Chapter 248: Emergence of the Divine Dragon

The foundation of Shaolin lies in the Immovable Mind.

According to the laws of Buddhism, it is the unwavering pursuit of Nirvana, unshaken by any temptation. One does not fuss over joyous occasions nor easily succumb to anger. Furthermore, by avoiding women throughout one's life and distancing oneself from worldly pleasures, joys and sorrows become mere illusions—temptations known as saek (色), which constitute this very Saha world itself.

Thus, the Buddhist teaching holds that form is emptiness, and emptiness is form. Temptation does not truly exist; only by emptying the mind can the world (saek) truly fill one's heart.

Therefore, Shaolin martial arts are like Mount Tai.

An unshakeable, resolute heart and an indomitable body, steadfastly holding its ground like the world's heaviest mountain.

And so, Venerable Monk Muhak, the Greatest Martial Monk Under Heaven, simply sat gravely, maintaining his position.

When his foolish disciple acted conceitedly out of arrogance, Muhak simply muttered Buddhist scriptures to himself, steadying his own heart.

What can be done about the hot-bloodedness of youth stepping into the world for the first time? Will such an immature child listen to admonishment? He will likely realize his own shame after stumbling on his own.

However, as his disciple only grew more foolish, prancing about improperly and wildly unleashing Fist Force, even Venerable Monk Muhak's expression gradually hardened.

Of course, given what Ximen Surin's disciple had already demonstrated, Wolbong wasn't using killing moves that would endanger her life.

Indeed, Wolbong launched those powerful techniques precisely because he was confident in Qing's resilience.

But even if he won like this, what exactly would be gained?

A direct hit wouldn't be fatal, but it would likely require months of recuperation in bed. Worse, the disciple was shamelessly aiming for her face—a broken nose or shattered jaw could earn lifelong resentment.

Still, Venerable Monk Muhak endured.

He has only ever trained within the mountains, finding no rivals among his peers. He must have never truly felt frustration, he thought.

But this time, he couldn't bear it.

Venerable Monk Muhak's eyes shot open. He leaped up from his seat, strode hastily to the railing, gripped it, leaned his upper body forward, and craned his neck.

To his sides, Shaolin monks in their golden kasayas lined up in the exact same posture.

Venerable Monk Muhak murmured as if entranced.

"The majestic sound of the heavens, spreading throughout the dharma realm. No matter how great the giant beneath Brahma's heaven, they are still within the Buddha's palm..."

It was a record of Shaolin's lost ultimate technique.

When Muhak had first read it, he thought it was just a Zen riddle grasping at clouds, rather than describing the martial art's characteristics. But now, facing it directly, the description was so precise that no clearer explanation could exist.

Brahma signifies all the heavens of the trichiliocosm, the entire universe. The sound of the Brahma bell is the law of enlightenment resonating throughout the entire world simultaneously.

Therefore, no matter how great a person may be, they are ultimately just one part of countless reincarnations. How could they compare to the vastness (太) of the Buddha, who transcends such cycles?

Such a Buddha's Palm is like the solemn will of the heavens. It is natural and right that the heavens' will resonates as the sound of the Brahma bell.

"How! Is- Isn't that the Buddha Palm!"

At the martial monk's cry, the special seats buzzed with murmurs as everyone started talking at once.

"The Brahma Heaven Buddha Subduing Demon Palm! That's...!?"

"How does that child possess Shaolin's ultimate technique...?"

But regardless of the commotion, the most bewildered and dumbfounded were the Shaolin martial monks themselves.

It was like watching their family registry, supposedly lost and burned due to an ancestor's mistake, shining brightly in someone else's hands. How could they not be utterly flabbergasted?

One step, two steps, three steps... Wolbong finally retreated five steps before he could dissipate the True Qi from Qing that shook his meridians.

In contrast, Qing simply stood still, her palm extended.

The contrast made the outcome of the clash clear to everyone watching.

Wolbong had learned Shaolin's Seventy-Two Shaolin Fist Arts and received instruction in various Divine Arts; in terms of variety, he was like a walking Sutra Depository (Shaolin's library).

