Flower Stealing Master

As soon as Zhang Sanfeng finished speaking, he channeled his Taiji force, causing Du Er and Du Jie’s whips to collide.

The black cords carried immense internal energy. The two monks sensed the same strange force from earlier and realized their whips had gone out of control, crashing into each other. Alarmed, they thought, ‘This is bad!’ The next moment, a tidal wave of force surged from Zhang Sanfeng’s black cord, crashing down on them. Both monks trembled violently.

As fellow disciples, there was not much difference in martial prowess between Du Nan and Du Jie, but Du Er was clearly a step above them. The moment Du Jie was struck by Du Er’s internal energy, he coughed up a mouthful of blood, his Qi and blood churning chaotically. In an instant, he lost all ability to fight.

Although Du Er fared slightly better, he was still in poor condition. Du Jie’s full-force attack left his chest numb, his entire body tingling. His internal energy became sluggish for a few moments. Under normal circumstances, this wouldn’t have been a major issue—he could have adjusted his breathing and quickly recovered. But Zhang Sanfeng was no ordinary opponent. Since he had already made his move, how could he possibly give his enemy a chance to catch his breath?

Seeing his two senior brothers incapacitated in an instant, Du Nan was horrified. He flicked his whip, launching an attack toward Zhang Sanfeng’s back, hoping to stall him long enough for Du Er to recover.

Song Qingshu chuckled, picking up a handful of pine needles from the ground. Infusing them with internal energy, he shot them toward Du Nan’s face like the infamous Tang Sect hidden weapon—the Rainstorm Pear Blossom Needles. Du Nan’s expression changed, and he hastily dodged to the side. However, his black cord never stopped—it still lashed toward Zhang Sanfeng’s back.

Suddenly, Du Nan felt an ominous premonition. He turned his head abruptly and was stunned to find Song Qingshu, who had been several meters away just moments ago, now standing right beside him with a smile. A chill ran down his spine. ‘Is this really Qinggong of the mortal realm…?’

That was his last thought before his acupoints were sealed. His whip lost its momentum and fell to the ground halfway through its strike.

Song Qingshu let out a quiet sigh of relief. ‘Luckily, Du Nan was distracted trying to save Du Er and was unaware of my Qinggong. Otherwise, subduing him would have been much more troublesome.’

By this time, Zhang Sanfeng had also sealed Du Er’s acupoints. Seeing how quickly Song Qingshu had subdued Du Nan, his eyes were filled with admiration.

“Let’s investigate quickly and leave immediately,” Zhang Sanfeng said in a low voice. Song Qingshu nodded. The two figures flickered and disappeared into the Scripture Pavilion.

Just as they pushed open the door, before they had a chance to look inside, their expressions suddenly changed. They hastily raised their palms to their chests, and a powerful force surged forward, colliding with their hands. The impact made them both sway involuntarily.

Looking up, they saw a frail old monk in a blue robe sweeping at the doorway. He had sparse white whiskers, moved slowly, and appeared weak—nothing like a martial artist.

However, neither Zhang Sanfeng nor Song Qingshu dared to underestimate him. After all, he had just repelled both of them at once. While the element of surprise played a role, the feat was still astonishing.

“Who might the esteemed guests be, visiting the Scripture Pavilion at this late hour?” The Sweeping Monk’s face remained calm, but his heart was in turmoil. For many years, he had stood at the pinnacle of martial arts, feeling as though he overlooked all others. Countless renowned experts couldn’t withstand even a single move from him. Yet, in that brief exchange just now, he had been forced to go all out and was still shaken internally. ‘Who exactly are these two?’  

Zhang Sanfeng glanced at Song Qingshu, inwardly relieved. ‘Qingshu was right—this Scripture Pavilion indeed hides an incredibly powerful master. If I had come alone without warning, and this monk bore ill intent, I might have perished here in Mount Shaoshi.’

The Sweeping Monk examined Zhang Sanfeng—a white-haired daoist whose mere presence exuded an unfathomable depth, like a towering mountain range. His heart trembled. ‘Could it be… him?’

When his gaze shifted to Song Qingshu, he was even more shocked. “So it’s Benefactor Song. Not only have you recovered your meridians, but you’ve also acquired such astonishing martial prowess. Truly beyond my expectations.”

Song Qingshu quickly stepped forward and bowed. “Junior Song Qingshu greets Senior. Thanks to your guidance back then, I was able to turn my fate around.”

“I merely spoke a few words; I cannot claim credit,” the Sweeping Monk replied. He was curious about how Song Qingshu had restored his meridians, but this was not the time for idle chatter. Turning to Zhang Sanfeng, he asked, “Might you be Esteemed Zhang of Wudang?”

Zhang Sanfeng inclined his head slightly. “I am Zhang Sanfeng. Master, your martial attainments are the greatest I have ever witnessed. I am truly in awe.”

“All conditioned things are like dreams, illusions, bubbles, and shadows. In the presence of Esteemed Zhang, how could this humble monk claim to be the greatest?” The Sweeping Monk returned the bow.

Faintly, the sounds of approaching Shaolin monks could be heard. Song Qingshu discreetly transmitted a message, “Grandmaster, should you hold this monk off while I investigate the Scripture Pavilion? If Abbot Xuan Ci and the others arrive, we may lose our chance.”

Zhang Sanfeng gave a slight nod. “Alright!”

Song Qingshu’s eyes lit up. He cupped his hands toward the Sweeping Monk and said, “Senior, we have intruded upon Shaolin tonight to search for my father and my uncles. If we have offended in any way, I hope you will forgive us. I will personally apologize another day.”

Before he finished speaking, his figure flickered like a wisp of smoke as he dashed into the Scripture Pavilion.

“A Qinggong like this may well be unmatched in the world!” The Sweeping Monk’s eyes widened in astonishment. Without any visible movement, his hands formed a seal. Suddenly, Song Qingshu felt as if he had crashed into an invisible wall—like a fish trapped in a net. He struck out with his palm, but his overwhelming force had no place to land and was instead rebounded back at him.

Song Qingshu’s expression turned serious. In a flash, he drew his wooden sword and slashed forward. The blade seemed to transform into an indomitable laser, instantly splitting the air barrier in two. The pressure around him immediately dissipated.

“Hmm?” The Sweeping Monk was even more astonished. Just as he was about to make another move, Zhang Sanfeng attacked. Confident as he was, he dared not leave his flank exposed to the world’s foremost martial artist. He had no choice but to let Song Qingshu go and focus all his attention on Zhang Sanfeng.

By this time, Xuan Ci and the other Shaolin masters had arrived. Seeing the three senior monks injured and immobilized, as well as Zhang Sanfeng exchanging blows with the Sweeping Monk, they were both shocked and enraged. “Esteemed Zhang, breaking into Shaolin’s forbidden grounds in the dead of night—does this not tarnish the dignity of your sect?”

Zhang Sanfeng could only smile bitterly. At this moment, all his focus was on the battle. He did not dare to respond, fearing that even the slightest lapse would allow his opponent to exploit an opening.

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