We bear people have power

The saying "A dark and windy night is a night for murder" has been circulating in the martial arts world for a long time. A year ago, Guanyin Temple was burned to the ground by a great fire. Since then, the area around Black Wind Mountain has become a desolate place where sword immortals never appear and demons never leave.

What should have been a deserted place suddenly became bustling with activity not long ago. The former site of the Guanyin Temple, which was originally in ruins, was turned upside down by countless people.

Bystanders didn't know what these people were looking for, only that they hadn't found what they wanted. In their anger, they left knife and sword marks on the only intact stone in front of the Guanyin Temple to express their dissatisfaction, and also as a way to show off their martial arts skills to their friends in the martial arts world.

As the crowds here grew denser, a lot of rumors started to circulate.

In a rather elegant little tavern next to the Guanyin Temple, the storyteller tapped his pipe, took a sip of water to soothe his throat, and began, "The abbot of the Guanyin Temple, Jinchi, was originally an ignorant and incompetent fellow. He knew how to steal, rob, and cheat, but he wasn't proficient in any of them. He should have been a lowly rogue among the common people..."

The storyteller paused briefly, and then the straight man stammered, "No... wasn't it said that... Elder Jinchi learned some earth-shattering skills, not only was he highly skilled in martial arts, but he also lived for over two hundred years, making him practically a deity?"

The straight man looks to be no more than eleven or twelve years old, and he's bald, just like a young novice monk who has just shaved his head.

Seeing his nervous appearance, everyone knew that he had little experience in playing the straight man, and they couldn't help but laugh.

The young storyteller glared at the brat, knowing the story was about to end, so he coughed a few times and continued, "It is said that Elder Jinchi, by chance, encountered an old immortal from Black Wind Mountain. He learned some earth-shattering skills from him, becoming able to scale walls and rooftops as if walking on flat ground. That's how he built the Guanyin Temple here, becoming a powerful figure in both the righteous and the wicked for miles around..."

A busybody interrupted, saying, "This area is all barren mountains and wilderness for miles around, where would you find any righteous or evil forces?"

The storyteller said seriously, "Wherever there are people, there is a martial world. Don't interrupt if your level isn't high enough. Speaking of Elder Jinchi, he has practiced a unique martial art that makes him invulnerable to swords and spears..."

The man had just begun to grasp the meaning of the saying "Wherever there are people, there is a martial arts world," when he overheard the storyteller rambling on and on. He quickly corrected him, "Wrong, wrong! Just now you were saying he could fly over rooftops and walk on walls, how come he's invulnerable to swords and spears now?"

The storyteller slammed his gavel and yelled, "You talk too much! Who said that flying over rooftops and scaling walls doesn't mean you can't be invulnerable to swords and spears? Does practicing the Lingbo Weibu mean you can't practice the Qiankun Da Nuoyi?"

The storyteller was a martial arts master, and naturally, he had a temper. The man who had been rebuked by the storyteller was known in the martial arts world as the "Angry Fist Butcher," and his temper was notoriously volatile. He immediately wanted to use his fists to teach the young man a lesson.

Just as he was about to make a move, he felt a sudden weight on his wrist.

The angry butcher turned around and saw the little monk who had been his straight man pulling his right hand, saying, "Please don't get angry, benefactor, it's easy to hurt yourself."

The tone was sincere, but even more powerful than the words was the immense force transmitted through his wrist. The Furious Fist Butcher was confident that his iron fists had the strength of hundreds of pounds, enough to kill a bear with a single punch, but he was pinned down by this little monk and couldn't move an inch.

He was immediately horrified, realizing he had encountered a reclusive master, and quickly composed himself, saying, "I won't bother with a fellow spouting nonsense like you."

The storyteller ignored the man and continued, "It is said that Elder Jinchi practiced the skills in the Evil-Slaying Sword Manual, and his swordsmanship became divine. He considered himself invincible and usually bullied the good and did all sorts of evil. The people in the vicinity suffered greatly, but they were helpless because this villain's martial arts were too high. But one day, a virtuous monk came from the Tang Dynasty in the East, who turned out to be Elder Jinchi's nemesis."

The listeners couldn't help but want to smash the man's reputation. He was supposed to be the abbot of a Zen temple, but his kung fu had absolutely nothing to do with Buddhism. However, since they had heard the key part, they patiently continued listening.

"This eminent Tang Dynasty monk, whose Dharma name was Xuanzang, was the younger brother of the Tang Emperor. His face was like the moon on Mid-Autumn Festival, his complexion like the flowers of spring dawn, his sideburns as if cut by a knife, his eyebrows as if painted with ink, his nose like a hanging gall, and his eyes like autumn waves. Even when angry, he seemed to be smiling, and even when glaring, he was affectionate. His face was like powdered jade, and his lips like rouge; his glances were full of affection, and his words were like laughter. A natural charm resided entirely in his eyebrows; all the myriad emotions of his life were piled up in the corners of his eyes. His appearance was most exquisite..."

After hearing this, the audience just wanted to chop off the guy who just spouted nonsense. This was hardly the demeanor of a virtuous and eminent monk; it was clearly the words of a rich young master who grew up surrounded by women, and he even reeked of effeminacy.

The storyteller, engrossed in his excitement, poured out all the words he had cobbled together from his head, regardless of whether they were cobbled together or not, speaking with great enthusiasm and satisfying his own urges.