But his learning was broad rather than deep. His mastery of each individual technique was not high, and even the peerless Divine Art, the Hundred Pace Divine Fist, was still immature.

However, Qing, even if through a cheap shortcut, knew how to correctly execute every technique at the maximum twelve-star level. The result was evident.

Wolbong closed his eyes. Hwooooooop. He took an endlessly long, deep breath.

Qing watched him.

If it were an Internal Explosive Qi Strike, I could have just blown him up. But since it's a striking technique, he managed to endure it again.

Still, it was clear he had taken a significant shock, so she waited for him to compose himself.

A duel was not a duel to the death.

Wolbong finally let out a long breath, matching the one he took in. Huuuuuuuu.

His body had been shaken by the profound Buddhist palm force; his organs ached, and there wasn't a joint free from pain. But his mind was sharp and clear, as if washed clean.

"Amitabha Buddha. This humble monk has shown an unsightly display. Patron, you are..."

Wolbong trailed off.

It was the sad fate of a man who had just confronted Qing's devastatingly unveiled face.

What, Mara, is this the temptation of Mara...?!

Moreover, Wolbong had entered Shaolin at the age of five and had never once stepped outside the mountain gates. For twenty-two years, he hadn't just avoided contact with women; he had barely even seen one.

He hadn't even been allowed outside until after winning the tournament, under his master's orders to exercise self-restraint.

He had hesitated because Qing was a woman, but when her face was covered, he hadn't paid it any mind, treating her simply as another martial artist with a different body shape.

But now?

A supreme, kingdom-toppling beauty suddenly appeared before Wolbong, who had absolutely zero immunity to women. His heart pounded, his hard-won composure churned into chaos, and Yang Energy surged uncontrollably, making him too embarrassed and ashamed to even stand properly.

Qing paused, pondering. What's this? Is he trying to make me angry? What are the ways to anger someone?

But the match wasn't over yet. Qing immediately stomped on the dueling stage floor and advanced.

Qing's fist shot out. Pak! Wolbong staggered back, hit above the flank. Qing's fists flew continuously. Pow! Pak, Pow. Tak!

Where had his earlier momentum gone? Wolbong was now busy just blocking and deflecting, constantly retreating.

He couldn't even counterattack; his stance itself was awkward and unstable. His gaze wouldn't meet hers; he looked above or below her, or far away. Even when his focus drew nearer, it landed on her brow or the tip of her nose—anywhere but her eyes.

The corners of Qing's eyes tilted skyward.

This brat, playing games until the end?

Qing's hand also shot skyward.

SMACK!!!

A remarkably crisp sound echoed.

It was the sound of her open palm striking Wolbong's bald head.

Soon, not the Buddha's hand, but Qing's handprint would be deeply imprinted on his bald pate.

Wolbong clutched the indistinguishable point between his forehead and scalp, stumbling backward.

Qing raised her voice.

"Monk. What are you doing right now? Why aren't you facing me properly?"

"Th-That is. Hmm, this monk, this monk will forfeit." Wolbong said.

The previously noisy dueling grounds fell silent.

"Hmm. With the opponent's forfeit, the winner is—" the referee began.

"Wait a moment," Qing interrupted, stopping the referee who was about to declare the result.

"Monk Wolbong. Could you please speak clearly?" Qing asked. "You didn't surrender, nor did you acknowledge defeat. Did you just say you forfeit?"

"But, Patron," Wolbong replied, "Isn't it impossible to determine victory or defeat in this situation?"

"Impossible to determine victory or defeat? Why is that?" Qing questioned. "Have you perhaps run out of Internal Energy? If so, shouldn't you be declaring defeat, not forfeiting?"

"That's not it!" Wolbong exclaimed. "It's just, how could Patron..."

"Are you saying I did something?" Qing's voice was sharp.

At that, Wolbong cried out, his voice thick with injustice.

"Sorcery! It's sorcery! Like an incarnation of Mara, no, Mara itself, you devil! How could this, Amitabha Buddha, Amitabha Buddha..."

