Palm and Finger Duel, Victory in Three Fingers

"The first match: Yuan Hui versus Yuan Zhen."

As Elder Dustless, the supervising elder, announced it, the Dharma Hall disciples all turned to look at Zhu Yingxiong. Yuan Cheng lightly patted his shoulder.

Zhu Yingxiong looked calm as he stepped forward with steady strides toward the center of the square.

"Go, Martial Uncle Yuan Zhen!"

A young voice rose from behind him, carrying nervousness and eager excitement. It was the little novice Pure Affinity.

That cry was like a stone dropped into a still lake. From the Dharma Hall ranks, voices began to rise one after another—

"Senior Brother Yuan Zhen!"

"Junior Brother Yuan Zhen!"

"Win a victory in the opening bout!"

"Do not disgrace the Dharma Hall!"

The cheers rose and fell, starting as scattered calls before gradually merging into a single chorus.

Zhu Yingxiong did not turn back. He merely steadied his steps and continued forward.

At that moment, he was fighting on behalf of the entire Dharma Hall. He bore everyone's hopes and support.

Before everyone's eyes, Zhu Yingxiong and Yuan Hui arrived at the center of the grounds. They stood facing each other, two zhang apart.

Elder Dustless, the supervising elder, stepped between them. His stern gaze swept over their young faces as he said in a deep voice, "This is a sparring match. Stop when the point is made. Display what you have learned, but do not deliberately injure one another."

"Now, begin." With that, he drifted back to the edge of the field, leaving the space to the two of them.

"Junior Brother Yuan Zhen." Yuan Hui spoke first. "At last, I can test myself against you. I have looked forward to this battle for a long time."

"If that is so—" Zhu Yingxiong raised his right palm slightly in a gesture of invitation, his tone calm. "Senior Brother, please."

"Good."

Yuan Hui showed no courtesy. Before his voice had faded, his toes tapped the ground and he shot forward like an arrow, crossing the distance of a zhang in an instant.

In midair, his right palm flipped over. A vast, incomparable invisible palm force struck down through the air toward Zhu Yingxiong's chest!

Zhu Yingxiong's expression did not change. His right hand pointed from afar with the Golden Needle Finger, and a sharp gust hissed through the air from his fingertip, striking precisely at the core of the palm force.

"Pop—"

A soft sound, like a stone falling into a cold pond. The palm force scattered at once.

Yet even as Yuan Hui's right palm descended, his left palm rose. He changed his breath in midair, his palms striking out in alternation. Three waves of palm force followed one after another. Before the first had dissipated, the next had already arrived, surging through the air like overlapping tides and crashing down upon Zhu Yingxiong with even greater force!

The palm wind arrived first, howling fiercely. Zhu Yingxiong's monk's robes billowed violently behind him as though tugged by invisible hands.

"What a Three-Layered Waves of the Eight Strikes of the Divine Palm!" someone below blurted out in praise.

Zhu Yingxiong's expression turned solemn. He held his right palm before his chest, his index finger raised like a peak. Against the onrushing palm wind, he actually closed his eyes for an instant. Then he opened them and thrust out his finger—

The finger strike made no sound, yet it seemed to pluck an invisible thread from the void. Its force pierced through the first palm strike, then the second, then the third.

Bang!

A dull burst exploded where their forces collided. A ring of air blasted outward from between them, stirring up the dust on the ground before the gusts pressed it back down.

One finger strike had broken through three palm forces in succession.

"Oh?"

On the viewing platform before the main hall, Yan Wuju leaned forward slightly. A rare flash of surprise crossed his previously indifferent eyes.

He turned to Worryless, seated several places to his left, his tone carrying a trace of inquiry and confirmation.

"Senior Brother Worryless, if Yan has not misjudged."

"Could the technique this Martial Nephew Yuan Zhen used be One-Finger Zen?"

"Amitabha." Worryless lowered his eyelids, concealing the fleeting satisfaction and complexity in his gaze. "It is indeed One-Finger Zen."

At those words, the surrounding monks all stirred. Even Bitterless, the usually stern head of the Prajna Hall, showed obvious emotion on his face as he softly chanted a Buddhist invocation.

