"Blah blah blah, so much talk, but in the end, it's all about what you can do with your fists." Jill Young shook out her wrist. There were still some tiny fractures in her arm bones that hadn't healed, but that couldn't dampen her fighting spirit. The two monks across from her weren't weaklings—if anything, they seemed tougher than that old Taoist who was all bark and no bite. So she had to show she meant business.
With two ripping sounds, she tore off her sleeves, which had already been shredded by the Lion's Roar technique just now, revealing a pair of pale, slender but powerfully built arms. Her outfit had gone from a jacket to a sleeveless top—just like when she used to fight underground matches back in the day. She rolled her fists, beckoned with her right hand, and her eyes flashed with the wild light of a gladiator entering the arena: "Come on, let's go!"
"A..." Brother Sorrow had only uttered the first syllable when Jill vanished from where she stood.
"Mi..." Brother Sorrow got to the second syllable, but Jill was already a phantom, appearing in midair above him.
"Tuo..." Brother Sorrow managed the third syllable, when a leg came slicing down like a mad blade in chaotic times. It was as if time itself didn't matter—her wild, dragon-like kick landed squarely on his head.
"Fo..." The fourth syllable from Brother Sorrow was lost in the noise, because with a thunderous crash, it sounded like a giant spirit hurling a boulder against the Eastern Emperor Bell. The deafening boom shook the heavens and the earth, making everyone's eardrums tremble. The girls from No One Under Heaven, who'd survived the Vajra Sect battle, were mentally prepared—but the 108 Warrior Monks, caught off guard, were like rabbits hearing a tiger's roar. Their hearts skipped, and their hands went weak.
Boom! The solid bluestone floor of Shaolin was instantly stamped with two deep footprints by Brother Sorrow, and cracks spread out in all directions, like a giant spider spinning its web.
Brother Sorrow's body only swayed a little, but his face looked even more miserable.
That hit was way beyond what he expected.
"Nice!" Jill wasn't done yet. In a split second, she used the momentum from her first kick to spin midair, twirling like a ballerina—except this ballet was all raw power and beauty. With a flash of light and shadow, her second leg shot out like a spinning hammer, whistling through the air and slamming right into the monk's prayer-pressed palms.
Bang—buzz buzz buzz. No one was using sound techniques, but the giant bell of Shaolin Temple seemed to resonate as if awakened. Wild winds whipped through, surging with force, and Brother Sorrow's sleeves instantly burst into flying strands of cotton.
Golden light flashed on his arms—clearly, he'd trained his Vajra Palm and Vajra Arm to the highest level. But those Buddha-like, diamond-hard arms creaked and involuntarily recoiled, the edge of his palms slamming into his own chest and sending out a second wave of ringing sound. His face flushed red, and his body shook even harder.
"Now that's a Twelve Gates Golden Bell Shield—impervious to blades, bullets, fire, or water. Nice!" Jill's hair flew wild, her spirit soaring. Compared to Elder Vajra, this old monk's Golden Bell Shield was not only tough but had serious rebound force. Every kick she landed was like getting hit by Zhao Han's Fist of Slaughter—the shockwave alone would break a normal person's bones. If Iron Shirt is all about brute force, then the 'golden' defensive arts mix body and qi for double-layer protection. Pretty wild stuff.
But—
"If all you can do is take hits and never fight back, that's not good enough!"
Whoosh—Jill landed on the ground. This time, there was no dramatic buildup; she just took one big, simple stride. But Brother Sorrow's pupils shrank immediately, because in that single step, everything changed. If her last two kicks were tsunamis—huge and unstoppable, but he was a stubborn rock—now, this single step felt absolutely unstoppable.
It was like a conqueror claiming new lands—the swagger of that step was beyond words. Power comes from the ground; a true martial artist only reaches peak strength when their feet are planted.
With one stride, it was like an earthquake or a volcano erupting—Jill's aura shot through the roof. She was like a giant striding across ancient earth; one step, and the sky seemed to crack.
Whoosh—the kick didn't look fast, just plain and simple. But that plain kick made every defensive move pointless. The monk felt like his palms in front of his chest were just for show. In a blink, her foot landed squarely on his chest.
