When Puzhu was appointed as Abbot, he had yet to hold the formal Abbot Ceremony. First, he had never formally taken his vows; second, the Abbot Ceremony was a grand martial arts world event requiring careful consideration and preparation due to the many people and affairs involved; third, only a few days after being appointed Abbot, Puzhu claimed to have gained insight and would enter seclusion to comprehend one of Shaolin’s ultimate techniques, the “Mahaparinirvana Sutra,” sealing himself inside the Abbot’s quarters ever since.

The Shaolin masters of the “Da” generation naturally harbored doubts—Puzhu’s behavior was rather strange. But this nephew had a reputation throughout the world and an unwavering Buddhist heart, so they let him be, all thinking that waiting for Puzhu to master the “Mahaparinirvana Sutra” before assuming the abbotship would also be a wonderful thing.

Who could have expected that when Master Dabao burst into the Abbot’s quarters, he would see Puzhu chained to the cloud bed by someone unknown, apparently both blind and mute, having broken free from his chains with his entire body covered in blood? For a moment, he felt that tonight was full of strange and inexplicable events, as if all impossible things had concentrated and occurred within these brief moments.

Master Dabao stood stunned for a moment, then rushed forward, throwing a Tiger-Subduing Fist at Tang Lici while angrily shouting, “What have you done to my nephew Abbot?”

Tang Lici didn’t answer, but Gui Mudan said sinisterly, “My sect master graciously invited him, but the little brat Puzhu didn’t know what was good for him. He’s been poisoned with ‘Three Sleeps Never Night Heaven’—blind and deaf. After sleeping deeply for three days, before the poison is neutralized, he can no longer meditate or sleep. Hereafter, even if he doesn’t go mad, he’ll become an idiot. Hahaha, hahahahaha… Shaolin’s painstaking efforts and dedicated pursuit of Buddha and dharma produced this Abbot—even if his swordsmanship is number one in the world, what use is it?” He laughed harshly, “Who in this world still dares not listen to my sect master’s commands? Even Shaolin’s Puzhu—if I want him to live, he lives; if I want him to die, he dies! Under heaven, who dares not submit!”

Dabao flew into a rage. Shaolin’s Lion’s Roar sounded again, his tongue producing spring thunder. Gui Mudan felt his ears ringing as if struck head-on by a fist, but he grinned ferociously and thrust his five fingers toward Dabao’s chest. His fingers bore long claw hooks—if this strike connected, it would rip out heart and lungs.

Just then, voices outside chorused “Amitabha,” followed by someone slowly saying, “Benefactor, please stop.”

Figures flew through the air, and suddenly many monks of various heights and builds appeared—the “Seventeen Monks of Shaolin” had finally arrived. Among these seventeen monks, Tianseng had died, leaving sixteen, but they remained the backbone of Shaolin’s warrior monks. These sixteen monks didn’t usually reside within Shaolin Temple—each had taken ten disciples and kept very busy. Tonight they had rushed here only after hearing the great tolling of bells.

Gui Mudan regarded the “Seventeen Monks of Shaolin” with contempt. Perhaps he might look favorably upon unpoisoned Puzhu, but what were the “Seventeen Monks of Shaolin” worth? A meditation staff flew through the air. Dabao caught it with one hand, swept it horizontally, forcing back Gui Mudan’s claw strike, and roared angrily, “Evil demon heretic! Shameless methods!”

On the other side, Tang Lici and Puzhu had already exchanged three moves with no clear victor. Monk Axiuluo extended his long sword, pointing directly at Tang Lici’s back. Monk Denghuo swept his precept blade horizontally, slashing toward Tang Lici’s neck. In these brief moments, large numbers of Shaolin forces had gathered, completely surrounding the Abbot’s quarters.

Seeing more and more people arriving, Gui Mudan laughed strangely, “Puzhu is finished, Shaolin is finished—retreat!” With his howl, several black shadows suddenly emerged around the Abbot’s quarters, rapidly withdrawing in four directions. Master Dahui, commanding from outside, ordered pursuit. Shaolin warrior monks split into teams to chase, creating chaos everywhere. Gui Mudan looked at Tang Lici with a sinister gaze, “Sect Master, this mission is a complete success—congratulations and felicitations.”

