Chanxin Courtyard was the place where Shaolin received guests, composed of multiple courtyards. At this moment, the forest stood bare, with a thin layer of snow covering its branches.
Meng Qi wielded a broom, clearing the remaining snow in the courtyard, when suddenly the door of a side room opened. A young Taoist boy with twin topknots stood at the doorway shouting, “Hey, little monk, the room is a bit dirty. Come and clean it.”
“Alright, lay devotee.” Meng Qi gave a one-handed salute and walked toward the room with the broom, while the still-somewhat-childish Taoist boy had already returned inside.
As Meng Qi approached the door, he glanced inside and saw seven or eight people, each dressed differently in colorful attire, a much more vivid sight than the monotonous Shaolin robes.
Hmm, was there even a girl? Meng Qi dared not look closely, so as not to be impolite, but in a quick glance, he seemed to have spotted a young girl wearing a light yellow dress.
It seems that Shaolin in this world doesn’t prohibit female visitors… Carefully stepping past several guests, Meng Qi intended to clean up the broken teacups on the floor.
Suddenly, a foot appeared from somewhere, right in front of Meng Qi’s path.
Meng Qi couldn’t stop his leg in time and tripped over it. He felt his center of gravity shift, stumbling forward.
In surprise, Meng Qi vaguely saw that the one who had tried to trip him was the young Taoist boy with twin topknots from earlier. The boy had distinct features, most notably his thick black eyebrows that looked like two flying daggers. At this moment, he didn’t even glance at Meng Qi, his eyes fixed intently ahead of him.
Meng Qi waved his arms, trying to maintain his balance and avoid falling. However, the timing of the young Taoist’s outstretched foot was impeccable, making it impossible for Meng Qi to regain his balance. He could only sorrowfully watch the ground approach, imagining a pitiful scene of himself falling face-first.
At that moment, a flash of yellow caught Meng Qi’s eye. Then, a long sword wrapped in a heavy copper-green sheath appeared out of nowhere, like a wild goose from the sky, gently touching Meng Qi’s chest.
The sword applied very little pressure; Meng Qi hardly felt any pain. However, its angle and force were just right, stopping Meng Qi’s fall and helping him regain his balance.
Still a bit dazed, Meng Qi raised his head and caught sight of a face so dazzling that it left him breathless. She had delicate eyebrows and large eyes, her black hair simply tied up and flowing down her back. She wore a light yellow dress and looked about sixteen or seventeen years old, yet there was not a trace of childishness in her expression.
Her pink lips parted slightly, her voice crisp like a nightingale’s: “Xuantian Sect, claiming to be the lineage of the Heavenly Emperor, is this how you uphold your tradition—by bullying children?”
“Hmph,” the young Taoist from Xuantian Sect did not answer, merely letting out a soft snort.
The girl turned her gaze toward Meng Qi and suddenly smiled, two dimples appearing at the corners of her mouth, making her appear very sweet: “Little monk, don’t mind that bad person. He just wanted to test my sword technique through you.”
She paused, pursed her lips slightly, and tilted her head upward: “But even if he saw my sword technique, so what?”
She didn’t say it directly, but Meng Qi could sense a deep pride and confidence in her own abilities.
“Thank you, young lady, for rescuing me.” Meng Qi steadied himself and instinctively thanked her.
The girl retrieved her sword and chuckled: “You’re quite the noble young gentleman instead of a little monk. You should address me as ‘lay devotee.'”
Then, she turned her sword and returned a bow: “Hmm, my name is Jiang Zhiwei, a disciple of Xianjian Pavilion. I’m sorry for dragging you into our conflict.”
At this, the young Taoist from Xuantian Sect snorted again: “I just didn’t expect Shaolin’s disciples to be so weak, falling over with just a little push.”
He raised his eyebrows, and combined with the childishness on his face, it gave off a slightly defiant air.
“He’s just a novice servant monk. How about I test your servant’s martial arts skill and see if it’s as strong as yours?” Jiang Zhiwei replied with a smile, her words laced with sarcasm.
“You!” The young Taoist immediately stood up.
“What are you all doing?” A deep and steady voice suddenly sounded from the doorway.
Meng Qi turned around and saw a young man in a long robe with the Eight Trigrams pattern walking in with his hands behind his back. His eyebrows were long and reached into his hairline, his nose was tall, and his eyes were sharp and piercing.
At first glance, Meng Qi thought this handsome and masculine man was in his twenties. However, upon closer inspection, he realized from the man’s eyes and eyebrows that he was probably only seventeen or eighteen years old.
His demeanor is very mature… Meng Qi inwardly commented, suppressing the anger and frustration he had felt moments ago.
“Zhang Senior Brother, Qingjing tripped this little monk to test my sword technique,” Jiang Zhiwei simply stated the facts without exaggeration.
Zhang Senior Brother looked at Qingjing and said in a calm yet commanding tone: “Now that you’ve left the sect’s mountain gate, every action of yours represents Xuantian Sect. Don’t lose your dignity.”
“Yes, Zhang Senior Brother.” The young Taoist answered somewhat reluctantly. However, it seemed that Zhang Senior Brother held great prestige among the young disciples of various sects, as no one else in the room spoke up for Qingjing.
“I was just being a bit rash,” Qingjing turned his head and said to Meng Qi before quickly turning his gaze away.
Meng Qi took a deep breath and, without saying anything else, simply replied, “This humble monk is Zhen Ding.”
Zhang Senior Brother nodded slightly and addressed Meng Qi: “Zhen Ding Senior Brother, I am Zhang Yuanshan from Zhenwu Sect. The disciples from various sects have kindly addressed me as ‘Senior Brother.’ I hope you can forgive what happened today.”
