"Wha..." Brother Fury was startled, instinctively glancing at the Great Hall, but quickly realized that was a mistake. As a master of breaking through defenses, his reactions were lightning-fast—he knew better than to let his gaze stray from Lady Simone. He snapped his head back instantly. But as fast as he was, someone else was faster. Lady Simone seized that fleeting moment, darted in close, and with both palms charged with energy, unleashed a flurry of slaps—crackling and fierce—right onto Brother Fury.
Her hard-style skills were far inferior to her opponent's, so she never dared get too close—until now. Finally, she’d found her chance to go all out.
Ten rapid-fire slaps later, the Angry-Eyed Monk was seeing stars and hearing bells. With a furious roar and a burst of energy, he finally broke free from the melee and flipped backward out of the fight. Smack—he landed on the ground, stumbled back two steps, and planted his feet. Looking down, he saw his kasaya was covered in fresh handprints—his once luxurious monk robes now looked like a beggar’s rags. His face? Covered in overlapping red and blue five-finger mountains. He touched it—ouch, that hurt. It felt swollen already.
Meanwhile, Bitter Monk and Joy Monk also landed at the same time, standing beside him—looking just as battered and miserable.
Creak, creak—whoosh! The plaque above the Great Hall swayed twice, then finally crashed toward the ground. For a thousand years, the main hall’s plaque at Shaolin had never fallen. But now, it was finally about to hit the dirt.
But then—smack!—a hand caught it.
It was Yang Qi. She walked out from the Great Hall, casually caught the plaque, and with a flick of her wrist, sent it flying right back to its spot, where it hung firmly again. The monks were stunned—even Brother Fury was a bit dazed.
"After meeting you all today, I gotta admit—Shaolin’s reputation isn’t just hype. So let’s keep the sign up there." Yang Qi glanced at the eighteen old bronze monks of the Zen Heart Hall, then at the three monks in front of her, nodding slightly. "You’ve got guts—not a bunch of wimps. But as for letting people go, there’s no room for negotiation!" Yang Qi clenched her fist and charged forward: "Let’s see how long your Golden Bell Shield can hold out!"
Lady Sanmiao charged forward too, shrieking like a banshee, itching for a fight and ready to explode.
The three monks instantly struck their poses—Kasaya Demon-Breaking Technique, Golden Bell Shield, One-Finger Zen—all ready. A new round of battle was about to erupt.
Just as both sides were about to clash again, the classic rescue line from martial arts stories finally made its debut in this book: "Hold on, benefactors!"
The voice wasn’t loud, but it was packed with deep, enduring power—enough to shake the whole hall. There weren’t any fancy sonic techniques, but it showed the speaker’s solid internal strength. Lady Sanmiao’s face changed slightly; the newcomer’s skill was even higher than the three monks before her, and at least as strong as she’d ever been. In another world, he’d be a triple-king at the peak of his class—the top tier of the third realm.
How does Shaolin still have more masters hiding around here?
Is this ever going to end? One after another—they just keep coming!
Everyone paused and looked back, only to see a burly, sturdy monk rushing over, lugging two massive iron buckets—huffing and puffing as he hurried (note: he’s required to carry them with chains as punishment). Beside him was a fourteen- or fifteen-year-old junior monk (note: originally sixteen or seventeen in the source, but trimmed a bit here), young but with serious skills—over thirty years’ worth, sprinting at full speed.
"Iron buckets?" Yang Qi sized him up—yep, the features matched. This was probably the guy. She called out, "Who are you? What’s your business?"
Grace Kwok and Jimmy Chang also walked in. Grace saw the two monks who’d just barged in and blurted out in surprise, "Master Jueyuan? Jimmy?"
"This humble monk is Jueyuan from the Scripture Library. I ask everyone to stop fighting." The big monk rushed between the two sides, separating them, and bowed to everyone: "Senior brothers, lady benefactors—we have no real grudges here, so why fight? I’m here on orders from Master Wuse, specifically to put an end to this conflict."
"End the conflict?" Brother Fury demanded loudly, "How? That kid is deeply involved—no way we’re letting him go! Hurry up and help us take down that demon woman!" After those slaps from Lady Simone, he was fuming, desperate to redeem himself by taking her out. No way he’d agree to peace now.
"Heh, you old geezer never learn, do you? Looks like I’ll have to give you a few more slaps!" Lady Sanmiao wasn’t fazed—if it’s a fight, it’s a fight, who’s afraid? With Yang Qi tanking up front, she could keep piling on the debuffs, no problem. Plus, with Wu Zhengfeng holding down the fort outside, she figured even if she had no other backup, these four monks tied together wouldn’t stand a chance against Wu Zhengfeng.
Even though he's just a servant now, sometimes having a big boss to back you up and throw your weight around feels pretty good.