Thud—air split and rippled, sending stones and dust bouncing off the ground. The old monk's face grew bitter, then even more bitter, as he pushed his power to the limit. His face was beet red, but his feet still slid helplessly backward. An inch, two, three feet, four yards—roaring winds drove Brother Sorrow skidding back across the floor.
By the time he finally stopped, he'd retreated all the way to the edge of Shaolin's main courtyard. Behind him was the Grand Hall, and in front of him, two deep trenches—smoke still rising from the ground. He straightened his battered chest a little, and a shimmering glow swirled across it. Outside the golden aura of his body-protection technique, a blazing red-gold footprint was burned into his chest. The crackling clash of energies lasted for three full breaths before the fiery mark finally faded.
The eighteen old monks' eyes went wide, and even the Angry-Eyed Monk, who was locked in fierce combat with Lady Sanmiao nearby, twitched at the corner of his eye. Brother Sorrow's Golden Bell Shield was legendary—unless you had some dragon-subduing skill, even a master with a century's worth of cultivation couldn't easily push him back. But now, a woman with just forty years of training had kicked him breathless in three moves. It was a total shock to their worldview.
"Oh?" Jill glanced at her own foot, surprised. That last kick felt different somehow. She couldn't quite put her finger on it, but it was especially satisfying—like she'd finally figured out the perfect way to kick after a long journey of trial and error.
"Hahaha, impressive, impressive. Looks like this old monk will have to shamelessly gang up on you now." The Laughing Monk couldn't just stand by anymore. His sleeves billowed as he pointed from a distance. This wasn't some deadly, laser-like energy attack—nothing like the Six Veins Divine Sword—but its effect on Jill was unexpected.
Because, while others might not notice, Jill suddenly sensed herself being pulled into a world both real and unreal. Starting from the Laughing Monk's fingertip, a phantom world unfolded, overlapping with reality—so uncanny, it was almost magical.
One-Finger Zen, Child's Skill, Golden Bell Shield—these sound like generic martial arts. But in reality, they're even stronger than Angry-Eyed Monk's Kasaya Demon-Subduing Technique. Child's Skill and Golden Bell Shield are both insanely powerful; at their peak, they outshine almost every other martial art. If you train Golden Bell Shield with Vajra Palm, Vajra Leg, Vajra Finger, and reach Twelve Gates, you're basically a beast—second only to the complete Diamond Invincibility Technique.
Wang Chongyang can't carve characters into stone with his finger, but this old monk absolutely could. Not that Wang Chongyang is weaker—it's just a different skill set. One's a tech nerd, the other's a brick hauler; different strokes. The nerd can show off his pay stub, but the brick hauler can flex his abs. Everyone has their specialty.
And One-Finger Zen is even more outrageous.
It sounds like a roadside trick where you do push-ups with one finger—but actually, its effect is amazing. The name "One-Finger Zen" comes from a Buddhist story: A great monk, when seekers came for answers, would always raise one finger, no matter the question. After that, the seeker would suddenly understand, all doubts gone, and leave happy. Outsiders thought he was just being mysterious, but in all of Shaolin's history, only a handful have truly mastered One-Finger Zen.
Because the point of this technique isn't muscle, power, or balancing on one finger. The key is spirit—for Buddhists, it's about enlightenment. It's a rare martial art that focuses on the mind, as powerful as the Nine Yin Soul-Stealing Thread. In a sacred, solemn place, its effect is even greater.
Brother Sorrow's Golden Bell Shield stood for Buddhist 'forbearance,' Angry-Eyed Monk was all about 'demon-subduing,' and Laughing Monk's One-Finger Zen was the classic 'wake-up call.' Put these three monks together, and you've got a seriously tough combo.
"Hah!" Thud—a bald monk was kicked right through the gate into Shaolin Temple, a member of the Warrior Monk Formation. At the same time, shouts and cries rang out, and several monks tumbled and rolled inside. After a fierce fight, the No One Under Heaven girls, with all their boosted power and stamina, came out on top.
Whoosh—Iceblade was the first to dash through the Shaolin gates.
Whoosh, whoosh—Phoenix Firstheart, Lotus Drunk, and more girls charged in right after.
