The Wine-and-Meat Monk fixed Wang Yun with a cold, cutting stare. Wang Yun's expression was equally impassive. For the sake of avenging his parents' blood-soaked deaths, he had endured countless trials; years of wandering the martial world had long since stripped away any trace of joy, anger, sorrow, or delight from his face.
Both men focused intently, silently gathering strength in their palms.
Wang Yun had never held a favorable opinion of the monk. A man who called himself the Wine-and-Meat Monk could hardly be upright in heart or conduct. In a low voice he said,
"Master Weiyan deserved his fate. If you seek revenge for a friend, you should first measure your own strength."
The monk's eyes were like blades. Hot-tempered by nature, he bristled at the words and shouted harshly,
"And just what real skill do you possess? Are you truly capable—or merely a hollow name? I, the Wine-and-Meat Monk, will test you myself!"
The words had barely fallen when his body shot forward like lightning. Both palms struck out together, savage and vicious, attacking Wang Yun's chest with tremendous force—purely hard, overbearing power.
Though young, Wang Yun was already renowned throughout the martial world. Alert and steady, he neither panicked nor rushed. He stepped sideways twice, slipping past the blow, swung his right arm, and sent a palm strike back.
The monk flashed aside, suddenly thrusting two fingers toward a vital point on Wang Yun's chest. Wang Yun twisted sharply, his five fingers darting faster than sight itself to seize the monk's wrist pulse. The monk jolted his wrist, flipped it in a blur, and clamped onto Wang Yun's Quchi acupoint.
Wang Yun shook his arm free at once, his movements swift as thunder and lightning, and slashed out with his left palm. Forced to disengage, the monk released his grip.
Seeing that claw techniques would not prevail, the monk shifted to fistwork—whoosh, whoosh, whoosh—three punches driving at three vital points, ruthless and fierce.
In an instant, the two unleashed a dazzling array of techniques and footwork, exchanging more than ten moves in the blink of an eye. The monk felt it keenly now: his opponent's agility, lightning-fast advances and retreats, savage strikes, and powerful inner force marked him as a top-tier fighter of the jianghu.
He could not help thinking to himself,No wonder this fellow is so arrogant—his skill truly is exceptional.
Cunning to the core, the monk said grimly,
"Your kung fu is decent—but today, you must die!"
Wang Yun gave a faint, bitter smile.
"You talk an awful lot for someone who wants to kill."
Taking advantage of the instant Wang Yun spoke, the Wine-and-Meat Monk suddenly leapt into the air and shot forward, his body streaking like a meteor. With a thunderous shout, he closed in, his speed terrifying. His right palm shot out in the move "Fleeting Light, Passing Shadow," and an invisible surge of crushing force bore down like a mountain.
Wang Yun sensed danger the moment the wind stirred. Though it happened in a heartbeat, his eyes were razor-sharp, his experience deep. He tilted his body aside, followed the palm wind with his own, flipped his wrist, and seized the monk's pulse once more.
The monk twisted free, and in that moment both men displayed every manner of hand technique imaginable. The fight grew fierce—whistling palm winds roared, explosive pressure shook the air, and spectators could not help but stare in awe.
After four more rapid exchanges, both fighters suddenly darted back several feet, as if preparing for the decisive blow. The crowd collectively gasped.
The monk gathered his qi at the dantian, his palms tracing arcs through the air. With a shout he unleashed his ultimate move, "Like Dragon, Like Tiger," roaring,
"Boy, I'll send you straight to the Western Paradise!"
Wang Yun knew this was the monk's killing technique. In such a razor-thin moment, hesitation meant death. At once he employed the Buddhist Chan martial art taught by his master, Monk Yiye—the move "Infinite Life Buddha."
He intoned calmly,
"The Buddha delivers all beings without limit, accomplishing immeasurable merit."
He retreated three steps, then stopped dead. Suddenly, he struck three palms in succession, the motions exquisitely graceful, the speed astonishing.
The monk had no room to retreat. He was forced to meet all three blows head-on.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Each palm strike drove him back three steps.
After delivering the third palm, Wang Yun withdrew his hands and did not pursue. He pressed his palms together respectfully and said,
"The Buddha is merciful. Amitābha."
The Wine-and-Meat Monk staggered back nine steps in total. His throat grew hot—at last he could not suppress it, and a mouthful of blood sprayed forth.
At the edge of the arena, Qiu Ting watched in shock and delight. She knew Wang Yun was powerful, but had never imagined he practiced Buddhist Chan martial arts. She did not know that Monk Yiye, seeking to temper Wang Yun's violent nature, had required him to chant and memorize sutras daily before passing on his skills.
For vengeance, Wang Yun had paid a terrible price—humiliation and suffering beyond measure. Yet after avenging his parents, his heart had grown open and unburdened. Under Wu Tong's guidance, he had met Qiu Ting and formed a lifelong bond with her. His state of mind was now utterly transformed—clear in right and wrong, grateful in dealing with others.
In the moment of crisis just now, his master's teachings had resurfaced, and he had instinctively unleashed "Infinite Life Buddha." He himself had not expected such profound transformation and terrifying power. Three palms—nine steps forced back. The monk's injuries were severe; he was in no condition to continue.
Seeing this, "Heaven-Cripple and Earth-Defect" were greatly alarmed. One was mute—Heaven-Cripple Deng Guang; the other deaf—Earth-Defect Zhou Yi.
At the same time, Ge Tian shouted angrily,
"You little bastard—stop pretending to be some enlightened monk!"
Thunder Hand Ge Long roared,
"'Heaven-Cripple, Earth-Defect'—finish this kid!"
Qiu Ting could not help calling out sharply,
"So that's who's shouting for blood—hiding behind others, are you?"
The Flying Eagle Sect's vice leader Qiu Biao sneered.
"Wei Fu, did your Flying Sand Sect hire Thunder Hand Ge Long just to stand around doing nothing?"
('Working without effort'—showing up but not committing.)
Provoked, Flying Sand Sect vice leader Wei Fu snapped,
"Ge Long, at this point it won't do to gang up two against one and make a laughingstock of ourselves. Go—teach this brat a lesson!"