Pu Zhu had been appointed as the abbot that very day, yet the formal inauguration ceremony had not been held. Firstly, he had not undergone the official tonsure ceremony; secondly, the abbot's inauguration was a grand event in the Martial Arts World, requiring meticulous preparation due to its complexity; and thirdly, just a few days after being appointed, Pu Zhu claimed to have attained enlightenment and decided to seclude himself in the abbot's chamber to master a Shaolin secret scripture, the Mahaparinirvana Sutra .
The senior "Da" generation of Shaolin monks found Pu Zhu's actions rather peculiar, but since this junior disciple was renowned throughout the world and his Buddha-heart was steadfast, they let him be. They thought it would be a fine thing to wait until Pu Zhu had mastered the Mahaparinirvana Sutra before officially assuming the abbotship.
However, when Dabao Chanshi barged into the abbot's chamber, he was shocked to find Pu Zhu locked on a cloud bed, seemingly blind and mute, his body covered in blood from breaking the chains. In that moment, the night seemed filled with inexplicable and absurd events, as if all the impossible things in the world had suddenly converged into this brief span of time.
Dabao Chanshi stood frozen for a moment before charging forward, throwing a "Subduing Tiger Fist" at Tang Lici and roaring, "What have you done to my junior disciple, the abbot?"
Tang Lici remained silent, but Gui Mudan sneered darkly, "Our sect leader extended a gracious invitation, but this brat Pu Zhu refused to appreciate it. He has been poisoned with 'Three Slumbers Sleepless Sky'—now blind and deaf. After three days of deep slumber, if the poison remains unresolved, he will never enter meditation or sleep again. From then on, he will either go mad or become a fool. Hahaha, hahahaha... Shaolin's painstaking efforts to cultivate an abbot through Buddhist debate—what use is it, even if his swordsmanship is unparalleled in the world?" He let out a sharp laugh. "Who in this world dares to defy our sect leader's orders? Even Shaolin's Pu Zhu—I can make him live or die at will! Who under heaven dares to disobey?"
Dabao, consumed with fury, unleashed the Shaolin Lion's Roar, his voice booming like spring thunder. Gui Mudan felt his ears ring as if struck by a punch, yet he only grinned savagely and thrust his clawed fingers toward Dabao's chest. His nails were tipped with long hooks—a single strike would tear out the heart and lungs.
At that moment, voices outside chanted in unison, "Amitabha," followed by a calm declaration: "Halt, benefactor."
Figures leaped into view as a group of monks of varying heights and builds suddenly appeared—none other than the "Seventeen Shaolin Monks." Among them, Heavenly Monk had perished, but the remaining sixteen were still the backbone of Shaolin's monk soldiers. These sixteen monks did not usually reside in the temple; each had ten disciples and was exceedingly busy. Only the tolling of the great bell that night had summoned them in haste.
Gui Mudan scoffed at the "Seventeen Shaolin Monks." If it had been an unpoisoned Pu Zhu, he might have shown some respect, but what were these monks worth? A staff flew through the air, which Dabao caught in one hand. Swinging it horizontally, he forced Gui Mudan back from his lethal strike and bellowed, "Evil heretics! Shameless methods!"
Meanwhile, Tang Lici and Pu Zhu had already exchanged three moves without either gaining the upper hand. The Asura Monk thrust his longsword toward Tang Lici's back, while the Hellish Monk swept his monastic blade toward Tang Lici's neck. In that brief moment, a large contingent of Shaolin forces had gathered, surrounding the abbot's chamber on all sides.Gui Mudan saw the crowd growing larger and let out a sinister laugh. "Pu Zhu is already finished, Shaolin is done for—retreat!" With a sharp whistle, several dark figures suddenly emerged around the Abbot's quarters, swiftly dispersing in all directions. Outside, Dahui Chanshi, who was overseeing the command, ordered a pursuit. Shaolin's Monk Soldiers split into teams to chase the fleeing figures, creating a scene of chaos.