"It is said that Elder Jinchi, having mastered the Evil-Repelling Sword Manual, should have possessed a tranquil mind, yet he was still captivated by Tang Sanzang's beauty and even attempted to take him into his room. However, Tang Sanzang had a disciple who was a ruthless individual whom even Elder Jinchi feared. To avoid trouble, Elder Jinchi devised a wicked plan to burn his eldest disciple to death. Unexpectedly, things went awry, and not only did the entire Guanyin Temple burn down, but Elder Jinchi himself perished in the fire. It can be said that good and evil are ultimately rewarded, and the cycle of karma is real; look up and see who escapes the judgment of Heaven."

The absurd storytelling had come to an end, with not a single listener willing to pay. This was understandable; if it weren't for the man collecting the money carrying a large iron vat, walking slowly and deliberately towards them, everyone would have been tempted to fight.

The one collecting the money is that clumsy little monk who was just doing the straight man act. Other storytellers collect money by holding a gong, which rings out every time someone throws money at them, making it sound festive.

The little monk carried a huge iron vat, slapping it loudly as he went, leaving deep footprints on the blue bricks beneath his feet.

No one in the audience could match this skill.

Logically speaking, even if someone is deaf and cannot hear the storyteller at all, they should still give some reward money to establish a good relationship with such a highly skilled person.

But for some reason, everyone just didn't want to make things easy for the storyteller, as if they hated him no matter what.

In the end, only the furious butcher gave a token copper coin. This currency of the Tang Dynasty was universally accepted at this time, and even outside the borders of the Tang Dynasty, it was still considered hard currency.

It wasn't because the angry butcher pitied the storyteller, but because the little monk who was his straight man had left a deep impression on him. This penny was a reward for admiring the little guy's terrifying strength.

The copper coins clattered as they fell into the iron vat, spun around a few times, and finally settled into the empty bottom.

Upon hearing this voice, the young storyteller slammed his gavel and said to the Furious Fist Butcher, "You're the one I've chosen."

Upon receiving the order, the young monk immediately slammed the iron vat to the ground, startling everyone present. He then said to the furious butcher, "Congratulations, benefactor. Please come to the back room for a chat."

Before the Furious Butcher could figure out what was happening, the little monk grabbed him and dragged him toward the back of the tavern. His strength left him utterly powerless to resist.

In an instant, the storyteller, the little monk, and the furious butcher all vanished. Everyone was stunned, only to find that everything around them was changing like ripples. Soon, the tavern disappeared, and instead of sitting in chairs drinking and listening to stories, they were sitting on a few rocks, drinking the northwest wind.

"Ghost!"

No one knows who shouted, but these martial arts figures scattered like monkeys, wishing they had two more legs.

Meanwhile, the patrons dispersed, but the furious butcher felt as if he had been led into a cave. He hadn't gone far when he saw a monk, or rather, a bald beggar, whose clothes were covered in patches.

This man could probably really call himself a poor monk, because his robe was so tattered it was unbearable to look at; it was too riddled with holes to even be used as a rag.

Despite his shabby appearance, this poor monk practiced a set of palm techniques with great vigor, each strike accompanied by the roar of a tiger, echoing throughout the cave.

In the martial arts world, to be able to create such a powerful impact with just a pair of bare hands is to be considered a top-tier master.

Upon seeing the young monk, the poor monk immediately lowered his stance and asked, "Yideng, is this the person chosen by the immortal?"

"Yes, Senior Brother Hong Qi, you haven't mastered the tiger's roar into a dragon's cry yet?" the little monk said with a look of sympathy.

"I can't train, I'll never succeed in this lifetime." Hong Qi looked utterly hopeless, pounding his fists on the mountainside as if trying to shake the earth.

The young monk chanted a Buddhist prayer, then fled with the furious butcher as if they were escaping.

The Furious Fist Butcher sighed inwardly. He was clearly a great master, but he had become a martial arts fanatic. Otherwise, he would surely have a place in the martial arts world.

Not far away, they saw two monks fighting. One of them was using a wooden flute, which he used to stab the other monk like a storm.

The wooden flute pierced through the air with a dense, whistling sound; its sheer power was enough to pierce through metal and stone. But the flute was hollow, making the sound even more piercing than the hooting of an owl.

The one trapped in the wooden flute remained completely unmoved, his face pale gold, as if he had practiced some kind of invulnerable martial art, and he showed no signs of being affected at all.

The Furious Fist Butcher figured he probably wouldn't last three moves against these two, but for some reason these two masters still looked miserable.

The young monk greeted him again, "Senior Brother Chongyang, the immortal said that the Innate Skill is a Taoist skill, but you've turned it into a Buddhist golden body. Senior Brother Yaoshi, haven't you figured out the Jade Flute Sword Technique yet?"

The golden-masked monk looked up at the sky and silently shed tears.

The one wielding the wooden flute immediately knelt before the young monk, pleading, "Junior brother, please put in a good word for us and ask the immortal to have mercy and spare us. I'd rather go back and be a humble sweeper than practice some kind of jade flute sword technique that can produce such magnificent dances. I've hardly ever heard music in my life, I really can't learn it. And your senior brother Chongyang, he's clearly devoted to Buddhism, how did he manage to master the Taoist innate skill?"

Upon hearing this, the young monk almost burst into tears. He held up his right index finger and said, "Senior brother, I practice the One-Finger Divine Skill, and this index finger is almost shorter than my thumb. Neither of us has it easy. But it's fortunate that this benefactor has gained the favor of the immortal. Perhaps if the immortal is pleased, he will stop tormenting us."

Upon hearing this, the Furious Fist Butcher felt a chill run down his spine. What kind of monster lurked in this cave that made even these top martial arts masters wish they were dead? And judging from the little monk's words, he had become their substitute?