Shaolin's Foremost Master, Grandmaster Wuxiang Monk

The moment Zhu Yingxiong's gaze fell upon the man at the front, it was as though drawn to a magnet, impossible to pull away. He completely overlooked the person following behind him.

He was an elderly monk whose age could not be guessed.

His face was rosy, his skin as smooth as a baby's. Yet his eyes were clear and profound, as though endless years had settled within their pupils, filled with the wisdom and weathered traces of time's passage. Divine light was contained within them; wherever his gaze fell, it seemed capable of seeing through men's hearts and discerning the essence of all appearances.

His steps were unhurried and composed, and not a trace of imposing pressure radiated from him. Yet simply standing there quietly, he possessed an air that set him apart from the world.

Everyone in the hall, from Bu Wen Abbot downward, rose involuntarily and pressed their palms together in salute, respectfully calling out:

"Senior Brother Wuxiang."

"Junior Brother Wuxiang."

The newcomer was none other than Wuxiang Monk, a grandmaster-level expert hailed as Shaolin's foremost man.

"Wasn't Senior Brother traveling the world? You actually rushed back as well," Fearless Zen Master said.

This Wuxiang Monk was often elusive, appearing and disappearing without warning. None of the monks had expected him to return in time; evidently, only Bu Wen Abbot had received word.

Master Wuxiang's gentle gaze swept across the crowd. "This competition concerns the selection of the Eight Sects' seeds and the fortunes of our Shaolin for decades to come. Naturally, this old monk had to come and see it for himself."

With that, he turned slightly and said to the young man following behind him, "Junsheng, come forward and pay your respects to the elders of our sect and your outstanding peers."

Only then did Zhu Yingxiong and the others notice the man behind Master Wuxiang. He was a young man in his early twenties, dressed in splendid embroidered robes with a longsword at his waist. His features were handsome and heroic, and his eyes shone with confidence. There was a sharpness about him, the bearing of one born to a prominent family and successful at a young age.

Upon hearing this, the young man immediately stepped forward several paces and bowed with easy grace. His voice was bright and clear. "This junior is Ma Junsheng. Greetings, Abbot. Greetings, Martial Uncles and Martial Uncles. Greetings, Senior Brothers."

"Ma Junsheng?" Yan Wuju, seated on the right, showed a faint flicker in his eyes as he asked, "Is Luoyang Ma Family Fort's lord, Ma Renming, your father?"

"Indeed, he is. Martial Uncle Yan knows my father?" Ma Junsheng replied respectfully, though a hint of pride in his lineage remained impossible to conceal in his eyes.

"Yes, we have met several times." Yan Wuju nodded slightly, then turned to Master Wuxiang. With rare gentleness and approval in his tone, he said, "Senior Brother Wuxiang, this outstanding disciple of yours is indeed extraordinary. A famous master produces exceptional disciples. He is truly an outstanding talent among men."

"You flatter him, Junior Brother Yan," Master Wuxiang replied calmly. Then his tone shifted. "I brought him here precisely so he could see the true standouts among Shaolin's younger generation from the various halls. I wonder which martial nephews will represent the four halls this time?"

Hearing this, Bu Wen Abbot smiled and raised a hand. "Yuan Jie, Yuan Hui, Yuan Tong, Yuan Zhen, the four of you come forward and let Martial Uncle Wuxiang have a look."

The four obeyed and stepped out, walking to the center of the main hall before saluting Master Wuxiang in unison.

Master Wuxiang's gaze passed over Yuan Jie and the other three in turn. When he saw Zhu Yingxiong standing at the very end, his face still bearing some youthful refinement, divine light flowed through his clear eyes, marked by the years. A distinct flash of surprise crossed his face before it finally became a brief utterance. "Good."

Looking at the four of them, he spoke gently, yet his voice carried strength. "Shaolin's future and the fortunes of the righteous path will ultimately rest upon the shoulders of your younger generation. I hope you will cultivate diligently without pause, bring glory to the martial arts, maintain righteous hearts, and protect all living beings."

When he finished, he said to Ma Junsheng behind him, "Junsheng, from now on, you should often seek guidance from these fellow disciples."

"Yes, Master." Ma Junsheng agreed obediently and stepped forward to greet Yuan Jie and the others one by one. His manners were impeccable and his smile appropriate, but when his gaze shifted—especially when it passed over the youngest, Zhu Yingxiong—the disdain in his expression was scarcely concealed.

Master Wuxiang took in his disciple's manner completely, but he did not expose it.

He knew that this disciple possessed both outstanding talent and an excellent family background, so he could not help being proud and arrogant. He had brought him here precisely to let him see the finest among his peers and temper that arrogance.

