Scripture Reflects the Zen Heart, Illuminating the Muscle-Tendon Transformation

The heroes' chanting briefly faltered.

He widened his eyes slightly, confirming that this was no illusion.

Golden finger.

The standard equipment of a transmigrator.

Wild joy swept through him like a prairie fire, instantly blazing through every limb and bone.

The way it displayed information, the structure of its analysis—he knew it all too well.

It was almost exactly like the analytical interface he had dealt with every day in his previous life, except the medium had changed from a screen to empty space.

He forced himself to calm down.

He continued chanting, though his fingers clenched so hard around the prayer beads that they nearly snapped.

As the mantra continued, pale golden traces in his field of vision clearly outlined the resonance each syllable required, guiding him on where to slow and deepen his voice and where to let it rise clearly.

He made minute adjustments according to those traces.

It worked.

His chaotic thoughts cleared, and his formerly restless heart settled like sand.

Though the pain in his dantian and meridians remained, his mind had steadied, becoming clear and focused.

Since this ability could so clearly break down even the intricate methods of chanting the Shurangama Mantra, then... could it also analyze the mysterious vital-energy junctures and circulation paths of martial arts? What about the Muscle-Tendon Transformation Scripture?

Suppressing his excitement, he finished reciting the Shurangama Mantra ten times.

Yuan Zhen rose and left the main hall, eager to return to his meditation room and test whether his golden finger worked on the Muscle-Tendon Transformation Scripture.

He had only just reached the corridor when a young novice monk who had been waiting there approached with palms together and said softly, "Martial Uncle Yuan Zhen, Patriarch Worryless requests your presence."

I hadn't even gone to see him, yet Master summoned me first?

Zhu Yingxiong's expression remained calm as he gave a slight nod. "Thank you."

He followed the novice through several courtyards until they arrived before a round moon gate of pebbles covered in thick green moss. The novice quietly withdrew.

The moment he stepped inside, the clamor of the outside world vanished.

A secluded bamboo grove suddenly unfolded before him. Phoenix-tail bamboo stood dense and verdant, whispering like a dragon's cry. The morning dew had yet to dry, and the clear air seeped through his robes.

Deep within the grove, against a blue-gray mountainside, several simple meditation rooms stood scattered about. Their white walls and gray tiles blended seamlessly into the mountain scenery.

This was where the head of the Dharma Hall and its elders cultivated in seclusion. Few idlers ever set foot here.

The room in the center was Zen Master Worryless's residence.

The meditation room's door stood slightly ajar. Zhu Yingxiong stopped outside, slowly raising his arm as he prepared to knock.

"Come in."

A voice came from within, deep and weighty like the morning bell of an ancient temple, piercing clearly through the thin door.

Zhu Yingxiong's heart tightened abruptly. His hand paused almost imperceptibly in midair before he changed the knock into a push and gently opened the half-closed wooden door.

Creak—

The old wooden hinges let out a long, dry groan.

As the door slowly opened, the scene inside the meditation room gradually came into view.

The room was not large, and its furnishings were exceedingly simple. A beam of bright morning sunlight slanted in through the eastern window, falling precisely upon the shoulder of the old monk seated cross-legged on a cushion.

Zen Master Worryless appeared to be around sixty. His face was lean like an ancient pine, his beard and brows entirely white, and his long eyebrows drooped to the corners of his eyes, carrying the weathered traces of age. Yet his eyes were clear and pure, like a secluded mountain pool, without the slightest hint of worldly dust.

He sat quietly on the cushion, holding a string of ebony prayer beads. Each bead was round and solid, slowly rolled between his withered fingers, producing the faintest rustling sound.

Zhu Yingxiong entered the room, pressed his palms together, and bowed. "Disciple Yuan Zhen pays respects to Master."

Zen Master Worryless's fingers paused slightly over the beads as he slowly raised his eyes. His gaze settled over him like warm water. It was not sharp, yet it left nowhere to hide.

"Yuan Zhen," the old monk said evenly, "your steps are unsteady and your vital energy is somewhat depleted. Clearly, your primordial energy has yet to recover. Yet your aura is instead calm and clear, with faint signs that your Zen cultivation has advanced. Can you resolve this old monk's confusion?"

The meditation room fell silent for a moment. Only the soft rustle of prayer beads and the occasional whisper of bamboo leaves outside interwove in the morning-lit air, forming a strange rhythm.