And then, Black Charcoal stole the spotlight again—after booting a monk like a baseball, she led a herd of horses thundering into Shaolin. During the brawl, these wild-as-can-be horses really racked up some attack points. With people shouting and horses neighing, the ancient temple was anything but peaceful.
"Hand over the child!" Iceblade shouted coldly. Looking up, she saw Jill and the two monks trading blows like shadows, smashing open the Grand Hall doors and fighting their way inside.
Meanwhile, on the other side, Angry-Eyed Monk and Lady Sanmiao were locked in a heated battle. Buddhists are focused and grounded, not easily swayed by Lady Sanmiao's sound techniques. That whole 'radio drama causing a mental breakdown' thing wouldn't work on Angry-Eyed Monk. On the flip side, his hard-hitting style wasn't the best match for her, either. The two of them fought all over, unable to spare a hand for anything else.
The Warrior Monk Formation was broken, the eighteen Bronze Men were still down for the count, the abbot was MIA, and the three old monks were too exhausted to do anything else. If this isn't the perfect chance, what is?
"Search!" Iceblade waved her hand. "Find the stolen kids!"
Just as the girls were gearing up to start the search, Wu Zhenfeng suddenly stopped her. "No need."
"Master?" The girls turned to look. Wu Zhenfeng walked over with the grace of an ordinary young lady, but her face was serious. She shook her head gently: "A duel like this is rare in the martial world. Watch closely. As for everything else, you don't need to worry anymore."
The girls didn't understand, but the master's orders were never questioned. They nodded and focused on watching Lady Sanmiao and Angry-Eyed Monk's duel.
Wu Zhenfeng hadn't lifted a finger the whole time, but her gaze was deep as she glanced into the far reaches of the Shaolin courtyard. Amid all the shouting and fighting, there was still one spot in the ancient temple that remained calm. That powerful Buddhist chant just now hadn't come from any of the three monks in front—it was beyond their level.
"Shaolin really is a thousand-year-old sect. Before coming down the mountain, I never imagined there were such masters in the world. I underestimated the heroes of this land."
While the front courtyard rang with battle, in the back, an old monk in a bright red kasaya was running in a panic—this was Abbot Tianming. Shaolin has both literary and martial traditions, and the abbot has never been the strongest fighter, but he commands respect. Tianming was good at balancing both sides and had a solid reputation, making him a strong leader for Shaolin. But right now, he was using his lightness skill, rushing toward the back courtyard, his face anxious.
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As he turned the corner, a figure suddenly blocked his way. Startled, he looked up—it was Monk Wuse.
"Abbot Senior Brother" (Note: Tianming and Wuse aren't actually from the same generation, so they're not real senior-junior brothers. But Shaolin's generational ranks in Jin Yong novels differ from reality, and it's unclear who's senior. Since Wuse is the head of the Arhat Hall and a Shaolin committee member, let's just call him that for now.) Wuse blocked Tianming's way: "Where are you going?"
"Wuse Junior Brother, don't play dumb."
"I really don't know, that's why I'm asking. Please enlighten me, Senior Brother."
"You—" Tianming said urgently, "Right now, the Longevity God Sect is on the rise and has always had its eyes on Shaolin. The Mongol-Song war can't last much longer, and soon it'll be clear who rules the land. Many new kings have wiped out Buddhists, but none are as ruthless as the Mongols, who slaughter entire cities. Now Shaolin—and all of Zen—are at a life-or-death crossroads! Wildfires rage, bitter seas rise, we must build our own boats to cross and save ourselves. Stop clinging to old ideas and hurry, help me protect the child!"
"Sigh, Abbot Senior Brother, I joined the order late and my Buddhist studies are shallow, so I shouldn't brag. But today, the one who's missing the point isn't me." Wuse stood his ground, pointing toward the front courtyard: "Listen, all that noise—it's just worldly desire. But why all this chaos? If Shaolin really faces destruction, why would that happen? Tearing down temples isn't extinction, smashing statues isn't death. Buddha isn't a golden body, but enlightenment. Senior Brother, you're the most learned among us—don't miss the forest for the trees!"