Chapter 248

The essence of the Shaolin lies in an unshakeable heart.

According to the teachings of Buddhism, true diligence requires remaining undisturbed by delusions, striving resolutely towards the serene state of Nirvana, having joy without fuss and anger without outbursts. It espouses a life far removed from worldly pleasures and the company of women, viewing emotions like joy, anger, and sadness as mere illusions, making the very world itself the illusion.

Thus, form is emptiness, and emptiness is form; delusions are merely nonexistent, and when one empties themselves, only then does the world fill the mind, according to the teachings of Buddhism.

Hence, the teachings of the Great Master Muhak are as sturdy as Mount Tai.

An unwavering heart that does not shake no matter what, and an unyielding body that steadfastly holds its ground like the heaviest mountain in the world.

And so, the Great Master Muhak, the unrivaled undefeated master of the world, remained steadfast in his position.

Even when foolish disciples flaunted their pride and arrogance, he merely whispered the Dharma to calm himself.

How can one manage the youthful vigor stepping out into the world for the first time? Would an immature brat listen to reason when scolded? They’d eventually realize their own shame.

Yet, as the foolish disciple ran rampant, unleashing fist techniques indiscriminately, even Great Master Muhak started to tighten his expression.

Of course, he had already seen what Seomun Sulin’s disciple demonstrated, so it wasn’t life-threatening.

In fact, Wolbong was confident in Qing’s resilience, throwing powerful strikes as if they were mere grazing blows.

But what in the world does one gain from winning in such a manner?

Sure, if things went south, their life wouldn’t be on the line, but they’d likely end up bedridden for months. Even if the foolish disciple targeted the face directly, if a nose were to collapse or a chin were to shatter, that would bring a lifelong grudge.

Still, the Great Master Muhak bore it.

After all, he had trained alone in the mountains, so he probably hadn’t experienced true frustration.

However, this time he couldn’t hold back.

With eyes wide open, Great Master Muhak leaped up from his seat, hurried towards the railing, leaned over, and stretched out his neck.

To his sides, the golden-robed Shaolin monks lined up in the same manner.

In a trance, Great Master Muhak muttered.

“The booming voice of the celestial sound spanning across the Dharma realm. No matter how large a giant may be under the heavens, they dwell in the palm of the Buddha’s hand…”

It was a record of the greatest seasons of the lost Shaolin.

When Muhak had seen it, he had thought it was merely a characteristic of martial arts or something to jot down, dismissing it as a flowery philosophical riddle. But confronted with it now, he realized it was spot-on; no clearer explanation existed.

“Brahma” signifies all heavens in the vast universe, thus the sound of the Brahma bell resonates with the enlightenment teachings across the entire world.

Therefore, no matter how great a human may be, in the grand scheme of reincarnation, they are but one among many, hardly comparable to the vastness of the Buddha that transcends the cycle.

That palm of the Tathagata parallels the stern will of the heavens. It’s natural and appropriate for the voice of the heavens to echo like the Brahma bells.

“Isn’t that the Buddha’s Physical Body!”

With the cry of the undefeated master, chaos erupted among the distinguished ranks as everyone clamored to speak up.

“The Brahma Tathagata’s Mahasattva! That is…!”

“How could the essence of Shaolin appear in that child…?”

Yet, the most bewildered and flabbergasted were the very individuals from Shaolin themselves.

It was akin to their ancestral lineage, long extinguished, suddenly sparkling in someone else’s grasp—how utterly absurd!

Wolbong took a step back, then another, finally five steps backward before releasing the surge of true energy coursing through Qing.

Meanwhile, Qing remained seemingly unfazed, standing still with her palm outstretched.

Everyone watching felt the stark contrast in reactions to the impending clash.

Having mastered the seventy-two techniques of Shaolin and received all manner of divine skills, Wolbong was akin to a walking library of martial knowledge.

Yet, his broad yet shallow learning meant that none of his accomplishments stood particularly tall; even his ultimate technique, the Hundred Steps Divine Fist, was still a work in progress.

However, Qing, though relying on tricks, knew how to deploy all basic techniques with the precision of a true master, and thus the results were evident.

Wolbong closed his eyes and took a long, deep breath.

Qing watched him intently.

If it were the Restoration Method, I would just blast him away; but since I’m using striking techniques, I have to hold back.

Still, it was undoubtedly a significant shock, so waiting for him to regain his composure was the polite thing to do.

Unlike a Life and Death Match, after all.

Finally, Wolbong let out a long breath that felt like he had been holding it forever.

With the powerful energies of Buddhism shaking his body, every organ ached, and not a single joint was free from pain. Yet his mind remained lucid and clear, as if washed clean.

“Amitabha. I’ve embarrassed myself. Noble Sacrificer…”

Wolbong stuttered mid-sentence.

Facing Qing’s bare, ungroomed visage, he felt the tragic fate of a man.

What, Mara’s temptation…!

Indeed, having never left the monastery since joining at the age of five, Wolbong hadn’t even seen a woman in more than twenty years.

Up until the martial arts tournament triumph, the only time he stepped outside was to heed his master’s orders.

Now faced with a stunning beauty, his heart raced, and he found it difficult to maintain his composure, dreadful embarrassment overcoming him.

