The hall was silent. The sound of oil dripping from Ciwen's fingertips onto the floor could be heard clearly.
He suddenly opened his eyes and sprang to his feet. His muscles and bones crackled, the popping sounds running together like a string of firecrackers going off inside the hall!
Even after Ciwen stood fully upright, his body continued to rise. His shoulders spread and his spine stretched, his frame growing from six chi to more than eight!
Sunlight fell on Ciwen, and the film of oil on his body reflected a golden halo. Standing before the Buddha statue, he looked like a Buddha come to life.
Six warrior monks emerged from behind the hall's pillars, their upper bodies bare and veins coiled like earthworms around their necks and arms. The iron staffs in their hands were as thick as wrists, their shafts engraved with dense mantras.
The warrior monk at the front took a deep breath and tapped the tip of his staff against the floor, using the rebound to swing it in a wide arc. It whistled through the air, smashing toward Ciwen's left ribs!
Ciwen neither dodged nor blocked. He simply straightened his left arm and tightened the muscles beneath it, meeting the iron staff like an anvil.
With a muffled thud, the staff shuddered and hummed. The muscles beneath Ciwen's ribs only sank half a cun before springing back, bouncing the head of the staff three cun into the air.
The second warrior monk charged in from the right, gripping his staff in both hands and chopping down at Ciwen's head. Ciwen bent his right arm and blocked with the outside of his forearm. The iron staff struck and was bounced away again.
The third warrior monk attacked his lower body, sweeping his iron staff at the back of Ciwen's knee. Ciwen stood on one foot, raised his other leg with the knee bent, and met the staff with his shin.
Bang-
Ciwen kept shifting his stance, using different parts of his body to receive the blows. The six warrior monks surrounded him, swinging their iron staffs again and again as though hammering a block of steel!
Muffled impacts echoed ceaselessly through the hall.
That was the scene Hong Zhanming saw when he arrived outside the hall.
As the abbot of the Mist Hidden Temple, Ciwen had barely managed its affairs for more than a decade.
He was devoted to martial arts. Ever since promoting Hong Zhanming to chief steward over a decade ago, he had focused entirely on training.
For those past ten-plus years, whenever the Mist Hidden Temple was mentioned anywhere in Yi Province, Chief Steward Hong was the first person who came to mind. Few people still mentioned the abbot.
But Hong Zhanming did not dare underestimate Ciwen in the slightest!
57 First Rank
Kongzheng of the Warrior Monk Hall might have thought Ciwen was old and no longer capable of managing things. But Hong Zhanming knew perfectly well that his open and covert struggles with Kongzheng over the years, and the way they had kept each other in check, were all Ciwen's doing.
Standing outside the hall and watching Ciwen train inside, he felt his scalp tingle!
At times, Ciwen turned sideways to block the staffs with his shoulder blades; at others, he bent over and took the blows on his back. He even tilted his head up to meet them with the soft flesh beneath his Adam's apple!
With every strike of the iron staffs, there was less oil on Ciwen's body, as though it had all seeped into him.
The pounding continued for nearly half a shichen. The six skilled warrior monks had taken turns attacking and were now panting with exhaustion.
Ciwen, however, had a healthy flush and showed no sign of fatigue.
One warrior monk backed up to the hall entrance and took a five-step run-up, his boot soles scraping against the gray bricks with a piercing squeal. He raised his iron staff above his head in both hands, arched backward like a fully drawn bow, and leaped, putting his full weight and momentum behind a blow aimed at the crown of Ciwen's head!
The staff cleaved through the wind, its shadow trailing a gray-black streak through the light. Its head struck Ciwen squarely on his bald crown.
Hum-!!!
The sound rang like a great bell, echoing throughout the hall. Outside, Hong Zhanming could not help covering his ears, but he kept his eyes wide open and fixed on Ciwen.
