The wind and rain gradually subsided.
Liu Yan and the other two had finished the vegetarian noodles prepared by A Shui, and warmth had spread through their bodies, dispelling the bone-chilling cold from earlier. A Shui cleared the bowls and chopsticks to wash them, while Fang Pingzhai wiped his mouth and announced he would scout the vicinity to see if those bald monks were pursuing them. Yu Tuan'er, however, was drowsy and dozed off in her chair. Liu Yan sat motionless in silence, his thoughts unknown to anyone.
The room was utterly quiet.
An indeterminate amount of time passed. The eastern sky began to pale, though outside the window, darkness still reigned. Suddenly, Liu Yan shuddered slightly and raised his head. "Who's there?"
Yu Tuan'er jolted awake, her mind still foggy. She shook her head vigorously. "What's wrong?" Though Liu Yan had lost his martial arts, his hearing remained sharp. He focused intently—there was a faint sound on the roof. If he wasn't mistaken, it was the subtle noise of someone leaping from a distance and landing on the rooftop. Fang Pingzhai's lightness skill was excellent, but this was a different, more restrained style.
"Amitabha. This old monk ventures to ask—is the disfigured and crippled man inside Liu Yan, Benefactor Liu?" A calm Buddhist chant came from the rooftop. "This old monk apologizes for the intrusion but wishes to invite Benefactor Liu to accompany me to Shaolin Temple." The elderly monk's voice, transmitted from above, was so gentle it seemed to whisper in their ears—a testament to his profound skill. Liu Yan laughed coldly and raised his voice. "Does Shaolin Temple think that just because it possesses the 'Six Paths of Reincarnation,' it can act as the arbiter of the martial world, arresting whomever it pleases?" His words were an unmistakable admission. With his pride, he would never deny being Liu Yan.
A series of light taps sounded around the house. Yu Tuan'er rushed to the door and peered outside. Fang Pingzhai was nowhere to be seen, but outside stood many monks—tall and short, fat and thin—all with fierce expressions. Unaware that these seventeen monks were the renowned "Seventeen Shaolin Monks," she was oddly delighted by their ugliness. "You—" Before she could finish, the lead monk swung his palm. Yu Tuan'er felt an immense force strike her chest. With a "thud," she was flung backward, crashing into the opposite wall. Blood sprayed from her mouth, rendering her unable to speak or move even a finger. Wide-eyed, she stared at the monks. She had heard monks were good people, but this one had attacked her without reason—worse than the so-called villain Liu Yan, who had never once struck her.
With another "thud," Yu Tuan'er flew back inside, vomiting blood before collapsing motionless. A Shui, startled, set down the freshly brewed tea and hurried out. Seeing over a dozen monks surrounding the Apricot Sun Bookstore, she stepped forward and spread her arms to block them. "Esteemed Masters, your presence honors our humble abode. May I ask the purpose of your visit?"
The gray-robed monk who had struck Yu Tuan'er clasped his hands. "Amitabha. We are the Seventeen Shaolin Monks. We have come to invite Benefactor Liu to Shaolin Temple for a discussion—nothing more." A Shui paused. "You are masters from Shaolin Temple? This lowly woman pays her respects." Slowly, she lowered her arms and stepped aside. "Might I ask what Shaolin Temple wishes to discuss with Liu Yan?"The leader, the Hungry Ghost Monk, gave her a rather strange look. For a small, unskilled woman like her to ask what the Shaolin Temple truly wished to discuss with Liu Yan was somewhat presumptuous. Yet her expression was earnest, devoid of any nervousness or fear, appearing entirely natural. The Hell Monk beside him spoke, "Amitabha. To be frank, the Shaolin Temple wishes to invite Benefactor Liu back for matters concerning the antidote to the Ape-Demon Nine Heart Pill." A Shui asked softly, "And after the esteemed masters obtain the antidote?" The Hell Monk replied slowly, "The Shaolin Temple will naturally convene a Martial Arts World Assembly, inviting all factions of the jianghu to deliberate and pass fair judgment on Benefactor Liu." A Shui fell silent. Given Liu Yan's actions, what chance of survival would a public trial by the jianghu grant him? The Shaolin Temple sought the antidote to the Ape-Demon Nine Heart Pill but would not spare his life in return. She, too, hoped Liu Yan would surrender the antidote, but she did not wish for his death.
