Chapter 38 Thirty-nine: Innate! Innate!

The three elder monks stared blankly, lost in thought, saying nothing. The monks of Shaolin dared not utter a word. They had listened to the exchange between Yuanye and the three venerable monks, realizing that Yuanye’s martial prowess was on a plane far beyond their own, worlds apart. Though the monks of Shaolin were shaken to their core, having heard that Zhang Sanfeng of Wudang had already attained a higher innate realm, they were not so deeply disturbed. For those gazing up from the mountain’s base toward its waist, there is still the will to pursue. Yet, if one stands atop the summit, all that remains is gradual forgetfulness—for not even a shadow is visible, and the urge to chase vanishes.

After a long pause, the yellow-faced elder monk was the first to recover. He addressed Yuanye, saying, “Forgive us, Young Master Yuan. We did not know your skill was so profound, surpassing us by far. To accept this challenge was truly overestimating ourselves.”

He sighed deeply and continued, “Yet Shaolin’s centuries of reputation rest upon us; today’s duel cannot be avoided.”

“Indeed,” the white-faced elder followed, “please, Young Master, show us the marvels of the post-heaven realm.”

“We are well aware we cannot match you, Young Master,” the black-faced monk said with shame. “We have no choice but to fight as three together; please forgive our boldness.”

Seeing their straightforwardness, Yuanye’s mood was likewise buoyed. He smiled slightly and replied, “Venerable elders, there is no need for concern. I have come to Shaolin first to witness its martial arts, and second to spar with its masters, seeking to perfect my own understanding of the martial way.”

He paused, as if recalling something, and continued, “In these years, I have traveled the Central Plains, journeyed to the Western Regions, Tibet, Qinghai, and beyond. Apart from my master and the one in the Yuan imperial palace, I have never met anyone who could rival you three. To exchange skills with you today is my honor.”

The three elders of Shaolin, hearing themselves named as the strongest besides Zhang Sanfeng of Wudang and the Yuan imperial expert, could not help but smile, despite their usual calm and indifference to praise or blame.

“Please, Young Master Yuan,” the yellow-faced monk said with a smile, nodding to his two companions.

Yuanye bowed once more, his expression turning solemn as he shifted his inner energy. Instantly, his eyes shone with a brilliant light.

A soft hiss sounded. The abbot Kongwen and others who had retreated from the clearing heard the faint noise, their gazes fixed on the arena. They saw Yuanye’s black hair flying, his white robe billowing, waves of qi radiating from him, scattering leaves and dust in swirling rings across the ground.

“What skill!” exclaimed the black-faced monk, Dunan. Reaching behind a tree, a clattering echoed as he drew forth a chain as thick as a man’s arm, dark and heavy.

His companions, Dujie and Duer, likewise produced chains from behind the trees. United in purpose, they needed no words. With a twist of their wrists, the three immense chains rose like writhing ink-black dragons, lunging at Yuanye from three directions.

For most martial artists, with only two arms, simultaneously defending against three attacks would be impossible. Yet for Yuanye, it posed no problem. He raised his left foot, pivoted on his right, spinning his body in an instant. Using the Wudang Soft Palm, his left hand struck one chain, his right redirected another. In a single motion, the chain’s trajectory shifted, colliding with another with a clang.

The onlookers saw the three chains about to strike Yuanye, when suddenly a white shadow flashed, winds howled, and three resounding clangs echoed as the chains, like giant serpents, flew apart.

The first chain Yuanye struck belonged to Duer. The forceful, domineering energy rebounded, numbing Duer’s hands and causing him to lose his grip, the chain veering off and striking Dujie’s chain. Similarly, Dujie’s chain collided with Dunan’s.

All three were stunned by Yuanye’s turbulent, enormous inner force, amazed that their combined attack could be so easily countered.

Though the three elders possessed peerless skills, decades of seclusion had left them unfamiliar with Yuanye’s techniques—save for the Wudang Soft Palm. As for the other mysterious skill, they could only vaguely sense its affinity with Shaolin’s Nine Yang Art, but its depth and potency far surpassed their own sect’s mastery.

Yet the three elders were equally accomplished. With a flick, their chains disentangled and separated. Seeing their first attack fail, they shook their chains and renewed their assault.

Yuanye had barely regained his footing when he sensed a subtle shift in the air around him—an attack with no warning. Unperturbed, he tapped his toes, soaring two zhang high. Glancing down, he saw two long objects sweep beneath his feet, less than a half foot apart—chains, moving with uncanny speed, yet without the force of wind.

Before he could react, a fierce gust, like an arrow, shot toward his face—a chain, black as a dart, was already within inches.

The two chains were wielded by Dujie and Dunan, intended to force Yuanye to land and evade, while Duer struck from below. Yet Yuanye reacted instantly, leaping upward to avoid them. Duer, not easily thwarted, followed with his chain, catching Yuanye off guard.

“Excellent! The three elders united truly possess post-heaven might—a worthy challenge,” Yuanye thought, even in the midst of danger.

