Master the Finest Arts

Zhu Yingxiong entered the Scripture Repository once more and headed straight to the second floor.

He looked around but did not see Senior Brother Yuan Hui. He did not know whether Yuan Hui had already left or had yet to arrive.

He felt slightly relieved. That would make things more convenient for him.

Without slowing, he walked directly toward the shelves holding palm technique manuals.

He casually picked up the outermost volume. Written on its cover were the words Scatter Blossom Palm.

He carefully turned through it page by page, his gaze calm. He appeared to be diligently memorizing it, but in truth, his mind had already sunk into that pale golden field of vision, watching lines of analysis and diagrams silently appear and record themselves.

After turning the final page, he returned Scatter Blossom Palm to its place and picked up the next volume, Thousand-Hand Tathagata Palm. He continued in the same manner, one book after another.

Time passed quietly in the repository. Only the faint rustle of turning pages and the occasional birdsong drifting past the window broke the stillness.

With no distractions, he immersed himself completely in the vast ocean of martial arts. Only when he gently closed the thick, ancient volume of Mount Sumeru Palm in his hands and returned it to the shelf did he suddenly realize that he had "recorded" every palm technique on the entire row.

He did not stop, instead moving to the adjacent shelf, whose wooden placard read, "Grappling and Claw Techniques."

There stood manuals such as Dragon Claw Hand, Twelve Dragon-Seizing Hands, and Annihilation Claw. Zhu Yingxiong picked them up and recorded them one by one.

The sunlight silently shifted across the polished floor, moving from the center of the room toward the west, its shadows stretching longer.

By the time he had also recorded the staff and rod technique manuals, dusk had begun to stain the sky beyond the windows. The time to close the Scripture Repository was near.

He raised his eyes toward the shelves he had yet to visit—"Saber Techniques," "Sword Techniques," "Movement Techniques," "Internal Arts," and many other categories—and could only stop with a trace of regret.

Before this millennium-old treasury of martial arts, he could not help feeling that time was painfully short. He returned every manual he had taken to its proper place before slowly making his way downstairs.

As he stepped out of the Scripture Repository, the cool evening breeze brushed his face, blowing away some of the fatigue from having buried himself in books.

Walking along the bluestone path back to the meditation courtyard, he calculated inwardly: Shaolin was said to possess seventy-two supreme arts, yet from what he had seen over the past two days alone, the number of profound martial arts in every category had far exceeded that figure. There were likely more than a hundred.

That made sense. A thousand-year-old ancient temple, with eminent monks of every generation creating, supplementing, and perfecting its arts—naturally, its martial treasury would only grow richer. How could it be bound by a fixed number?

As he pondered this, he encountered several ordinary monks along the path. When they spotted him from afar, their expressions tightened. They hurriedly pressed their palms together and bowed, then quickened their pace and left with lowered heads. Their manner was respectful, but clearly fearful, as though he were some savage beast.

"Junior Brother Yuan Zhen." A familiar, smiling voice sounded from behind him.

He turned around. As expected, it was Yuan Cheng. The plump, fair-skinned monk hurried over, catching sight of the backs of the monks who had just hastily departed.

"Junior Brother, do you know why these fellow brothers now respect you, yet also seem somewhat afraid of you?" Yuan Cheng asked casually as he walked beside him, watching those retreating figures.

Zhu Yingxiong already knew the answer, but merely shook his head.

Yuan Cheng sighed and explained, "Most of the brothers in the temple have observed pure precepts since childhood. Not to mention killing a person—even the life of an ant is something they cherish and value. Upon suddenly hearing of what happened in your meditation room, it was inevitable that they would be shaken, even frightened. That is only human nature, Junior Brother. You need not take it to heart. Given time, they will naturally understand." His words were earnest and full of consolation.

Yuan Cheng accompanied Zhu Yingxiong like this, conversing with him in low voices all the way. Most of his words were meant to comfort and reassure him, until the two entered the meditation courtyard where they lived.

As they neared Zhu Yingxiong's meditation room, they saw someone already standing quietly outside the door. He was tall and upright, with a resolute face—it was Senior Brother Yuan Zhuo of the Dharma Hall.

"Greetings, Senior Brother Yuan Zhuo." Zhu Yingxiong and Yuan Cheng stepped forward and greeted him with joined palms.

Yuan Zhuo returned the gesture. His gaze paused on Zhu Yingxiong's face before he got straight to the point. "Junior Brother, there was bloodshed in the meditation room where you originally stayed. If you feel uncomfortable, I can arrange another quiet residence for you."

His tone was calm, yet held concern.

"That is right, Junior Brother. It would be good to change rooms, somewhere quieter," Yuan Cheng also urged from the side.