"Seventeen Shaolin Monks," someone chuckled from afar outside the door. "Seventeen Shaolin Monks come to invite someone back to the temple, yet resort to feinting east and striking west. Truly, the Shaolin Temple is radiant with glory, profound in martial arts, and peerless in wisdom!" A Shui felt a slight relief—the speaker was none other than Fang Pingzhai. It seemed he had been lured away earlier by the Shaolin Temple's diversion but had now returned in time, proving his extraordinary capabilities.
"Benefactor Fang," an elderly monk with a somewhat kinder appearance spoke slowly from the group. "Is 'Fang Pingzhai' truly your real name? For nearly twenty years, there has been no such figure in the jianghu. Your martial prowess and insight are extraordinary—you could not possibly be an unknown. What is your true motive for disrupting our Abbot Assembly and taking Liu Yan away? Could you enlighten us?" Outside the door, Fang Pingzhai waved his red fan and stepped forward leisurely. "Me? I'm merely bored, merely seeking fame. My intentions are pure and without hidden schemes—it's just that your minds are too convoluted to believe it." This relatively amiable-looking monk was the Heavenly Monk among the seventeen. Beside him, a middle-aged monk with a fierce countenance sneered, "If Benefactor accompanies us back to Shaolin, we will naturally believe you." Fang Pingzhai flicked his red fan and laughed heartily. "Bullshit!" The middle-aged monk erupted in fury, slamming his staff down. "Karmic Fire of Annihilation!" The inner energy beneath his staff surged, carrying a scorching heat as it lashed toward Fang Pingzhai. Seeing him strike, the Heavenly Monk beside him clasped his hands in prayer, then pointed a finger at Liu Yan, intoning, "Thus is the Buddha Dharma." In an instant, all seventeen Shaolin Monks moved, each unleashing seven or eight strikes against Liu Yan and Fang Pingzhai.
Yu Tuan'er, severely wounded and unable to help, could only watch with wide eyes. A Shui retreated step by step into the room, picking up Feng Feng before turning to block the guest room's entrance. Fang Pingzhai's fan flickered unpredictably; though alone, his figure seemed to multiply, darting back and forth as he intercepted the majority of the Shaolin monks' attacks. Seizing a brief respite, Liu Yan reached for his flute, closed his eyes, and brought it to his lips.As he raised the flute to his lips, the Shaolin monks' expressions changed slightly, and they retreated one after another. Fang Pingzhai let out an exclamation, "Master, you really have no conscience, saving yourself at my expense—" Before he could finish his sentence, the flute's mournful and piercing sound rang out. Among the Seventeen Shaolin Monks, the "Wandering Monk," whose cultivation was relatively weak, was the first to falter, staggering back seven steps. Fang Pingzhai circulated his inner energy to resist. Though he had been taught the Sound Assassination Technique by Liu Yan, he had yet to master it fully. Still, he was far stronger than the Seventeen Shaolin Monks. Empowered by Liu Yan's formidable sound assassination, his red fan flashed as he exchanged thirteen moves with the "Hungry Ghost Monk." With a sharp "snap," their palms clashed, and the Hungry Ghost Monk spat blood, stumbling backward. Fang Pingzhai smirked, "Old monk, age is just age. If you don’t go back and chant sutras soon, even the Buddha won’t bless you."
"Amitabha." The "A Re Monk," "A Han Monk," "Great Crying Monk," and "Zhong He Monk" beside the Hungry Ghost Monk chanted in unison. Each struck out with a palm, aiming for Fang Pingzhai’s waist. The flurry of palm shadows sent their sleeves fluttering violently from the force of their inner energy. Fang Pingzhai flicked his fan, moving in harmony with Liu Yan’s melody. His robes billowed as if dancing, his figure flickering unpredictably as he deftly deflected the four monks’ strikes, then burst into laughter. The four monks suddenly felt a sharp pain in their chests. Looking down, they saw white, petal-like blades embedded in their flesh—curved, snow-white, and only an inch long, utterly unlike ordinary blades. They pulled them out, finding only shallow wounds that bled slightly, with no trace of poison. Yet none of them had noticed when these four flying blades had struck.
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