The iron staff rebounded faster than it had come. The young warrior monk's hands were still clenched in a grip, but the skin between his thumbs and forefingers had split open, spattering drops of blood onto the gray bricks. The staff flew from his hands, spinning through the air and crashing into a pillar, knocking off a large patch of vermilion lacquer.
The iron staff bounced twice on the floor and rolled to the hall entrance.
Hong Zhanming looked down and saw that the front end of the solid iron staff had been bent out of shape!
His eyes widened, and a chill ran down his back.
Inside the hall, the crown of Ciwen's head was bright red, but it quickly returned to normal.
He pressed his palms together, and his frame slowly shrank back to six chi. Every bone gave off a delicate crackling sound, his skin returned to its bronze color, and not a drop of oil remained on him.
His breathing was not as hurried as that of other martial artists circulating their internal skills. It was continuous, with no discernible pause, impossible to tell whether he was breathing in or out.
Not only that, a low, muffled rumbling like thunder continued to come from within his body.
Hong Zhanming's expression changed as a guess flashed through his mind.
He called out loudly, "Congratulations on mastering your divine skill, Abbot!"
Inside the hall, Ciwen glanced at him without speaking and spread his arms. A warrior monk brought a golden kasaya and draped it over him.
Once the kasaya covered his knotted muscles, Ciwen looked as though he had changed from a mighty vajra into a bodhisattva with lowered eyes.
"Come in."
Ciwen spoke in a deep voice that resonated like a Buddhist chant.
Hong Zhanming stepped into the hall.
Ciwen waved a hand, and everyone else in the hall withdrew.
"Greetings, Abbot."
Hong Zhanming bowed with great respect. "Congratulations on entering the First Rank, Abbot!"
Ciwen raised one hand in a gesture for him to rise and smiled. "You have a good eye."
Hong Zhanming was taken aback, then his face lit up with wild joy. "Now that you've mastered your divine skill, Abbot, no one in Yi Province's martial world can stand against you!"
Ciwen's expression remained calm. "Yi Province's martial world is in decline. It hasn't produced another First Rank in decades. Being the strongest in Yi Province amounts to little."
Hong Zhanming immediately said, "You're too modest, Abbot. A First Rank expert is among the best even in the whole world. If you took the martial examination, you could enter the Golden Throne Hall and stand before the emperor!"
With a smile that was not quite a smile, Ciwen said, "All conditioned things are like dreams, illusions, bubbles, and shadows. A little empty fame cannot trouble my heart."
Hong Zhanming pressed his palms together in sincere admiration. "My eyes were clouded by the mortal world, and I fell into worldly thinking."
Ciwen nodded. "You've been busy with worldly affairs these past years. When you have time, you should read more Buddhist scriptures."
Hong Zhanming lowered his head. "Your rebuke is just, Abbot."
With that, he dropped straight to his knees with a thud.
Ciwen looked calmly at Chief Steward Hong. "Why is this?"
Hong Zhanming kept his head lowered. "I was foolish for a time. To avenge a personal grudge, I caused dozens of deaths. Please punish me, Abbot!"
Ciwen said nothing. Only the sound of Hong Zhanming's breathing could be heard in the hall.
Cold sweat broke out on his forehead, and he felt an unease and tension he had not experienced in years.
"Zhanming, do you know why I chose you to be chief steward back then, when you were still a destitute scholar?"
"I don't know."
"It was the karmic bond between us."
As he spoke, Ciwen stepped forward, his figure completely enveloping Hong Zhanming.
He reached out his right hand and laid his open palm on Hong Zhanming's head.
His five fingers were long and slender, covering Hong Zhanming's head completely.
Hong Zhanming's body trembled.
"Abbot..."
Ciwen held Hong Zhanming's head with one hand and clasped the other behind his back. Looking out of the hall, his gaze grew profound.
"Tell me, is this bond between us a good one, or a bond of ill karma?"
