Flower Stealing Master

“Master Xuan Cheng, if someone were to behead you with a blade… Oh, don’t glare at me like that, I’m just making a hypothetical assumption. Or does a Buddhist monk also believe in curses?”

Song Qingshu’s voice was not loud, yet it carried clearly into the ears of everyone present. Those who realized this couldn’t help but click their tongues in amazement—such mastery and control had truly reached the pinnacle of perfection.

“Now, where were we? Oh yes, if Master Xuan Cheng were beheaded with a blade and Shaolin wished to seek revenge, should they go after the one wielding the blade, or the blade itself?” Song Qingshu continued.

Master Xuan Ci furrowed his brows slightly and instinctively replied, “Of course, they would go after the one wielding the blade.”

“Exactly!” Song Qingshu clapped his hands. “Weapons themselves have no distinction between good and evil; what matters is the person who wields them. The same applies to techniques—techniques are static, but people are dynamic. The purpose of a duel is to achieve victory. Since the goal is the same, how can there be distinctions between honorable and dishonorable moves?”

“Twisting words and logic!” Xuan Ci was momentarily at a loss for words before letting out a cold snort.

Hearing Song Qingshu’s words, Jiumozhi finally breathed a sigh of relief. He was well aware that Song Qingshu was merely engaging in sophistry, but no matter how absurd his argument was, it at least provided a justification. And what Jiumozhi needed most at the moment was precisely an excuse.

Xuan Cheng, affected by Song Qingshu’s insinuations, felt a surge of anger, which inevitably disrupted his movements. This shift in momentum allowed Jiumozhi to seize the upper hand, forcing Xuan Cheng into a desperate defense. Fortunately, he focused on protecting only his vital areas, and despite Jiumozhi’s aggressive attacks, he was unable to secure a decisive victory.

Jiumozhi, however, was keenly aware—his opponent’s martial skills were not inferior to his own. As long as Xuan Cheng concentrated on defending just a few weak points, no matter how dazzling his own techniques appeared, they would ultimately be futile.

Suddenly, a thought struck Jiumozhi, and he intensified his attacks toward Xuan Cheng’s eyes with even more ferocity.

Xuan Cheng, seeing through the ruse, smirked inwardly. ‘As long as I guard my vital points, what can you possibly do?’ Instinctively, he raised his palm to shield his eyes.

Noticing that his trap had worked, a sinister smile flashed across Jiumozhi’s lips. Suddenly, his palms sank downward, and his hands shot forward, seizing Xuan Cheng’s fists in a move from Shaolin’s legendary Dragon Claw Technique. His left hand clutched Xuan Cheng’s little finger, while his right grasped his thumb, applying immense force in an attempt to snap them both instantly.

In reality, Jiumozhi’s attack on Xuan Cheng’s eyes was merely a feint; his true target had always been his fingers. Even though Xuan Cheng had mastered the Vajra Body Defending Divine Skill, Jiumozhi was confident that channeling his entire strength into breaking two of his opponent’s fingers would surely cause damage.

Xuan Cheng felt excruciating pain in his fingers and instinctively countered with the Dragon Claw Technique as well. His right wrist made a small circular motion, reversing the hold and gripping Jiumozhi’s left wrist in return.

Jiumozhi had just rejoiced at successfully grabbing hold of his opponent when, to his utter shock, an unexpected force twisted his wrist and trapped it in an iron-like grip, making escape impossible.

Xuan Cheng broke into a cold sweat—thankfully, Jiumozhi had used the Dragon Claw Technique, a skill he himself had mastered deeply. Familiar with both its strengths and weaknesses, he was able to react instinctively in that split-second counter. Otherwise, he might have lost two fingers.

In high-level duels, victory often hinges on a single moment. Xuan Cheng was not about to waste this golden opportunity. Seizing the moment, he reached for Jiumozhi’s pulse gate. If he could restrain that key acupoint, no matter how powerful Jiumozhi was, he would be utterly defenseless.

However, before he could seize his opponent’s pulse, an overwhelming force suddenly surged from Jiumozhi’s wrist, sending a piercing pain through Xuan Cheng’s own palm.

Realizing he might lose his grip, Xuan Cheng had no choice but to abandon his attempt to seize the pulse and instead focus all his efforts on locking down Jiumozhi’s hand. The unpredictable nature of Jiumozhi’s techniques had already made him wary—if he could immobilize one of his hands, it would significantly weaken his combat prowess.

Jiumozhi, failing three times to break free, was now genuinely alarmed. Even though his wrist was caught, he had assumed that any ordinary opponent would have succumbed to his internal energy by now. Yet, Xuan Cheng—reputedly the most formidable Shaolin master in two hundred years—was proving his title was well-earned.

Realizing he was at a severe disadvantage if the stalemate continued, Jiumozhi hastily formed a palm with his free right hand and slashed diagonally at Xuan Cheng’s wrist, attempting to break free.

In his desperation, he instinctively resorted not to Shaolin techniques, but rather to his native Flaming Blade Technique—a signature martial art of Tibet.

Sensing an unfamiliar sword Qi radiating from his opponent’s palm, Xuan Cheng tensed up. Unwilling to risk taking the attack head-on, he executed the highest level of Shaolin’s Prajna Palm, masterfully dissolving each strike as it came.

The two engaged in fierce close combat, their breath audible to one another. Every strike was executed within mere inches of each other, yet despite the short range, their palm force remained incredibly potent.

Jiumozhi’s strikes cut through the air with a sharp whistling sound. The surrounding monks felt as though they were being flayed by blades of wind, chilled to the bone as if trapped atop a windswept mountain peak. The younger Shaolin monks and the members of Mount Song Sect could no longer withstand the pressure, instinctively retreating against the walls. Even the senior monks of the Xuan, Kong, and Fang generations had to summon their inner strength to resist the oppressive force. Witnessing Xuan Cheng effortlessly deflect such a devastating assault, they couldn’t help but feel immense admiration.

Watching the battle unfold, Song Qingshu shook his head slightly. Jiumozhi’s palm strikes were becoming increasingly fierce, but the true terror of the Flame Blade Technique lay in its invisible and unpredictable sword Qi. However, now that Jiumozhi had a clear target, his blade movements had become more rigid and lost their mystical fluidity. In this state, the technique was little more than an enhanced Burning Wood Blade Technique, making it much easier for Xuan Cheng to counter.

As the two continued their deadlock, neither gaining the upper hand, a thought occurred to Song Qingshu. ‘If I strike subtly at this moment, I could end Xuan Cheng’s life. And as long as I act discreetly, no one will notice—Jiumozhi would take the blame, and the Shaolin monks would simply assume Xuan Cheng lost to him in combat.’

Moreover, Jiumozhi, obsessed with his reputation, would undoubtedly relish the honor of defeating Shaolin’s greatest master in two centuries. Even if he realized the truth, he would never expose it.

With the slightest movement of his fingers, Song Qingshu released an invisible thread of sword Qi toward Xuan Cheng’s shoulder-neck acupoint. The strike wouldn’t be lethal due to Xuan Cheng’s Vajra Body Defending Divine Skill, but disrupting his True Qi at such a crucial moment would at least leave him severely injured.

Suddenly, a figure flashed in front of Song Qingshu, intercepting the attack. To his astonishment, his sword Qi—capable of slicing through stone and metal—did not even leave a mark on the person’s robe.

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