Li Muzhan, with the capability of a Grandmaster, transformed the Yuanxin Temple into a Dojo. Anyone within its bounds experienced instant tranquility and peace, akin to deep meditation.

He hadn't possessed this ability before, but after acquiring the Sacred Artifact and gradually confronting it, he absorbed its serene and placid aura, now wielding it with complete ease. In such a Dojo, everyone’s cultivation progressed twice as fast.

They tasted the joy of entering samadhi, solidifying their faith and driving them toward vigorous advancement. Among them all, Qi Er was the most fervent.

What he sought was not the profound subtlety of Buddhism, but sheer, overwhelming power; power was what he revered above all else. Li Muzhan had grown a lotus flower from boiling water—this incredible feat mesmerized Qi Er.

Such a rare and enlightened master was unheard of; he absolutely would not let this opportunity slip, clinging to it even unto death, lest he live the rest of his life in regret and torment. When Li Muzhan agreed and bestowed upon him a Dharma name, Qi Er was ecstatic.

Following Li Muzhan’s silent gesture, he settled into a cross-legged posture and quickly achieved a state of deep absorption. About an hour later, Li Muzhan lightly raised his hand, and the resounding “Dong…” of a bronze bell echoed.

Everyone awoke from their meditation, feeling refreshed, circulation perfected, and immensely joyful. Li Muzhan smiled gently: “Esteemed Patrons, have you experienced the wonder of samadhi?

Cultivate well upon your return, and you will naturally prolong your years and maintain robust health.” Steward Zheng pressed his palms together in greeting: “Master’s cultivation is truly remarkable. I have tried to meditate before, but found it exceedingly difficult to enter samadhi.

Here, I slipped in effortlessly and tasted the marvel of cultivation. Thank you, Master!” Li Muzhan smiled: “Patron Zheng, the place where one stands is always a Dojo; this is the duty of us cultivators.

Patron Zheng should feel free to visit the temple often to meditate; it will greatly benefit your progress!” “Very well, thank you, Master Zhanran.” Steward Zheng smiled, palms joined. He was a clever man with innate understanding.

Hearing Li Muzhan’s words, he vaguely grasped the truth: this rapid entry into samadhi was due to the presence of the Dojo. Since Master Zhanran was the Dojo, he naturally needed to cultivate near him to succeed.

Old Hu chuckled: “Master Zhanran, I too wish to cultivate; I hope for the Master’s guidance.” Li Muzhan nodded with a smile: “Buddha saves those with affinity. If Patron Hu desires cultivation, this humble monk will naturally assist.

I plan to hold a Seven-Day Retreat; any patrons wishing to cultivate may attend.” Everyone paused, unsure what this meant. Li Muzhan explained with a smile: the so-called Seven-Day Retreat, or Daqi, was a seclusion where one ignored the outside world for seven days, focusing solely on cultivation, becoming deaf and mute to all else.

During the Daqi, he would explain methods of cultivation, correct their flaws, and expound on simple Buddhist sutras, guiding them into the sea of the Dharma. Old Hu nodded: “This is excellent; I will participate in the retreat.” The others chimed in, eager to join.

Having witnessed Li Muzhan’s vast divine abilities, they were brimming with confidence and certainly did not want to miss such an opportunity. Li Muzhan nodded and smiled, agreeing to each request.

He told them to come the day after tomorrow, instructing them to settle their worldly affairs tomorrow so they could dedicate themselves completely to their practice the day after. For the next eight days, Li Muzhan remained within the Yuanxin Temple, sitting with the group.

Aside from eating, drinking, and necessary bodily functions, all other time was spent cultivating. He corrected their postures, explained cultivation techniques, meditated in the mornings and afternoons, and lectured on sutras in the evenings.

The attendees were captivated, listening with rapt attention and profound admiration. Li Muzhan possessed the gift of rendering profound Buddhist principles into simple, accessible language, easily understood by all.

Every word resonated in their hearts, clear and insightful, leaving each person feeling utterly renewed. After seven days, Li Muzhan concluded the teachings.

The group dispersed, each having established a foundation. During those seven days within Li Muzhan’s Dojo, entering samadhi was effortless.

