Turning Decay into Wonder, Black Tiger Strikes the Heart

Yuan Cheng's opponent was a martial monk nearing thirty, lean and sturdy, with a grave, steady gaze.

The martial monk stepped into the ring. Facing the ten-foot plum blossom stake before him, he sprang up like a mantis, landing neatly atop it. The stake did not so much as tremble.

Though Yuan Cheng was plump, his lightness skill was no less impressive. Without bending his knees to gather strength, he merely swayed slightly and drifted onto the top of a stake. His loose monk's robes fluttered gently in the wind, giving him an air of effortless composure.

The two pressed their palms together in salute atop the stakes.

"Junior Brother Yuan Cheng, please."

"Senior Brother Yuan Yi, please." Yuan Cheng's eyes remained smiling.

Seeing that Yuan Cheng had no intention of making the first move, Yuan Yi did not stand on ceremony. With a low shout, he suddenly lowered his body and slid forward.

His steps moved in an unbroken sequence, the wooden stakes softly clicking beneath his feet. In the blink of an eye, he had closed in beside Yuan Cheng.

Yet Yuan Cheng remained standing there without moving, as if he had noticed nothing.

A sharp glint flashed through Yuan Yi's eyes. His arm snapped out like a whip, the first joints of his index, middle, and thumb fingers suddenly pinching together like a pincer or hook.

It was the Dharma Hall's outer-school finger technique, Mantis Hook Finger. Though it was not an ultimate art, it was tricky and vicious, specializing in attacking acupoints.

The hooked fingers were already about to strike Yuan Cheng beneath the ribs.

At last, Yuan Cheng moved.

He merely raised his right hand, joining his index and middle fingers like a sword. Without any visible flexing or extension, he lightly pointed through the air.

Though his fingertips were still more than three feet away from Yuan Yi, Yuan Yi's entire body suddenly stiffened. It was as though invisible needles of force had pierced his acupoints. His strength vanished at once, and he fell straight off the stake.

Most of the monks watching below had not even seen what had happened before an uproar broke out.

Only Zhu Yingxiong, Yuan Xing, and a few others saw clearly. Yuan Cheng's finger wind had condensed nearly into substance. Though he moved later, he struck first, hitting the major acupoint beneath Yuan Yi's ribs from afar. Such mastery of finger force was beyond that of an ordinary disciple.

Yuan Xing stared at the stout figure atop the stake, steady as a mountain, his brows tightly furrowed. This man had always concealed his martial arts well. Who would have thought he was such a formidable opponent?

"Yuan Cheng wins." Yuan Zhuo's voice rang out in time, suppressing the discussion in the arena.

In the stands, Master Worryless gave a slight nod. Elder Sorrowless beside him rubbed his round belly, a barely perceptible smile flashing through his eyes.

Yuan Yi landed on the ground, then immediately flipped back onto his feet. He was clearly uninjured. His face flushed red as he pressed his palms together toward Yuan Cheng. "Junior Brother, your finger force is wondrous. I am impressed."

Yuan Cheng leaped down from the stake, still wearing that beaming smile. "Thank you for your guidance, Senior Brother. I merely won by luck."

Yuan Yi knew exactly what had happened. Shaking his head with a bitter smile, he said, "Why be so modest, Junior Brother? May I ask what finger technique you used just now?"

"I have only recently learned a move of the Clear Still Finger. Please forgive the poor display," Yuan Cheng answered candidly.

Yuan Yi was startled for a moment, then understood. "Then my defeat was not unjust." With that, he solemnly pressed his palms together in salute before turning and leaving the arena.

Yuan Cheng ambled back to Zhu Yingxiong's side, his breathing not the least bit disturbed.

"Congratulations, Senior Brother, on your opening victory." Zhu Yingxiong pressed his palms together in congratulations.

"Luck, just luck." Yuan Cheng waved a hand, smiling warmly.

Thinking of the finger technique Yuan Cheng had used, Zhu Yingxiong could not help saying, "I never expected Senior Brother's talent to be so outstanding that you have already learned the Clear Still Finger, one of Shaolin's seventy-two ultimate arts. Your finger wind condensed into substance and struck acupoints from afar. It is truly astonishing."

Even someone like him, with fairly good natural aptitude, had not been taught an ultimate finger technique in haste by Master Worryless. Instead, he had been instructed to diligently practice Iron Finger Meditation Force and Formless Finger first, tempering his inner breath and strengthening his finger force.

"Ah, I kept pestering Master because I wanted to see the Muscle-Tendon Transformation Scripture, but he absolutely refused." Yuan Cheng lowered his voice, his tone carrying a familiar teasing note. "He got so fed up with me that he finally taught me this Clear Still Finger. He probably wanted me to realize the difficulty and give up."

Zhu Yingxiong was somewhat surprised. Yuan Cheng's relationship with Elder Sorrowless was actually so close that he could speak so recklessly?

Perhaps noticing the doubt in his eyes, Yuan Cheng leaned closer and lowered his voice further. "Elder Sorrowless is my maternal uncle."

Zhu Yingxiong instinctively looked up at Elder Sorrowless in the stands, with his round face, plump body, and genial smile, then looked at the fair, rounded face before him. Understanding dawned on him at once.

No wonder... a nephew takes after his uncle. The ancients truly did not deceive me.

Connections really did make a difference. He sighed inwardly, then immediately mocked himself—was he not also the object of much envy and jealousy precisely because he had become Master Worryless's disciple?

In this martial world, where could one go without human connections, opportunities, and influence all intertwined?

As Zhu Yingxiong spoke with Yuan Cheng, he kept an eye on the matches atop the stakes. Some fell by accident, while others advanced by narrowly winning through steady fighting. However, most of these young disciples had little skill worth watching.