Some people don't want to stop fighting, but others are already sick of it.
"Amitabha. Brother Jueyuan, what do you think we should do to stop the fighting?" Bitter Monk was now the one most eager to call it quits. Happy Monk gave a wry smile and nodded too. Ever since his One-Finger Zen got trashed by Yang Qi, he'd been sidelined. Sure, he knew a few other Shaolin moves, but nothing high-level enough to matter. Plus, having his One-Finger Zen broken was a huge blow to his confidence.
"Everyone, today's conflict is pretty straightforward. Abbot Tianming and the senior monks want to keep the young benefactor, not to harm him, but grabbing him by force isn't exactly honorable. The real issue is whether the boy wants to stay or not. So, my suggestion is: let's invite him over and talk openly. If he wants to stay, great. If not, we won't force him. We'll apologize and send him back to the Western Regions. What do you all think?"
With Tianming gone, the monks had no leader. They looked at each other, and since Bitter Monk outranked the rest, he made the call. He nodded right away, "Well said, that's exactly what we should do." Many monks hadn't even figured out what was going on, so hearing this made them nod along. Angry Monk looked annoyed, but he couldn't argue with the logic.
On this side, leadership was way clearer. Yang Qi nodded, "Alright, let's do that."
"Okay. Jimmy, go."
"Yes!"
The little monk sprinted off and quickly came back, this time carrying a rattan box. Turns out Grace Kwok and He Zudao had rushed over, and Abbot Tianming hadn't even opened the package he'd received from the old Shaolin monk in the Western Regions—it was still factory sealed. When the box was opened, everyone saw a two- or three-year-old child, hands and feet tied, mouth gagged.
Sanmiao scoffed, "Upright sect? Ha! What a joke!"
Some of the monks blushed in embarrassment, wanting to argue but unable to find the words.
Jimmy untied the kid and picked him up. The boy had slightly darker skin but delicate, handsome features. Despite the ordeal, he didn't cry like a normal child—his eyes showed a wisdom and maturity way beyond his years.
Wu Zhenfeng frowned as soon as she saw the child. Having been young and old more than once herself, she could spot something unusual in those eyes.
Yang Qi's reaction was even bigger.
She stared wide-eyed and walked over, circling the little kid before pointing at him, her tone full of confusion and gut feeling: "You... you, you, you..." She repeated 'you' several times but couldn't get anything else out, because she had no idea what to say. The moment she saw this kid, she had a weird feeling she couldn't put into words.
The kid felt the same way. He looked at Yang Qi with a mix of surprise, confusion, and a sense of déjà vu. His big eyes darted up and down as he mumbled, "I... I... you..." After a moment, he glanced at Grace Kwok, who also felt a strange sense of familiarity, though not as strong as Yang Qi's.
Seeing these three, everyone exchanged glances. The conservative monks, led by Angry Monk, started to feel uneasy.
Wait, do these three know each other? But it doesn't look like it—otherwise, they'd be saying something more than just "you, you, me, me." But if they're strangers, nobody's buying it either.
It's like meeting an old friend you got separated from as a kid, after decades of changes. You both look different, your memories are faded, and you randomly bump into each other in a crowd.
Familiar yet strange—you want to say something, but you have no idea what.
"Little benefactor." Jueyuan was totally oblivious to the awkward vibe. He just ignored everyone's weird interactions and directly asked the kid, "Sorry about everything earlier. Our Songshan Shaolin wants to invite you to stay and help us figure out how to save the world. What do you think?"
Angry Monk nearly lost it—Jueyuan, you big dummy, why are you asking a toddler for his opinion right now? He's two or three, just got dragged here in a box from the Western Regions, and probably thinks every bald guy is the villain. Of course he's not going to say yes! And what does he know about saving the world? You should've started with some snacks or sweet talk!
You idiot, you're killing me here!
But the kid snapped out of it, looked at Jueyuan, and said something that left all the monks, all the women, and even the only guy who wasn't a monk or a woman—yeah, that's He Zudao—completely stunned: "I already know the whole story. Fine, I’ll stay for a few days."
Stay... here?
Huh? Did I hear that right? He’s actually staying?
Angry Monk was the first to react, clapping his hands: "Hey! Somebody, take the little benefactor to a guest room and treat him well!" A bunch of monks rushed up, scooping the kid away like they were afraid someone might steal him.
But he was worried for nothing. Nobody was going to snatch the kid.
A totally random fight had finally ended. It started for no reason, ended for no reason, and even the choice to stop was random. Yang Qi, still looking baffled, watched the kid get carried off. The two of them locked eyes across the crowd before a doorway finally blocked their view. Yang Qi lowered her gaze, stroked her chin, and muttered, "That little rascal is definitely, absolutely, one hundred percent up to something..."