Everyone had gained entry; once initiated, their faith was unshakable, ensuring they would persist in their practice, which would only deepen their conviction over time. Li Muzhan could sense that through these seven days of teaching the Dharma, his Dharma Body had grown significantly more substantial, and his strength had increased considerably.

These seven days of effort equaled half a year of arduous solitary practice for him. Li Muzhan mused inwardly: indeed, this method worthy of Buddhahood—the power of belief infusion—was immensely potent, far easier than his own solitary efforts.

No wonder the Buddha began propagating the Dharma immediately after his Great Enlightenment rather than engaging solely in austere practice. Spreading the Dharma yielded twice the results with half the effort; it was significantly simpler and faster.

In the early morning, Li Muzhan performed a set of boxing forms before the main hall of Yuanxin Temple. His movements were slow, resembling the Taijiquan of later eras.

Qi Er, now bearing the Dharma name Jikong, stood nearby, watching intently, hoping to steal a few techniques. Li Muzhan paid him no mind, allowing him to watch.

Li Muzhan was quite satisfied with this new disciple. Though impulsive and restless in temperament, his fundamental nature was good, and his talent was high.

It was a pity that he hadn't been instructed properly, which had held him back. After a long moment, Li Muzhan slowly concluded his forms, stood quietly for a beat, then turned and instructed, “Jikong, is the meal ready?” “Yes, Master, everything is ready!” Jikong nodded hastily, excitedly: “Master, are you very strong in martial arts?” Li Muzhan asked, “You wish to learn martial arts?” “Yes, yes,” Jikong nodded quickly.

“I want to train in martial arts.” Li Muzhan pondered: “Buddhism requires Dharmic Protectors. I see your worldly ties have not yet been fully severed, making it hard for you to abandon the mundane world entirely for pure Dharma practice.

Martial arts will suffice for now; though martial arts is a minor path, it can still lead to the Way.” “Thank you, Master!” Jikong was overjoyed. “Master also practices martial arts, right?” “Would you like to try?” Li Muzhan smiled.

Jikong hesitated: “I’m afraid I might hurt Master.” He reasoned that while Master possessed profound Dharma and divine powers, he was young in years. Even if he practiced martial arts, he couldn't have achieved much.

Moreover, holding such a high level of Buddhist attainment at his age suggested he spent all his time in meditation, leaving no time for martial training. Jikong was around thirty, while Li Muzhan looked barely eighteen or nineteen.

Li Muzhan laughed: “It is fine to strike; do not hold back.” “Alright!” Jikong agreed heartily and stepped forward with a punch. The wind from the strike howled like a gale.

Li Muzhan’s purple kasaya billowed instantly. Li Muzhan smiled, flicked his sleeve lightly, and Jikong floated weightlessly out, landing near the temple gate.

“A guest has arrived; go and receive them!” Jikong stared at him blankly, but Li Muzhan had already turned back into the main hall. Just as Jikong was about to speak, he heard footsteps.

He turned his head to look. “Qi Er, I’ve brought things over!” A slender, tall youth waved from a distance.

Jikong strode out of the temple gate and walked toward the youth, glaring: “Zheng Xiaosi, my Dharma name is Jikong now!” “Heh heh, still Jikong? I’ll just call you Qi Er!” The slender youth smiled, a dimple appearing on his left cheek, making him immediately likable.

“Call me Jikong!” Jikong shot him a glare. The slender youth chuckled: “Maybe after two days, I’ll have to call you Qi Er again.

Can you stand by the precepts and not kill anyone?” “Pah, pah, stop jinxing it!” Jikong spat and grunted, “You always say unpleasant things. Hurry up, what did you bring?” The slender youth pointed behind him: “Food and drink.

It’s a small token from my father.” “Fine, carry it inside!” Jikong instructed. Behind the youth followed two servants, each carrying a balanced pole laden with wrapped parcels, making it impossible to tell what they contained.

The two servants carried the goods inside, following Jikong to the kitchen, then left. The slender youth, however, didn't rush off, pulling Jikong aside outside the temple to talk.

The slender youth said, “Listen, Qi Er, I heard your Master has divine abilities; is that true?” “Jikong!” Jikong snapped impatiently. “Alright, alright, Jikong.” The slender youth conceded with a sigh.