"Amitabha—Martial Nephew Yuan Zhen has actually mastered this art. At such an age, with such comprehension... truly remarkable!" He paused, letting out a long, meaningful sigh.

By then, the battle in the field had changed once more.

Though his three palm strikes had achieved nothing, Yuan Hui was not discouraged in the slightest. His toes lightly touched the flagstones, and in a flash, he had closed to within three chi of Zhu Yingxiong!

Closing in, he struck with his palms—

In an instant, his hands flew as he unleashed four consecutive palm strikes. Four palm shadows attacked Zhu Yingxiong's chest, ribs, shoulders, and abdomen, swift as thunder and dense as a torrential rain, incomparably fierce!

If their earlier exchange had been a contest between internal palm force and finger force, difficult to distinguish in superiority, then this was close combat—a contest of techniques and adaptations, changing by the instant.

Zhu Yingxiong's pupils contracted slightly, but he neither dodged nor retreated. His right index finger moved like a swimming dragon, striking four times in rapid succession within that tiny space—

The first strike hit the palm root, cutting off its source of power;

The second struck the palm center, breaking its momentum;

The third hit the side of the palm, deflecting its edge;

The fourth struck the tiger's mouth, severing its follow-up.

After the four finger strikes landed, all four of Yuan Hui's palm attacks fell empty.

"Good!" Yuan Hui showed no discouragement at all. The fighting spirit in his eyes only burned hotter.

His palm technique abruptly changed. When his palms struck out again, their shadows swayed lightly like lotus petals in the wind, blooming one after another. They resembled luxuriant blossoms upon branches, dazzling to the eye—beautiful, yet exceedingly dangerous.

"It is the Scatter Blossom Palm." Someone below cried out in alarm.

"Senior Brother Yuan Hui truly deserves his reputation as a martial arts prodigy seen once in a century!" another exclaimed. "At his age, he has already mastered two of Shaolin's ultimate arts!"

Faced with the Scatter Blossom Palm, Zhu Yingxiong stepped backward.

It was the first time Zhu Yingxiong had been forced back since entering the field.

On the platform, the elders nodded faintly, their eyes full of approval. To possess such accomplishments at his age, he indeed deserved the title of prodigy.

Only Bitterless, the head of the Prajna Hall, furrowed his brow deeply. He watched the figure darting about the field like the wind, launching fierce attacks, his gaze heavy and silent.

In the field, Zhu Yingxiong took only one step back before immediately steadying himself. His center of gravity sank sharply, and the index and middle fingers of his left hand joined together like a sword, thrusting straight into the center of those flower-like palm shadows.

"Hiss."

An exceedingly soft, thin sound of tearing air.

In an instant, the palm shadows filling the sky scattered like pricked bubbles. Zhu Yingxiong's sword fingers landed squarely upon the center of Yuan Hui's outstretched right palm.

Zhu Yingxiong had used the Zen intent of One-Finger Zen, supplemented by the realm of "Contemplation" from the Ten Forms of No-Thought, to see through his opponent's flaw.

"Eh?"

On the platform, a ripple finally appeared on Abbot Questionless's face, which had always been as tranquil as an ancient well. He uttered a soft sound of surprise, and divine light flared in his eyes.

At the same time, Yan Wuju, Worryless, Bitterless, Angerless, and Fearless, the five hall heads, all focused their gazes on the field at the exact same moment.

Then, almost simultaneously, their eyes turned in unspoken agreement toward the old monk seated to Abbot Questionless's left.

Master No-Thought wore a smile. His eyes were as clear as an infant's and yet as deep as an abyss, and they now rested with great interest upon the Dharma Hall disciple who still retained some youthful elegance.

The eminent monks exchanged looks, but none spoke.

Yuan Hui felt as if his palm had been pierced by a needle. He grunted dully, his offensive immediately stalling as he retreated several steps in helplessness.

But once he had steadied himself, he gathered his breath and launched another fierce attack.

His palm technique changed again.

Both palms struck out together, abruptly splitting apart in midair—two became four, four became eight, eight became sixteen... In the blink of an eye, the sky was filled with palm shadows. Like the Thousand-Armed Guanyin spreading her arms, they layered over one another and pressed down upon Zhu Yingxiong from all directions.

