Chapter 65: I

Shaoshi Mountain loomed imposing and steep, its path winding; Gu Qing stood at its base, gazing upward, remembering how in modern times he’d spent long hours on the shuttle bus—yet now there were only stone steps, to be climbed entirely on foot.

Today’s Shaolin Temple did not admit women; Gu Qing had not insisted on bringing his wife up the mountain, and walked alone along the path, stepping slowly upward, admiring Shaolin’s scenery—until near the temple gate, he saw many Mongols, along with some guest monks, had sealed off the entrance entirely.

Gu Qing frowned and continued toward the gate.

“Shhh! Shhh!”

The Mongols at the gate immediately drew their curved blades; in an instant, cold light flashed, and they lunged at Gu Qing without hesitation.

“Great sir, hold your hand! Great sir, hold your hand!”

The guest monks at the gate, fearing these Mongols would commit slaughter, rushed forward and blocked them.

One guest monk stepped before Gu Qing and said: “Today, Shaolin Temple has honored guests arriving; it is unsuitable to receive pilgrims. Sir, please descend the mountain now and return tomorrow.” After speaking, he added in a whisper: “These Mongols are not to be trifled with!”

The monk spoke to Gu Qing with great courtesy.

Gu Qing lowered his eyes and whispered: “Don’t hide it from you, young monk—I killed over a thousand Mongols below the mountain. Lately, I’ve been haunted by inner demons; I’ve developed a sickness: whenever I see a Tartar, I must kill. Go quickly inside Shaolin and tell these Tartars to leave—because I’m the one you shouldn’t provoke!”

As he spoke, Gu Qing’s right hand trembled uncontrollably, as if already eager to strike.

The young monk stared at Gu Qing in astonishment.

Had this been any other day, he would have dismissed such words as a joke—but today, these Mongols had come up the mountain because a great demon had appeared below, slaughtering Mongols indiscriminately; rumors said he’d already killed thousands, leaving Mongol lords deeply troubled. Hence, this Lord Huluhun had come to Shaolin, seeking its masters to subdue the demon.

Under these circumstances, the demon himself had arrived—and the young monk recoiled two steps in terror.

“Hmph!”

The Mongols raised their long blades again, restless to strike.

“Don’t move!”

The young monk hurriedly restrained them; now they weren’t protecting Gu Qing—they were protecting the Mongols. After all, this was Shaolin’s gate, and Shaolin lay within Mongol territory; they ultimately wished to avoid bloodshed.

“I’ll inform the abbot inside.”

The young monk said: “Absolutely no fighting.” The phrase “absolutely no fighting” was meant for the surrounding monks—to control the situation—and he quietly revealed Gu Qing’s identity.

The gate monks, upon hearing Gu Qing was the demon, grew strangely uneasy.

After giving his warning, the young monk hurried into the temple.

Gu Qing stretched lazily; his legs had indeed grown weary from the climb. He’d intended to sit on the ground, but his clothes were stitched by Cheng Ying, and he cherished them too much—so he told the gate monk: “Bring me a chair.”

The gate monk, fearing Gu Qing might unleash his killing intent, rushed inside and quickly brought out a chair, finding a quiet spot where Gu Qing could sit firmly and admire Shaolin’s mountain views.

The young monk moved swiftly; soon, a senior monk hurried over, bowed with clasped hands before Gu Qing, and asked: “Are you Gu Qing, the Deputy Leader of the Wu Lin Alliance?”

Though Shaolin had sealed its gates, it remained well-informed of martial world affairs—especially since Gu Qing’s bloody rampage in Dengzhou had stirred the Wu Lin Alliance’s anti-Mongol fervor. Thus, upon hearing Gu Qing claim to be the killer, the monks greeted him with martial world etiquette.

“It’s me.”

Gu Qing rose to his feet.

The senior monk quickly introduced himself: “I am Wuse of Shaolin Temple.”

Gu Qing studied the monk, recognizing him as the abbot of the Arhat Hall—highly esteemed within Shaolin. After exchanging polite words with Wuse, he followed him toward the inner courtyard of Shaolin Temple.

“Shaolin Temple has long sealed its gates and withdrawn from the mortal world. Though this Mongol prince seeks our aid with all sincerity, we have no intention of descending to assist.”

Wuse explained Shaolin’s stance to Gu Qing.

The Mongol prince had just arrived, and now the Wu Lin Alliance’s leader had come—placing Shaolin in an impossible position. Thus, Wuse brought the abbot’s message: Gu Qing should not misinterpret their intentions.

“It is best that Shaolin holds this stance.”

Gu Qing smiled and said: “Today, I came to Shaolin solely as an individual. To be frank—I was raised in Quanzhen. Our sect teaches the unity of the Three Teachings, and we recite the Heart Sutra. Over time, I’ve come to admire Buddhist teachings. Lately, I’ve killed too many; my heart is unsettled. I came here specifically to study Buddhism.”

Gu Qing knew Jueyuan was easygoing and didn’t regard the Nine Yang Divine Art as especially sacred; if he could win over the Shaolin monks, he could easily obtain the Nine Yang Divine Art from the Scripture Library.

Upon hearing this, Wuse immediately led Gu Qing toward the Scripture Library.

In modern times, Gu Qing had visited Shaolin’s Scripture Library—it wasn’t large. But in this martial world, the temple’s layout had changed. Wuse led him along the mountain path; soon, they saw a group of monks standing on the trail. Among them was an elderly monk, his kasaya the most radiant, seated squarely in the center of the ascending path.

“Elder!”

Wuse bowed deeply before the old monk.

The old monk did not nod; his gaze fixed on Gu Qing and said: “Quanzhen is the supreme sect of the world—but Shaolin is no place to be disrespected!”

Gu Qing nodded, agreeing with the old monk’s words.

Shaolin Temple, in Jin’s universe, had an ancient lineage—perhaps the longest of all.

The old monk, surprised that Gu Qing agreed, frowned slightly. In truth, had this been any other day, Gu Qing’s visit would have been met with courtesy, mutual exchange, and goodwill—yet today, his timing was too convenient.

It carried the air of an accusation.

Moreover, Gu Qing had demanded a chair at the gate, behaving with arrogant command—hardly friendly.

Yet before him, Gu Qing had seemed so reasonable, making their suspicion all the more bewildering.

“You claim to be Gu Qing, Deputy Leader of the Wu Lin Alliance—what proof do you have?”

The old monk, seeing Gu Qing’s reasonable demeanor, leaned back and looked down, still radiating condescension.

“I have proof!”

In an instant, Gu Qing’s figure blurred—a flash of blue smoke within Shaolin’s grounds, swift beyond measure. The old monk, recognizing the skill, felt immediate danger; his brow furrowed as Gu Qing darted past Shaolin’s pavilions, then returned in a blink, holding several severed heads.

Wuse recognized them instantly—they were the Mongols from the temple gate, now decapitated by Gu Qing.

“See how cleanly I kill the Tartars!”

Gu Qing grinned.

To strangers, Gu Qing gave one chance. The old monk had pushed his luck by repeating his arrogance.

Besides, those Mongols at the gate had drawn blades first—they had already sealed their own fate!

(End of Chapter)