Li Wujie shot a sideways glance and snorted, "So what if I know? You think I'm going to bow to a group of bald monks? Show restraint?"
Let's not even bring up the fact that he had someone backing him. Even before he had a master, he was the type to burn everything down the moment he picked up a blade. The only reason someone's head wasn't already rolling was because he was feeling generous.
"Arrogant bastard!"
"Disrespectful!"
"Ungrateful punk!"
The group from the Hanging Temple erupted in outrage.
Master Randel narrowed his eyes, murderous intent flickering in their depths. His voice was cold. "Amitabha. You've gone too far."
Li Wujie flipped the kitchen knife in his hand, casually weighing it. He gave Master Randel a once-over and sneered, "You look pissed, old monk. Wanna take a shot?"
Master Randel said nothing. One of his disciples stepped forward, furious. "You insolent brat! Do you even realize who you're insulting? This man is a Tribulation Stage master! You think you can walk away after crossing him?"
Gasps rippled through the crowd.
The onlookers turned to stare, eyes wide in awe. They'd guessed the monk was strong, but no one had expected him to be a genuine Virtual Immortal. In the Medicine King Valley, even among powerhouses, that put you at the top of the food chain.
In the Eastern Domain, someone at the Tribulation Stage could walk into any sect and be treated as an honored guest.
No wonder even the proudest cultivators now stood silently, afraid to even breathe too loudly.
"A Tribulation Stage cultivator, huh?" Li Wujie blinked, then scoffed. "Still doesn't mean I won't cut you down."
Dead silence.
Everyone stared at him like he was insane.
Even Master Randel's gaze wavered, a sliver of doubt appearing. This guy clearly wasn't just another idiot from the streets. Anyone with the guts to still talk trash after learning his level... had to be something else.
"What is your name, guest?" Randel asked cautiously.
Li Wujie grinned. "Li Tiedan. Heard of me?"
Everyone turned to each other, confused. Who the hell was Li Tiedan?
Master Randel frowned. His disciples looked equally clueless. Whoever this guy was, he clearly wasn't from any known sect.
"Your hostility is excessive," Master Randel said darkly. "Allow this monk to show you the consequences."
Without warning, he launched forward, hands forming a lotus seal, his body flying like a cannonball. The impact of his move was devastating—enough to turn a Foundation Establishment cultivator into dust.
Li Wujie's grin widened. "Now that's more like it."
He moved in a blur, the kitchen knife in his hand glowing faintly as it tore through the air.
Slash!
The blade aura split the air, cutting clean through the divide of yin and yang, raw sword energy exploding outward.
Master Randel's eyes narrowed. The pressure hit him like a wave.
Boom!
They clashed.
The old monk staggered a few steps back, his expression shifting.
But it wasn't over. A blinding arc of light came slicing forward, imbued with a mysterious knife intent. Deep. Lethal.
Randel reacted instantly, forming a hand seal and thrusting his palm forward. A glowing golden swastika bloomed from his hand, exuding holiness and power.
The two forces collided. Shockwaves tore across the valley.
The crowd stood frozen, speechless.
Li Wujie wasn't just holding his own—he was going toe-to-toe with a Tribulation Stage master!
"Now this is fun," Li Wujie laughed, eyes gleaming. He slashed again, each move unpredictable yet dangerously precise, like a storm guided by instinct.
Master Randel's face darkened. He was a master. Why couldn't he overpower a mere junior?
Realizing brute force wouldn't cut it, Randel shifted tactics. He pressed one hand to his chest. Golden light surged from his body, forming a radiant armor, every inch of him shining like divine gold.
Clang! Clang! Clang!
Every strike from Li Wujie now rang out like metal on metal. Nothing was getting through.
Li Wujie frowned. "Huh?"
No matter how deep he cut, that golden glow shielded the old monk completely.
Master Randel smirked. "Save your energy. Even if you hacked away for three days straight, you wouldn't leave a scratch."
Li Wujie rolled his eyes and spat to the side. "Tch. Annoying."
"You brat!" Master Randel snapped, humiliated. His punch came roaring forward, wind from the strike ripping leaves and branches clean off trees.
But that was all it was—powerful, but not enough to settle anything.
The deadlock dragged on. Neither could gain the upper hand. The crowd went from tense... to bored. Some even started yawning.
Boom!
Another clash sent both figures skidding backward.
Li Wujie gave an exaggerated sigh. "Old monk, are you made of turtle shell or just full of hot air?"
Master Randel looked thoroughly displeased but kept his monk-like calm. "What's the point of this, honored guest? This is neutral ground. Do you really intend to make enemies everywhere?"
The implied threat hung thick in the air.
He didn't say it, but it was clear: You might be bold here, but once you step outside, we'll see how long you last.
Just as Li Wujie was about to fire back, a voice buzzed in his ear. He stopped mid-sentence and calmly stepped back to stand beside Ye Junlin.
Ye Junlin cracked his knuckles and said casually, "The Medicine King is mine. You temple folk showing up late and trying to claim it? Sounds like someone's asking for a beating."
Master Randel's face darkened. "Once you made a move, everything changed. Who says what falls to the ground belongs to you? Only what you can take belongs to you."
He stepped forward, golden Buddha light flaring around him. Sanskrit symbols circled his body, glowing like floating tadpoles, the air humming with the sound of divine chants.
He was heading straight for the Medicine King—completely ignoring Ye Junlin.
If no one could hurt him, what was the point in talking?
"Old monk," came a voice filled with disdain, "do you have a death wish?"
Hong Qianye's cold gaze locked onto him. He had never liked the Buddhist sect, and seeing Randel act this smug made his fists itch.
Randel continued walking calmly, covering ten meters with every step. "Since no one can keep it, this old monk will accept it as compensation."
But just as his hand reached out—
Boom!
A figure stepped forward, tall and imposing, radiating an otherworldly presence.
He clenched his fists. The ground trembled. Spiritual energy surged in from all directions. A golden halo formed behind him, ancient and overwhelming.
"Old monk," Ye Junlin said with a sneer, "did you really think no one could stop you?"
His punch came down like a divine verdict, cracking the sky.
This was the Battle Saint Fist!
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