Li Muzhen admired Zen calligraphy deeply; whenever he encountered fine script, he had to copy it—a habit he unconsciously developed and found pleasure in. Though currently in danger, the old habit was hard to break.
He looked up, three characters branding themselves onto his mind, then raised his right hand, his index finger tracing strokes as if writing those very characters across the inky black sky.
The index finger moved slowly, his spirit concentrated on the fingertip. Once the three characters were complete, a raging internal fire gathered in his chest, demanding release.
He roared to the heavens.
The sound surged like a tide, rolling out in all directions, clearly audible across the entire Wohu Mountain. The small creatures on the mountain shuddered, collapsing like mud, as if they had heard the roar of a tiger.
The refined young man’s expression shifted slightly; he mused inwardly: This monk is so young, yet his internal power is profound. It's no wonder the Big Boss came out personally.
He cleared his throat lightly and said, “This monk, the Big Boss is waiting for you. Please come in.” Li Muzhen, overflowing with heroic spirit, smiled and stepped into the pagoda.
The pagoda was brightly lit. As he entered, a thick red carpet, soft as a meadow, covered the floor. A golden Buddha statue came into view, one he did not recognize.
This statue had eyes like bronze bells and a nose like a lion’s. Its countenance was fierce, its hands pressed together in prayer, and each foot rested upon a human skull—terrifyingly eerie, like a vengeful spirit.
Li Muzhen observed it for a few glances but refrained from hasty judgment. Many Arhat Kings in Buddhism cultivated the path of slaughter; one could not simply declare them evil. Though this statue was frightening, it faintly exuded a trace of righteous grandeur.
Seated before the statue was a figure clad in a Kasaya, his eyes slightly lowered, seemingly in deep meditation.
He was bald, bearing six scars of incense burns on his crown. He was as imposing as a mountain. His features were rugged, his beard and mustache thick, resembling a pile of tangled weeds, giving him the initial appearance of a lion.
Li Muzhen stopped and studied him carefully, wondering: This monk is in his forties, possessing a magnificent bearing. Could this be the bald bandit, the Big Boss?
Just then, the middle-aged monk suddenly opened his eyes. The room seemed to instantly brighten, as if two bolts of lightning had flashed, causing Li Muzhen to squint involuntarily, his hairs standing on end, his eyelids twitching wildly.
The middle-aged monk’s gaze was sharp as lightning, almost substantial, sweeping over Li Muzhen. A chill permeated his whole body.
Li Muzhen sucked in a breath, his heart sinking; this person’s cultivation was profound, far surpassing his own.
He clasped his hands in salute and smiled lightly, “Are you the Big Boss?”
The middle-aged monk nodded. “Indeed. I am the head honcho here!”
“Then I take my leave!” Li Muzhen laughed, pushing off with his leg and rapidly retreating, as if being pulled back by a rope.
“Trying to leave?!” The middle-aged monk sneered, remaining seated. He raised his right hand, fingers together like a sword point, and flicked it toward Li Muzhen from across the distance.
“Chii!” A light whistle sounded.
Li Muzhen reached the doorway, about to exit the pagoda, when a scorching force rushed toward him, arriving instantly—formless and colorless, impossible to see clearly.
His movement faltered. He suddenly veered left, managing to shift barely a foot, his back slamming against the doorframe with a loud clang. The frame was cast iron; he winced, feeling pain shoot through his left shoulder.
He executed a clumsy roll. Where he had just been, there were pff-pff sounds, leaving small holes, as if modern bullets had struck.
The middle-aged monk smirked, his sword-finger lightly tapping again.
Li Muzhen kept rolling. Amidst the pff-pff sounds, small holes on the carpet relentlessly pursued him.
He worked with divided attention: dodging while contemplating. Such finger technique was unheard of; the power could be projected across empty space—truly a supreme secret art.
At least, among the many secret arts of the Mei household, none were this formidable.
Although the middle-aged monk’s finger strikes were powerful, Li Muzhen possessed acute perception. Danger always alerted him just in time to evade, allowing him to remain unharmed so far.