Zhu Yingxiong's heart turned cold—his master's discernment was as piercing as ever.

He kept his gaze lowered, his voice steady, with just the right measure of shame and faint excitement. "Master's insight is clear. This disciple was indeed injured by forcibly practicing the Muscle-Tendon Transformation Scripture. Yet in recent days, while studying Buddhist scriptures, this disciple gained some small understanding of the Dharma, and his state of mind has become somewhat clearer than before."

Clear surprise rippled through Zen Master Worryless's otherwise tranquil eyes. "Good, good..." His tone carried concealed approval.

He slowly set down the prayer beads, satisfaction shining in his eyes. "Your comprehension of the Buddhist Dharma is extraordinary. This is a great blessing. But remember well: you must not force the practice of the Muscle-Tendon Transformation Scripture again."

Zhu Yingxiong suitably revealed the faint alarm and respectful deference expected of a young disciple. "Yes, this disciple will remember."

"Do you know why this old monk summoned you here?"

"This disciple does not."

"In three days, the Dharma Hall will hold its minor tournament." Zen Master Worryless watched him. "Your injuries have not healed. There is no need for you to participate."

"No." Zhu Yingxiong raised his eyes, revealing an appropriate stubbornness. "This disciple wishes to participate."

Seeing his persistence, Zen Master Worryless shook his head slightly and sighed. "Ah, if that is so... very well."

As he spoke, he took a small white porcelain bottle from his sleeve and set it before him. "This is Fuchan Salve, which has remarkable healing effects. Take it and use it."

"Thank you, Master, for bestowing this medicine." Zhu Yingxiong stepped forward with visible excitement and accepted the porcelain bottle with both hands.

"Go." Zen Master Worryless slowly closed his eyes. "If you distinguish yourself in this minor tournament, another opportunity awaits you."

"Yes, this disciple takes his leave."

Zhu Yingxiong bowed and withdrew from the meditation room.

After closing the door, he stood before the stone steps and let out a soft breath. The morning chill seeped into his lungs, clearing his mind.

I didn't expect things to go so smoothly. With this as a safeguard, I can try it without restraint.

During the day, he meditated and listened to scriptures. Everything he displayed remained as usual.

When the evening lesson bell ceased, the monks gradually dispersed, and Mount Song slowly became wrapped in twilight.

By the time Zhu Yingxiong returned to his meditation room, the night was as dark as spilled ink. He lit an oil lamp, its dim yellow glow barely driving back the darkness in one corner.

He went to the bed and bent down to feel around deep beneath it. His fingertips touched a loose brick. He gently pried it open and took out a gray cloth bundle from the hidden compartment.

By candlelight, he untied the cloth knots layer by layer.

An ancient book appeared before him. Opening it, he saw yellowed pages bearing what was plainly an ordinary copy of the Lankavatara Sutra.

Looking closer, he found tiny characters interspersed between the lines of scripture. They were a copy of the Muscle-Tendon Transformation Scripture that he had secretly transcribed.

He sat cross-legged on the bed, took out the white porcelain bottle, and removed its stopper. The salve within lay somewhere between liquid and congealed cream. Its color was gentle, and it carried a faint, fresh herbal scent.

This Fuchan Salve could be used both externally and internally. Applied externally, it treated wounds from blades and swords; taken internally, it could heal internal injuries.

He did not hesitate, tilting his head back and pouring the salve into his mouth. One drop, two drops, three drops—the crisp fragrance of herbs instantly spread across his tongue and flowed down his throat, invigorating even his spirit.

As the medicinal power gradually spread through his body, the stabbing pain in his dantian and meridians greatly eased.

Zhu Yingxiong did not delay. Taking advantage of the medicine's nourishing effects, he opened his handwritten copy of the Muscle-Tendon Transformation Scripture and silently read it page by page.

Sure enough, pale golden ripples spread before his eyes once more.

[Meaning Analysis: Muscle-Tendon Transformation Scripture]

"Transformation" is the root of yin and yang's changes, their ceaseless circulation;

"tendons" bind the body's form and are the source through which force is transmitted.

The true meaning of this scripture lies not merely in strengthening tendons and bones. It is truly the supreme method of "using innate strength to transform acquired weakness," cleansing away the mortal body and returning against the current to the innate state.

