An Invitation to Visit, a Challenge at the Gate

Zhu Yingxiong had arrived in Luoyang three days ago.

The morning sun had just risen, its golden rays crossing the layered rooftops of Anguo Temple and slanting into the meditation courtyard where he was temporarily staying.

In the courtyard, a figure was unfolding a fist technique. His movements were ancient and weighty, upright and radiant. Facing the morning sun, a faint golden glow seemed to shine around his fists, as though Buddhist light truly lingered there.

Zhu Yingxiong was practicing the Great Illumination Fist.

This fist art stood first among Shaolin's seventy-two arts, an unparalleled Buddhist divine technique for subduing demons. The scriptures said: The Tathagata raises his golden arm, curls the fingers of his five wheels, and forms the Great Illumination Fist. It was said that years ago, a Shaolin eminent monk had displayed his might atop Heavenly Capital Peak, defeating the gathered heroes with this fist and earning the title of "Greatest Fist Under Heaven."

The highest realm of this art was to have no moves in one's fists, no thoughts in one's heart, a body like glazed crystal, and radiance within and without. It was said that upon reaching the pinnacle, one punch would unleash brilliant light, causing evil demons to flee.

Of course, Zhu Yingxiong had only just entered the discipline. He was still far from such a realm.

Yet his stance already looked convincing. As his arms rose and fell, they were heavy but not sluggish; as his fists opened and closed, they were steady but not stiff. When his fist wind passed, his robes stirred faintly, but not a trace of force leaked out. It was as though all that mighty power was gathered within his fist bones, contained but not released.

"Fine fist!"

A burst of laughter suddenly came from the courtyard gate.

"Junior Brother, your stance is centered and upright, neither rash nor impetuous, fierce yet righteous. Your power shows outwardly. From this single fist art alone, one can see how deep your foundations run. Truly admirable," a voice said brightly from the gate.

Zhu Yingxiong slowly withdrew his stance, turned toward the gate, and pressed his palms together in greeting, his expression humble.

"This humble monk has merely glimpsed the threshold. I do not deserve such praise from Senior Brother." His tone was calm, without the slightest surprise—as though he had long known someone was coming.

Two people stood outside the courtyard gate.

The first wore gray monk's robes. It was Senior Brother Mingjue. Half a step behind him stood a middle-aged man.

He was a little over forty, of average build, with a long face. He wore a black square headscarf, a lake-blue brocade robe, and a dark silk sash around his waist.

At that moment, he was sizing Zhu Yingxiong up without revealing anything. His gaze swept over Zhu Yingxiong's brows and eyes, settled on his moon-white monk's robes, then shifted to his hands at his sides, as though quietly weighing something. His eyes moved slightly, carrying a trace of shrewdness and caution.

When Zhu Yingxiong looked toward him, he lowered his gaze at just the right moment, leaving only a respectful, modest smile on his face.

"May I ask what brings Senior Brother here?" Zhu Yingxiong asked with palms pressed together.

Mingjue smiled faintly and took a neatly folded letter from his sleeve, presenting it with both hands.

"Shaolin's reply has arrived. I was just about to deliver it to Junior Brother."

Zhu Yingxiong accepted it and thanked him, but did not open it immediately. He simply tucked it into his sleeve. His gaze fell upon the middle-aged man.

"And this is?"

The middle-aged man immediately stepped forward and cupped his fists in salute, neither humble nor overbearing.

"My surname is Ma. I serve as a steward of Luoyang Ma Family Fort. By order of the Fort Lord, I have come specifically to pay respects to Master Yuan Zhen."

"So it is Steward Ma." Zhu Yingxiong pressed his palms together.

Steward Ma took a gilded invitation from his sleeve and offered it with both hands.

"Master Yuan Zhen and the young lord of our Ma Family share the bond of fellow disciples. Upon learning that Master had arrived in Luoyang, the Fort Lord ordered me to deliver this invitation, inviting Master to visit the fort for a conversation, so that our fort may fulfill the duties of a host."

Zhu Yingxiong accepted the invitation, his eyes pausing briefly over the gilded words. This invitation has come at just the right time.

