The ancient temple, once noisy, had returned to its eerie calm. It was like a centuries-old tree weathering countless storms—no matter how strong the wind, it always survived. For the monks who hadn’t fought on the front lines, this was just another chapter in the endless story of "someone storms Shaolin → gets kicked out again." In the end, it would simply add another glorious entry to Shaolin’s legendary record, so that when they stepped outside, they could brag, "See? Our Shaolin Temple is still the thousand-year titan of the martial world—dragons submit, tigers bow!"
But for the monks who actually joined the fight this time, their mood was very different.
Nobody died this round, but from the Eighteen Bronze Elders down to the One Hundred and Eight Guardians, everyone looked as wilted as eggplants hit by frost. They had numbers, home turf, and all the advantages—yet in the end, they were flattened by a bunch of women!
Where were the old guys supposed to put their faces after this?!
Thinking back, they’d rather have lost to that Kunlun Three Saints guy, He Zudao!
Forget all that talk about 'form is emptiness.' If they’d really reached that level, they wouldn’t have spent centuries yelling about not letting women into the temple. Buddha might not see male or female, but monks sure do, and the difference is real—they just pretend not to think about it most of the time.
Speaking of 'male and female,' you can’t skip Simone. This time, she was a real disaster-maker.
After getting hit by Lady Simone’s Sound Skill, the young monks—full of hormones and not much discipline—were left dazed and confused. Most had been sent to Shaolin Temple as kids and didn’t know much about the world outside, let alone women. But when Simone, a true master, made her move, it was like a demon king camping at the newbie village gate. She nearly snatched their souls! Back in their rooms, nursing wounds and spacing out, they didn’t even know what they were thinking—except that the image of that 'veiled, barely dressed lady benefactor' kept flashing in their minds, driving them absolutely nuts.
Shaolin’s next generation of meditation skills? Worrying, to say the least.
As for the three top monks, they each had their own issues too.
Brother Matthew’s Zen Finger Strike had been broken, and he still hadn’t recovered from the shock.
Brother Fury had taken a few solid slaps and was still fuming, unable to calm down.
Brother Paul retreated to his room to quietly work on his breathing. His Golden Bell Shield was barely hanging on. The Thousand-Pound Drop plus the force of the Dragon Elephant combo had hit hard—just a couple more kicks and he’d have to surrender once his protective energy shattered. He kept channeling his energy nonstop to heal, but a full recovery would take at least a week.
Funny enough, the strongest and most intact fighter left in Shaolin was actually Monk Jueyuan—the guy nobody ever paid attention to. The younger monks who knew this were floored. This quiet, easy-to-bully old nice guy was secretly a top master? Guess we better watch ourselves. Even Jimmy Chang—the kid monk who barely gets a mention in the original story—deserves some respect now.
Of course, besides the obvious masters, there were hidden ones who hadn’t shown their skills yet.
Not many—just one, actually.
And honestly, there couldn’t be more. In the other world, the whole Peng Kingdom had tons of martial artists, but only four innate masters and two kings ever made a name for themselves. Shaolin might be the ancestral home of Zen, loaded with secret techniques and ancient scrolls, but with so few people, having this many experts is already a miracle.
Abbot Timothy made his way to a small courtyard—he was here to visit this hidden master.
Inside the courtyard, an old monk was calmly flipping through scriptures. Sure, lots of old monks had shown up lately, but this one was different. He was tall, with thick eyebrows—must’ve been a powerhouse in his youth. Now, who knows how old he was? At first glance, you couldn’t tell; look closer and he could be sixty, seventy, or even over a hundred.
His back was ramrod straight, not a hint of stoop. His eyes, though aged, were bright and lively, and his skin almost glowed—a big reason nobody could guess his real age. But Abbot Timothy knew: this old monk was even older than people thought. Timothy was already about sixty, but when he first joined Shaolin as a kid, this monk was already an old-timer.
More than fifty years had passed, yet this old monk seemed unchanged—serious but serene, so much so that even Abbot Timothy, Shaolin's theoretical top leader, barely dared to breathe in his presence.
Truth be told, Abbot Timothy had known this old monk for ages.