[Diagram of the General Principles of Qi Circulation: (A human outline appeared, its major meridians lighting up one by one, with clear annotations for every vital-energy circulation point.)]

[The mind is paramount: be thoughtless and unattached, like a bright mirror and still water. Forced pursuit creates obstacles; reckless movement leads astray.]

Seeing this, he finally understood why the original owner had repeatedly failed and even injured himself. This divine art placed excessively harsh demands on one's state of mind. The more one clung to it and forced the issue, the more easily one fell into obstruction.

Rather than immediately circulating his energy according to the "diagram," he began softly chanting the Shurangama Mantra.

As the mantra began, it washed over his heart like a clear spring. The disturbances of the outside world, the lingering pain within his body, his plans for the future... all sorts of distracting thoughts quietly receded like the tide, and the lake of his heart gradually returned to clarity.

Zhu Yingxiong lowered his brows and eyes, his expression serene and composed, like an ancient well without a ripple.

Without sorrow or joy, without thought or attachment.

In such a state of mind, the vital-energy circulation points shown in the meridian diagram naturally reflected clearly in his heart. His inner force quietly stirred in response, flowing along its paths like a spring stream newly thawed.

His breathing unconsciously grew deep and slow. The intervals between each exhalation and inhalation became longer and longer, until they seemed unbroken yet barely present, finally merging into a primal rhythm close to fetal breathing.

Seated cross-legged upon the bed, his aura became deep and still, his bearing solemn and dignified. He unexpectedly shared a faint trace of spiritual resonance with the boldly inked character for "Zen" on the meditation room wall.

After a while, a point of warm, gentle energy quietly emerged deep within the qi sea of his dantian.

That warmth gradually gathered and brightened, taking form from the void like a newly condensed golden dewdrop. It revolved luminously in the depths of his qi sea, its radiance contained within.

This was innate qi. Daoists called it "the innate primal qi," while Buddhists called it "the luminosity of original nature."

In this world, eight or nine out of ten cultivation methods tempered acquired qi. The profundity of the Muscle-Tendon Transformation Scripture lay in the fact that it did not linger on the manipulation of acquired qi, but pointed directly to the source: awakening the innate qi within the body and guiding it to resonate and merge with the clear spiritual qi of heaven and earth, endlessly renewing itself.

With a slight movement of his will, a fine stream separated from that "golden dew"—as thin as a hair and as warm as jade—and slowly rose from the qi sea. It first entered the Zhongfu Acupoint, the starting point of the Hand Taiyin Lung Meridian, then traveled along the front inner side of his arm, passing through the Chize and Kongzui Acupoints until it reached the Shaoshang Acupoint on his thumb.

The beginning of the Muscle-Tendon Transformation Scripture placed foremost importance on clearing and tempering the twelve primary meridians. These twelve meridians were the main channels through which qi and blood flowed in the human body, connecting the organs and linking all limbs and bones. To achieve the effect of "transforming tendons," the Muscle-Tendon Transformation Scripture first had to make qi and blood surge like spring water, free of all blockage, before laying the foundation for the subsequent rebirth of body and bone.

The Yongquan Acupoint on the sole of his foot grew faintly warm, while the Shaoshang Acupoint on his thumb tingled slightly, as though a clear breeze were passing out through it.

His mind remained unmoved as he continued circulating his energy according to the "diagram."

His innate qi was like a zither string, while the qi of heaven and earth was like wind. When wind passed over strings, they naturally rang in harmony.

He became utterly oblivious to himself, unaware of time passing.

Until—

Dong—

The bell rang again, majestic and vast, like an invisible tide sweeping through the window paper and flooding the entire room.

Zhu Yingxiong slowly opened his eyes.

Clear light flowed within them, deeply contained. It flickered now and then, as though a profound river of stars lay hidden inside.

Daylight outside the window had already fully brightened. An entire night had passed.

He rose from the bed and walked toward the door. There was none of yesterday's unsteadiness in his steps; a naturally harmonious air now accompanied every movement.

He pushed open the door, and morning sunlight poured over his face. This time, he finally felt a gentle warmth throughout his body.

He narrowed his eyes slightly and looked toward the growing bustle in the courtyard.

At the Dharma Hall's minor tournament the day after tomorrow, he would give everyone a surprise.