As dusk approached, the sun dipped low, and Donglai Town was veiled in wisps of cooking smoke, carrying the faint, dry scent of burning grass. The cacophony of barking dogs, squawking fowl, and children's shouts mingled with adults calling for dinner—a bustling, lively scene.

Inside Donglai Tower, the atmosphere was equally vibrant, with people gathered, chatting about everything, though most talk centered on the fierce beasts. Since those beasts had occupied Yuanxin Temple, no one dared go there to offer incense.

"They were lying there docilely, like kittens, but who knows when they might suddenly fly into a rage and swallow us whole!" an elder in fine silk sighed, shaking his head.

A young man beside him countered, "Uncle He, you're too timid. I tested it myself; nothing happened. They were just sluggish, too lazy to pay us any mind. I even tried patting a tiger's head; it just opened an eye to glance at me, then closed it again!"

"Hey, Little Feng, you only patted its head. Try patting its backside and see how it reacts!" an elder in coarse cloth chuckled.

The first elder in fine silk quickly interjected, "Little Feng, don't listen to him. Old Meng, you’re full of mischief. You don't touch a tiger's backside, everyone knows that!"

"Hehe, that's not certain," the elder in coarse cloth laughed. "I think Master Zhanran's Buddhist wisdom is so profound it can subdue their wild nature. It shouldn't matter if you touch its backside!"

"Just stirring up trouble! Little Feng, don't fall for his trick!" the elder in fine silk warned.

Little Feng scratched his head and smiled, "Grandpa Meng, I won't fall for your trick. I know you don't touch a tiger's backside!"

"You kid, you only boast about being brave with your words; you have no real courage!" the elder in coarse cloth shook his head and glanced dismissively at Little Feng.

Little Feng just grinned, "Whatever you say, Grandpa Meng!"

"Old Meng, just be honest!" the elder in fine silk chuckled, shaking his head in mock reprimand.

As they chatted and laughed, Old Hu and Steward Zheng sat at a separate table, with no one else nearby, their status somewhat elevated above the rest.

While everyone was laughing, the noise abruptly ceased. Three beautiful young women in white entered, their faces icy and their eyes sharp as lightning, giving off an aggressive air.

Though fair in appearance, their temperament was aloof, compelling respect and distance. The hall's atmosphere instantly chilled, and everyone turned curiously to watch.

The three women in white had slender figures, distinct appearances, but a shared, frosty aura that seemed to swirl around them, keeping people away.

Everyone noticed the ancient, peculiar swords hanging at their waists; they exuded a chill that seemed ready to snap their soft, delicate frames.

Upon entering the hall, their gazes, sharp as lightning, swept across the faces of the crowd before finally settling on the elder in fine silk. They took a step forward: "Pardon us, we have an inquiry!"

The elder in fine silk was portly, his ruddy face bearing a benevolent smile, resembling the Old Man of the Southern Star, immediately inspiring goodwill.

He stroked his silver beard and smiled, "Three young ladies, you must have traveled far. You must be tired. Ask whatever you wish; this old man knows everything and will tell you all."

He gestured toward the seats opposite, but the three women in white remained unmoved. The lead maiden had a delicate, melon-seed face and eyes like bright almonds, exquisitely beautiful.

Though her gaze was cool, her beauty was undeniable. Staring into those beautiful eyes, the elder in fine silk inwardly sighed, lamenting the ruin beauty can bring, causing countless men heartbreak.

"We wish to inquire if a Zhao Wuji came through here a few days ago?" the white-clad maiden asked.

The elder in fine silk started, glancing at the three women, then around at the others. They had all stopped talking, leaning in to listen.

The white-clad maiden frowned, "He did come, didn't he?"

The elder in fine silk pondered before nodding, "Yes, there seems to have been a Zhao Wuji... I’m not entirely clear on the details."

The white-clad maiden stared intently at him, casting a deep look: "By whom was Zhao Wuji injured?"

"That... I truly don't know," the elder in fine silk shook his head with a wry smile. "I don't recall hearing about him having any conflict with anyone."

"Truly?!" the white-clad maiden snorted coldly.

The elder in fine silk stroked his silver beard and spoke slowly, "Miss, this old man isn't particularly interested in martial world affairs. I genuinely didn't notice... Besides, I'm of such an advanced age now; I'm too lazy to meddle. So many people pass through Donglai Town; how could I remember every single one? Wouldn't you agree?"

"Zhao Wuji never fought with anyone?" the white-clad maiden gazed deeply at him and snorted.