“Does he really have divine abilities?” “Of course!” Jikong nodded proudly, then added, “But Master issued a command of silence; he forbade me from speaking of it, saying that publicizing divine power is not the proper Dharma.” “It seems true…” The slender youth slowly nodded in admiration. “I never expected to meet a true expert.

Our Donglai Town is too remote; there are many bandits, but very few eminent monks visit.” “That’s right!” Jikong declared proudly. “Though Master is young, his Dharma is profound, reaching an extremely deep realm.

Ordinary monks can’t compare!” The slender youth said, “I want to become a disciple too!” “You are such a notorious womanizer; you want to become a disciple?!” Jikong curled his lip. “I’d say forget it; just stick to being a young master!” The slender youth laughed: “My father holds Master Zhanran in the highest regard, saying he must be a reincarnated eminent monk to possess such innate wisdom.” “Steward Zheng was right; my Master must possess innate wisdom,” Jikong nodded, smiling.

“Zheng Xiaosi, you’re going to have bad luck in the future now that I have such an enlightened Master!” The slender youth smiled wickedly: “That depends on your ability to stick around. Don't let them throw you out after just a couple of days for breaking precepts!” “You always wish for the worst!

Don't worry, I absolutely won't be expelled!” Jikong thumped his chest. As they spoke, Jikong’s expression shifted, and he glanced at the slender youth, whose face had also changed.

“Let’s go see!” they urged each other. The two flashed out, shooting down the mountain like arrows loosed from a bow.

Descending into the small town, they headed straight for the Donglai Tower. There, they found a crowd gathered, murmuring in discussion, punctuated by screams from within the throng.

“Make way, make way!” Jikong shouted, pushing forward. The people turned, saw it was them, and parted to create a narrow path.

They squeezed through to the front and saw a middle-aged monk standing on a youth’s chest, grinning widely, looking utterly triumphant. The youth was struggling desperately, screaming as he thrashed, but the monk’s thick foot, like an elephant’s leg, held him fast.

“Xiaobai!” Jikong and the slender youth roared in anger, glaring at the middle-aged monk. This monk was powerfully built and sturdy, standing like an iron pagoda.

His bald head gleamed. Despite it being winter, he wore his robe open, exposing his chest and belly, which was covered in black hair.

He had a doughy face, small eyes, a small nose, and a large mouth—a bizarre appearance. Though his eyes were small, they glinted sharply, indicating he was no friend.

“Stop!” Jikong shouted, disregarding everything else. Seeing his companion screaming in pain, Jikong’s rage flared; if he had hair, it would have stood on end.

“Where did you pop up from?!” The middle-aged monk rubbed his head and chuckled slyly. “Thinking you’re too much of a hero?

Is Buddha so easy to bully?” “You stop first!” Jikong commanded. “How did we bully you?” The middle-aged monk scratched his head and chuckled: “Buddha asked for some money for food, and this little brat refused—too stingy!

Is it because I’m a stranger bullying Buddha?” Jikong frowned: “You want money? We’ll give it to you.

How much?” Right now, his priority was rescuing his friend. This monk looked formidable in martial skill and deep in cultivation; Jikong feared he was no match, and any immediate action might harm his friend.

“Just ten taels of silver!” The middle-aged monk said with a smile. “If you pay up, I, Buddha, will not hold a grudge against this impolite boy!” Jikong looked at the slender youth, who took a silver ingot from his robe and tossed it.

With a sharp ‘Chii’ sound, it shot with incredible speed toward the middle-aged monk’s eyes. “Smack!” The middle-aged monk caught the silver effortlessly and smiled: “Good, prompt!” As he spoke, he flicked his toe.

With a dull ‘Bang,’ the youth shot toward Jikong and the slender youth with terrifying speed. Jikong quickly reached out to catch him.

“Bang!” He felt an invisible force transmit through his hands; his chest felt like it had been struck by a sledgehammer, his vision went dark, and he immediately spat out a jet of blood. “Qi Er!” the slender youth cried out.

Jikong blinked, his eyes wide, shaking off the darkness, and glared at the middle-aged monk. The middle-aged monk tucked the silver away, sizing Jikong up with a smile: “A bit of backbone, boy.

Not bad, not bad!” Jikong sneered: “May I ask your honorable name!” The middle-aged monk grinned: “I am the monk Zhao Wuji. If you want revenge, feel free to come.

