Martial Arts Trial, Drawing Lots for the Matches

At the Dharma Hall training grounds, a bluestone courtyard ten zhang across had been set up with a cluster of bowl-thick plum blossom stakes at its center.

The martial monk disciples participating in the trial were already lined up solemnly in the yard.

Quite a few scholarly monks and young novices had gathered around to watch. After all, this was a rare spectacle that came only once a year.

The young novices could not help glancing toward the forest of stakes, then letting their gazes drift over the martial monks filing in, their eyes occasionally revealing longing.

When Zhu Yingxiong stepped into the training grounds, his gaze immediately fell upon the staggered stakes, which resembled a thicket of blades. His heart stirred—this year's minor trial truly was unlike those of previous years.

To spar atop the plum blossom stakes, one moment of unsteadiness would mean total defeat. The test was not merely of fists and kicks, but also movement techniques, lightness skill, and courage. Moreover, this was the first time the minor trial had been limited to disciples under thirty.

They're choosing promising candidates from the younger generation... he thought. Recalling the "opportunity" mentioned by Master Worryless, he vaguely formed a guess.

Shaolin's four halls—the Arhat Hall, Prajna Hall, Dharma Hall, and Discipline Hall—each had their own specialties and areas of focus in martial arts inheritance.

The Dharma Hall, where Zhu Yingxiong belonged, was renowned for its exceptional finger techniques and lightness skills.

Finger techniques were among the hardest arts to cultivate. Only those with extraordinary comprehension and profound foundations could even glimpse the path to mastery. Without sufficient attainment in internal and external martial arts, one's finger force would be weak and limp, possessing only the appearance of the art.

Because the threshold was so high, the Dharma Hall had always rather lacked disciples than accepted unsuitable ones. As a result, it had the fewest disciples among the four halls.

As Zhu Yingxiong entered the grounds, several gazes quietly settled on him. Once he truly took his place among the ranks of martial monks, hushed whispers began to stir around him.

"Yuan Zhen came too? Didn't they say his meridians were injured and he was recuperating?"

"Alas, young people are proud. In the end, he just couldn't swallow this humiliation..."

"I'm afraid he'll suffer badly."

Ahead of him, Yuan Xing, Yuan Hong, and the others had already arrived. Seeing Yuan Zhen appear, Yuan Hong lowered his voice. "He actually dared to come."

A cold smile tugged at Yuan Xing's lips. "I was worried he would not. This time, I'll make sure he suffers a crushing defeat and can never hold his head up before everyone again."

Another martial monk beside them noticed, "Doesn't Yuan Zhen's complexion look much better than it did two days ago?"

At the reminder, Yuan Xing narrowed his eyes and looked closely. His expression immediately darkened as he thought of something.

Yuan Hong noticed it as well and said with undisguised bitterness, "For his complexion to recover so quickly, he must have taken some miraculous medicine for his injuries." As for who had bestowed that medicine upon him, everyone understood without saying it—who else could it have been but Hall Chief Worryless?

For a moment, the field fell silent. Such were the benefits of becoming the Hall Chief's disciple. How could that not inspire both envy and jealousy?

Yuan Xing stared at Yuan Zhen's profile, the flames of resentment in his chest burning fiercely. That position should have been his. That special favor should have been his.

Seeing the atmosphere grow heavy, Yuan Hong spoke again. "Even if he took miraculous medicine, how could an injury to the dantian heal in just three or five days? Two days ago, he did not even dare fight me. Clearly, he is putting on a brave front while being weak within, timid and guilty."

"In this martial arts trial," Yuan Xing said word by word, his gaze fixed like nails, "I will make the Hall Chief see clearly who truly deserves his full support."

"Exactly! When has Senior Brother Yuan Xing ever been inferior to him?"

"Let's see how he reveals his true colors today." Several martial monks friendly with Yuan Xing immediately chimed in.

Zhu Yingxiong seemed not to notice Yuan Xing's resentful gaze. He merely shifted his eyes calmly and began observing the other martial monks in the field.

There were only a little over thirty disciples who met the requirements for this minor trial. Of those, only a handful were truly worth noticing.

Shaolin martial arts placed great emphasis on gradual progress and steady accumulation. True experts among the younger generation had always been rare.

Furthermore, the Dharma Hall's martial arts were difficult to master in the first place. Most disciples were still at the stage of laying foundations and training diligently. Those who had been taught Shaolin's ultimate arts were even fewer.

However, one fair, plump young monk caught his attention. The man wore a smile on his round face, his eyes lively as he chatted animatedly with others. He stood out sharply among the martial monks.

Zhu Yingxiong remembered this monk. His Dharma name seemed to be Yuan Cheng.

Perhaps because he had cultivated innate qi, Zhu Yingxiong vaguely sensed that Yuan Cheng's aura differed from that of ordinary martial monks.

This man... is not simple, he noted inwardly.

As he was considering this, Yuan Cheng suddenly turned his face and met his gaze directly.

Such sharp senses.

Zhu Yingxiong merely gave a slight nod, but Yuan Cheng's eyes lit up. He actually parted the crowd and walked straight over.

"Greetings, Junior Brother Yuan Zhen!" He pressed his palms together with a beaming smile, his voice bright and clear.

