They'd been completely looked down on.
Li Su covered his head and sighed. He'd suspected that Shaolin Temple's reputation might not be as great as it had been during the Heavenly Dragon era, but he hadn't expected it to sink so low that some random martial artist would dare question them.
After all, Tianming had warned them about a few things on their way out.
For example, they might well run into people looking for trouble.
It had been more than twenty years since any Shaolin Temple disciples had gone down the mountain to roam the martial world. In a place like the jianghu, people forgot you if you stayed silent for just a few years, let alone twenty.
Er, what about the lay disciples? Shaolin Temple did have lay disciples, but when they went down the mountain, they usually joined escort agencies or organizations connected to the government. They rarely got involved in the martial world. After all, lay disciples practiced martial arts, but not inner cultivation.
Xuanci had curiously asked why Shaolin Temple disciples hadn't been roaming the martial world all this time. Tianming had answered that the Xuan generation hadn't grown up yet, but from the monk's expression, Li Su could tell the Tian generation wasn't much use either.
Besides, when it came to making a name in the jianghu, the younger generation was what mattered.
The Tian generation was undoubtedly strong enough, but would you really go down the mountain in your forties or fifties to fight a bunch of teenagers?
Not fighting would be humiliating, and fighting would be even more humiliating.
So before Xuanci and the others, Shaolin Temple had been in an awkward position.
In terms of the strength of its elders, even the Xiaoyao Sect wasn't a threat. But when it came to the younger generation, it was a real headache. They had no one they could show off.
"Not convinced? Then how about we trade a few moves?"
Xuanci, whose temperament was lively and impulsive, was the first to speak. With a single bound, he leaped down from the stairs.
After flipping in midair, he descended with an eerie slowness.
At Xuanci's movement, many in the hall narrowed their eyes, their faces turning grave.
If you had any real skill, you had to show it first.
And that move was a little frightening.
"Second-rate???"
"Hiss!"
You've got to be kidding!
Seeing everyone's reactions, Li Su sighed. Well, that settled it. Shaolin Temple's disciples were sure to attract enormous attention now.
Martial artists were ranked in tiers.
The ranking system was simple: five levels.
They were ninth-rate, third-rate, second-rate, first-rate, and peak.
Those who knew one or two sets of martial arts, practiced stance training, and had cultivated qi were ninth-rate—the so-called small fry.
Those who had mastered a martial art and learned a technique capable of delivering a "killing blow," with their inner strength having begun to take shape, counted as third-rate. People at this level had already made a name for themselves in the jianghu. Wang Er, who had just jumped up, was about at this level.
There was only one standard for second-rate: the Circulation Realm. Their inner qi had to circulate in a complete cycle, allowing true qi to flow throughout the body and produce effects that defied certain laws of physics.
As for first-rate masters, anyone recognized as first-rate by the jianghu, who could face three or more opponents without losing, qualified. The Tian generation of Shaolin Temple all belonged to this level, as did Guan Tiannan, the Beggar Sect's leader.
As for peak masters, that depended entirely on their achievements—and on whether the martial world recognized them.
So although they'd only just come out into the world and lacked real combat experience, it was obvious that, aside from Xuanci, who was nearly twenty, the other seven little monks who'd come along—including Li Su himself—had all completed the Circulation Realm. In other words, they had all entered the second-rate level.
Wang Er, who'd been a little drunk, shuddered and sobered up at once.
Xuanci's face lit up with eagerness. He curled his five fingers and raked his hand across the pillar beside him, grinning as he said, "Allow this humble monk to experience your skills and see just how the disciples of Shaolin Temple measure up!"
Crack!
Five shocking claw marks, each a full centimeter deep, split the incredibly hard stone pillar.
Hiss!
On the stairs, Wang Jiantong's eyelid twitched. Great Vajra Finger? Dragon-Capturing Skill? At that level, if he'd grabbed a person, their flesh and bones would've been mangled.
What the hell was that?
Wait, hold on—
Dragon-Capturing Skill...
Suddenly, Wang Jiantong recalled a rumor from two years ago.
The story of Chengkong, the White-Clad Buddhist, an expelled disciple of Putian Shaolin, challenging Shaolin Temple and being defeated by a group of twelve- or thirteen-year-old kids.
It had undoubtedly become a laughingstock once it spread.
After all, everyone knew Shaolin Temple's younger generation wasn't worth mentioning. The powerful ones were all old fogeys.