Faced with such a display, the monks watching below could only stare in shock.

"Thousand-Hand Tathagata Palm!"

An elder with white hair and beard on the platform blurted it out in disbelief.

This was already the third ultimate palm technique Yuan Hui had used in this battle.

The Prajna Hall disciples erupted into cheers.

In contrast, the Dharma Hall side fell utterly silent. Everyone stared at the palm shadows that nearly swallowed Zhu Yingxiong whole, their hearts heavy. With such power, such grandeur, how could Junior Brother Yuan Zhen possibly respond?

Was defeat already certain?

Only Yuan Cheng watched Zhu Yingxiong's back with unwavering eyes, as though he had complete faith in his strength.

Yet in the field, Zhu Yingxiong, facing that sky-full of palm shadows, had a gleam flash in his eyes. He did not retreat even half a step.

He raised his right index finger and, with an almost leisurely composure, lightly tapped three times at the palm shadows descending upon him.

"Hmph—"

A suppressed groan sounded. The palm shadows filling the sky receded like a retreating tide, and Yuan Hui clutched his chest as he staggered backward—one step, then another.

Only after retreating seven or eight steps did he barely stabilize himself. One hand braced against the ground while the other clutched his chest. His face was full of stunned disbelief and horror.

Below the field, silence fell for a breath.

Then an uproar erupted!

Most of the several hundred monks below had not seen clearly why Yuan Hui, who had just held overwhelming momentum and the upper hand, had suddenly been injured and forced back.

Yuan Hui's face was pale and ashen. He was clearly unable to continue fighting.

"Amitabha. Yuan Zhen wins this match." Elder Dustless, the supervising elder, had already entered the field and announced the result directly.

The Prajna Hall monks looked at one another, unable to understand how this had happened.

After several breaths of silence, the Dharma Hall disciples suddenly erupted into cheers that they had been suppressing for far too long.

They too had failed to see what had happened in that instant, but the victor was Yuan Zhen—their Dharma Hall's Yuan Zhen!

On the platform, however, those of profound cultivation—Master No-Thought, Abbot Questionless, Yan Wuju, and the four hall heads—had all seen it clearly.

Zhu Yingxiong had not been deceived by the imposing palm technique. He had seen through its substance and, with three successive finger strikes, hit Yuan Hui's vulnerable vital points at Yunmen, Tiantu, and Shanzhong.

Yuan Hui slowly straightened up, still clutching his chest, his expression dazed. He still could not believe he had lost so thoroughly.

He clearly possessed multiple ultimate palm techniques. His attacks had clearly surged like waves. Clearly...

Noisy voices rose among the Prajna Hall disciples as they argued and debated.

"Amitabha."

The Buddhist invocation was not loud, yet it was like an evening drum, suppressing all the clamor in the field.

The Prajna Hall monks followed the sound and saw that it was Bitterless, their hall head. They lowered their heads and gradually fell silent.

"Yuan Hui, do you know why you lost?" Bitterless asked.

Yuan Hui's lips trembled as he answered painfully, "This disciple... does not know."

"Do you still remember what I told you before you went to the Scripture Repository?" Bitterless asked sternly.

"Master told this disciple that Shaolin martial arts are vast and profound, and one must not greedily pursue too many..." Yuan Hui's voice grew softer and softer, but his gaze could not help drifting toward Zhu Yingxiong.

"Foolish child." Bitterless sighed. "You appear to have learned much, but your learning is scattered and lacking in refinement."

"Meanwhile, Martial Nephew Yuan Zhen used only a single finger technique from beginning to end. His finger force is pure; where his intent goes, his qi follows, and he can unleash and withdraw it as he wishes. This is what it means to have 'grasped the essence.' Your defeat at his hands was not unjust."

Yuan Hui stood frozen in place.

He could not help recalling Zhu Yingxiong in the Scripture Repository, flipping through ultimate manuals one after another. It was from that moment that a thought had arisen in him: If he can read them, why can't I?

So he, too, had taken down one volume, then another.

If Zhu Yingxiong knew what he was thinking, he could only apologize. He had not meant to do it on purpose. After all, I have a cheat. How can you compete with that?