This time, Abbot Timothy had rushed over with a million questions: "Master, why didn't you act today?" In his mind, if this old monk made a move, nobody in the world could stop him. Back at the Huashan Sword Summit, if he'd come down from the mountain, Wang Chongyang wouldn't have hogged the spotlight. Sure, the Nine Yin Manual and Shaolin's teachings are worlds apart, so fine, let that go. But today, with trouble knocking on the door, why didn't he step in?
The old monk didn't even put down his scripture, just asked calmly, "Why should I act?"
His voice was ancient, peaceful, yet carried a weight that could only come from years of living. Abbot Timothy was instantly tongue-tied, all his clever words stuck in his throat. "Uh..."
The old monk finally set down his scripture and glanced at Abbot Timothy. "Abbot, do you really think if I acted, all troubles would vanish?"
He didn’t say ‘incident’—he said ‘trouble.’ That made Abbot Timothy smile wryly. "Trouble comes from the heart; if your heart’s unsettled, trouble won’t settle. I get that. But today’s a big deal. That kid only agreed to stay at the last minute, but it’s risky as heck. Putting all our luck on a kid’s whim—that’s just... that’s just absurd! Master, maybe martial arts can’t solve every trouble, but they sure can handle opponents!"
"Hahaha!" The old monk suddenly burst out laughing, shaking his head. After a while, he said, "Suppose I told you, even if I acted, I couldn’t handle the opponent?"
"Wait, what?" Abbot Timothy was stunned. He’d never considered that possibility. "No way!"
"Why not? There was a master here today—didn’t make a move, but kept his aura locked on me the whole time. If I did nothing, he did nothing. If I tried to stand out, he wouldn’t just watch. I never saw his face, but if we really fought, forget who’d win—just the collateral damage would wreck more than the main hall’s roof." The old monk had suppressed all the chaos with a single Buddhist chant, keeping out of the fray to avoid a showdown with another martial arts master.
"How... how could that be..." Abbot Timothy’s eyes trembled. He racked his brain but couldn’t recall seeing anyone with the classic ‘old master’ vibe today.
Refining essence into qi, like Xiu Yu said, takes step-by-step practice—no way you get superhuman skills without years of work. As for Yang Qi’s full-blown rampage, he’d already run off and missed it. After fighting Wuse, he’d rushed over here, so the abbot didn’t know half of what went down.
"Could there be someone else hiding nearby?"
The old monk shook his head slowly. "Abbot, don’t get cocky. Even if that guy didn’t act, just those women who did—I’m not sure I could beat them all."
That one sentence floored Abbot Timothy. He gaped, "That woman with the sound attacks—was her power really that deep?" He’d run for backup as soon as he saw Simone in action.
"Not her—the other one," the old monk explained. "You know, of the temple’s four great treasures, the Muscle/Tendon Changing Classic builds up muscle and bone, the Marrow Washing Classic works on meridians. If you master the Muscle/Tendon Changing Classic, you can achieve the Perfect Physique (无漏真身—a legendary Shaolin state of indestructible body and immense strength). But in hundreds of years, only an unnamed sweeper monk managed it after sixty years of training. But that young woman, at her age, has already reached Perfect Physique."
"Perfect Physique?!" Abbot Timothy felt like he’d been struck by lightning—his shiny bald head practically sparked. Perfect Physique is a myth for anyone who trains hard-style martial arts or external techniques.
He stammered, "They say Perfect Physique means boundless strength, skin and hair are treasures, bones and blood turn to relics. Even after death, the body doesn’t rot for a hundred years... That Dragon Elephant Wisdom Art is another legendary body-training technique—Master Golden Wheel devoted his life to it but still fell short. How could a young girl, with her five leaks, pull this off? No way!"
Perfect Physique is basically the Arhat realm of legend—already halfway to myth.
The old monk shook his head. "No matter how smart you are, if you don’t have the right fate, you can’t reach it. For her to get there so young, she must’ve had some incredible luck—top-notch body techniques, endless supplements, lucky timing, all of it. That’s what we call deep Buddhist karma. Don’t be fooled by her shallow martial arts; when it comes to sheer toughness, you won’t find many rivals in the world. If she ever got murderous, not even an army could stop her. I’m old and frail—if I can’t win fast, who knows who’d be left standing?"