It’s just that my martial arts skills are too weak… Meng Qi didn’t voice this thought but nodded to indicate that he didn’t take the incident to heart. He then clasped his hands together, murmured a Buddhist chant, and silently cleaned the floor before leaving the room.
“That little monk actually has a bit of backbone…” From a distance, Meng Qi faintly heard Jiang Zhiwei’s comment.
Returning to the novice monks’ quarters, there was still some time before lunch, but Meng Qi’s mind was restless, eager to practice martial arts. However, since the “Hundred Days Foundation Building” stage was already completed and he had no method for “Meditative Qi Accumulation,” he could only retreat to the meditation room and repeatedly practice the Arhat Fist to strengthen his physical body.
At lunchtime, Zhen Hui and others had not yet returned, reportedly assigned to clean the Dharma Courtyard. That place was where disciples from various sects would engage in martial contests and exchanges.
It wasn’t until evening that Meng Qi saw Zhenyan, Zhen Hui, and the others return, their faces filled with excitement and enthusiasm, chatting nonstop among themselves.
“Did the martial contests start this afternoon?” Meng Qi’s heart stirred, and he quickly stepped forward to ask.
Zhen Hui nodded vigorously: “Yes, it was so amazing! Too bad you weren’t there, Senior Brother.”
Zhen Yan slightly nodded and then sighed: “They’re about my age, but their martial arts skills are ten times mine. Alas…”
Comparing people can be infuriating… This phrase suddenly popped into Meng Qi’s mind. Curiously, he asked, “Who ended up winning?”
“The final match was so exciting, swords, Taoists…” Zhen Hui waved his hands excitedly, trying to describe it, but his words were too disorganized for Meng Qi to understand.
Zhen Yan smiled and said: “The final showdown was between Zhang Yuanshan from Zhenwu Sect and Jiang Zhiwei from Xianjian Pavilion. Hehe, they had previously defeated young disciples from various sects, including Zhenmiao and Zhenben.”
Zhen Yan wore a smug expression at the defeat of the two senior brothers who had entered the temple with him.
“Zhenwu Sect, Xianjian Pavilion?” Somehow, Xuanxin had walked over. “Heh, the young disciples of these two sects actually met by fate.”
“Rivals meeting by fate?” Meng Qi felt that Zhang Yuanshan and Jiang Zhiwei seemed to have a decent relationship.
Xuanxin clicked his tongue: “Taoism has a divine technique comparable to the ‘Buddha’s Palm,’ called the ‘Seven Swords That Sever Heaven,’ which has long been lost. The foundations of Zhenwu Sect and Xianjian Pavilion each originated from one of these seven techniques. Their relationship, heh, is similar to that between the Diamond Sect and our Shaolin. And who lost in the end?”
“Zhang Yuanshan from Zhenwu Sect lost to Jiang Zhiwei by half a move, according to the evaluation of Elder Monk Kongjian, the head of the Dharma Courtyard.” Zhen Yan quickly answered, quoting the judgment of Elder Monk Kongjian.
Xuanxin was momentarily stunned: “The little girl from Xianjian Pavilion won? I hope she’s not another Su Wuming. Hehe, be careful not to break from excessive rigidity.”
The monks discussed the martial arts contest late into the night. After returning to his room, Meng Qi remained restless for a long time. Thinking about the extraordinary Zhang Yuanshan and Jiang Zhiwei, and then himself, he felt quite frustrated.
Outside the window, the bright moon shone through a thin layer of clouds, casting a scene of gentle ripples on the floor beside his bed.
“When will I finally leave the novice monks’ quarters and truly begin my martial arts training…” Thinking about this, Meng Qi could no longer restrain himself. He decided to ask Zhen Guan and Zhen Ying, the two veteran novice monks, since Master Xuanzang must have had a purpose in assigning him here.
“Senior Brother Zhen Guan, Senior Brother Zhen Ying, do you know how to leave the novice monks’ quarters? Or are there any specific requirements?” As long as there were clear requirements rather than being left to someone’s subjective judgment, Meng Qi believed he had hope of achieving them.
Upon hearing this, Zhen Ying, who loved to sleep, suddenly sat up and laughed loudly: “Exhausting my thoughts to enter Shaolin, yet year after year I remain trapped here. Only two more years, and I’ll be sent out of the temple, achieving nothing, ha ha, achieving nothing! How can I face my family like this!”
His laughter sounded more pitiful than crying, carrying a sense of blood-curdling sorrow.
“Leave the novice monks’ quarters? Hmph, in the past seven years, I haven’t seen anyone succeed! Heh, Xuan Ku must be lying to us, making us do all the hard labor!” Zhen Guan said through clenched teeth, as if he wanted to devour someone’s flesh.
Hearing their answers, the hope that had just begun to rise in Meng Qi was extinguished like a bucket of cold water, leaving him feeling lost inside.
After some commotion, Zhen Ying and Zhen Guan fell silent again, retreating into their “self-isolation,” while Zhen Hui’s breathing grew increasingly deep and steady, clearly already asleep.
Meng Qi gazed out the window, unable to fall asleep, feeling like a caged bird, unable to escape no matter how hard he tried. A mix of restlessness, urgency, and frustration surged within him.
He didn’t know how long had passed before Meng Qi finally drifted into sleep.
Moonlight poured over Meng Qi like water, wrapping him in a thin veil of light. Suddenly, a greenish-blue glow emanated from his chest, looking strangely eerie.
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