Golden Bell Iron Shirt, Clothed-Contact Eighteen Falls

On the plaza, Yuan Tong and Yuan Jie stood facing each other.

Yuan Tong had already removed his upper garment, revealing muscular shoulders and arms, his sinews and bones seemingly forged from solid rock.

At Supervisor Dustless's call of "Begin."

"Hah!"

Yuan Tong let out a thunderous roar.

Like a tiger bursting from its cage, he crossed the distance of two zhang in just a few strides.

His iron fist shot straight at Yuan Jie's face.

The punch was fierce and domineering, without a trace of embellishment. Its wind struck his face, savage beyond compare.

Yet facing Yuan Tong's heavy, powerful blow, Yuan Jie showed not the slightest panic.

He sank his waist into a horse stance, reached out his right hand at an angle, deflected the fist, seized the wrist, and turned to draw him aside.

That deflection, grip, and pull flowed as smoothly as drifting clouds and running water, a delight to behold.

Yuan Tong's thunderous charge was lightly guided off course by him.

It was Shaolin's secret grappling art, Clothed-Contact Eighteen Falls. Using softness to overcome hardness and borrowing an opponent's strength against them, Yuan Jie performed it as though without effort, yet he had already grasped its true essence.

Taking advantage of Yuan Tong's unsteady footing, Yuan Jie's left hand darted out, his five fingers hooked like claws as they seized for the opening beneath Yuan Tong's ribs!

In that instant, Yuan Tong suddenly stamped his foot.

"Thud—"

A heavy sound rang out. Cracks faintly appeared in the green bricks beneath his feet, his momentum abruptly halted and his body as steady as Mount Tai. It was the skill known as Thousand-Kilogram Drop.

At the same time, his left fist shot out from beneath his ribs, striking directly at Yuan Jie's claw.

"Bang!"

Fist and claw collided, their force surging outward and billowing their sleeves!

Both bodies swayed as they each retreated a step.

When their feet hit the ground, another muffled "thud" sounded.

Yet the moment they regained their footing, they lunged at one another again!

They instantly became locked in combat.

"Bang! Bang! Bang!"

The sound of fists and claws colliding was like heavy hammers pounding drums, each strike more urgent than the last as it exploded across the bluestone plaza.

The several hundred monks below held their breath, staring without blinking.

Compared to Yuan Zhen and Yuan Hui's earlier match of palm and finger techniques from afar, this battle contained no probing. From the very start, it was close-quarters combat, every blow landing against flesh. It left the spectators dazzled and their blood surging.

Zhu Yingxiong was likewise watching intently, his gaze moving back and forth between the two figures as he carefully analyzed their martial arts.

After all, the victor would compete against him for first place in the next round.

Yuan Tong unleashed both fists, every punch carrying the force to split steles and shatter stone. His fist wind howled, and even from several zhang away, one could feel the oppressive force of his unmatched ferocity.

Yuan Jie's hands danced through the air, seizing, grasping, locking, and buckling. His claw techniques were exquisite, using softness to overcome hardness and skill to break strength.

One was hard and one soft, one fierce and one ingenious. Their styles differed completely, yet both were orthodox branches of Shaolin martial arts.

But anyone with a discerning eye could see that, in terms of the subtlety of their moves alone, Yuan Jie held the advantage.

Several times, he had used grappling techniques to lock onto Yuan Tong's arms, wrists, ribs, shoulders, and neck. Wherever his fingers exerted force, an ordinary martial monk would already have gone weak in the bones and numb in the sinews, helplessly submitting.

Yet his fingertips felt as though they had struck wood or leather, producing dull thuds without ever achieving a real result.

Clearly, Yuan Tong's Golden Bell Iron Shirt external hardening technique had rendered Yuan Jie's grappling temporarily ineffective.

Yuan Jie's assault abruptly accelerated.

His footwork was elusive, constantly shifting left and right. Claw shadows swarmed like locusts as he continuously changed angles, probing all over Yuan Tong's body: throat, armpits, waist and ribs, nape, backs of the knees...

"Senior Brother Yuan Jie is searching for his weak points," Yuan Cheng said quietly.

Zhu Yingxiong nodded slightly.

Everyone knew Yuan Tong cultivated the external hardening art of Golden Bell Iron Shirt, but no one knew precisely what level he had attained.

With Golden Bell Iron Shirt, the weak points differed according to one's level of cultivation.

Unless the practitioner disclosed them personally, or someone tested every acupoint across his body with finger force, outsiders had no way of knowing.

Thus, Yuan Jie was testing where Yuan Tong's weak points lay.

Naturally, Yuan Tong understood his opponent's intentions.

But he only occasionally bent his arms and dropped his elbows to ward off claw strikes aimed at vital areas such as his throat, eyes, and armpits. He ignored every other claw strike, simply sinking into his stance and opening and closing his fists in broad arcs as he launched an all-out assault with the Great Strength Vajra Fist!

Every punch was delivered with his full strength.

Yuan Tong's fist force was fierce. Each time Yuan Jie received a blow, his body inevitably stalled slightly. Yet his internal energy was deep; after the briefest pause, he recovered, his claw attacks continuing in an unbroken and vicious counteroffensive.