I’ll be here for a few days.” With that, he turned and pushed through the crowd toward the Donglai Tower. “Stop!” Jikong shouted.

Zhao Wuji paused, turning back: “What, boy? You want to fight?” “Yes!” Jikong ground out hatefully.

“You are too arrogant! I want to see what skills allow you to be so presumptuous!” “Heh heh, you’re more arrogant than I am!” Zhao Wuji grinned.

“You know you can’t beat me, but you still want to fight. I like that.

Come on, I won’t kill you, just beat you half to death so you understand the price of being reckless!” He then beckoned with his little finger. “Qi Er!” The slender youth quickly tugged Jikong.

Jikong pushed his hand away and grunted, “Even if I can’t win, I must fight him—he bullies people too much! We people of Donglai Town cannot be bullied arbitrarily!” The slender youth whispered urgently: “Let’s go together!” Jikong shook his head, staring fixedly at Zhao Wuji.

“Two of us still won’t beat him, and it will just be embarrassing. I’ll handle it myself!” “...Then be careful, and run if you can’t manage!” the slender youth whispered.

Jikong nodded: “Yes, I understand. You take care of Xiaobai!” With that, he charged fiercely toward Zhao Wuji, raising his palm to strike.

Zhao Wuji glanced at him dismissively. As the palm reached him, he drove out a punch—arriving later but landing first—and collided with Jikong’s palm.

With a dull ‘Bang,’ Jikong’s body froze mid-motion. His face instantly flushed crimson, as if the blood was about to burst out.

He remained motionless, but Zhao Wuji didn't relent. He kicked out; the instep of his foot connected with Jikong’s face.

Jikong tumbled and flew out past the crowd, landing heavily, and then lay still. “Qi Er!” the slender youth yelled, rushing to Jikong’s side, cradling the wounded Xiaobai.

Blood trickled from Jikong’s mouth, two teeth lay outside, and he had already lost consciousness. Li Muzhan was sitting in meditation in his chamber, savoring the marvelous subtleties of his Dharma Body, when he suddenly heard a ‘thump-thump’ knocking at the temple door from outside.

He vanished in a flash, reappearing at the main gate. The slender youth was holding Jikong, accompanied by the pale-faced young man.

This youth had a round face and a seemingly amiable expression, but his lips were tightly pressed together, and there were bloodstains on his chest. “Are you Patron Zheng’s son?” Li Muzhan asked gently.

He glanced at Jikong and sighed: “Causing trouble again?” The slender youth quickly interjected: “Master Zhanran, you misunderstand Jikong. He ended up like this trying to save Xiaobai.

Please save him! ...Doctor Li said he was beyond saving.” “Who struck the blow?” Li Muzhan frowned, gesturing toward the inside of the temple.

“Come inside.” “It was another monk!” the slender youth said quickly, carrying Jikong into the temple. He went straight to the adjacent meditation room and laid him on the couch.

Li Muzhan turned to the other youth and said softly, “This Patron’s injuries are also not light. Lie down as well!” “...Thank you, Master, I’m fine,” Xiaobai shook his head gently.

Li Muzhan smiled, suddenly brought his palm down, and before Xiaobai could react, he felt a vast surge of intense heat flow in, instantly enveloping him. Li Muzhan paid him no further attention, turned, tapped Jikong’s body lightly a few times, and said lightly: “Jikong, get up!” Jikong’s eyes snapped open.

He looked around, then suddenly sat up: “Master?” Li Muzhan shook his head and sighed: “With your trifling three-legged cat martial arts, it was best to just stay put. Why invite such trouble?!” “Please, Master, teach me martial arts!” Jikong rolled over and bowed.

Li Muzhan flicked his sleeve, preventing the bow, but Jikong’s eagerness intensified. Such unfathomable cultivation, and his Master was so young—his inner techniques must be supreme.

Li Muzhan pondered briefly: “Fine. Today, I will teach you two defensive moves.” “Thank you, Master!” Jikong was overjoyed.

Li Muzhan beckoned lightly. Jikong, not understanding, stepped forward anyway.

Li Muzhan gently touched his brow with his left index finger. It looked effortless, but Jikong felt no impulse to evade, allowing the finger to make contact.