Hong Zhanming's body had begun to shake uncontrollably. He forced down the fear in his heart and said with difficulty, "Of course... of course it's a good bond."
Ciwen smiled, withdrew his hand, and turned to face the Buddha statue.
"Go. There's no need to concern yourself with Bo County for now. Strengthen our contact with West River Market. We have more important matters."
As though granted a great pardon, Hong Zhanming rose and bowed to Ciwen. "Yes."
Then he hurriedly got up and left the hall.
Only after leaving the back mountain did Hong Zhanming feel the shadow that had hung over his head disappear.
He looked up at the blue sky.
"First Rank..."
His expression shifted again and again.
The Mist Hidden Temple had steadily expanded its influence over the years. Outsiders all believed it was because Chief Steward Hong was full of ambition, but in truth, all of it had been done with Ciwen's tacit approval.
Now this abbot, who had spent years in seclusion, had mastered his martial arts and broken through to the First Rank.
Hong Zhanming knew that it was not just the Mist Hidden Temple-the very heavens might soon change over all of Yi Province!
The fourth day after the ambush on the Mist Hidden Temple's cavalry.
Bo County.
The militia camp in the south of the city.
Dozens of militiamen in matching uniforms held spears and marched back and forth across the open ground in neat ranks.
Wu Shuangren required them to keep their ranks orderly even while marching, to lift their feet to the same height with every step, and to hold their spears raised and pointed forward.
The first rank, the second rank, the third rank... Every rank held its spears differently.
There were also some formation changes after that.
Wu Shuangren did not understand those. Wu Dongrong and Liao Yu taught the militiamen several formations commonly used by the frontier army's spearmen.
They trained until noon. After lunch, Wu Shuangren told the militiamen to rest.
None of the militiamen went back indoors to sleep or went off to do anything else. Instead, they all gathered together and sat on the ground, looking curiously at the open space ahead.
On one side of the open ground, Wu Dongrong and Liao Yu each sat astride a warhorse.
Both held spears with their heads wrapped in cloth.
On the other side, Wu Shuangren stood alone, holding a wooden saber.
"Ready?"
Liao Yu called out.
Wu Shuangren nodded and assumed the opening stance of Crouching Tiger.
"Come!"
58 Future Plans
On the open ground, Liao Yu urged his horse into a charge, with Wu Dongrong close behind.
Wu Shuangren equipped the Trait and locked onto Liao Yu as his target. Qi and blood surged through his body, and his Internal Skill was strengthened.
Under Liao Yu's direction, the warhorse quickly picked up speed, its iron hooves pounding the ground like drums and sending dust flying!
Liao Yu crouched low over the horse's back, the cloth-wrapped spear in his hand pointing diagonally at the ground. As the horse charged, the spearhead slowly rose and locked onto Wu Shuangren's chest.
Twenty paces.
Ten paces.
The watching militiamen could not help growing nervous, sweating on Wu Shuangren's behalf.
Liao Yu suddenly squeezed the horse's flanks. The warhorse let out a long neigh and accelerated yet again!
The spear came tearing through the air. Though its head was wrapped in cloth, the fierce wind stirred up by the shaft itself was already rushing into Wu Shuangren's face.
There was no fear in Wu Shuangren's eyes. Instead, there was a hint of excitement.
He drew his right foot back half a step and bent his knees slightly. His whole body seemed pressed into the earth by an invisible hand, truly like a fierce tiger crouching, gathering its strength to spring!
The spearhead was already in front of him.
Wu Shuangren suddenly leaned left and stepped in sideways toward the shaft. His wooden saber struck it precisely two-thirds of the way along-its weakest point!
With a muffled impact, Liao Yu felt a force coming from an angle. The spearhead veered three cun off course beyond his control, sliding past Wu Shuangren's right shoulder.
The warhorse swept past Wu Shuangren, the fierce wind it raised filling his robes. Liao Yu looked back from horseback, then continued riding forward.