Zhu Yingxiong felt a little warmth at Senior Brother Yuan Zhuo's special visit to ask about this matter. He was also somewhat surprised that this stern senior brother possessed such a thoughtful side.

He pressed his palms together sincerely. "Thank you for your concern, Senior Brother. But I believe that the mind creates its surroundings, not the other way around. The demonic obstacle has been removed, so the meditation room is naturally pure. If I sought another place out of fear of a shadow in my heart, would that not mean I was clinging to appearances? Living here will serve to remind me at all times and temper my character."

When he finished, he lifted his head. His eyes were clear and open, and he carried himself with an unforced uprightness.

Those words were quite in accord with Buddhist principles. Hmm, I'm becoming more and more like a great eminent monk.

Hearing this, Yuan Cheng put himself in Zhu Yingxiong's place. If it were him, would he truly have the courage to immediately return and live where an enemy had been killed? The thought made him shudder. The admiration in his gaze toward Zhu Yingxiong deepened as he sighed. "Junior Brother's resolve is firm, and you see your true nature clearly. I am inferior."

Yuan Zhuo looked deeply at Zhu Yingxiong. A faint trace of approval seemed to pass over his usually stern face. He did not urge him further, merely saying, "Since Junior Brother has made up his mind, you naturally have your reasons. Rest well. If you need anything, come find me at any time." With that, he joined his palms in salute and turned to leave.

Yuan Cheng exchanged a few more words with Zhu Yingxiong before departing as well.

The meditation courtyard returned to silence. Zhu Yingxiong pushed open his door, and its familiar furnishings came into view. The faint scent of blood in the air seemed not to have fully dispersed—or perhaps it was merely his imagination.

He lit the oil lamp on the table. Its dim yellow glow dispelled the dusk and illuminated this simple little room, which already bore so many secrets.

Thinking of Yuan Cheng's comfort along the way, and Yuan Zhuo's deliberate visit to ask whether he wished to change rooms, ripples could not help spreading across Zhu Yingxiong's heart.

In this vast Shaolin Temple, aside from hidden enemies and considerations of profit, there seemed to be some simple concern belonging to fellow disciples as well.

No matter what thoughts those two senior brothers might have had, perhaps this bond could be deepened appropriately in the future.

He gathered his wandering thoughts, temporarily sealing away that warmth and contemplation. The pressing matter remained making use of every moment and every resource to increase his strength as quickly as possible.

Two years later, when that peerless giant who had dominated an entire generation and possessed world-shaking demonic might headed south once more, heaven and earth would surely be overturned, and calamity would sweep everywhere.

Then the martial world would be rocked by storms. What a magnificent spectacle that would be!

How could he merely stand by and watch?

In this vast martial world, there ought to be a place for him; amid these towering winds and clouds, his long howl ought to be heard.

Time was limited. He could not possibly cultivate all of Shaolin's many supreme arts. However, he had already mastered the Muscle-Tendon Transformation Scripture, remaking his body from its foundation. His meridians were far tougher and his sea of qi far broader than those of ordinary people, so cultivating several supreme arts at once was possible.

Perhaps he could even cultivate thirteen supreme arts at the same time, as in the legends. It was not impossible.

As he focused his mind, that mysterious pale golden field of vision slowly unfolded within his consciousness once more. The countless supreme arts he had recorded today appeared one by one like stars scattered across the sky, quietly awaiting his selection.

Now, among these dazzling arts, he needed to choose their essence and combine them into the martial path most suited to him.

Finger techniques, fist techniques, palm techniques, grappling techniques... Countless profound principles flowed and shone within the field of vision, each possessing its own wondrous truths. For a moment, the sheer abundance was dazzling, making a choice difficult.

As he weighed his options, Prajna Zen Palm drifted before his eyes. This palm art was known as "Shaolin's foremost palm technique." Its power was not merely peerless; it also contained the highest principles of Buddhism. When the palm struck, it was like Zen meditation; when its force erupted, it was like prajna.

His thoughts stirred, and he naturally thought of another supreme art—One-Finger Zen, likewise known as "Shaolin's foremost finger technique."

Since there were so many dazzling choices and he could not decide, why not learn the foremost of each kind?

With this golden finger capable of analyzing all arts and pointing directly to their core, if he was going to learn, he would learn the universally acknowledged arts that were both the most difficult and the finest!

Once that thought settled, his mind suddenly became clear.

The foremost palm technique, Prajna Zen Palm; the foremost finger technique, One-Finger Zen; the foremost fist technique, Great Illumination Fist; the foremost grappling technique, Dragon Claw Hand. As for swordsmanship, saber techniques, lightness skills, and leg techniques, he would return to the Scripture Repository tomorrow and choose carefully.