When the Dust Settles, Glory Descends

On the viewing platform, the eminent monks wore varied expressions, their gazes drifting, intentionally or otherwise, toward Wuxiang Monk.

After all, Zhu Yingxiong's kick had been a blatant slap in the face, deeply humiliating.

Yet Master Wuxiang, the focus of everyone's attention, showed not the slightest ripple of emotion.

He sat as composed as ever, his eyelids lowered slightly, even a faint, inscrutable smile lingering at the corners of his lips.

"Amitabha." Bu Wen Abbot was the first to speak, breaking the delicate silence. "I never expected Nephew Yuan Zhen's leg techniques to be so fierce as well. His One-Finger Zen was already astonishing, yet his skill with his legs is equally remarkable."

His tone was mild, as though what had just happened had been nothing more than an ordinary sparring match, hardly worth mentioning. Clearly, he was trying to smooth things over.

"This boy acted improperly and did not know the proper measure of his strikes. This old monk will certainly discipline him strictly afterward." Worryless Chan Master dipped his head slightly and immediately followed up.

"It is nothing, nothing." A calm laugh rang out. Master Wuxiang had spoken. He looked toward the arena, a faint smile on his face and an unfathomably deep gaze. "Junior Brother Worryless need not blame him too harshly."

Upon hearing this, Worryless Chan Master merely murmured, "Amitabha," and said no more.

In the arena.

After delivering that kick, Zhu Yingxiong felt incomparably refreshed.

He had controlled both the force and timing of it perfectly. It would not injure the young nobleman's muscles or bones, but it was enough to make him sit there for a while longer under everyone's watchful eyes.

The pent-up frustration in his chest had completely dissipated with that kick.

He turned toward the viewing platform, prepared to receive the rebuke of Shaolin's foremost figure, Wuxiang Monk.

After all, he had kicked this man's outstanding disciple, a talented lay disciple, to the ground in full view of everyone, leaving him unable to rise for quite some time.

Yet Zhu Yingxiong felt calm and unafraid.

In a martial spar, bumps and bruises were unavoidable. He had neither seriously injured the other man nor employed any underhanded methods. If he were to be reproached even for this, then the word "sparring" would be rather hypocritical.

"Yuan Zhen, come here."

A familiar voice came first. It was not loud, yet it reached his ears with perfect clarity.

It was his master.

Zhu Yingxiong stepped forward and stopped beneath the viewing platform. He pressed his palms together and bowed, his expression calm.

"This disciple is here."

Worryless Chan Master looked at him, his gaze lingering briefly on that youthful, refined face before he slowly said, "Today, you acted rashly without cause. Your punishment is to return to your meditation chamber and copy scriptures for three days, calming your heart and cleansing your thoughts."

Zhu Yingxiong lowered his head, his voice steady. "Yes, this disciple accepts the punishment."

"Junior Brother Worryless, you are being too harsh."

A calm voice sounded from beside him. Master Wuxiang looked at the moon-white figure below and shook his head slightly. "Young people are full of vigor. It is only natural for them to occasionally show an edge."

"Jade cannot become a vessel without carving." Worryless Chan Master's voice carried a trace of sternness.

Master Wuxiang said no more upon hearing this. Yet there was now a touch more appreciation in the way he looked at Zhu Yingxiong.

At that moment, rustling sounds came from behind them.

Ma Junsheng finally rose to his feet.

The footprint on his chest remained, glaringly conspicuous. He wanted nothing more than to leave this place immediately and never see anyone again.

But he could not.

At least, not yet.

The upbringing and bearing expected of a scion of a great family compelled him to maintain this last shred of dignity.

He took a deep breath, struggled to steady himself, and walked step by step to the foot of the viewing platform. He gave Master Wuxiang a deep bow, his voice hoarse and strained.

"This disciple was incompetent... I have disgraced Master."

Master Wuxiang looked at him calmly, without anger or reproach, and simply said, "To know shame is close to courage. Now that you know the gap between you, rise and strive to catch up."

Ma Junsheng kept his head lowered, his voice respectful. No one could see the resentment and gloom churning in those bloodshot eyes beneath his lowered lids.

He then turned toward Bu Wen Abbot and the seated martial uncles and elders, offering another deep bow as he tried his best to restore calm to his voice.

"This disciple is feeling somewhat unwell. I ask the abbot and all Martial Uncles and Martial Uncles to forgive me and allow this disciple to take his leave first."

Bu Wen Abbot nodded slightly, his gaze carrying a measure of comfort and understanding.