Though suspended in air with nothing to brace against, Yuanye stamped down, a sharp sound bursting forth, propelling him three feet higher—his chest aligned with the chain’s tip.

With a resounding boom, air exploded as Yuanye unleashed his self-created Domineering Fist.

A loud clang rang out as fist met chain. Though airborne and without support, Yuanye remained motionless while Duer’s chain was sent flying back with a howl.

“What agility! What power!” Duer exclaimed, not angered but awed.

This direct clash of flesh and iron stunned Abbot Kongwen and the revered monk Kongxing, leaving their faces ashen.

“Yesterday, when Xiong Er used this fist, I thought its power unmatched. Now I realize he used less than half its strength,” Kongxing sighed.

Xiong Ba replied, “Master, you overpraise that fool. He’s nothing compared to the young lord, and this isn’t even his full strength. I’ve seen him shatter Mongol swords and riders with a single blow—man and horse alike reduced to pulp.”

The monks were shaken, their minds reeling, unable to believe such skill belonged to a mortal.

In the ring, Yuanye moved with fluid grace, striking and parrying, while the three chains transformed into straight weapons—spears, staves—attacking from every angle. Their minds synchronized, the three elders acted as one; whenever Yuanye blocked one chain, the other two would coil from behind, their coordination seamless. Yuanye was reminded of the dual-wielding technique created by Zhou Botong in "Legend of the Condor Heroes," though that was merely twofold—here it was as if Yuanye faced threefold coordination.

Their combined effort was not a simple sum, but a geometric increase in power.

In this fierce battle, Yuanye felt his mind grow ever clearer, the world fading away—the sky, the earth, the people, even the air seemed to vanish. Before him were only three black dragons—chains lunging, biting, coiling. Yet Yuanye, like a master dragon-tamer, deftly wielded his palms, keeping the dragons at bay. In the end, he seized the chains, forcing them to collide and entwine with a grinding shriek.

Immersed in this unconscious state, Yuanye unleashed every skill he knew: Wudang arts, the sword techniques of Mount Hua, Emei swordplay, Kongtong’s Seven Wounds Fist, Kunlun’s martial arts, and even Shaolin’s ultimate techniques—all were brought forth.

The myriad arts of many sects, displayed by Yuanye, were executed not as a novice, but as if he had studied them for decades.

Not only were the three elders astounded, but all the watching monks were struck with terror. How could Yuanye possess over twenty Shaolin skills, mastered to a degree equal to their most accomplished monks?

Noticing the uneasy stares of Abbot Kongwen, Kongxing, and the surrounding monks, Xiong Ba felt a tingle on his scalp. He explained, “Venerable monks, do not wonder. My young lord defies all common sense. Any martial art, once performed before him, he immediately learns—and masters it.”

“You mean, Young Master Yuan learned these Shaolin arts yesterday from us?” Abbot Kongwen exclaimed.

“Precisely,” Xiong Ba nodded.

“How is that possible? Is he even human?”

“This is beyond absurd!”

The elder monks protested in disbelief.

“Hmph! Do you think my young lord would steal or secretly learn Shaolin’s arts?” Xiong Ba snorted angrily. The monks, far inferior in skill, felt their blood surge and a heavy weight press upon their chests, unable to speak.

At that moment, the battle reached its climax. The three monks were drenched in sweat, breathing heavily, white smoke rising from their heads—their energy pushed to the limit.

With a thunderous crash, all discussion ceased as eyes turned to the ring. Yuanye seemed to surrender, standing motionless as the three dark chains wrapped around him in coils.

The three elders, exerting their full strength, pulled the chains taut, which groaned and creaked.

The distant monks, seeing this, were filled with joy—it seemed the three masters had prevailed.

Xiong Ba’s expression remained unchanged, years of acquaintance making him certain Yuanye could not be defeated so easily.

Indeed, the three elders showed no sign of triumph. They felt as though the end of the chains had plunged into molten lava, an unbearable heat searing through, even with their qi shielding their hands, their palms were scorched.

After several breaths, Abbot Kongwen and others began to sense something amiss. The chains seemed deliberately wrapped by Yuanye, as if a blacksmith hammering red-hot iron.

Boom!

The earth cracked, scorching winds scattered. Abbot Kongwen and his fellows paled, each fleeing up the slope with all their skill.

A blinding light flashed from the clearing, as if a second sun had appeared—equally hot, equally dazzling.

The three elders could no longer remain in their tree hollows, each leaping away in a different direction.

A gasp arose. From the center of the sun-like radiance, grass withered, the effect spreading quickly to the three pine trees. In an instant, the lush green pines turned yellow, dried, smoke rising as they were about to catch fire.

“Hahaha! Innate! Innate! This is the innate realm!” Amid wild laughter, the fierce heat retreated as swiftly as a bird returning to its nest, the miniature sun dimming.

As the blinding light faded, the crowd looked anxiously, seeing the earth cracked, vegetation dead, all life extinguished.

There, upon the hellish ground, stood a youth in white with silver eyes.

Was he a celestial? Or a demon?