Chapter Thirty-Five: The Continuation of Shaolin

The monks exchanged glances, none uttering a word.

At this moment, a middle-aged monk with a broad face stepped out from the crowd, saluted Abbot Kongwen, and said, “Revered Abbot, allow me to step forward and challenge the Bear Brothers to a match and witness their swordsmanship.”

Relief flickered across Abbot Kongwen’s face as he nodded slightly, clearly confident in this broad-faced monk.

Inwardly, Yuan Ye was intrigued. “Who is this monk? He’s obviously not from the Kong generation, but among the Yuan generation, the most skilled is said to be Yuan Yin—who is Cheng Kun. This man’s age doesn’t fit.”

Just then, the broad-faced monk stepped into the crowd and returned carrying a staff.

Holding the staff in his right hand, he saluted with his left and said, “Amitabha. I am Yuan Ming. I have no right to stand against you, Hero Bear, but upon witnessing your martial skills, I could not restrain myself. I begged the Abbot for permission to test myself against you. I ask your pardon.”

Seeing Yuan Ye’s curiosity, the venerable monk Kongxing smiled and explained, “Yuan Ming is a disciple from our temple’s Bodhi Court. He was born with a passion for martial arts, to the point of obsession. Therefore, my junior brother Konghua, the head of the Bodhi Court, gave him the Dharma name Yuan Ming, hoping he would soon find enlightenment and progress in the Dharma.”

He sighed and continued, “Alas, Yuan Ming still spends his days immersed in martial training, lacking patience for Buddhist study. His martial skills are profound, but his spiritual cultivation is shallow. Before his passing, Konghua left word that Yuan Ming was not to inherit the Bodhi Court until his Buddhist nature had deepened.”

“So that’s how it is. He’s a martial fanatic, just like my own ‘apprentice’,” Yuan Ye mused with a smile.

Bear Wu took no offense at Yuan Ming’s words and laughed heartily. “Excellent! My last match was hardly satisfying. Big monk, let me fetch my sword.”

With a great stride, Bear Wu’s figure blurred, and in a flash he was back before Yuan Ming, massive sword in hand.

“What remarkable lightness skill! Young Master Yuan, does this technique of Hero Bear’s have a name? It’s extraordinary!” Kongxing marveled.

Yuan Ye replied, “There’s nothing so mysterious about it. Years ago, I was lucky enough to defeat Wei Yixiao of the Ming Cult at Wudang Mountain and acquired his lightness skill. Later, I merged it with Wudang’s Cloud Ladder and other techniques I learned while wandering the land to create my own footwork.”

“Amitabha, Young Master, your talent is truly unparalleled, to create such lightning-fast movement. You put us old martial artists to shame,” Abbot Kongwen sighed.

“It’s just a minor skill, Abbot, you flatter me,” Yuan Ye answered.

By now, the match had begun. Yuan Ming, who had appeared so amiable before, transformed the moment the fight started. His eyes burned red, his expression wild and fierce, swinging his staff like a spinning wheel, sending gusts whistling through the air.

Bear Wu wielded his massive sword—over a hundred pounds—with deft ease, executing thrusts, reverses, sweeps, and chops as if it were merely an extension of his arm.

The monks watched in awe as the giant sword moved as swiftly and nimbly as a slender blade. But all knew this was only because Bear Wu possessed overwhelming strength and profound inner power. The blunt sword, driven by such force, was unstoppable—what need had it for a sharp edge?

Yet Yuan Ming was no easy opponent. His staff, equally heavy, spun as if it were a dry branch. His crazed, obsessed, and wrathful demeanor seemed to border on madness, his staff surging like a sea dragon, the shadowy afterimages carrying the weight of a thousand pounds.

A meeting of true talents—each exchange grew more ferocious. The sounds of strikes echoed, fragments of stone flying as sword and staff shattered the blue-tiled ground, clouds of dust rising.

“So that’s the Mad Demon Staff Technique,” Yuan Ye truly admired.

“Indeed, but Hero Bear’s swordplay is a cut above,” said Kongxing, whose keen eye had already seen that Yuan Ming’s staff was slowly being forced back by Bear Wu’s giant sword.

“Great monk, you’re formidable! Aside from my brother, I haven’t fought anyone who’s given me such a thrill in years. Now I’ll use my full strength—watch out!” Bear Wu shouted.

The spectators were beginning to lose sight of the fighters in the swirling dust when suddenly Bear Wu’s roar thundered through the hall, followed by a resounding clang. Yuan Ming, blood spraying from his mouth, was hurled from the smoke.

With a crash, he struck the ground at the edge of the arena. The monks’ eyes followed him, and when they saw his condition, their faces changed.

Yuan Ming’s robe was torn at the chest, blood dribbling from his lips. The steel staff that had just been in his hands now lay in two pieces beside him, the break perfectly smooth as if sliced by a keen blade.

“What overwhelming swordplay! What formidable inner strength!” Kongxing praised.

The elder monks around him nodded grimly. Their deep expertise told them all they needed to know: Bear Wu had chopped down with his sword, Yuan Ming had blocked with his staff, but the force was irresistible. In an instant, the staff was shorn in two, the cut as smooth as glass.

Most astonishing was that Bear Wu had managed to pull back ninety-nine percent of his strength at the last moment. Otherwise, Yuan Ming would have been more than just bloodied—he would have been reduced to pulp.

Even so, the forced withdrawal of such power took its toll: from Bear Wu’s slightly ragged breathing, Yuan Ye could tell his vital energy was tumultuous and would take days to recover.

Seeing this, Yuan Ye called out, “Wu, that’s enough. Now it’s your brother Ba’s turn to face the Shaolin monks.”

Bear Wu descended from the arena, disgruntled. As he passed, Abbot Kongwen said, “Thank you for your restraint, Hero Bear. It shames me that my disciple’s lack of skill has left you so injured.”

Yuan Ming, having caught his breath, approached carrying the two pieces of his broken staff. “Thank you for sparing my life, Hero Bear. I used to think myself accomplished in martial arts and never understood why Master insisted I recite sutras and practice meditation. I resented it, thinking it useless for martial progression.”

He sighed and continued, “Only after today’s crushing defeat do I realize I was nothing but a frog at the bottom of a well. I have wasted my master’s efforts and now have even caused you injury. I am truly ashamed.”

Bear Wu laughed heartily. “Great Monk Yuan Ming, your skills are already impressive. Since following the Young Master, I’ve fought many, and aside from that time in the capital, you are the strongest. Once you recover, let’s have another match!”

Yuan Ming replied, “I would welcome it, though I fear you may have to wait a while.”

He then went to Abbot Kongwen, bowed, and said, “Revered Abbot, I know my past karma is heavy. From today on, I beg to enter the Sutra Library to copy scriptures, recite sutras, and devote myself to meditation, seeking to lessen my karmic burden. Please grant me this request.”

The elder monks, seeing that a single bout had brought Yuan Ming to such great realization, were overjoyed. In time, Shaolin would gain another eminent monk.

Abbot Kongwen nodded slightly. “Go, and when you emerge from the Sutra Library, you shall head the Bodhi Court.”

Watching Yuan Ming stride resolutely from the crowd, broken staff in hand, Yuan Ye’s expression was a touch peculiar.

“Will Bear Wu end up creating another ‘Sweeper Monk’ today?” he wondered.

Just then, Bear Ba announced, “Young Master, I’m going up.”

Yuan Ye came to himself and nodded at him. “Go ahead, and take care not to go too far.”