Gui Mudan cast a chilling glance at Tang Lici. "Sect Leader, congratulations on the great success of this mission."
Tang Lici, clad in flowing white robes, had been locked in combat with Pu Zhu. Their Sword Qi clashed fiercely, the battle intense and evenly matched, with neither side gaining the upper hand. Hearing Gui Mudan declare "great success," Tang Lici now found himself unable to defend against the accusations—burning the Scripture Storage Pavilion, murdering innocent elderly monks, poisoning Pu Zhu—all these crimes had been pinned on him within Shaolin Temple. Gui Mudan, utterly pleased, immediately vanished, following the retreating dark figures.
Just as he turned to leave, a sword swept silently toward his neck—so light it carried no killing intent. Gui Mudan hastily retreated, changing direction.
But in that split second as he twisted away, a dull thud sounded. His back chilled, his chest warmed—Gui Mudan stared in disbelief as the tip of a sword emerged from his chest. He opened his mouth, spewing blood, his mind still struggling to comprehend what had happened before he collapsed, convulsing violently.
Beside him, Da Bao, the Asura Monk, and others stood wide-eyed in shock.
Moments earlier, Tang Lici and Pu Zhu had been locked in their fierce sword duel. As Gui Mudan turned to flee, Tang Lici suddenly swung his sword, forcing Gui Mudan to leap back and change course—a maneuver so swift only someone with exceptional lightness skill could execute it.
Yet, as Tang Lici swept his sword, Pu Zhu—who had been exchanging blows with him—dropped to the ground, raising his sword in an odd stance. The Asura Monk, thinking the Abbot was too injured to stand, even reached out to support him—only for Gui Mudan to abruptly backstep, impaling himself on Pu Zhu's blade.
At the moment of impact, Pu Zhu remained motionless, sword firmly planted.
It was Tang Lici who had driven Gui Mudan onto Pu Zhu's sword.
Gui Mudan, severely wounded and captured, brought great relief to the Shaolin monks—yet confusion lingered. Wasn’t Tang Lici allied with Gui Mudan? Had he and Pu Zhu been acting all along? But Pu Zhu’s injuries seemed too real. And with so many dead in Shaolin overnight, it couldn’t have been Gui Mudan’s doing alone—Tang Lici must have played a major role!
Sixteen Shaolin monks raised their weapons, encircling Tang Lici with a clamor of blades.
Dabao Chanshi hurried to support Pu Zhu. "Abbot Nephew, how are your injuries?"
Pu Zhu remained silent, eyes closed, his face deathly pale.
Dahui Chanshi, supporting Pu Zhu from the other side, checked his pulse—his heart sank. Pu Zhu’s internal energy was in chaos, as if he had suffered a Qi deviation! His meridians were indeed entangled with potent poison, but the disrupted energy flow was even deadlier. Just as both Dahui and Dabao steadied him, Pu Zhu suddenly struck—his sword tip tapped Dabao, while the hilt knocked Dahui. Their energy faltered, their hands numbed, and Pu Zhu broke free, turning to slash at the sixteen monks surrounding Tang Lici.
"Abbot Pu Zhu!" the monks cried in shock.
Pu Zhu ignored them, his movements frenzied. He attacked the sixteen monks, then turned his blade toward Tang Lici—the very man who had seemingly fought in perfect sync with him moments before.In the throes of madness, even as he teetered on the brink of qi deviation, Pu Zhu's sword intent remained vast and piercing—like a blizzard sweeping across an icy plain, seeking to annihilate all the filth in this world or perhaps to erase every trace of its suffering, desolation, and bitter storms.
His killing intent was heavy—heavy as mountains.
His sorrow was thick—thicker than autumn's deepest grief.
The mountains seemed to crumble, rocks shattering the clouds.
Yet his will faltered—to kill others, or to kill himself.
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