But Wang Jiantong was different. He knew the White-Clad Buddhist, and had met him again later. During their conversation, he'd asked him about what happened.
He still remembered the White-Clad Buddhist's expression at the time. With a bitter smile, he'd nodded. It was true. Seeing those few children had taught him just how vast the world was.
Five of them were a little weaker, but still quite strong. They'd already completed the Circulation Realm; it was only a matter of time before they became second-rate masters.
Then there were two who were very strong—not inferior to him.
Their Vajra Finger was quite accomplished, and they'd even trained the top-tier Dragon-Capturing Skill to the level of a "killing move." They were sure to become first-rate masters someday.
As for the last one, how could he describe him?
A monster!
That was right, a monster.
He'd practiced the Demon-Subduing Sleeve for ten years and had only just touched the threshold of the One-Sleeve Demon-Subduing Realm.
The other boy was only eleven or twelve, yet he'd cultivated the Formless Calamity Finger, one of Shaolin Temple's foremost and most difficult finger techniques, to the Two-Finger Formless stage.
Honestly, if he were the same age as me, I'd lose to him a hundred times out of a hundred.
Some might wonder: what's so scary about clawing up a stone pillar?
If you think that, you're really overthinking it.
Fingers and fists were two entirely different things, for one. And anyone could tell at a glance that Xuanci's finger force came from true qi, not external conditioning.
External conditioning could produce this kind of effect too, but you'd need more than ten years of hard training to manage it. More importantly, true qi caused secondary damage. If external conditioning merely scratched your skin, then that was all you got. But if inner true qi tore the skin, even a small wound on the back of your hand could cripple your entire arm.
Just look at Wang Er.
Not only had he sobered up; his whole body was trembling.
To explain why the Circulation Realm was the benchmark for second-rate fighters: the reason was simple. Only someone who had reached that realm could resist true qi that struck beyond the body. In a fight between someone who had and someone who hadn't, even a wound that merely broke the skin could leave you gravely injured. On the other hand, killing someone who had reached the Circulation Realm was incredibly difficult. Even the weakest practitioner would have a certain degree of protection.
Wang Jiantong took a deep breath and looked again at the little monks, excluding their leader, Xuanjie.
These eight were probably the ones the White-Clad Buddhist had mentioned.
Damn...
Eight second-rate masters aged fourteen or fifteen. Everyone knew Shaolin Temple's younger generation was no good. Was this a joke?
Wang Jiantong drew a breath and called out, "Little Master Xuanci, sorry, but please stop!"
"Hm? Why? Isn't he unconvinced?"
Xuanci was taken aback. He was upset that his sect had been insulted, of course, but fighting people outside his group of senior and junior brothers was still quite interesting. After all, Xuancheng was too monstrous, Xuankong was too perfunctory when it came to fighting, and though the others weren't bad, fighting them barely counted as sparring. They knew one another too well; there was no freshness to it. He could tell what move they'd use next with his eyes closed.
It wasn't every day someone challenged them. This was the perfect chance to test how strong he was.
Hearing that, Wang Jiantong smiled bitterly. Unconvinced? To put it bluntly, what right did a third-rate martial artist from the jianghu have to be unconvinced by a second-rate master who was bound to surpass him?
Just look at Wang Er. His face was beaded with sweat, and his eyes were wide open. Clearly, his brain could no longer process all the information it had received.
Wang Jiantong was just about to say something more.
"I was filled with anticipation when I heard the words 'Shaolin Temple,' but I never thought it would really be you. It's been a long time—two years, I think, Little Master Xuanci!"
Just then, a voice that sounded incredibly familiar rang out. A graceful young gentleman drifted down.
Xuanci furrowed his brow and said nothing. He raised his hand and struck at once. "I don't know why, but just hearing your voice makes me furious. Take this! Dragon-Capturing King!"
He moved, launching his ultimate technique.
"Two years apart, and your Dragon-Capturing King has become even more powerful, Little Master."
The newcomer wore a faint smile. He didn't dodge, but swept his sleeve toward Xuanci.
It was none other than the Demon-Subduing Sleeve!
Boom!
The two tremendous forces collided and exploded in midair.
Hm?
Xuanci's brows shot up. The impact sent him dropping to the ground, then he staggered back several steps.
"It's you?! The White-Clad Buddhist!"