The middle-aged monk’s cold smile turned to surprise. After over twenty strikes, Li Muzhen, though disheveled, hadn't lost a single hair—truly not simple.
His left hand emerged from his sleeve, fingers pressed together—index and middle finger forming a sword point—and aimed remotely.
Li Muzhen groaned internally. His body sprang forward, surging toward the doorway.
He moved several inches horizontally through the air, grunted, and a spray of blood erupted from his left shoulder, leaving a bloody hole. Yet, his movement did not stop, and he retreated out of the pagoda.
He pressed his right hand onto the wound, circulating his Taiyin internal energy, which surged forth as cold air, coagulating the blood.
He did not slow his pace, charging directly toward the narrow path, sucking in cold air. Had he not shifted sideways a few inches, that strike would have hit his heart, ending his life instantly.
By the open ground before the path, the area was now packed with bald men, densely filling the space—nearly forty or fifty of them.
Torches blazed, illuminating their shining bald heads. They held knives and swords, motionless. Their faces were expressionless as the dead, staring coldly at Li Muzhen.
Li Muzhen suddenly felt a bizarre illusion: he seemed to have fallen into a wolf pack.
The refined young man stood among the crowd, smiling, revealing teeth as white as snow. “This monk, if you wish to descend the mountain, then fight your way through!”
Li Muzhen drew a long breath and smiled, glancing back. Thankfully, the Big Boss had not pursued; there was still a sliver of hope.
He lowered his right hand. The bloody hole on his left shoulder remained visible, and the large men immediately revealed faint sneers.
The refined young man smiled slightly. “The monk escaping the Big Boss’s Golden Net Finger alive—I am impressed, truly impressed!”
“Golden Net Finger?” Li Muzhen blurted out the question.
He felt an intense yearning for this finger technique. If he could learn it, combined with his Qibu Zhenjing, it would truly become the Six Meridian Divine Sword.
Once the Six Meridian Divine Sword was unleashed, who in this world could stand against it?!
The refined young man nodded. “The Golden Net Finger is the Big Boss’s unique, esoteric art. You have already seen its power. You had best surrender obediently and join us. The path ahead...”
Li Muzhen shook his head and laughed, his body suddenly moving, transforming into a wisp of light smoke. His right hand drew his long sword into a shimmering cascade, charging forward.
He feared the middle-aged monk might change his mind, so he dared not delay with talk.
Amidst a dense cascade of ding-ding-ding-ding sounds, knives and swords flew up, tumbling in the air, and one by one the large men fell, unable to stop Li Muzhen’s advance.
He swung both swords simultaneously, fast and fierce. The sword light was continuous, like a harvester cutting wheat—he swept aside all opposition. In the blink of an eye, he had covered half the distance.
At this time, his left hand operated without the slightest hindrance; the injury had not affected its function. He hadn't sealed the acupoint earlier but used his Taiyin True Qi to congeal the blood precisely for this reason.
If he had sealed the acupoint, the flow of internal energy would have been impeded, rendering his left hand inflexible. Using the Taiyin True Qi to freeze the wound, although aggravating the injury, did not obstruct his vital energy, leaving his left hand as nimble as usual.
As for the injury on his left shoulder, surviving was the priority.
In moments, several more men fell. Victory seemed imminent. Li Muzhen took a deep breath, controlling his twin swords while remaining vigilant about the pagoda behind him.
The refined young man suddenly cried out, “Big Boss, we can’t hold them off!”
“A pack of trash!” With a deep snort, a yellow-red shadow flashed, and the Big Boss appeared at the edge of the path, his Kasaya billowing, exuding fearsome might.
Those four simple words made the eardrums of the crowd ache.
Li Muzhen took a deep breath, suppressing the surging blood qi, and managed a slight, wry smile. Today, he feared, he would perish here. The martial world was indeed perilous, and caution was necessary!
The Big Boss rested his left hand behind his back and waved his right hand.
The large men retreated to the sides, clearing the open space. There was now no obstruction between the Big Boss and Li Muzhen.