“Boom…” Jikong felt his vision shatter, then he plunged into a dark, empty void, surrounded by nothing but endless blackness. Suddenly, a light appeared before him, like a beam shining down.

Standing in the void not far ahead was a figure—it was Li Muzhan, practicing a set of boxing forms. His movements were as slow as an old man’s boxing, the forms simple—the very same forms he had practiced that morning.

Jikong glanced once, and the technique seemed instantly branded onto his core, as if he had practiced it countless times. He began practicing involuntarily.

He repeated the exercise again and again, growing more proficient with each repetition. His movements became fluid and expansive; every stance and strike was integrated into his very flesh, ready to be unleashed at any moment.

As he practiced, his spirit grew stronger, his vitality waxing. He practiced for an immeasurable time without feeling fatigue, until he counted his repetitions to ten thousand.

Then, the scene before him exploded and shattered again. The original setting flashed back into his vision.

He stood in place, Li Muzhan slowly withdrawing his finger, watching him with a smile. Jikong felt utterly bewildered, turning to look at his surroundings.

It felt like a long time had passed—a year, two years? He felt as if several years had gone by.

Looking at his two friends, they seemed suddenly much more unfamiliar, yet somehow much dearer, as if they hadn't met in many years. However, Li Muzhan seemed even more intimate in his eyes, for Li Muzhan had accompanied him during these perceived years, sparring and guiding his martial progress.

“Master?” he asked Li Muzhan in a daze. Li Muzhan smiled gently: “You know now.

Only half an hour has passed outside. Rest well, and tomorrow, go find that man for another spar.” “Yes, Master!” Jikong nodded respectfully.

He knew that what had just happened was the Master using a divine ability. Though only half an hour had passed outside, he had lived through several years of experience, perfectly clear and vivid.

He turned: “Zheng Xiaosi, Xiaobai, let’s go out. Don’t disturb Master’s cultivation.” “Okay,” the slender youth responded.

Seeing Xiaobai’s condition—he was clearly healed—and the previously dying Jikong now brimming with vigor, the youth also became reverent, realizing the Master possessed true divine power. The three respectfully retreated.

Li Muzhan shook his head and smiled. This disciple’s aptitude was indeed extraordinary; his spirit was strong enough to withstand his method of Seed Implantation.

The next morning, the Donglai Tower was as lively as ever, but the people now had a new topic of conversation: Master Zhanran of Yuanxin Temple. Old Hu and Steward Zheng sat at the same table.

Steward Zheng enjoyed the bustle and always ate on the first floor rather than the second or third. Old Hu, clad in a splendid silk robe, looked dignified and refined.

He stroked his beard and chuckled: “Brother Zheng, is Xiaosi alright?” “He’s fine; he’s a timid fellow and didn’t dare step forward. It was Qi Er who was brave,” Steward Zheng replied, shaking his head while sipping his tea.

He himself was dressed more simply, but his bearing was distinguished; despite his common clothes, his inherent majesty could not be concealed. Old Hu laughed: “We shouldn’t call him Qi Er anymore.

He is now Master Zhanran’s probationary disciple; we should call him Monk Jikong.” “Heh heh, that’s true, Jikong.” Steward Zheng smiled. “I heard Jikong received instruction from Master Zhanran and intends to take revenge today.” “Brother Zheng, you missed yesterday’s excitement, didn’t you?” Old Hu shook his head and laughed.

Steward Zheng shook his head: “I had other business and couldn't watch.” Old Hu said: “I saw it clearly from inside the tower. That Zhao Wuji is a formidable character; his cultivation, while perhaps not a (Zongshi/Grandmaster), is not far off!” Steward Zheng shook his head: “Qi Er...

Jikong’s skills are decent, but far from a (Zongshi). I wonder what secret technique Master Zhanran will teach him.

Xiaosi said Jikong was nearly dead, beyond the help of Doctor Li, but Master Zhanran brought him back with a single palm strike—and taught him martial arts with just one touch. It’s truly miraculous!” Old Hu shook his head and sighed: “I wonder about Master Zhanran’s martial arts.

Jikong’s cultivation is a full tier below Zhao Wuji’s. Zhao Wuji is actually a notorious brigand disguised as a monk, deceiving many people.” Steward Zheng frowned: “Why would such a person come to our Donglai Town?” Old Hu replied: “He said he intends to travel to the Great Li Dynasty.”

