Chapter Thirty-Six: Shaolin’s End

Xiong Ba nodded lightly and silently walked to the center of the arena, standing tall. Unlike the previous display of Xiong Wu’s ferocity, Xiong Ba now seemed imbued with a deeper calm. Yet the Shaolin monks dared not underestimate him. Everyone understood that, at this moment, Xiong Ba was little more than a dormant volcano. Once the battle commenced, he would erupt with devastating force, laying waste to everything around him.

“This Xiong Ba is even more formidable than the last one!” Abbot Kong Wen’s face was clouded with anxiety.

“Abbot, I request to fight,” said a stern-faced elder monk seated beside Kong Wen. He stood up, seeking permission.

Kong Wen nodded slightly. “Very well, let Brother Kong Zhi take this match.”

“So this is Master Kong Zhi?” Ye Yuan’s heart stirred. Familiar with the original tale, he knew Kong Zhi well.

Kong Zhi was one of Shaolin’s disciples bearing the ‘Kong’ character, and among the four great monks of Shaolin, the third among “Kong Wen, Kong Xing, Kong Zhi, Kong Sheng.” Of Shaolin’s seventy-two ultimate arts, Kong Zhi had mastered eleven. His internal and external skills were both exceptional, making him one of the temple’s foremost masters.

Ye Yuan’s deep impression of Kong Zhi was not merely due to his martial prowess. Truthfully, with Ye Yuan’s current abilities, he did not truly fear Kong Zhi’s skills, and his purpose in coming to Shaolin was not to duel with the ‘Kong’ disciples.

What made Kong Zhi memorable to Ye Yuan was that, not long from now, Kong Zhi would ascend Wudang Mountain, boldly challenging Ye Yuan’s master in order to resolve the long-standing feud between the two sects. In the future, Kong Zhi would also become the leader of the campaign against the Ming Cult, leading Shaolin in the siege of Bright Peak, eventually being captured and imprisoned in Wan’an Temple.

As Ye Yuan contemplated these events, Kong Zhi stepped into the arena. Facing the towering Xiong Ba, Kong Zhi composed himself, intoned a Buddhist blessing, and said, “Amitabha, greetings, Hero Xiong. I am Kong Zhi, come to learn from your esteemed skills.”

Xiong Ba returned the salute, replying, “Xiong Ba greets the revered master. I have long heard of your mastery over more than ten Shaolin ultimate arts. To witness your skills today is truly an honor.”

His voice was deep and steady, his words measured and respectful, a stark contrast to Xiong Wu’s earlier brashness.

Kong Zhi’s face brightened with a hint of delight. “Please,” he urged.

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Seeing Kong Zhi approach unarmed, Xiong Ba likewise laid aside his great sword and raised his hand to signal readiness.

Recognizing Kong Zhi’s status as a senior, unwilling to strike first, Xiong Ba’s face flashed with displeasure, then vanished as he stepped forward and unleashed a punch.

With that step, a thunderous sound echoed as several stone slabs shattered and flew up. His fist arrived as promised, and the flying debris whistled toward Kong Zhi with a piercing shriek. There was no doubt—if these fragments struck a person, they would be torn to shreds in an instant.

Yet Kong Zhi remained composed. He spread his feet slightly, his monk’s robes billowing without wind. As the shards drew near, the monks watching held their breath in suspense. At last, Kong Zhi moved.

He raised both hands, and as his arms swept, it seemed countless hands appeared before him, palms merging into a solid wall to block the barrage.

Witnessing this extraordinary skill, Ye Yuan murmured in admiration, “The Great Compassion Thousand Hands—Master Kong Zhi has perfected this art!”

“Brother Kong Zhi’s mastery of Shaolin's seventy-two ultimate arts is indeed profound,” Master Kong Xing nodded.

The duel grew ever more intense. Kong Zhi unleashed the Great Compassion Thousand Hands, One Finger Zen, Powerful Vajra Palm, Powerful Vajra Finger, Great Vajra Fist, Duoluo Leaf Finger, Vajra Prajna Palm, Flower-Picking Finger, Kasaya Demon-Subduing Technique, Prajna Palm, and Weituo Palm—eleven supreme arts in succession.

Meanwhile, Xiong Ba’s massive sword swept through the air, thunder and wind roaring around him, forcing Kong Zhi to change moves frequently. Unlike Xiong Wu’s straightforward ferocity, Xiong Ba fought with a measured rhythm, his agility surpassing Kong Zhi’s, and his internal energy, cultivated through the Solitary Heart Method, was both fierce and protective.

At the thousandth exchange, Kong Zhi seized an opening and struck Xiong Ba’s back with a Prajna Palm. He did not aim to harm, holding back his full strength. Yet he did not anticipate the extraordinary counterforce of Xiong Ba’s internal energy, which instantly numbed his right hand and shook his own energy.

From that moment, Kong Zhi fought with full determination. This battle concerned Shaolin’s centuries-old honor; if he were defeated, must the abbot himself step in?

The two figures clashed, fists and sword colliding, the sounds echoing like firecrackers. At the fifteen-hundredth exchange, Kong Zhi’s expression changed. He sensed something was amiss.

“Damn it, this fellow is using me to break through his martial arts!” Furious, Kong Zhi’s attacks grew ever more fierce.

With a resounding crash, Kong Zhi slapped aside Xiong Ba’s sword and, gathering energy in his empty palm, aimed for Xiong Ba’s chest.

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Yet Xiong Ba had anticipated this. His right hand held the sword, while his left struck from the side with cunning precision, meeting Kong Zhi’s palm head-on.

Vajra Prajna Palm met Tyrant’s Fist. The immense force clashed, producing a thunderous boom that sent energy waves outward, knocking nearby monks off their feet.

All faces changed as the monks retreated in shock. In the arena, Xiong Ba and Kong Zhi suddenly grew still, their contest shifting from martial arts to a pure battle of internal energy.

In sheer internal strength, Kong Zhi was at the late stage of first-rate mastery, while Xiong Ba had yet to break through the mid-stage, making him inferior.

Yet the methods Xiong Ba cultivated were unusually domineering. Facing a powerful adversary, his internal energy surged in retaliation, and under such pressure, his energy rapidly increased, his strength rising explosively.

Feeling the growing force of the countershock, Kong Zhi’s face flushed. He thought, “This is bad—he’s breaking through right now. Today’s outcome is inevitable.”

Indeed, a few breaths later, with a loud crash, the two separated instantly. Xiong Ba staggered back four or five steps, and Kong Zhi did the same, blood seeping from the corner of his mouth.

The outcome was now self-evident.

Defeat at Xiong Ba’s hands was something Kong Zhi had never imagined. He thought that, even if he could not beat Xiong Ba, he could at least draw, thus preserving Shaolin’s reputation.

But now, as the head of the Prajna Hall and one of Shaolin’s four great monks, he had been bested by one of Ye Yuan’s followers. It was a humiliation—the prestige of Shaolin, built over centuries, had suffered a loss today.

“Must the abbot himself step in? No! Absolutely not! Today, even at the risk of my life, I cannot concede,” Kong Zhi thought, disregarding the turmoil in his energy, preparing to fight again.

At that moment, a gentle voice sounded behind him: “Brother, Shaolin has lost this round. Let me take the next one.”