Qing hesitated briefly. What is this? Is she trying to provoke me? What are the ways to get someone riled up?

But since a conclusion wasn’t reached yet, Qing stepped forward, stomping the competition stage.

Stretching out her fist, she aimed, and *whap*, Wolbong staggered backward from a punch to the ribs. Qing’s fists kept coming, *whap! smack! whack!*

All that momentum seemed to vanish as Wolbong was busy blocking and dodging, trying to retreat.

Rather than countering, he was awkwardly unsteady on his feet, glancing everywhere but at Qing, and even when he focused, he never dared meet her gaze directly.

Qing’s eyes narrowed with rage.

This brat, is he messing with me?

Qing raised her hand high.

*Whack!!!*

A crisp sound echoed as her wide-open palm struck Wolbong right on his bald head.

In a moment, the imprint of her hand would be a stark reminder on that shiny scalp.

Wolbong stepped back, clutching the point where his forehead met his head.

Qing raised her voice.

“Monk! What are you doing right now? Why aren’t you fighting back properly?”

“W-well, um, I…… I concede.”

The shock and chatter in the martial arts arena suddenly quieted down.

“Hmm. With the opponent conceding, the winner is—”

“Hold on a second,”

Qing stopped the referee from declaring a victor.

“Wolbong, can you clarify? You’re neither conceding nor admitting defeat, yet you’ve stated you concede?”

“But… Nob—uh, it’s clear that the outcome can’t be decided right now, isn’t it?”

“Can’t decide the outcome? Why’s that? Have you perhaps exhausted your inner strength? If so, isn’t it a matter of declaring defeat, not conceding?”

“No, it’s not that! It’s just, how can you…”

“What about me?”

Qing’s voice was sharp.

Then Wolbong shouted with indignation evident in his tone.

“It’s sorcery! Not just any sorcery, but the very embodiment of Mara! Oh Amitabha, Amitabha…”

“…?”

A deep crease formed between Qing’s brows.

“Sorcery? What have I done to warrant such outrageous words?”

“In this situation, how can it be a fair contest! With your stunning looks, you’re casting illusions, it’s clearly sorcery! And how can I, as a monk, dare to strike a delicate lady?!”

The spectators collectively fell silent, dumbfounded.

To hear a monk blubbering such nonsense after relentlessly attacking on stage was truly bizarre.

“You’re making absolutely no sense. When that maiden was merely covering her face to concentrate on the match, you unleashed sworn lethal blows against her! Yet now you can’t where it counts!”

“Back then and now is different! Which man could claim to strike a peerless beauty like you!? A mere common man wouldn’t even dare meet your eyes, how could that be a fair contest?”

Considering the vastness of the martial arts arena, even if Qing’s mask were to come off, an average person wouldn’t recognize her transcendent beauty straight off.

They likely assumed she had scars or blemishes, but far from it; even from a distance, her skin shone like porcelain, and her features were striking.

Although unable to confirm up close, she could certainly pass for a beauty.

Then Wolbong’s mention of her being a peerless beauty sparked outright curiosity.

A monk willing to back down from a match because of the appearance of a woman? Simply outrageous.

“Your words are utterly shocking. So you can freely attack a woman of plain appearance, but the moment she possesses stunning beauty, suddenly she’s transformed into an untouchable maiden?”

“Th-that’s…”

Great Master Muhak could no longer bear to watch and covered his face.

Since Qing had posed the question, Wolbong was left defending that he could strike an ugly woman without hesitation, but that he couldn’t touch a beauty.

Even for secular men, this was utterly disgraceful, let alone for someone who took monastic vows, a statement that should never escape their lips. After all, one’s appearance is but the mere form of the physical world.

Seomun Sulin silently commended her disciple for deftly delivering such a crucial point! The reality was that society really treated unappealing women harshly, while showering kindness onto beauties as if ready to give away their hearts and livers.

The onlookers couldn’t help but resonate with Wolbong’s sentiment. After all, isn’t it fair to strike against someone lacking beauty?

Yet contrasting that was the spectacle of him whining about sorcery after beating her to a pulp—it was frankly absurd. Utterly ludicrous.

Meanwhile, as people jokingly jeered for a “beauty contest” in the martial arts arena, only one corner remained quiet.

It wasn’t because they were exceptionally dignified or wise, but simply because a certain group was loaded with tension, fingers itching to reach for their weapons, ready to escalate any insults tossed their way into deadly encounters.

The ronin nodded in approval.

Seomun Sulin’s beauty could certainly be described as unmatched; no wonder a Shaolin monk had difficulty maintaining a calm heart in her presence.

As the martial arts arena gradually quieted down, the referee finally decided to take action.

“Ah, Wolbong, how much true energy remains in your Dantian? After using those fierce techniques, it must be nearly spent. Is there any strength left to continue?”

“Well… No, not really.”

“What about Seomun Qing?”

“Not even half has been depleted.”

“Really, still that much left?”

“Hmm. Why don’t you check my pulse to confirm?”

Qing extended her wrist politely.

The referee shook his head. What stronger proof could there be than checking her pulse?

“Given the energy expenditure, the outcome is evident. So I hereby declare the victory of Seomun Qing, disciple of the Divine Maiden Sect!”