Then Yuan Zhuo's voice rang out. "Next match, number nine, onto the stakes!"

"Junior Brother, it's your turn," Yuan Cheng said.

Zhu Yingxiong nodded and stepped out. Yuan Hong had already emerged from the crowd and was looking at him, fighting spirit blazing in his eyes and an undisguised cold smile at the corners of his mouth.

Zhu Yingxiong slowly approached the edge of the arena. Yuan Zhuo gave him a slight nod and quietly reminded him, "If you find yourself outmatched, admit defeat in time. There is no need to force yourself."

Knowing that this senior brother meant well, Zhu Yingxiong pressed his palms together in thanks before turning toward the forest of stakes.

Yuan Hong moved first. He took a fierce breath and leaped up—but his body seemed sluggish and heavy, and he rose only as high as the tops of the stakes. Clearly, lightness skill was not his strength.

Yet in the next instant, his right palm shot out and slammed heavily onto the top of a stake.

Smack!

With a dull sound, the bowl-thick wooden stake actually sank slightly. Borrowing the force of that palm strike, Yuan Hong landed steadily atop it.

Zhu Yingxiong simply bent his knees and leaped up, landing plainly on a stake.

The two faced one another and pressed their palms together. The moment the formalities were complete—

A vicious gleam flashed through Yuan Hong's eyes, all pretense gone. His hands suddenly curled into claws, his joints cracking in rapid succession. Blue veins bulged along his sinewy arms as he crouched low like a fierce tiger springing from its cage, lunging forward with howling force!

It was the outer-school hard technique, Tiger Claw Hand. Those who practiced it had to build their foundation with the Crouching Tiger Skill, then use the Through-Back Penetrating Finger to forge unified strength throughout the body. Once mastered, all ten fingers became like iron, able to split stone and pierce earth with unmatched ferocity.

At this moment, Yuan Hong's Tiger Claw Hand carried a fierce gale as it shot straight for Zhu Yingxiong's face. He had clearly grasped its true essence.

Almost at the same instant, Zhu Yingxiong sank his stance and stepped half a pace forward. Rather than dodge, he shook his right arm and drove a punch straight ahead—without any flourish, simple and powerful, directly meeting the fierce tiger claw!

Several monks below cried out in alarm. "Yuan Zhen isn't dodging?"

"Taking Tiger Claw Hand head-on? His inner strength has not recovered. Isn't that using his weakness against the other man's strength?"

Yuan Xing watched coldly from the crowd, a trace of contempt already appearing at his lips. To dare clash head-on with Yuan Hong's Tiger Claw Hand was utterly foolish.

Seeing that his opponent truly would not dodge, Yuan Hong's eyes lit up. A cruel smile flickered across his face—this claw would surely break his tendons and shatter his bones!

However—

Bang!

The fist and claw collided with a deep, heavy impact.

Zhu Yingxiong's seemingly ordinary punch had firmly blocked the tiger claw!

Yuan Hong's expression changed drastically. His five fingers felt as though they had struck iron and stone, while a powerful force rebounded through them, numbing his entire right arm.

Refusing to believe it, he struck again with his left claw, even fiercer than before!

Zhu Yingxiong answered with the exact same punch.

Bang!

This time, Yuan Hong was jolted backward. The wooden stake beneath his feet creaked.

Before he could change moves, Zhu Yingxiong's third punch had arrived—fast, so fast that he barely seemed like the same man who had risen so clumsily earlier!

Yuan Hong hurriedly raised both claws to block, but the punch sent him staggering back two steps, his footing unsteady.

What followed left everyone watching as the situation atop the stakes abruptly changed:

Zhu Yingxiong took one step and threw one punch, each fist driving straight ahead. Yuan Hong retreated step by step, his claw techniques already in disarray. He had been reduced to defending himself.

Those fists still looked plain and unadorned, yet every blow was heavy as a mountain. Yuan Hong's arms shook violently under their impact, and his legs gradually weakened.

Step, step, step...

After retreating seven steps in a row, Yuan Hong's foot found only empty air. He suddenly realized that he had reached the edge of the stake formation!

He tried to steady himself, but his legs could no longer lift.

Thud—

His entire body toppled headfirst, and he crashed to the ground in a miserable heap amid flying dust.

The arena fell silent, then erupted into uproar.

"How did Yuan Hong fall?"

"Yuan Zhen actually won."

At that moment, a voice came from the crowd.

"Did... did any of you notice? Yuan Zhen seemed to have used only one move from beginning to end."

"One move?"

"Yes... he threw several punches, but it was always the same stance."

Another disciple beside him swallowed and added in a low voice, "From start to finish, it looked like he only used Black Tiger Strikes the Heart."

"Black Tiger Strikes the Heart? Isn't that the most ordinary move in Shaolin's beginner Arhat Fist?!"

Everyone looked at one another, shocked discussion spreading like a tide.

He had used a beginner fist technique to defeat the Tiger Claw Hand, a technique renowned for its brutal power, in a head-on clash?

It was simply inconceivable.

Yuan Zhuo directly announced, "Yuan Zhen wins."

Atop the stake, Zhu Yingxiong slowly withdrew his stance and calmed his surging blood and qi, feeling thoroughly exhilarated.

Strengthen the spirit within, strengthen the body without; turn decay into wonder. Such was the marvel of the Muscle-Tendon Transformation Scripture.

He had practiced the Muscle-Tendon Transformation Scripture for only a short time and was still far from displaying its true power. But it was more than enough to teach certain people a lesson.

Zhu Yingxiong's breathing remained as steady as ever as he leaped down from the stake. Not far away, Yuan Xing was staring at him. The contempt had vanished from his face, leaving only a grim expression.