Chapter 1: The Machine Heart

The azure sky stretched for ten thousand miles, clear and pure, without a single white cloud.

What beautiful weather… When Meng Qi opened his eyes, this pleasant sight greeted him, instantly giving him the feeling of awakening from a long dream, reluctant to leave the soft bed.

As this thought arose, Meng Qi suddenly felt his body violently shaken. An urgent, tense male voice reached his ears, “Master Er, have you awakened?”

Master? Instinctively turning his head, Meng Qi saw a middle-aged man with a tense expression. The man had a strikingly long horse-like face and a goatee beard, but more notable was his headwear—a kerchief—and his wide-sleeved robe.

What was going on?

“Master Er, are you alright?” The middle-aged man began patting Meng Qi’s body up and down, scaring him into thinking he had encountered a pervert. Meng Qi hurriedly tried to roll away and retreat, but the man’s hands were like iron clamps, rendering Meng Qi’s struggles useless. A warm current coursed through his body, dispelling all discomfort, leaving him feeling warm and cozy, as if soaking in a hot spring.

Seeing Meng Qi stand up, the man nodded slightly, saying, “You should be fine now.”

After making this judgment, he asked again with evident concern, “Master Er, is there anything else that feels unwell?”

His care was evident in his tone.

Still confused about the situation, Meng Qi’s mind seemed like a jumbled mess. Dazedly, he replied, “No.”

The horse-faced man’s expression relaxed, then he forced a smile that looked more like a grimace: “Master Er, the Marquis had no choice. Staying in a temple is still better than at home. Don’t you think, although it’s filled with flickering lamps and Buddhist statues, far from the secular world, Shaolin is a great martial arts sect. Who knows, you might one day have the chance to cultivate a Luohan Golden Body, dominate the world, transcend the suffering of the mundane world. Besides, you were blessed with a Buddhist connection from birth; an old anonymous monk even gave you a jade Buddha pendant…”

At this point, he seemed to feel this possibility was too slim, feeling ashamed, his voice gradually lowering. After mumbling a few more words, he changed his approach: “Even if the Golden Body proves elusive, Shaolin’s Seventy-Two Supreme Skills are each marvelous. If you can learn a few, you could roam the martial world freely, repaying grudges and favors as you wish. Isn’t that delightful…”

As he spoke, his voice grew softer, like a mosquito’s buzz. Finally, he raised his left hand to cover his face and turned away, leaving behind only a sigh like drifting smoke.

Watching the horse-faced man’s back disappear quickly into the dense woods of the hill, Meng Qi, left completely baffled by the man’s rambling, only wanted to ask one question: “Mister, who exactly are you?”

This was so confusing!

Meng Qi had already realized he was no longer in a familiar place but in an extremely strange environment.

A place resembling ancient China!

I just stayed up to watch the World Cup; is this punishment enough? A single nap and I get transported to another world?

Meng Qi didn’t suspect this was someone’s prank, nor did he think he was in a historical drama set. Because when that horse-faced uncle hurried away, covering his face, his steps, though hurried and clumsy as if chased by a demon, were incredibly fast, like a startled horse, something no ordinary person could achieve.

“He must be a martial arts expert!” Meng Qi “judged” based on his experiences from novels and TV dramas.

“Namo Amituofo, follow me into the temple,” Just as Meng Qi’s thoughts began to race, a deep Buddhist chant suddenly sounded from behind him, nearly making him jump in shock.

When had someone appeared behind me?

And I didn’t sense them at all!

Twisting his neck to turn around, Meng Qi saw a monk dressed in yellow-brown robes. The monk was very tall and thin as a bamboo pole. His features were unremarkable, except for his eyes, which carried a lingering gloom, making his age hard to determine—he could be in his thirties or his forties.

Seeing Meng Qi notice him, the yellow-robed monk didn’t speak further but gestured with his eyes, then turned and walked toward the temple’s main gate.

Yellow walls, black tiles, dark red doors—the front of the temple looked no different from temples Meng Qi had visited before, only much larger and wider.

What startled Meng Qi was the golden plaque above the gate, which bore three large characters similar to regular script:

“Shaolin Temple”!

It was actually “Shaolin Temple”!

The writing here was surprisingly similar to ancient regular script!

Arriving in this unfamiliar and strange place, Meng Qi dared not ask questions. Suppressing his shock and confusion, he followed the yellow-robed monk closely.

It was only now that Meng Qi noticed his short arms and legs. Examining himself carefully, he thought with mixed feelings: “A different kind of ‘returning to childhood’…”

Judging from the size of his hands, their smoothness, and the jade pendant at his waist, this body was likely under fourteen years old, clearly pampered.

“I wonder what this body looks like. Good looks are essential for youth…”

“Within Shaolin Temple, surrounded by flickering lamps and Buddhist statues, who needs youth!”

“I wonder if I can refuse to join the temple. But with this small body, leaving Shaolin, I wouldn’t survive in this martial arts world, which might also have demons and monsters… Sigh, many ancient records mention noble families keeping boy lovers…”

“According to the horse-faced uncle, even if this Shaolin isn’t exactly the same as the original, it’s still a major martial arts sect with seventy-two supreme skills. I wonder if there’s the “Yijin Jing”…”

“I often dreamed of becoming a great hero, repaying grudges and favors freely. Now I might have the chance, but why do I still feel unhappy? Computers, mobile phones, the internet, and, my family…”

“Learning some martial arts might not be so bad. Hmm, what exactly is a Luohan Golden Body?”