"Greetings, Senior Brother Yuan Cheng." Zhu Yingxiong returned the gesture, inwardly surprised. Due to his unusual status, the original owner of this body had always kept to himself and had no interaction with this senior brother.

"Junior Brother, being permitted to study the Muscle-Tendon Transformation Scripture truly is something to envy," Yuan Cheng said frankly.

Yuan Cheng's blunt expression of envy was unexpectedly candid, making it difficult to feel any dislike toward him.

"I asked my master for it several times, but he scolded me every time." Yuan Cheng scratched the back of his head, looking somewhat embarrassed. "He said I was unsuited for the art and refused to teach it to me."

There was no resentment in his expression, only a trace of regret.

"Your master is?"

"My master is Elder Sorrowless," Yuan Cheng replied.

He then looked at Zhu Yingxiong, his tone turning serious. "I have heard about what happened to you, Junior Brother. But after seeing you today, there is something I want to tell you."

"Oh? What is it?"

Yuan Cheng's gaze sharpened, his voice steady and sincere. "I am certain that Junior Brother will achieve extraordinary things in the future. A temporary setback is nothing, and there is even less need to take others' words to heart."

Zhu Yingxiong carefully studied the plump monk before him. His words were earnest, his eyes clear; he seemed genuinely admiring. Had he truly seen something extraordinary in Zhu Yingxiong, or did he have some other motive?

Just as Zhu Yingxiong was considering how to respond, the field suddenly fell silent.

Looking up, he saw Master Worryless entering the grounds with two elders.

Master Worryless stood at the center, his expression as tranquil as ever. To his left stood the plump, round-faced Elder Sorrowless, whose face always bore a smile. To his right was a lean, powerful man with eyes that shone like lightning—Elder Unattached.

The three stood before the gathered monks with solemn bearing, and the field immediately became silent as a graveyard.

"Greetings, Hall Chief! Greetings, Elders!" The martial monks pressed their palms together in unison, their voices ringing out neatly.

Master Worryless slowly began to speak. His voice was not loud, yet it reached every ear clearly, as though he were speaking softly before each person. "This minor trial is no ordinary matter. I hope you will all give it your utmost and not disappoint the efforts of your daily training."

"We disciples will certainly give our all!" the disciples answered in unison.

Master Worryless gave a slight nod, then turned to a solemn-faced middle-aged monk beside him. "Yuan Zhuo, begin."

"Yes." Yuan Zhuo stepped forward.

He too was a direct disciple of Master Worryless and Yuan Zhen's senior brother. However, he was already over forty and was responsible for the details of this martial arts competition.

Yuan Zhuo announced in a clear voice, "There are thirty-six participants in this minor trial. The rules are simple: draw lots in turn. Those with matching numbers will compete atop the plum blossom stakes. Touching the ground means defeat; remaining on the stakes means victory. Winners advance, losers are eliminated."

He paused briefly, his gaze sweeping over the martial monks before he spoke again, his voice suddenly deepening.

"The winner of this minor trial will receive one Little Rejuvenation Pill."

The moment the words "Little Rejuvenation Pill" were spoken, the edge of the field erupted into a buzz.

"A Little Rejuvenation Pill?! That is a precious medicine that can increase one's cultivation and strengthen one's foundation!"

"If I had known such a generous reward was offered, I would have trained bitterly for three months in seclusion just to enter..."

"You? You probably couldn't even make it through the first round."

The watching monks discussed it heatedly, the younger ones filled with envy. Meanwhile, the breaths of the more than thirty martial monks in the field tightened. As they exchanged glances, their eyes quietly grew heated.

Who would not be tempted by the fruits of ten years' cultivation?

Yuan Zhuo took in everyone's expressions and said no more. He merely asked solemnly, "The rules and rewards have been made clear—have you all understood?"

"We understand!" the martial monks answered in unison, their voices carrying a barely concealed vigor.

A young novice ran forward with a lot container in his arms, the wooden slips clattering inside.

"Come on, Junior Brother Yuan Zhen, let's hurry and draw a good lot." As Yuan Cheng spoke, he naturally pulled him forward to join the line, acting as though they had been close friends for years.

The martial monks drew lots one after another. Some looked nervous, while others feigned ease.

When it was Yuan Zhen's turn, he reached into the container. His fingertips touched a cold wooden slip, and he casually drew one out. Stepping aside to look at it, he saw the character "nine."

Neither too early nor too late—just right. He felt somewhat relieved. He would neither have to take the lead nor wait until the end and grow impatient.

When he looked toward Yuan Cheng, who had drawn before him, he found the other man wearing a miserable expression, as though his parents had died.

Yuan Cheng showed him his wooden slip—it bore the character "one."

"Those who drew number one, step forward and prepare." Yuan Zhuo's voice rang out, leaving no room for doubt.

With a mournful face, Yuan Cheng said to Yuan Zhen, "Junior Brother, I'm up first. This luck of mine... sigh."

Seeing his expression, Zhu Yingxiong could not help smiling. "May Senior Brother win a victory at the first strike."

The morning light grew brighter, spilling over the bluestone courtyard and casting long, slanting shadows from the plum blossom stakes.

The matches began.