In truth, if Yuan Hui had not used the Thousand-Hand Tathagata Palm at the end, he would not have lost so quickly.

Zhu Yingxiong had already recorded most of Shaolin's ultimate arts. Since he knew in advance who his opponent would be, he naturally made good use of his cheat to analyze his opponent's martial arts.

Yuan Hui specialized in palm techniques. In the Scripture Repository, Zhu Yingxiong had seen him studying manuals such as the Eight Strikes of the Divine Palm and Great Compassion Thousand-Leaf Hand.

He had long since used his cheat to "analyze the meaning" of the major palm techniques. Every essential point was as clear to him as the lines on his palm. Although Yuan Hui had unexpectedly used the Scatter Blossom Palm, which Zhu Yingxiong had failed to account for, Zhu Yingxiong had resolved it with his own strength.

The Thousand-Hand Tathagata Palm Yuan Hui used afterward had already been analyzed by Zhu Yingxiong. Moreover, Yuan Hui had clearly not mastered it to a sufficient level. Though it looked overwhelming, it was riddled with flaws.

Thus, to the eyes of others, it had seemed as though Zhu Yingxiong had casually shattered those sky-full of palm shadows with three light finger strikes.

"Master, this disciple knows his error." Yuan Hui pressed his palms together and bowed deeply toward Bitterless on the platform, his voice hoarse and low.

Bitterless looked at him with satisfaction and slowly nodded. "To know one's error and correct it—there is no greater good."

Yuan Hui bowed once more, then turned and withdrew. His steps were heavy. Though he was unwilling to accept it, defeat was defeat.

Zhu Yingxiong also left the field and headed toward the Dharma Hall ranks. The moment he returned, he was met with a wave of cheers, everyone's joy plain to see.

No one knew where little novice Pure Affinity had slipped out from, but he appeared before him, looking up with sparkling eyes. He only managed to say, "Martial Uncle, you are amazing," before his voice was swallowed by the greater clamor around them.

On the platform, Bitterless turned to Worryless beside him and said with a smile,

"Junior Brother Worryless, you have accepted an excellent disciple."

Abbot Questionless also nodded slightly, a pleased smile on his face. "One-Finger Zen has reappeared among Shaolin's younger generation. Martial Nephew Yuan Zhen truly possesses deep spiritual roots."

Yan Wuju looked toward Zhu Yingxiong amid the crowd, his gaze flickering slightly. He then turned to Worryless and said with a smile, "This child possesses both excellent character and exceptional comprehension. Senior Brother Worryless, congratulations."

Worryless returned the gesture with palms pressed together. His expression remained peaceful, though a faint trace of delight showed in his eyes.

"Amitabha. You all overpraise him. He is still young, and the road ahead is long."

Though he said so, when he looked toward the figure below surrounded by his fellow disciples, the corners of his lips ultimately lifted slightly.

Over there, the cheers from the Dharma Hall ranks had yet to fade. On the Prajna Hall side, though the monks still looked unwilling, they gradually quieted after Yuan Hui lowered his head and admitted his fault, and Bitterless nodded in consolation.

As matters in the field gradually settled, the supervising elder's voice rang out once more, announcing the names for the next match.

"The next match."

"Arhat Hall, Yuan Tong!"

"Versus—"

"Discipline Hall, Yuan Jie!"

Immediately, thunderous cheers erupted from the direction of the Arhat Hall, echoing back and forth above the flagstone square. The Discipline Hall, however, remained exceptionally quiet and restrained.

Yuan Tong stepped out from among the Arhat Hall disciples.

He was already powerfully built, and beneath his monk's robes, his muscles bulged like bronze cast over iron, seeming to contain the strength of a thousand jin. He looked straight ahead and walked step by step toward the center of the field.

At the same time, Yuan Jie stepped out from the Discipline Hall side.

His back was ramrod straight, his expression cold and hard. Neither joy nor anger showed between his brows, and only his eyes remained calm as still water. His steps were steady and restrained, each one as precise as though measured.

One was fierce and powerful, the other composed and steady. They entered the center of the field from opposite directions at the same time.