The elder in fine silk shook his head, "Perhaps he did fight. I saw that Zhao Wuji was arrogant and overbearing; it’s inevitable he’d clash with passing martial artists."

He glanced around at the others and smiled, "Did anyone here see Zhao Wuji fighting with someone?"

The crowd shook their heads one after another. Old Hu said, "He stayed only one day and then left; I really didn't see any fight. Perhaps he met with some accident outside of town."

"Very possible!" many nodded in agreement.

The white-clad maiden's electric gaze swept over each face, a thoughtful look in her eyes.

"Shopkeeper Wu, bring these three young ladies our six signature dishes, put it on my tab!" Steward Zheng called out loudly, raising his teacup lightly toward the three maidens. "Little lady, are you Zhao Wuji's daughter?"

"No!" the white-clad maiden replied coldly, a flash of anger crossing her eyes like a spark of lightning.

Steward Zheng smiled, "Then Zhao Wuji is the young lady's...?"

"Just a friend," the white-clad maiden stated.

Steward Zheng stroked his beard and laughed, "Zhao Wuji certainly did pass through our town, but it was just a fleeting glimpse. We remember him because he was domineering and unreasonable, having little money yet insisting on the finest dishes."

"Did no one stop him?" the white-clad maiden asked.

Steward Zheng shook his head, "He looked like a formidable character just by sight; we couldn't beat him. Moreover, it was just one meal; we gave it to him, considering it charity to a beggar."

The white-clad maiden sneered, "I heard it was a monk who meddled and got into a fight with him!"

"There was such a thing?" Steward Zheng was startled, knitting his brow. "Where did you hear that, Miss?"

"You don't need to know. Is it true or not?" the white-clad maiden asked coldly.

Steward Zheng pondered and shook his head, "I really don't know. Miss, you might want to inquire further; perhaps such a thing did happen."

The white-clad maiden instantly recognized this old man as cunning and deceitful, speaking falsehoods with a straight face. Had he not offered a friendly invitation to eat, she would have already drawn her sword and slain him.

Steward Zheng, being worldly-wise, saw the ill intent behind the maiden's visit and deliberately maintained a smiling facade.

The white-clad maiden waved her hand dismissively, sitting down with the other two women. Just then, the dishes arrived. Steward Zheng subtly signaled, and a young servant slowly retreated, intending to relay a message.

"Old Hu, Steward Zheng, you are both here! Shopkeeper He, bring me a fine vegetarian spread!" A clear, hearty voice boomed as Jikong strode in with long, steady steps. He saw the three white-clad maidens—standing out like cranes among chickens—and naturally noticed them.

He glanced over, quickly turning away; he had little interest in women. All his interest lay in martial arts, eager to feed his empty stomach quickly and return to intensive practice.

His relentless training over the past few days had made him forget sleep and food, boosting his appetite, yet he lacked good cuisine. Thus, he wanted a proper meal at Donglai Tower.

Though seemingly crude, he was astute. Upon entering, he sensed something was amiss, then noticed the looks exchanged between Old Hu and Steward Zheng. He quickly added, "Wait, I forgot something!"

Saying this, he turned to leave, but a cold, crisp shout reached his ears: "Stop right there!"

He recognized the maiden's voice, clear, cold, and pleasant. He slowly turned back, smiling, "What can I do for you, Miss?"

"Who are you?" the white-clad maiden demanded.

Jikong smiled, "This humble monk is Jikong."

"You fought with Zhao Wuji?" the white-clad maiden snorted, her electric gaze swiftly sweeping over the onlookers, pausing briefly on the elder in fine silk.

Jikong frowned, "Zhao Wuji? Who are you?"

"So, you killed Zhao Wuji!" the white-clad maiden said coldly, her form flickering as she appeared at the doorway, blocking his path.

Jikong stated, "Miss, speak carefully. This poor monk is a man of the cloth and cannot violate the precept against killing. Furthermore, I do not lie. I did not kill Zhao Wuji!"

"She said the monk from Donglai Town. Only you fit the description!" the white-clad maiden sneered. "Stop denying it, take my sword!"

A cold glint flashed, and the tip of the sword was already at Jikong's throat. Jikong helplessly shuffled aside to evade, quickly saying, "Wait, let's clarify before fighting. Who are you?"

"You are not worthy of knowing!" The white-clad maiden pivoted her waist and stepped forward, the sword tip again nearing Jikong's throat. Her sword momentum was impossible to track; people only saw her shoulder move, and the tip was suddenly before Jikong.

