a fight, and while the others weren't bad, their bouts couldn't even be considered sparring. They were too familiar with each other; there was no novelty, and he could predict their next move with his eyes closed.

Now that someone had finally provoked him, it was the perfect opportunity to test his own strength.

Upon hearing this, a bitter smile appeared on Wang Jiantong's face. Unconvinced? To put it bluntly, what right did a third-rate martial artist of the pugilistic world have to be unconvinced by a destined second-rate master?

He looked at Wang Er, whose face was drenched in sweat, his eyes wide with shock; clearly, his brain was completely unable to process the information he had just received.

He prepared to say something more.

"Hearing the name Shaolin Temple, I felt a sense of anticipation, but I didn't expect it to truly be you. It has been a long time—two years, I believe, Little Master Xuanci!"

Just then, an incredibly familiar voice drifted over, and a graceful young man slowly descended from the air.

Xuanci frowned. Without a word, he raised his hand. I don't know why, but just hearing that voice makes my blood boil. Take this! Dragon-Capturing King!

His figure blurred as he unleashed his ultimate move.

"Two years later, and Little Master's Dragon-Capturing King has become even more fierce."

The newcomer wore a faint smile. He didn't dodge, instead flicking his sleeve and sweeping it directly toward Xuanci.

It was none other than the Demon-Subduing Sleeve!

BOOM!

The two immense forces collided, exploding in mid-air.

Hm?

Xuanci's brows arched as he was knocked back to the ground, stumbling several steps before regaining his footing.

"It's you... The White-Clad Buddhist!!!"