The wind and rain gradually stopped.
Liu Yan’s group of three had finished eating the plain noodles A’Shui made, and their bodies all felt warmth, no longer feeling the bone-chilling cold from before. A’Shui cleared away the bowls and chopsticks to wash them. After wiping his mouth, Fang Pingzhai said he wanted to go look around nearby to see if those bald monks had pursued them. Yu Tuan’er was sleepy and sat in her chair dozing, while Liu Yan sat quietly without moving – no one knew what he was thinking.
The house was completely quiet.
Time passed without knowing how long, and the east gradually began to grow light, though outside the window it was still pitch black. Liu Yan suddenly shuddered slightly and raised his head. “Who?”
Yu Tuan’er jumped up at once. Her mind wasn’t yet clear, so she shook her head hard. “What’s wrong?” Although Liu Yan had lost his martial arts, his hearing remained sharp. Concentrating and listening quietly, there were slight sounds on the roof. If he hadn’t heard wrong, that was the faint sound of someone leaping from a distance and landing on the roof. Fang Pingzhai’s lightness skills and movement techniques were also good, but not of this restrained style.
“Amitabha, this old monk presumes to ask – is the disfigured and disabled person inside Liu Yan, Benefactor Liu?” A peaceful Buddhist chant came from the roof. “This old monk has been rude. I hope Benefactor Liu will accompany this old monk back to Shaolin Temple.” This old monk’s tone was flat, his voice carrying down from the roof as gently as if spoken right beside one’s ear, showing his profound cultivation. Liu Yan raised his voice in cold laughter. “Does Shaolin Temple think that having the ‘Six Paths of Reincarnation’ allows them to pose as the arbiter of the martial world, arresting whoever they want?” By speaking these words, he undoubtedly admitted his identity. With his prideful nature, he naturally wouldn’t deny being Liu Yan.
Several light “tap tap” sounds came from around the house. Yu Tuan’er rushed to the doorway and looked outside. Fang Pingzhai was nowhere to be seen, but outside the door stood many monks of various heights and builds, fat and thin, all with fierce appearances. She didn’t know these seventeen monks were precisely the world-famous “Shaolin Seventeen Monks” of Shaolin Temple. Seeing their ugly appearances actually made her happy. “You—” Before she could finish speaking, the lead monk struck with his palm. Yu Tuan’er only felt a tremendous force striking her chest. With a “bang” she was lifted off the ground, flying backward to crash against the opposite wall. She spat out a mouthful of fresh blood and immediately couldn’t say a word or move a finger. She stared wide-eyed at these monks. She’d heard that monks were all good people, but this monk had attacked and hit someone for no reason – he was worse than the so-called great villain Liu Yan. At least Liu Yan had never hit her.
With a “bang” Yu Tuan’er flew inside, spitting fresh blood, and lay motionless. A’Shui was startled, put down the tea she had just brewed, and rushed out. Seeing over ten monks surrounding Xingyang Bookshop completely, she stepped forward and spread her arms to block the monks. “Honored masters have graced our humble dwelling with your presence, bringing great honor. Do you have urgent business?”
The gray-robed monk who had just struck Yu Tuan’er with one palm pressed his palms together. “Amitabha, we are the Shaolin Seventeen Monks. This trip is to invite Benefactor Liu to Shaolin Temple for a chat, with no other intentions.” A’Shui paused. “You are masters from Shaolin Temple? This humble woman has been disrespectful.” She slowly lowered her arms, making way. “I don’t know what Shaolin Temple wishes to discuss with Liu Yan?”
The lead “Hungry Ghost Monk” looked at her rather strangely. For such a small woman with no martial arts to open her mouth and ask what Shaolin Temple wanted to discuss with Liu Yan was somewhat presumptuous, but her expression was very proper, showing no anxiety or fear, completely natural. The “Hell Monk” beside him said, “Amitabha, to be honest, Shaolin Temple wants to invite Benefactor Liu back regarding the antidote for the Crimson Ghost Nine Hearts Pill.” A’Shui asked in a low voice, “What will you honored masters do after obtaining the antidote?” Hell Monk said slowly, “Shaolin Temple will naturally convene a martial arts assembly and ask the various sects of the martial world to deliberate publicly, making a fair judgment regarding Benefactor Liu.” A’Shui fell silent. Given Liu Yan’s actions, how could there be any way to survive a public judgment by the martial world? Shaolin Temple wanted the antidote to the Crimson Ghost Nine Hearts Pill, but wouldn’t spare his life for it. She likewise hoped Liu Yan could hand over the antidote to the Crimson Ghost Nine Hearts Pill, but she didn’t want Liu Yan to die.