These two—one with skin of bronze and bones of iron, powerful and fierce; the other with deep internal energy and ingenious grappling.

The clash of fists and claws rang without end. Their figures separated and converged time and again, but neither could gain the upper hand.

The several hundred monks below alternately erupted in cheers and gasped in alarm, their eyes unable to keep up as they shouted their delight.

"Both of them are formidable opponents," Yuan Cheng said with feeling.

"Yes." Zhu Yingxiong nodded in agreement, his gaze never leaving the arena.

On the viewing platform, Abbot Questionless, Monk No-Thought, and the heads of the four halls were also watching intently, all showing satisfaction. Regardless of who won this match, it was already cause for celebration that Shaolin's younger generation possessed these two.

"Senior Brother Angerless." Yan Wuju suddenly spoke, his tone carrying a measure of earnestness. "This nephew Yuan Jie—would you be willing to let him train with my Embroidered Uniform Guard for a few years?"

Yan Wuju had taken a liking to Yuan Jie.

Chan Master Angerless raised his eyes and glanced at him, saying only, "That depends on his own wishes."

Hearing this, Yan Wuju said no more. His gaze merely returned to the calm, pine-steady figure in the arena. Clearly, he had taken the matter to heart and intended to recruit him after the match.

"Dragon-Capturing Hand!" With a cry of alarm, the situation in the arena suddenly changed.

Yuan Jie spread the five fingers of his right hand and unleashed a fierce claw technique. Like a cloud dragon extending its claws, its trajectory was elusive and unpredictable. It had actually bypassed Yuan Tong's guarding left arm and seized straight for his vulnerable throat!

Yuan Tong seemed unable to defend against this grab.

Yuan Jie's five fingers were just about to close around his throat.

With his vital throat seized, Yuan Tong paid it no heed at all and drove his Great Vajra Fist straight toward Yuan Jie's chest.

He was actually trading injury for injury, using a tactic that would leave both sides wounded!

Cries of alarm erupted below. Supervisor Elder Dustless had already leaned forward, his right hand within his sleeve gathering force, prepared to intervene at any moment.

The next instant—

Yuan Jie's five fingers did indeed seize Yuan Tong's throat. Yet rather than showing the joy of success, his expression suddenly changed!

"Bang!"

Yuan Jie flew backward, skidding more than six chi across the bluestone ground before barely steadying himself. A flush of red flashed across his face.

As for Yuan Tong, though several red marks had been clawed into his throat, they were only superficial wounds.

Yuan Jie slowly lowered his trembling left hand from before his chest, exhaled a breath of white vapor, and then said:

"I lost." He actually conceded on his own initiative.

Yuan Tong had already stepped half a pace forward, but stopped upon hearing this. Beneath his thick brows, a trace of confusion passed through his eyes.

In the blink of an eye, before the monks below could even see what had happened, they heard Yuan Jie voluntarily concede. For a moment, they looked at one another in bewilderment.

"Junior Brother Yuan Zhen, what do you think?" Yuan Cheng asked quietly.

Zhu Yingxiong looked at the burly figure in the arena, the corners of his lips lifting slightly.

"I never expected that Senior Brother Yuan Tong, who looks so honest and straightforward, would know how to use a trick as well."

"Yes. Clearly, his throat was not a weak point in Senior Brother Yuan Tong's external hardening technique. Yet he deliberately guarded it, misleading Senior Brother Yuan Jie," Yuan Cheng said.

Only then did the Dharma Hall disciples nearby come to a realization upon hearing their analysis.

"Still, Senior Brother Yuan Jie clearly had the strength to continue, yet he voluntarily conceded." Zhu Yingxiong looked toward the figure slowly returning to his ranks at the edge of the arena, thoughtful.

"Actually, when I saw from the start that Senior Brother Yuan Jie had not brought a staff, I anticipated this outcome," Yuan Cheng said.

"That's right, Senior Brother Yuan Jie still hasn't used his Demon-Subduing Staff Technique," a Dharma Hall disciple beside them said in sudden realization.

Only then did everyone understand, falling silent for a moment. But victory and defeat had already been decided; anything said now was merely after the fact.

"For this match, Yuan Tong of the Arhat Hall wins," Supervisor Elder Dustless announced.

The Arhat Hall disciples burst into cheers.

The Discipline Hall disciples, in contrast, remained calm and silent, with no one making a fuss. They truly lived up to the Discipline Hall's name.

Yuan Cheng turned to Zhu Yingxiong with a smile. "Junior Brother Yuan Zhen, can you tell how far Yuan Tong has trained his external hardening technique?"

"More or less." Zhu Yingxiong withdrew his gaze, his tone calm.

"Then how would you fare against him, Junior Brother Yuan Zhen?" Yuan Cheng asked.

"Senior Brother Yuan Cheng, just watch me take him down." Having said that, Zhu Yingxiong actually began walking toward the arena.

Because at that moment, a pair of eyes blazing with fighting spirit in the arena had fixed upon Zhu Yingxiong.