He took the invitation and said, "Please convey my thanks to Fort Lord Ma. I will certainly pay a visit in a few days."

Upon hearing this, Steward Ma's smile deepened. He immediately cupped his fists and bowed. "Then I shall await Master Yuan Zhen's honored arrival at the fort."

"I will not disturb Master's cultivation. Farewell."

With that, he nodded to Mingjue, then turned and departed.

Mingjue also smiled and pressed his palms together.

"Attend to your affairs, Junior Brother. I shall not disturb you either."

With that, he turned and followed Steward Ma away.

The courtyard returned to silence.

Zhu Yingxiong stood alone in the morning light, looking in the direction where the two figures had vanished, deep in thought.

Luoyang Ma Family Fort...

Ma Junsheng's father, Ma Renming, the Fort Lord of Luoyang Ma Family Fort... This man was well informed, and he had moved quickly.

After the two men left, Zhu Yingxiong did not continue cultivating. Instead, he left Anguo Temple and wandered around Luoyang City.

He strolled and stopped, entering several shops in succession. When he came out, he had several more items in hand. He then turned into a secluded alley. A short while later, when he emerged again, he had changed his appearance.

He wore a wide-brimmed bamboo hat that concealed most of his face. His moon-white monk's robes had been replaced by the blue-gray short garments of an ordinary wanderer, with a cloth belt tied casually around his waist. Even his gait had lost a monk's proper bearing, gaining instead the relaxed air of one who roamed the martial world.

He lowered the brim of his hat and continued along the main street, eventually entering a blacksmith's shop. The forge was blazing inside, and the clang of iron never ceased. He went in, drew a design, left behind a silver ingot, gave a few instructions, and then departed.

After leaving the blacksmith's shop, he looked up at the sky. Then he changed direction and headed west.

This place was completely different from the orderly prosperity of the eastern and southern districts. The streets were narrow and cramped, the houses low and dilapidated, and the air was filled with a strange stench of sweat, mildew, and cheap liquor.

Merchant caravans, refugees, street performers, and broker agents crowded together. Pawnshops, taverns, brothels, and gambling dens stood one after another. Hawking, quarrels, laughter, and curses merged into a piercing din.

All manner of people, from every walk of life, gathered here.

Zhu Yingxiong's expression did not change as he walked calmly through the bustling market street. Then he turned and entered a deep, secluded alley.

At the end of the alley stood a ruined compound.

The plaque above the gate had long vanished, leaving only two rotten wooden stubs. The courtyard walls were blotched and peeling, exposing the gray-yellow earthen bricks beneath. Two ragged men squatted at the entrance, drinking with a plate of pickled vegetables. When they saw him pass, they only lazily raised their eyelids before lowering their heads again.

This was one of the Plainclothes Sect's branch halls mentioned in the information Deng Yin had shown him yesterday.

The beggars, pickpockets, and homeless children of Luoyang City were all under this place's jurisdiction.

With a light tap of his foot, Zhu Yingxiong silently swept onto a rooftop.

The entire courtyard lay in full view.

In the center of the courtyard, seven or eight burly men sat around a crooked wooden table. Several jars of cheap wine, a dish of peanuts, and a few gnawed bones sat upon it.

Bare-chested and reeking of alcohol, they were shouting as they gambled with dice. Copper coins clinked across the table while curses and laughter rang without end.

More than a dozen children were huddled in a corner by the wall.

The oldest were only twelve or thirteen, while the youngest were merely five or six. They pressed close together like startled chicks. Their clothes were torn and ragged, and their exposed arms and legs were covered in bruises, some with scabs not yet healed.

Several bundles of straw mats had been piled in a corner of the courtyard. Tattered scraps of clothing could vaguely be seen through their gaps.

Several of the children had clearly just been abducted, and they kept crying noisily.

A man with a face full of flesh had turned red-eyed from gambling. Having lost several rounds in a row, he was already irritated. Hearing the crying, he suddenly grabbed a black leather whip beside him, staggered over, and lashed it down at the children.

"Cry! Cry, you little bastards!"