"Junior Brother No Attachment did not return with you this time?" Bu Wen Abbot turned and asked Master Wuxiang.

"No Attachment has already set out for the Pure Thought Chan Sect. I fear he will not return anytime soon," Master Wuxiang answered briefly.

Bu Wen Abbot understood that this matter was not suitable for public discussion, so he nodded slightly and did not press further. He swept his gaze around the hall and announced in a ringing voice, "Since everyone has arrived and the time has come, this year's year-end martial assembly shall begin."

"Everyone, please proceed outside to observe the ceremony."

"Please, Abbot," everyone replied in unison.

Bu Wen Abbot said nothing more and led the way out of the hall. Master Wuxiang, Yan Wuju, the heads of the various halls, the lay guests, and the elders followed in turn.

Outside the main hall, the plaza had already taken on a different atmosphere.

The bluestone ground was spotless, and a broad martial arts arena had long since been cleared in the center.

Several hundred monks gathered densely around the plaza. Their previous whispers and chatter abruptly fell into utter silence the instant the abbot and elders appeared upon the high steps before the hall.

Then all the monks pressed their palms together and bowed. Their voices surged like a tide, solemn and magnificent. "Greetings, Abbot! Greetings, Elders!"

Bu Wen Abbot's kind yet dignified gaze swept over the entire gathering. His voice, carried by inner force, reached every disciple's ears with perfect clarity:

"The year draws to its end, and all things are renewed. Our Shaolin has stood for a thousand years. We cultivate Chan through martial arts and nurture martial arts through Chan. Upholding precepts, striving diligently, protecting the Dharma, and defending the righteous path—these are the foundations passed down by generations of patriarchs.

"This year-end martial assembly serves two purposes. First, to assess the fruits of your diligent cultivation over the past year, to spar and sharpen one another, and to jointly verify the principles of martial arts and Chan. Second, to uphold fairness and justice, select the worthy and capable, preserve our legacy, and bring glory to our sect.

"I hope all disciples will abide by martial virtue, stop at the proper point, display your true abilities, and harbor neither arrogance nor impatience. Victory and defeat are but momentary marks; cultivation is the work of a lifetime. May the Buddha's light shine upon us, and may this competition conclude with perfect merit."

As his words fell, the plaza once more resounded with a unified Buddhist invocation: "Amitabha!"

Amid the lingering echoes, the abbot, Master Wuxiang, Yan Wuju, and the others took their seats at the designated places of honor in the center before the hall.

Bu Wen Abbot sat in the center, Master Wuxiang on his left, and Yan Wuju on his right. The heads of Dharma Hall, Prajna Hall, the Precepts Hall, and Arhat Hall sat in order beneath Master Wuxiang on the left.

Cheng Wang, Zhida Zen Master, Du Dahong, and the other lay guests sat beneath Yan Wuju on the right. The remaining temple elders occupied the viewing seats on both sides.

For a time, the high steps before the hall were filled with distinguished figures, every gaze fixed upon the center of the plaza.

Once everyone was seated, the arena fell solemnly quiet. An elder in charge of discipline stepped forward and proclaimed loudly, "The martial assembly begins—martial monks from each hall, take the stage and demonstrate your arts!"

At the command, the martial monks of each hall began taking turns to demonstrate the foundational techniques and complete forms they had studied over the past year.

Staff shadows whirled across the arena, fist winds howled, and cries rose one after another. The spectacle was quite magnificent. The abbot, hall heads, and guests watched intently, occasionally conversing in low voices. They nodded faintly at those who performed well, while attendant monks recorded their names for later evaluation.

Though the several hundred monks around the plaza also enjoyed the spectacle, applauding and cheering, what most of them truly anticipated was the coming showdown among the elites of the four halls—a fierce clash that concerned each hall's reputation and displayed Shaolin's highest standard among the younger generation.

At last, the massive group demonstration concluded.

The elder slowly walked to the front of the stage, channeled his inner force, and let his voice carry across the entire plaza. "The demonstrations from each hall have concluded. Next, the disciples of the four halls will compete. It begins now!"

The audience instantly fell so silent that one could hear a pin drop, every gaze focusing on the arena.

The rules for the matches had already been announced beforehand. The order of the bouts had also been determined by drawing lots. In the first round, each match would be decided in a single bout, with the victor advancing.

At that moment, the elder's voice suddenly rose, clearly announcing the names of the first competitors:

"First match!"

"Prajna Hall, Yuan Hui!"

"Versus—"

"Dharma Hall, Yuan Zhen!"