Tang Lici’s white robes fluttered as he continued exchanging moves with Puzhu. Their sword energy crisscrossed back and forth, fighting with impressive momentum, yet showing no clear winner or loser. With Gui Mudan declaring “complete success,” seeing Tang Lici unable to explain himself—having burned the Sutra Repository, killed innocent old monks, and poisoned Puzhu within Shaolin Temple, all charges now established—his heart filled with extreme satisfaction as he immediately flashed away following those black shadows.

Just as he was turning to leave, a sword came horizontally across his neck. A gentle breeze arrived, silent and soundless, not even carrying killing intent. Gui Mudan urgently retreated, changing direction to flee.

But in that instant of his hasty retreat and turn, there was a muffled “pu” sound. His back felt cold, his chest hot—Gui Mudan watched helplessly as a sword tip emerged from his chest. He opened his mouth, spitting out fresh blood, still not understanding what had happened as he fell convulsing continuously.

Nearby Dabao, Monk Axiuluo, Monk Denghuo and others also stared wide-eyed.

Just moments before, Tang Lici and Puzhu had been fighting fiercely with their double swords when Gui Mudan turned to leave. Tang Lici suddenly swept his sword, causing Gui Mudan to leap back and change course—that retreat and turn was actually extremely fast; without excellent qinggong, one couldn’t change direction so suddenly.

But when Tang Lici swept his sword horizontally, Puzhu, who had been clashing blades with him, suddenly crouched motionless and backhandedly lifted his sword into a strange posture. Monk Axiuluo thought his nephew Abbot was severely wounded and unable to continue, even reaching out to support him—never expecting Gui Mudan to suddenly retreat backward, impaling his own back on Puzhu’s long sword.

The moment he collided, Puzhu crouched holding his sword, completely motionless.

It was Tang Lici’s horizontal sword sweep that had driven him onto Puzhu’s blade.

With Gui Mudan severely wounded and captured, the Shaolin monks were overjoyed—yet also completely baffled. Wasn’t Tang Lici supposed to be in league with Gui Mudan? Were he and Puzhu putting on an act? But looking at Puzhu’s injuries, it didn’t seem like it. Moreover, with so many deaths at Shaolin Temple in one night, it was absolutely impossible for Gui Mudan alone to have accomplished this—Tang Lici must have played a crucial role!

The sixteen Shaolin warrior monks drew their weapons, surrounding Tang Lici in a clattering circle.

Master Dabao quickly helped Puzhu up, “Nephew Abbot, how are your injuries?”

Puzhu remained silent with eyes and mouth closed, his face deathly pale.

Master Dahui supported Puzhu from the other side and checked his pulse, his heart growing cold—Puzhu’s internal breath was chaotic, seeming like qi deviation! There was indeed deadly poison entangled in his meridians, but his misdirected internal energy could kill him even faster than the poison! Just as Dahui and Dabao both supported Puzhu, his long sword suddenly struck out, the sword tip touching Dabao’s body while the hilt struck Dahui. The two monks’ internal breath became disordered, their hands went numb, and Puzhu broke free, turning to slash at the sixteen Shaolin monks surrounding Tang Lici.

The sixteen Shaolin monks cried out, “Puzhu!”

Puzhu turned a deaf ear, appearing mad and deranged. He attacked both the sixteen Shaolin monks and Tang Lici, who had seemed to coordinate perfectly with him moments before.

Even in his madness and qi deviation, Puzhu’s sword intent remained magnificent and stern, like great snow on frozen plains, seeking to kill all filth in the world, or perhaps to obliterate all the wandering hardships and bitter winds and残雨 of this world.

Heavy killing intent—heavy as mountain ranges.

Concentrated bitter intent—concentrated more than sorrowful autumn.

Mountains about to collapse, shattered stones crumbling through clouds.

Intent impossible to maintain, killing others and killing self.