"Off to plague the Great Li Dynasty?" Steward Zheng shook his head, sighing. "The Great Li Dynasty has quite a few masters; him going there is purely courting death." "Perhaps he has decided to reform for the better," Old Hu chuckled.

Steward Zheng shook his head and laughed, "A dog can't change its ways; does he look like someone who's reformed?" "If Master Zhanran weren't here this time, Jikong would surely be dead," Old Hu said solemnly. "Though he is impulsive, he has a chivalrous heart.

If anything truly happened to him, how could we bear it!" Steward Zheng replied, "Everyone meets their own fate. Jikong's temperament is too rash and prone to trouble.

Are we supposed to watch over him his entire life? Now that he has such a powerful master, he can finally turn his life around!" "Let's hope so.

I only fear he might break his vows again and be cast out of the sect," Old Hu sighed, shaking his head. Steward Zheng laughed, "I think Jikong has some latent wisdom; he won't repeat the same mistake.

Don't worry, Old Hu. Oh, Zhao Wuji is here." As they spoke, a burly monk walked slowly from the west end of the street, gnawing on a pig's trotter, his mouth slick with grease.

Walking under the sunlight, he chewed while scanning his surroundings, his gaze lingering on the young women passing by. Old Hu and Steward Zheng frowned, sensing the wicked air in Zhao Wuji's eyes.

"Zhao Wuji!" A sharp shout suddenly rang out. Jikong shot over from the east end, arriving before the Donglai Tower in an instant, pointing a finger at Zhao Wuji across the way: "Let's settle this again!" Zhao Wuji tossed the pig's trotter onto a nearby rooftop, reached out, and smeared his hand across an old man passing by.

The old man's eyes widened, but he dared not utter a sound, allowing the large hand to smear itself against his clothing. Only after wiping the grease from his hand did Zhao Wuji pat the old man's shoulder and let him go.

He ambled lazily to the front of the Donglai Tower, casting a sidelong glance at Jikong: "You're not dead yet? ...

Kid, you have a tough life. The Buddha here won't be so good-tempered this time!" While they exchanged words, a crowd surged closer.

Zheng Xiaosi and Xiaobai were also nearby, watching Jikong with obvious tension and worry etched on their faces. Although Master Zhanran possessed profound abilities, what mastery could be achieved in just one night?

Zhao Wuji was a ruthless character; if Jikong couldn't match him, he risked death at his hands. "Kid, stop the nonsense and fight!" Zhao Wuji beckoned.

Jikong smiled faintly, slowly stepping forward. "Be careful; what I cultivate is an unparalleled secret art, astonishing in its power!" "Kid, boasting again, quit the chatter!" Zhao Wuji grinned widely.

"I'd like to see what secret art you've managed to cultivate overnight!" "Behold the Fist!" Jikong shouted, launching a seemingly weightless punch. Zhao Wuji thrust his palm out to meet the incoming fist.

With a bang, Jikong suddenly twisted his waist. A hiss sounded as his robes parted slightly, as if an invisible force radiated from his waist, surging into his arm.

"Bang!" Zhao Wuji was flung backward. Jikong shot forward instantly, following close behind Zhao Wuji, delivering another light punch.

Zhao Wuji didn't want to meet it head-on, but suspended in mid-air, he had no room to evade. His body felt numb, his limbs and internal energy refusing to obey him.

"Bang!" Zhao Wuji shot out again, crashing straight into the wall opposite, embedding himself into the plaster. Jikong slowly retracted his palm, sneering, "How about that?" Zhao Wuji struggled out of the wall, his robes shredded, blood at the corner of his mouth.

He frowned, "Kid, what kind of fist technique is that?" A gust of wind blew, causing his tattered clothes to flutter down, leaving him bare-chested; only his lower garment remained intact, his stomach marred by a patch of black hair stained with traces of blood. Jikong said faintly, "Tiger Subduing Fist!" Zhao Wuji sneered, "A fine technique.

Now take one from me!" His punch shot out like an arrow toward Jikong's face. Jikong stepped half a pace diagonally and delivered a punch.

Bang! Zhao Wuji was sent flying again, slamming into the wall once more.

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