“The Shaolin Seventeen Monks.” Someone laughed lightly from far outside the door. “The Shaolin Seventeen Monks want to invite someone back to Shaolin Temple, yet still play tricks of misdirection. Shaolin Temple truly brings honor to its face with its profound martial learning and supreme cleverness!” A’Shui’s heart settled slightly. The speaker was precisely Fang Pingzhai. It seemed he had been lured away earlier by Shaolin Temple’s misdirection strategy, but could return in time, showing this person was extraordinary.
“Benefactor Fang.” An elderly monk with a slightly kinder appearance in the group said slowly, “Are the three characters ‘Fang Pingzhai’ truly your real name? In nearly twenty years, there has been no person called ‘Fang Pingzhai’ in the martial world. Your martial arts are strong and your knowledge extraordinary – you absolutely couldn’t be an unknown nobody. Your disruption of our Abbot Assembly and taking away Liu Yan – what exactly are your intentions? Could you speak plainly?” Outside the door, Fang Pingzhai waved his red fan and walked slowly forward. “Me? I’m just bored, just want to become famous. My pure thoughts have no hidden motives – it’s just that your thoughts are complex and you’re unwilling to believe.” This elderly monk with a kinder appearance was “Heaven Monk” among the seventeen monks. A fierce-looking middle-aged monk beside him gave a cold laugh. “As long as you also return to Shaolin Temple with us, we’ll naturally believe you.” Fang Pingzhai waved his red fan and laughed heartily. “Bullshit!” The middle-aged monk flew into a rage, his staff striking the ground. “Karmic Fire of Tribulation!” True qi surged under his staff, containing blazing flame energy, attacking Fang Pingzhai. Heaven Monk beside him, seeing him attack, pressed his palms together and chanted Buddha’s name, then pointed one finger in “Buddha’s Dharma Thus” toward Liu Yan. In an instant, the Shaolin Seventeen Monks all attacked, each delivering seven or eight moves against Liu Yan and Fang Pingzhai.
Yu Tuan’er lay severely wounded on the ground, powerless to save anyone, only able to stare wide-eyed. A’Shui retreated repeatedly, withdrawing into the room to pick up Fengfeng, then turned to block the guest room door. Fang Pingzhai’s fan shadows fluttered. Though he was alone, his figure transformed and shifted, appearing and disappearing in flashes, instantly receiving most of the Shaolin monks’ offensive. Liu Yan gained a brief respite, reached out to take his flute, and closed his eyes to bring it to his lips.
The moment he placed the flute to his mouth, the Shaolin monks’ faces changed slightly and they all retreated. Fang Pingzhai cried out, “Master, you really have no conscience – to save yourself you’d take me along too…” Before he could finish speaking, the flute sound rang out with a desolate tone. Among the seventeen monks, “Wandering Gift Monk,” whose cultivation was relatively low, couldn’t withstand it first, his steps staggering as he retreated seven paces. Fang Pingzhai circulated his qi to resist. He had received Liu Yan’s instruction in sound-killing techniques but hadn’t mastered them, yet was still much stronger than the Shaolin Seventeen Monks. Relying on Liu Yan’s powerful sound-killing, his red fan flashing, he exchanged thirteen moves with “Hungry Ghost Monk.” With a “snap” their palms met, and Hungry Ghost Monk spat fresh blood and staggered backward. Fang Pingzhai’s face showed a smile. “Old monk, old is just old. If you don’t go back to chant Buddha’s name soon, even Buddha won’t bless you.”
“Amitabha.” Beside Hungry Ghost Monk, “Burning Heat Monk,” “Extreme Cold Monk,” “Great Screaming Monk,” and “Crushing Together Monk” – four monks chanted Buddha’s name in unison. Each struck with one palm, all hitting toward Fang Pingzhai’s waist. Palm shadows swayed, true qi shaking their sleeves fluttering loudly. Fang Pingzhai raised his fan shadow, harmonizing with Liu Yan’s flute rhythm. His clothes fluttered as if dancing, moving low and gracefully, his figure ethereal, deflecting all four monks’ palm forces one by one, then laughing heartily. The four monks only felt pain in their chests. Looking down, they saw white blade fragments shaped like flower petals inserted in their chests – curved blades, snow-white in color, only about an inch long, completely different from ordinary blade edges. The four pulled out the blade fragments. Their chest wounds were only shallow cuts of about two fen deep, bleeding some fresh blood, but there was no poison. However, when exactly these four flying blades had been shot out, the four monks had no idea at all.