"Go. Rest well. Do not dwell on what happened today."

"Yes."

Ma Junsheng bowed once more, then turned and departed.

His back remained straight, and he walked with proper composure, but his steps grew faster and faster.

In the end, that retreating figure still carried a hint of disarray.

Once he had disappeared beside the hall, Bu Wen Abbot slowly walked to the front of the viewing platform. Looking down at the several hundred monks below, he announced in a ringing voice, "The first place in this year-end martial competition goes to—"

He paused, his gaze falling upon Zhu Yingxiong. Then his booming voice carried across the entire grounds.

"Yuan Zhen of the Dharma Hall!"

Cheers erupted from below!

The ranks of the Dharma Hall surged like a tide as the young disciples raised their arms and shouted.

Only after the cheers had quieted somewhat did Bu Wen Abbot continue to Zhu Yingxiong, "From this day forth, you will represent Shaolin's younger generation as you travel the martial world and spread Shaolin's prestige. I hope you will uphold righteousness and guard your heart. Do not forget today's victory, nor forget the responsibility that comes with it."

Zhu Yingxiong's expression turned solemn. Pressing his palms together, he gave a deep bow, his voice firm and steady.

"This disciple will remember the abbot's teachings. I will certainly not fail Shaolin's cultivation."

Bu Wen Abbot nodded slightly, his expression full of satisfaction.

Afterward, Bu Wen Abbot, Master Wuxiang, Yan Wuju, and the various chief elders returned to the Mahavira Hall to discuss matters. The competition had reached its conclusion, but the subsequent matters of martial world training still required careful deliberation.

The crowd gradually dispersed.

Worryless Chan Master remained behind until the end, slowly walking up to Zhu Yingxiong.

Master and disciple stood facing each other. Worryless Chan Master spoke first, his voice calm and revealing neither pleasure nor anger.

"Yuan Zhen, do you resent your master in your heart?"

Zhu Yingxiong raised his eyes and shook his head.

"This disciple understands Master's painstaking intentions."

He paused, then continued in a steady voice, "Master punished me by making me copy scriptures for my own good. A tree that stands above the forest will be destroyed by the wind. This disciple has suddenly attained a high position, so it is only natural that it would draw others' attention. If I were not punished today, I fear it would have been difficult to bring matters to a close."

Worryless Chan Master looked at him. At last, a faint trace of gratification surfaced in those eyes that had always been still as water.

"Then go."

He turned his head slightly toward the Dharma Hall disciples still cheering and clamoring in the distance. The corners of his lips seemed to lift faintly.

"Enjoy the glory that belongs to you. Then return to your quarters, calm your heart, and copy scriptures for three days."

"Yes, this disciple obeys."

Zhu Yingxiong pressed his palms together and bowed, watching the lean figure turn and slowly enter the Mahavira Hall.

Only after Worryless Chan Master disappeared through the hall doors did he turn and walk toward the arena.

The moment he stepped onto the square, he was swallowed by the surging crowd.

The Dharma Hall disciples could no longer restrain themselves. They rushed forward and surrounded him, their clamorous voices nearly overturning the entire Bluestone Square.

"Senior Brother Yuan Zhen! You were incredible!"

"Junior Brother Yuan Zhen, what technique was that kick? Teach me!"

"Get out of here! You have not even mastered the most basic lightness technique, and you want to learn leg techniques?"

"Martial Uncle Yuan Zhen! Martial Uncle Yuan Zhen!"

A childish voice squeezed through a gap in the crowd, especially clear and bright.

It was the little novice monk, Pure Affinity.

He was shoved this way and that by the crowd, but he desperately stood on tiptoe and squeezed to the front. Tilting up his face, he looked at Zhu Yingxiong with sparkling eyes filled with worship and delight.

Zhu Yingxiong lowered his head and met Pure Affinity's bright gaze. Then he looked toward Yuan Cheng, who stood quietly nearby with his hands tucked into his sleeves. The corners of his lips lifted into a smile.

He reached out and gently patted that round little head.

Pure Affinity's eyes immediately curved into crescents, and he wished he could rub his head further into that palm.

The year-end martial tournament had ended, but the commotion on Bluestone Square did not fade for a long while.

Only when the sun finally sank beyond the distant mountains and dusk descended, wrapping the ancient temple in gentle amber light, did it begin to quiet.

That night, the lights of the Dharma Hall went out later than usual.

From that day on, no one in Shaolin would be unaware of Yuan Zhen's name.

And before long, that name would surely begin to spread throughout the martial world.