Chapter Four: A Secret Deal with the Shaolin Temple

The next day, in the afternoon, at Shaoshi Mountain, Shaolin Temple, in a side room within the monastery’s halls.

“Pass some inner power to you?”

Xu Qing frowned and said, “Benefactor, you should be clear on this: you have never practiced martial arts. Even if I were to pass you a little inner power, by your own standards, I’m afraid it would not last long.”

He then explained the matter in detail.

Passing on one’s power was not as simple as sending over a bit of inner force. More importantly, one had to guide that inner force in helping the recipient circulate the proper technique, until the body’s instincts grew accustomed to the method and could sustain the inner power on its own. Only then could it be called complete.

Strictly speaking, what remained in the end was the recipient’s own inner power, born from the practice of the technique, not someone else’s power being used indefinitely.

Passing on power, passing on power—the real emphasis was on the “power.” He had truly never heard of anyone merely handing over a bit of inner force.

The inner force that was transferred was like duckweed without roots; at best, it would disperse after a few hours. Even if it lasted longer, even fellow disciples who practiced the same Shaolin inner method would find it hard to make it fully their own. If people could casually give each other inner power, would Shaolin not be able to create a peerless master in the blink of an eye by passing it around?

So that was it.

After hearing the explanation, Zhang Chengyi understood at once. It really was as Xu Qing said: if inner power could be freely transferred to others and permanently become one’s own, then wouldn’t everyone be creating peerless masters all day long?

Yet in the novels, only two people had been forcefully made into unrivaled experts: Duan Yu and Xu Zhu. Both of them had relied on the Xiaoyao School’s Northern Profound Skill, and it seemed likely that no one outside that school could digest another’s inner power.

No wonder the escort from the Funiu Sect had politely refused his request for a bit of inner power. Clearly, they had thought he knew nothing and was only joking.

In that case, he really could not simply ask for someone else’s inner power. Even if it were sent into his body, it would be useless if he could not use it, no matter how carefully the amount was adjusted.

“How can I be taught inner arts, then?” Zhang Chengyi quickly changed his thinking and asked.

Then he added, “As long as it gets me started, any inner method will do. I just need inner power.”

Xu Qing smiled helplessly. If he had the authority to decide on private transmission of skill, there would be no need for so much talk. He and the person who had introduced Zhang Chengyi were on very good terms, but not to the point of betraying his sect.

Zhang Chengyi saw his difficulty, untied his bundle, and spilled golden bars and silver ingots onto the table. Then he slapped a bulging purse down beside them and said, “As long as you can teach me, I’m willing to donate everything I own!”

That display of wealth stunned Xu Qing completely. But he soon came back to himself and said, “Th-this... well, benefactor, if you are truly willing, I can take you to see the superintendent.”

The superintendent was in charge of the temple’s internal affairs: the monks’ daily life, supplies, finances, mountain lands, and fields all fell under his authority. Since someone was willing to donate a large sum in exchange for Shaolin’s martial arts, naturally it had to go through him.

“No problem.” Zhang Chengyi pushed the gold, silver, and copper coins across the table and agreed readily.

Xu Qing sighed inwardly. He had said he would inquire, but chances were that it would be approved. If there were no requirement to learn a complete inner method, then this was not a matter of taking a master or becoming an apprentice, which meant there was much more room to maneuver.

Shaolin supported so many monks, young and old alike—how could it not spend money, how could it not be short of money? If someone was willing to pay and only wanted the most basic inner skill, how could those above refuse to take the money?

It was just that the sight of vulgar, money-scented wealth being openly welcomed into a Buddhist monastery made him unable to describe his own feelings.

“Please come with me, benefactor.” His expression complicated, he rose to his feet, and the two of them left the side room one after the other.

The Shaolin Temple was somewhat different from the one Zhang Chengyi had seen in his previous life. Halls and courtyards were scattered across the various slopes, some of them quite far apart, with monks crossing everywhere.

His impression was simple: this temple was truly huge, and there were truly many people.

Xu Qing led him all the way to a hall-side room whose name Zhang Chengyi did not know, where they met the superintendent. After stating his purpose, the superintendent asked a few questions about his personal background, then accepted the gold and silver and told him to go back and wait.

He was not seeking to study any martial art at all; he merely wanted help getting started in inner cultivation. Since there was no precedent for this, it would need careful consideration.

The superintendent did not say how long the wait would be. Zhang Chengyi did not ask either, and left with composed ease.

“Please rest assured, benefactor,” Xu Qing consoled him. From the letter, he knew the man had robbed some wealthy local tyrant. If not for the introduction from a Funiu Sect disciple, it would likely have caused some trouble.

Now that he was brokering the matter, there would be no issue. To put it bluntly, in the eyes of the authorities, robbing a bullying tyrant was a serious crime; but in the martial world, it was ridding the people of a scourge, the very kind of thing great heroes loved to do.

A chivalrous man uses martial force to disturb prohibitions—that was no joke.

Since the man genuinely intended to step into the martial world and had an introducer, naturally the matter could be made smaller. Not to mention that he was willing to donate the stolen silver to Shaolin Temple; that changed the nature of things entirely.

After he finished explaining, he saw Zhang Chengyi nod calmly, and could not help admiring the man’s courage and boldness.

Of course, he still did not think highly of Zhang Chengyi’s prospects.

Once you enter the martial world, you have to be handled by the martial world’s rules. Did he really think the local tyrants of Henan were made of clay? Once he came down the mountain, he would likely face assassination from the people of the martial world. Shaolin would not care about a hunter who had paid for a few basic skills, much less spend manpower and resources protecting him.

There was no light ahead.

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Everything indeed developed exactly as Xu Qing had said.

Two days later, Zhang Chengyi saw the superintendent again. The man first pointed out the “good deed” he had done, without reproach, only patiently admonishing him a couple of times not to create more killings and the like. Seeing that he showed no remorse, the superintendent let out a long sigh and then accepted the money and handled the matter.

That very evening, he met the monk Hui Fang, the one responsible for transmitting power to him. The two exchanged almost no words, and Xu Qing, who led the way, looked as if he had something to say but held it back.

Under instruction, Zhang Chengyi sat cross-legged on the couch with both palms turned heavenward, while Hui Fang placed a hand on the Baihui point at the top of his head. A thin stream of warm energy surged into his mind, then flowed along certain specific meridians into his body, beginning to move about in a regular pattern. Wherever it drilled, a prickling itch followed.

As the warmth poured in, his head grew foggy and swollen, and his skin turned hot. Just as he was about to faint, he simply logged out of his body and returned to the perspective outside the world. Looking at the body’s attributes, he saw that a new entry had appeared: inner power. He grinned.

Soon after, Monk Hui Fang withdrew his hand, drenched in sweat. Even having transmitted only some elementary inner skill had greatly drained his power. Looking at Zhang Chengyi, whose eyes were half-open and half-closed, he felt rather puzzled.

Those who received power either fainted or grit their teeth through the pain. Why had this man only endured it for a short while, then become utterly expressionless, his body motionless?

Had he been stunned senseless by the pain?

“Is it done?” Zhang Chengyi asked casually as the bodily data reloaded into his view.

Hui Fang stood up, left behind a small booklet, and departed without a word, his face cold.

After the elder had gone, Xu Qing said, “Benefactor, please leave the mountain before noon tomorrow.”

“Very well.” Of course Zhang Chengyi understood why they were making such faces. Monks would certainly be unwilling to accept that the quiet lands of their Buddhist sect could be bought with money, but that was the truth.

A person lives one lifetime—how could he be free of desire? For a vast sect to function, money was all the more indispensable.

The end.