"...?"

A deep furrow formed between Qing's eyebrows.

"Sorcery?" she asked. "What did I possibly do for you to make such outrageous accusations?"

"How can this be a fair duel under these circumstances!" Wolbong retorted. "Tempting with outstanding appearance and beauty is sorcery! Besides, how could this humble monk possibly attack such a delicate woman!?"

The audience collectively fell silent, lost for words.

Coming from the Shaolin monk who had been attacking with enough force to shatter the dueling stage, his words were utterly bizarre.

"What you're saying is quite strange," Qing stated. "When this young lady was merely covering her face to focus on the duel, you attacked as if facing a mortal enemy with moves bordering on lethal. But now, suddenly, you cannot attack?"

"Then and now are different!" Wolbong insisted. "What man could possibly attack a peerless beauty like you, Patron! A normal man wouldn't even be able to meet your eyes! How can this be called a fair duel!"

Because the dueling stage was so wide, ordinary commoners couldn't immediately discern Qing's beauty even with her veil removed.

They had expected severe pockmarks or scars, but surprisingly, even from afar, her skin looked translucent, her head small, and her facial features distinct.

They couldn't confirm it up close, but she seemed beautiful.

But now that Wolbong called her a peerless beauty, curiosity suddenly exploded.

A peerless beauty so stunning that even a Shaolin martial monk, known for treating women like stones, would consider abandoning a duel because he couldn't bring himself to touch her?

"What you say is truly appalling, Monk," Qing countered. "So, you had no hesitation striking the chest and face of a woman with an ugly appearance, but now that same woman suddenly becomes a delicate beauty you cannot touch simply because her appearance is outstanding?"

"Th-That's..." Wolbong stammered.

Venerable Monk Muhak couldn't bear to watch any longer and covered his face.

Because Qing had asked that way, Wolbong had essentially said it was okay to beat up an ugly woman, but not a beautiful one.

It was something even a worldly man shouldn't say openly, let alone a Buddhist disciple. Outer appearance was merely the physical vessel used while residing in the Saha world.

My disciple spoke well, Ximen Surin thought inwardly, praising Qing profusely. She delivered a sharp rebuke!

Isn't that how public sentiment truly works? Women deemed ugly or overweight are hit, pushed, cursed, and treated poorly, while beauties are treated with such kindness it seems people would offer their livers and gallbladders.

The spectators deeply sympathized with Wolbong's opinion. They did think it was probably okay to hit an ugly woman.

But regardless of that, claiming sorcery now after diligently beating her up earlier was, frankly, pathetic. Very pathetic.

Meanwhile, amidst the dueling grounds where everyone had jokingly shouted "Ugly Sword Maiden," there was one section that had remained completely silent.

It wasn't because, by some miracle of coincidence, particularly refined and enlightened people had gathered there.

It was simply because of one group that emanated killing intent and fiddled with their weapons at the mere mention of the word "ugly." A group that blatantly projected the intention, Say one more word and I'll kill you.

The Wanderers nodded with satisfaction.

Young Lady Ximen's beauty was indeed enough to contend for the title of Greatest Under Heaven; it was only natural that even a Shaolin monk couldn't maintain his Immovable Mind.

As the dueling stage grew quieter, the referee finally stepped forward.

"Haaaah. Wolbong, you," the referee addressed him. "How much True Qi is left in your dantian? You used that Energy Aura technique so much, you must have nearly exhausted it. Do you have more than ten percent remaining?"

"That is... No, I do not," Wolbong admitted.

"And Young Lady Ximen?" the referee asked.

"I haven't even used half yet," Qing replied.

"You still have that much energy left?" the referee sounded surprised.

"Hmm. Would you like to check my pulse to confirm?" Qing politely extended her wrist.

The referee shook his head. What better proof could there be than her offer to let him check?

"Judging by the consumption of internal energy, the outcome would have been clear even if the match had proceeded normally," the referee declared. "Therefore, I declare the disciple of the Divine Maiden Sect, Ximen Qing, the victor!"