Jikong called out, "This fight is confusing. Is Zhao Wuji dead?"

The white-clad maiden pressed her attack fiercely, coldly snorting, "His cheap life is not worth mourning. But when you strike a dog, you look to its master. Anyone who kills one of ours must pay with their life!"

Jikong dodged while shouting, "I wounded him, but I did not kill him. There must be someone else. Miss, don't wrongly accuse an innocent person!"

"It truly is you!" the white-clad maiden sneered. "He was so badly hurt that he only had a breath left when he reached us, spoke a few words, and passed away!"

Jikong insisted, "The injuries he sustained were not fatal. It must be someone else!"

"I will investigate closely. Since you are involved, pay with your life!" The white-clad maiden's swordplay grew fiercer. People could not see the blade, only the sword tip flickering near Jikong's throat.

Jikong's footwork was superb, and his sword skills, though fine and swift, could not strike him. Without throwing a punch, relying only on movement, he easily evaded them.

The white-clad maiden sneered. With a "buzz," her long sword transformed into dozens of blades, raining down overwhelmingly. Jikong, having no choice, could only raise his fists.

With a "clink," the sound of metal meeting metal, the myriad sword shadows vanished, revealing the single blade. Jikong was sent flying backward, crushing an Eight Immortals table with a "crack."

The white-clad maiden advanced rapidly, her sword light condensing into a single point, stabbing out, aimed squarely at his life.

Jikong pushed smoothly outward, avoiding the tip, then flipped to his feet, stepping on the 'Oblique Seven Stars' formation. With a series of "swishes," he evaded several more strikes.

The white-clad maiden frowned. She was a Grandmaster, capable of projecting sword energy outward, yet she couldn't touch this young monk. Though he hadn't reached the Grandmaster realm, he emerged unharmed after taking her sword energy, which was truly bizarre.

"Miss, may I please ask your esteemed name?" Jikong, having learned his lesson, was resolute in avoiding a direct clash. Her internal energy far surpassed his. His footwork grew increasingly agile.

"Ask in the Hall of Yama!" the white-clad maiden coldly sneered. With a slight "buzz," her long sword once again materialized into dozens of blades, engulfing him.

Jikong cried out in alarm, violently throwing two table legs. With a soft "swish," the two legs turned to powder, fluttering down.

The sky full of long swords disappeared, replaced by a burst of cold light shooting out, blooming like a silver flower, growing larger and pressing down on him.

Jikong threw out two more table legs. With a "swish," they vanished silently, yet they offered no resistance to the approaching silver light.

Jikong felt a sense of dread; this was an open, unavoidable strategy forcing him into a direct confrontation.

He floated backward, crashing toward the eastern window. With a "swish," a burst of silver light materialized, blocking the window—it was another white-clad maiden who had appeared.

Jikong cursed inwardly and shot toward another window. Another burst of silver light appeared—the third white-clad maiden, looking at him with a half-smile, like an observer watching a monkey.

Jikong glanced at the other two maidens; they held the same expression. He was furious yet helpless. He could only shout loudly, "Three young ladies, don't push things too far!"

The lead maiden stated calmly, "Little monk, to force all three of us to strike when you haven't reached Grandmaster—you can die without regret!"

Jikong panicked, cursing, "Regret my foot! Damn it, I'll risk it all!"

Saying this, he clenched his fists and struck himself several times. His monk's robe suddenly fluttered without wind, slowly swelling up as if inflated like a ball.

The three white-clad maidens, seeing this, knew he was employing a secret art. They exchanged a look, their expressions growing solemn. Such a technique to boost potential was certainly not something ordinary martial artists possessed, nor even those from minor sects. Only disciples of renowned masters could command it; it was a life-saving measure.

While such a secret art damaged the body, it could increase internal energy twofold or threefold, offering a chance for a desperate fight to escape with one's life, followed by careful recovery later. Even if recovery left one crippled, it was better than death.

Such a precious, life-saving technique was naturally rare. This little monk must have a significant background; no wonder the locals were protecting him.

"Ah—!" Jikong roared like a thunderclap in a clear sky. The empty wine jars in the great hall hummed, and the onlookers' vision swam.

"Ding, ding, ding, ding..." When they opened their eyes, they saw Jikong transformed into a blur, his form invisible. All that was visible was a sky full of fists meeting a sky full of sword light.

The swords and fists collided, emitting crisp sounds. His fists were like iron hammers, striking the swords without damage, actually knocking the blades aside.

