A surge of qi roared forth, the fierce force of the palm clashing with cutting wind like thunder crashing. Jingjing hastily raised his hand in defense, his stance wavering as he staggered back three steps. Steadying himself, he let his inner strength circulate through his arms, moving with his palms as his footwork shifted unpredictably. Within just a few exchanges, his style transformed—what had moments before seemed clumsy now flowed with practiced ease, his every motion carrying a touch of seasoned skill, almost unbelievable to behold.
The Tibetan warrior Zongzan unleashed his iron fists like a storm, relentless and domineering, sealing every path of retreat. His strikes came like a tiger descending from the mountains, mercilessly hammering at Jingjing's weak points, forcing him into desperate defense.
Yet as the fight drew on, Jingjing's movements grew lighter, his palms flowing like water, parrying blow after blow until he could hold his ground. Zongzan grew inwardly alarmed—he had thought this young monk would fall in three moves, yet after thirty strikes, his foe still stood, even seizing the momentum.
With a sudden roar, Zongzan shifted his fists into a flurry like crashing thunder. The barrage struck faster than lightning. Jingjing retreated under the onslaught, sweat beading his brow. He caught the right fist with his left palm—only to see the left hand already streaking in, swift and savage.
A sharp crack resounded. Unable to fully deflect, Jingjing was blasted back, inner force shaking his organs, blood surging in his chest. He staggered several steps, drenched in cold sweat. Zongzan, too, swayed slightly, frowning in shock. This young monk's inner power runs deeper than I imagined!
He sneered: "Not bad. But do you think a warrior of Tibet is so easily dealt with?"
Jingjing drew a deep breath, replying firmly, "Nor is the Church of the East so easily bullied! Do not think strength makes you righteous!" His heart, once hesitant and defensive, now steeled. If he did not fight with all he had, defeat was certain. Casting aside fear, he resolved to gamble everything.
"Then let this battle decide the victor!"
His palm feinted toward the Purple Palace acupoint. Zongzan blocked quickly, only for a flurry of exchanges to erupt—twenty more moves in a heartbeat. Fist wind howled, palm shadows whirled, qi clashed so fiercely that the onlookers hardly dared to breathe. The fight had reached its peak.
Now Jingjing fought with cunning techniques that confounded Zongzan, his intricate maneuvers pressing the Tibetan into a frantic defense. At first, Zongzan's early aggression gave him the advantage, but once Jingjing unleashed his hidden skill, the tide turned. Attacks and counters mingled—sweeping kicks, nerve-point strikes, sudden shifts in rhythm. The two combatants leapt high, ducked low, their duel a dazzling display without a lull, thrilling in every exchange.
The next morning, Wu Tong descended to breakfast with his companion, when a voice called: "Hall Master Li!" A tall monk in white robes entered. He was gaunt yet commanding, white brows drooping, eyes deep as stars, noble even in age. Golden trim edged his robe, his bearing calm and dignified like a pine standing through storms.
Wu Tong rose with respect. "So it is Elder Yi Si of the Church of the East. An honor!"
Yi Si's gaze was grave. "I have word that the Lama Sect comes to challenge us today. They claim to seek justice, but in truth they mean to cow our disciples by force. I ride to rally allies, but fortune smiles—meeting you here is Heaven's aid."
Wu Tong, lord of the Hall of Loyalty and Righteousness, frowned in thought. To ignore such injustice was impossible, and with long friendship between their sects, his duty was clear. "Elder, where is this match to be held?"
"At a monastery thirty li from town," Yi Si answered. "It is an ancient place where our faithful gather. The Lamas are already on their way. If we delay, the balance will tip against us."
Wu Tong nodded firmly. "Then we ride at once!"
After a hasty meal, they mounted and spurred their horses along the dusty road. The morning sun rose crimson, casting a foreboding light across the land. Soon the monastery appeared, white walls and red roofs gleaming solemnly in the mountains. But the wide square before it swarmed with two hostile camps, their murderous intent thick in the air.
The Church of the East had long trained not only in scripture but in martial arts, so that its monks could defend themselves while spreading their faith. Among the young generation, few rivaled Robin, yet hidden talents also emerged—such as Jingjing and Jingneng.
Back on the field, Zongzan, worn down and irritable, struck recklessly at Jingjing's chest. Jingjing's eyes gleamed; he seized the chance and unleashed his sect's secret art—"Heart Empty, Spirit Clear." With a sudden shift of steps, he vanished from the line of attack. Zongzan's palm struck only air.
Before the Tibetan could recover, Jingjing's twin palms flashed out, swift as thunder. Zongzan barely blocked the first, but the second crashed into his chest.
A dull thud rang out. Blood sprayed from Zongzan's lips as he reeled backward, barely regaining his footing after half a dozen steps. Jingjing stood tall in the sun, folding his palms together. "Thank you for your instruction," he declared.
The Eastern monks erupted in cheers. The Lamas, by contrast, looked grim. Their leader Marba's face darkened—he could hardly believe a youth from the Church had toppled one of Tibet's fiercest fighters.
He snarled, "So, the Church of the East is not without skill. But victory shifts like the wind. From the passes of the Onion Range comes our champion—Darius!"
With a roar of laughter, a towering warrior vaulted into the arena, his aura shaking the air.
"I am Darius of the Onion Range," he proclaimed. "Let us see what your Church is truly made of!"
Robin, the foremost of the young monks, raised his brows and smiled coldly. "Very well. Jingneng—this chance is yours. Go, and meet him!"
Another monk leapt forward, robes billowing, landing lightly before the challenger. He pressed his palms together and said calmly, "I am Jingneng. Please, grant me your guidance."
The next battle was about to begin.