Chapter One Hundred and Twenty-One Exchange Dharma Shaolin's Tragedy
"Amitabha!"
Zen Master Duxu, the abbot of Shaolin, put his hands together and saluted the Mongolian master Shenhui, and said solemnly:
"The Imperial Master came to our Shaolin Temple, but the entire temple could not welcome him from a distance. It was disrespectful to the etiquette. We still hope to see Haihan."
Grand Master Shenhui also put his hands together and bowed in return, and said straight to the point:
"I have heard that Shaolin is a master of martial arts and has the reputation of being the ancestral home of Buddhism in the world. I came here today to ask for advice on Buddhism. I hope that the master will not hesitate to teach me."
Zen Master Duxu frowned and said:
"The Imperial Master's words are serious, and this temple dare not live up to such a good reputation."
He paused, seemed to hesitate, and asked:
"Since the Imperial Master is here to exchange Buddhist teachings, why do you want to surround this temple with troops?"
Master Shenhui said expressionlessly:
"Abbott, please don't get me wrong. These are just the guards sent by the disciples to protect me. I apologize if I shocked the monks."
Although Grand Master Shenhui expressed his apology, there was no look of apology on his face. Moreover, all the monks behind him were thick-boned, and the monk's robes could not hide his tallness. The evil aura on his body was astonishing. It didn't look like him at all.
Monks who study Buddhism are like the warrior monks in Shaolin Temple.
In fact, all the monks present knew that Master Shenhui came to Shaolin Temple this time because he was drunk and not interested in drinking. He said it was to exchange Buddhist teachings, but in fact he came to establish his authority. If he was not good, he might directly order an attack on Shaolin Temple.
Just knowing is one thing, how to deal with it is another. Facing tens of thousands of troops at the foot of the mountain, the monks had no choice but to submit. The abbot, Zen Master Duxu, had no choice but to respond:
"Then please invite the Imperial Master to take a seat."
Grand Master Shenhui laughed loudly. This seemed to be a signal. Immediately behind him, a tall monk stood up, bowed and said loudly:
"I'm Haruci, here to consult Shaolin Buddhism!"
All the Shaolin monks looked at each other, and finally an old monk stood up, sat cross-legged on a futon between the two sides, clasped his hands and said:
"Master, please!"
The monk looked at the old monk up and down, then suddenly raised his foot and stepped on the ground, and punched out with a 'bang' sound.
The old monk was caught off guard. He only had time to raise his hands and cross them in front of him to protect him, but he was hit by a punch. He fell backwards and fell to the ground, and a mouthful of blood spurted on the ground.
None of the Shaolin monks reacted to this sudden attack, or some people reacted but were too late to help. They could only watch the old monk being beaten and vomiting blood. Everyone stood up. A monk stepped forward to help the old monk, the abbot.
There was no wind in the monk's robes on his body. He suppressed the anger in his heart and looked at Master Shenhui and said:
"What does this mean, Imperial Master?"
Shenhui did not speak, but the monk said in strange Chinese:
"In our Mongolian Tantric Sect, this is how we exchange Dharma."
He looked at the old monk who was vomiting blood with a trace of disdain in his eyes:
"This master's Dharma is very average. He is no match for me. Let's change the master to discuss Dharma with me!"
"I come!"
As soon as he finished speaking, a middle-aged monk who was also tall stood up. Judging from his body shape, he looked like a warrior monk. He put his hands together in a salute, and immediately made a fist with his palms:
"please!"
Monk Fan sneered, pressed the soles of his feet hard on the ground, and rushed forward like a tiger hunting prey. He made fists with both hands and smashed into the middle-aged monk's fist.
"Bang bang!"
The two punched each other in the air, making two muffled sounds. They both retreated at the same time, seemingly evenly matched. But the next second, the two figures rushed together again, and the sound of fists and kicks could be heard in an instant.
Both of them were proficient in boxing and kicking, and their cultivation levels were comparable. For a while, they were evenly matched, with no winner or loser.
However, although the cultivation level is the same, the actual combat effectiveness is still related to the martial arts practiced and experience. The famous Shaolin martial arts is not spread to the world. This middle-aged monk has practiced in the Shaolin Temple for many years, and he can welcome the Kingdom of Divine Wisdom here.
The master is already regarded as a middle-level and high-level person in the temple, and he is already qualified to practice the seventy-two stunts of the Shaolin Temple. What he practices is Guangming Fist, which is known as the best fist in the world. The power of the fist is like the sun shining, punch after punch continuously.
.
At first, the monk could still fight against the monk. After fifty moves, he started to be at a disadvantage and went on the defensive. After a hundred moves, he was unable to continue and could only resist. Until the one hundred and thirty-third move, he finally couldn't resist the continuous flow.
After a series of punches, one punch forced him to break away from his defense, and another punch hit him in the chest to knock him back.
The monk covered his chest and retreated. The monk clasped his hands together and was about to speak. Suddenly another monk stood up and slapped his hands together. The monk spread his hands together and raised his hands to block, but was forced to do so.
Taking two steps back, the monk took this opportunity to hit eighteen palms in one go, forcing the monk to take eighteen steps back, one step at a time. He was at a disadvantage, but he still blocked it, and finally slowed down on the eighteenth step.
After he regained his breath, his eyes flashed with light, and he opened his fist and curled his fingers into claws to face Fan Monk's fist.
"Crack!"
There were two crisp sounds of broken bones and a scream, and the monk retreated violently. There were several blood holes in his raised fists, dripping with blood.
"Dragon claw hand?"
The middle-aged monk took a step back and nodded:
"Master has been injured. I'm afraid the injury will get worse, so please step back and rest."
The monk also knew that several of his finger bones had been broken, and all his skills were in his hands. If he didn't get treatment early and it would be too late, all his skills would be useless. He didn't insist anymore and withdrew in a muffled voice.
After losing to two people in a row, the Mongolian national master Shenhui looked a little worried. He opened his eyes and glanced at the monk opposite, and said:
"Moa, you go."
Behind him, a dark-skinned monk who was as tall and thin as a bamboo pole stood up. He took off a string of huge Buddhist beads hanging from his chest and put them respectfully on the futon he was sitting on. Then he turned around and walked towards the middle-aged monk, clasping his hands.
He saluted seriously, and when the middle-aged monk returned the salute, the calm aura on his body exploded instantly, like a volcano erupting, and he raised his right hand and took a shot.
His movements were very fast, but strangely, everyone could clearly see him raising his hand and the trajectory of his palm. It felt like it was in slow motion.
But the moment he took action, several monks' expressions changed drastically and they screamed in shock. The middle-aged monk who was his opponent's expression became even more solemn. He took a sharp breath, raised his hand and punched him.
"Crack!"
Almost instantly, two fists collided together, and then there was a crisp sound of bones breaking. The next second, a figure flew out backwards, a line of blood flew out in an arc in mid-air, and there was a "snap" sound from the middle-aged monk.
After falling to the ground, there was a sound of wind blowing from his clothes, and the monk jumped over and slapped the fallen monk on the chest with his palm.
"No!"
"We admit defeat!"
After several exclamations, a man stepped forward and grabbed the middle-aged monk's foot and dragged it hard. With a muffled sound of 'Boom!', the monk slapped his palm on the ground, and the hard stone slab was shattered into pieces, leaving countless rubbles.
Collapse.
Monk Fan raised his head suddenly, a fierce light flashed in his eyes, kicked the ground hard, and slammed forward.
An old Shaolin monk immediately raised his hand and flicked his sleeve. There was a muffled sound and the sleeve shattered. The old monk also made a muffled sound and took two steps back.