The Big Boss looked down at him from his superior position and said coolly, “Surrender, or die!”
Li Muzhen pressed his right hand onto the wound, resealing the ruptured opening, and shook his head with a smile. “The bald bandit commits all manner of evil, raging and cruel. I truly dare not align myself with you.”
The middle-aged monk sneered, “Hmph. Heaven and Earth are unkind; they treat all creation as straw dogs. Living beings are like ants; only the strong can survive—this is the Way of Heaven! You are a monk, can you not see this?”
“I only know that Heaven delights in the virtue of nurturing life!” Li Muzhen shook his head.
The middle-aged monk dismissed this with disdain. “Womanly sentimentality, made foolish by reading books!”
Li Muzhen sighed. “Our paths diverge; we cannot work together.”
The middle-aged monk snorted coldly. “Since you insist, then die!”
He pointed remotely with his right hand, fingers like a sword.
Li Muzhen stepped laterally, barely evading the strike. He focused half his attention on conversing, and the other half tracking the monk’s fingers; as soon as the fingers moved, he shifted sideways immediately.
Bang! A small hole shattered the ground beneath his foot.
Li Muzhen did not stop moving his feet. He did not use Qinggong, only footwork, weaving and evading, secretly astonished. This was not a carpet; it was bluestone flooring. Every point struck left a hole, demonstrating the sharpness of the finger power.
While secretly marveling at the profound mystery of the Golden Net Finger, he struggled desperately to dodge the incoming strikes.
The middle-aged monk wore a cold smile, leisurely and unhurried, not eager to kill him. He tapped lightly with his fingers, sending out shafts of finger force that left small pits in the ground.
In moments, the ground was riddled with holes, resembling a honeycomb.
The refined young man called out, “Big Boss, we cannot stop him!”
The monk scoffed. “Hmph.”
He accelerated his finger strikes; Li Muzhen dodged even faster, his body blurring into a shadow, indistinct and unclear.
Suddenly, his movement hesitated. With two soft bobo sounds, he was struck by two fingers—one on the left shoulder, one on the right chest—leaving two bloody holes.
The middle-aged monk retracted his fingers, looking at him with contempt. Struck by these two blows, his life was forfeit.
Li Muzhen stood frozen, motionless, as if solidified into a statue.
The large men stared at him intently, their eyes bright, their expressions excited.
Li Muzhen’s gaze slowly swept over the crowd, a look of bewilderment in his eyes that gradually turned vacant.
He clutched his chest with his left hand, trying to staunch the bleeding, but to no avail. With a bewildered gaze, he stumbled forward, swaying unsteadily toward the narrow path.
The middle-aged monk smirked, stepping aside slightly, musing that the monk’s will was surprisingly firm; even facing death, he still thought of descending the mountain. Ha! What use was descending the mountain anyway?!
Li Muzhen swayed unsteadily and stepped down onto the bluestone steps.
The large men watched him closely, silent, observing him descend two steps. Suddenly, he lurched sideways, tumbling against the stone wall, and fell straight down.
Mei Ruolan suddenly sat up, her face pale.
She took several breaths to calm her nerves, dressed, and stepped out into the small courtyard.
The moonlight, like water, illuminated her moon-white inner garment; her face was like jade. Her hazy eyes were fixed on Li Muzhen’s room.
Gong Qingyun heard footsteps and pushed open her door, clad in pale purple, her long hair unbound. She spoke softly, “Miss, what is it?”
“Something feels wrong.” Mei Ruolan frowned, still staring at Li Muzhen’s quarters.
Gong Qingyun looked puzzled. “What’s wrong?”
“Zhanran is acting strangely,” Mei Ruolan turned to look at her.
Gong Qingyun paused, her expression shifting slightly, and quickly said, “Let me check!”
She was sharp-witted and understood immediately. In three quick steps, she reached Li Muzhen’s door and whispered, “Zhanran!”
There was no reply. Biting her lip, she violently pushed the door open and entered. Soon, she floated back out, anxious. “Zhanran isn’t here!”
“That rascal!” Mei Ruolan stamped her foot.