The three white-clad maidens encircled him, sword light flashing. After several exchanges, Jikong's monk robe was reduced to strips and shreds, with no spot remaining intact.

When the robe shattered, it revealed the leather armor underneath—a silver hide that seemed coated in oil, shimmering with an uncanny luster. The swords could not pierce it.

Everyone immediately recognized it as a precious armor, likely gifted by Master Zhanran.

Arhat Fist, Arhat Fist! Body like an Arhat, indestructible as Vajra. This set of boxing techniques was imbued with the Vajra Indestructible cultivation method. His fists looked soft, yet they were harder than iron and stone. Though they met the swords and endured the corrosive impact of the sword energy, they never broke.

The three white-clad maidens had never expected this. All three were Grandmasters, yet this young monk, only a step below Grandmaster, was fighting them. It was humiliating for them, who held themselves in such high regard, to be unable to defeat him.

"Three Elements Sword Formation!" the lead maiden sharply commanded. Immediately, the sword lights merged into one body; the overwhelming sword shadows disappeared, replaced by three swords slowly stabbing out.

Their positioning was uncanny; the three swords struck simultaneously, targeting Jikong's upper, middle, and lower paths. Evasion was impossible; he had to meet the attack head-on.

But with only two hands, he couldn't block three swords. He tried to meet the middle strike—"Ding!" The sword tip struck his Dantian, hitting something like gold and stone. The silver leather armor dented slightly but stopped the blade tip.

The three maidens refused to believe it. They possessed incredibly sharp sword energy and divine weapons, yet they could not pierce this leather armor—it was truly frustrating.

This leather armor was made from the hide of that giant serpent, a creature nearly at the Great Grandmaster level, almost spiritual. Its hide was impervious to blades, spears, water, or fire.

The women around him each had a set, but their martial arts were not weak, and with the Boundless Brightness Sutra, they would immediately sense danger, allowing him to arrive instantly—though its use was limited. Seeing Jikong's low martial arts level, Li Muchen had given him a set, which was now proving useful.

One white-clad maiden lightly tapped her chest. With a "puff," a streak of blood shot onto her sword. The blood seeped into the blade like water into dry earth, and the sword rapidly turned red, resembling a piece of red jade.

As the blade turned like red jade, the maiden holding it flushed scarlet, her face mirroring the sword, making her look as if carved from red jade herself.

Witnessing this bizarre transformation, the crowd shivered. Steward Zheng frowned, looking toward the doorway. Why hadn't Master Zhanran arrived yet, as he had sent a servant to report?

"Swish!" The red-faced maiden struck out. The sword tip finally pierced the leather armor, sinking into Jikong's abdomen.

Jikong started, looked down at the red sword, then roared in fury, grabbing the sword with one hand and punching the red-faced maiden with the other.

With a "bang," the red-faced maiden was sent flying backward.

"Courting death!" The lead white-clad maiden stabbed toward Jikong's throat, while the other white-clad maiden floated down gracefully to catch the red-faced maiden.

Jikong, having taken a sword strike, did not slow down; instead, he moved faster, swinging his fists madly as if possessed, like a torrential storm aimed at the lead maiden.

The sword stuck in his body grew redder, as if continuously drawing his blood. He felt his life force being siphoned away. Anger surged, and with a fierce tug, "Swish," a jet of blood sprayed out, and the red sword pulled free from his belly.

After the blood spurted out, Jikong’s movements faltered. He felt all the strength draining from his body with the blood. He tried to punch but felt weak and powerless.

The sword tip flashed, now at his throat. He struggled desperately to evade, but his legs gave way. He watched helplessly as death approached with that single thrust. Then, with a "ding," a crisp sound echoed, and the long sword flew backward. The white-clad maiden floated back, clutching her wrist, staring at the doorway with an ugly expression.

The purple kasaya fluttered without wind. Li Muchen stood quietly at the entrance, sighing softly, "Where mercy can be shown, one should be merciful. This female benefactor, please spare my disciple's life!"

As Li Muchen spoke, Jikong felt a warmth spread through his body, like being immersed in a hot spring. The lost strength gradually returned, instantly revitalizing him. He felt a surge of internal energy bubbling into his body, circulating ceaselessly through his meridians, knowing his Master was acting secretly.

He turned to look. He saw his Master standing with palms pressed together, seemingly doing nothing. The rescue was so subtle it went unnoticed by ghosts and gods—truly miraculous.