Crack!

The tip of the whip tore through the air with a shrill whistle and struck a boy of six or seven viciously. A split instantly opened in the child's thin, ragged clothes, and a bloody welt appeared on his flesh. The child let out a miserable scream.

But the man did not stop. He lashed out again.

"Keep crying! I'll make you cry your fill!"

Crack! Crack! Crack!

The whip came down again and again. Several children curled up on the ground, covering their heads with their hands as their cries turned into broken, miserable wails. The children beside them trembled in terror but did not dare run. They could only shrink desperately deeper into the corner.

"Enough, enough!" someone beside him shouted. "If you beat them to death, we'll have to carry them out. What a bother!"

Only then did the man stop, still cursing. He gave one child another vicious kick, then returned to the table and lifted a wine jar for a gulp.

The children huddled in the corner and did not dare make another sound. Only suppressed, intermittent sobs remained.

From the rooftop, Zhu Yingxiong's gaze passed over those vicious faces soaked in wine and meat, over the thin figures curled in the corner, over the pile of foul-smelling straw mats...

Killing intent gradually gathered in his eyes.

He forcibly restrained the urge to act. If he struck now, he could at most kill a few lackeys.

If he wanted to pull them out by the roots once and for all, he could not act in haste.

But it would be soon. He had already remembered this place.

Zhu Yingxiong withdrew his gaze, and his figure silently vanished from the rooftop.

Several more days passed in a flash.

Zhu Yingxiong continued as usual. During the day, he practiced Shaolin's supreme arts; at night, he infiltrated the manor and deduced demonic sect techniques within the secret chamber.

Seeing that he remained inactive, Deng Yin finally grew unable to hold back. One night, after Zhu Yingxiong emerged from the secret chamber, he could not help speaking.

"If Young Master requires manpower, this old servant can arrange several capable men for Young Master's use."

Zhu Yingxiong glanced at him and merely smiled faintly.

"No hurry. No hurry."

Deng Yin opened his mouth, but in the end, he did not offer further persuasion.

Until the seventh day.

That morning, Zhu Yingxiong did not practice in the courtyard as he usually did.

He changed into a clean moon-white monk's robe, left Anguo Temple alone, and followed Luoyang City's main road directly north.

As morning light spread, more pedestrians gradually filled the streets. There were peddlers carrying shoulder poles, laborers driving donkey carts, and shopkeepers opening their doors for business. The living bustle of the city slowly awakened amid the streets and alleys of this ancient capital.

In moon-white monk's robes, Zhu Yingxiong walked calmly through the increasingly crowded streets, finally stopping before an imposing branch hall.

Above the gate hung a plaque bearing three large characters: Plainclothes Sect.

Several Plainclothes Sect members guarding the hall looked at one another when a young monk suddenly stopped before their gate. One of them stepped forward, about to ask a question.

Before they could speak, Zhu Yingxiong took a step forward, gathered his breath, and called out.

"Shaolin disciple Yuan Zhen challenges the Plainclothes Sect Master!"

His voice was clear and unhurried, yet it carried distinctly through the entire long street.

The expressions of the sect members changed drastically. One of them hurriedly turned and raced inside to report.

Hearing of a martial world dispute, the passersby who had been hurrying along stopped one after another and gathered around.

Shopkeepers poked their heads out from street-facing stores, diners put down their bowls and chopsticks, and even peddlers with shoulder poles set down their loads and craned their necks to look.

Someone in the crowd clicked their tongue in amazement.

"This is... a challenge at the gate?"

"A Shaolin disciple? Challenging the Plainclothes Sect Master?"

"Tut, tut. It's been years since Luoyang City has seen such a spectacle."

"The last time someone came to challenge a man at his own gate was three years ago, wasn't it? The underworld tycoon Liang Lisheng challenged Black List expert Left-Hand Saber Feng Han."

"That underworld tycoon Liang Lisheng lost terribly in that fight. He nearly left his life here."

Discussion erupted, and more and more people stopped to watch. Before long, the news had spread, and the long street was packed solid with layer upon layer of onlookers.