Seemingly calm, Meng Qi followed the yellow-robed monk, passing many gray- and yellow-robed monks, but no one knew the chaotic, endless thoughts swirling in his mind.

No matter how scattered his thoughts were, Meng Qi eventually had to face reality. Given this body’s age and the fact that he had been abandoned, his only option was to settle down in Shaolin Temple and learn martial arts for a while.

“I wonder if I can one day return to secular life with skills learned here. I can give up alcohol, but not meat!” Meng Qi thought he was being “far-sighted,” planning ahead meticulously, already considering his future after training.

Throughout the journey, the yellow-robed monk didn’t enter the main hall where Buddha statues were enshrined but instead bypassed it from the sides, passing through several courtyards before finally pushing open the doors to a large hall.

With a creak, the door opened, revealing dozens of children under fifteen, the youngest estimated to be only eight or nine. They sat cross-legged on cushions, eyes fixed on a broad-faced, big-eared monk at the upper seat. Dressed in yellow, the monk had a stern expression and held a ruler.

“Namo Amituofo, Xuanzang Senior Brother, what brings you here?” The broad-faced monk had a deep, resonant voice.

He could totally be an opera singer, Meng Qi couldn’t help but think wildly as nervousness crept in. At the same time, he learned the bamboo-thin monk leading him was named Xuanzang.

Xuanzang chanted a Buddhist phrase and said, “Xuanku Junior Brother, this is the child I mentioned earlier.”

He spoke openly, with no hint of a private conversation. Unfortunately, his voice was dry and unpleasant, far inferior to Xuanku’s.

Xuanku glanced at Meng Qi, expressionless: “Come forward in order.”

Confused, Meng Qi looked at him. Beside him, Xuanzang pointed to an empty cushion: “Wait for questioning.”

“Yes.” Meng Qi, having worked for several years, understood the situation and quickly followed the other children’s example, sitting cross-legged on the cushion.

Xuanku didn’t look at Meng Qi again. Holding his ruler, he turned to a child: “What is your secular name, and why have you come to Shaolin?”

The child, about ten years old, had rosy lips and white teeth, a handsome face, but a somewhat dull expression: “My name is Fang Aqi; I was sold to the monks because I couldn’t get enough to eat.”

Several older children couldn’t help but snicker. Their ages allowed them to understand that Fang Aqi’s answer was practically insulting the monks to their faces! Clearly, he was a bit slow.

Xuanku frowned slightly, his expression darkening: “From now on, no longer use your secular name. Your Dharma name is ‘Zhenhui,’ and you will enter the Temple Servant Yard.”

A few older, more mature children inhaled slightly, their expressions telling Meng Qi that the Temple Servant Yard was apparently not a desirable place.

“Fang Aqi is Zhenhui, Zhenhui is Fang Aqi…” Fang Aqi, now “Zhenhui,” muttered softly.

Xuanku shifted his gaze to a relatively older child: “What is your secular name, and why have you come to Shaolin?”

This child was about thirteen or fourteen, slightly nervous but still fluently answered: “My master, my name is Liu Zhi. My family admires Buddhist teachings and martial arts, so they sent me to Shaolin.”

These children had been selected, and their bone structure was considered decent.

Xuanku nodded slightly: “That’s honest enough. If you had only said you admired Buddhism, I would have sent you to the Temple Servant Yard. From today, your Dharma name is ‘Zhende,’ and you will enter the Warrior Monk Yard.”

“Thank you, Master Xuanku.” Zhende clasped his hands together.

From what he knew, once given a Dharma name, following the order “Xin Kong Wu Xuan Zhen, Qing Jing Zhi Hui Shen,” he could directly address Xuanku as Master Uncle before having an official teacher.

Xuanku didn’t acknowledge his small cleverness, directly moving on to question another child.

Zhende’s heart tightened. It seemed Master Xuanku was indeed as upright as rumored, unmoved by flattery.

Initially, Meng Qi watched the questioning with a relaxed, curious attitude. Suddenly, his expression froze.

“What is my name?”

“What is the name of this body?”

Meng Qi racked his brains, scratching his head, but couldn’t recall the body’s name—he hadn’t inherited even a shred of memory!

“I can’t possibly say Meng Qi directly; Xuanzang is watching!”

“He must know the origin and name of this body!”

“I need to find a way to bluff my way through!”

Facing the seemingly strict and solemn Xuanku, Meng Qi dared not speak much, dared not quietly ask Xuanzang, dared not pretend to have amnesia, and could only silently think of other ways to avoid exposing his transmigration—this place seemed to have real Luohans!

“What is your secular name, and why have you come to Shaolin?” Before Meng Qi could think of a good idea, Xuanku had already approached him with his ruler.

Meng Qi opened his mouth, suddenly had a flash of inspiration, and blurted out: “Now that I have entered Shaolin, my secular name is forgotten.”

After answering, Meng Qi secretly applauded himself—how clever and fitting to Buddhist teachings!

Xuanku looked at Meng Qi carefully, lightly shaking his ruler twice. He didn’t ask the second question but sternly said: “Too cunning. Enter the Temple Servant Yard, your Dharma name is ‘Zhending.'”