Chapter 83: Each Uses Their Own Methods

They stared at each other, eyes wide.

The monk was stunned, Li Qingluo’s face brimmed with fury, and Tong Guan’s lips twitched.

“Amitabha!” The monk raised one palm to his chest, hiding the other, clutching the sack, behind his back.

“Fair lady, I offer my respects.”

Li Qingluo’s eyes blazed, her expression dark as if dripping with water: “What monk are you, sneaking into my Mantuo Mountain Villa? Did you steal the seven volumes of the Lesser Void Skill?”

“This…” The monk smiled calmly: “Since we’ve met, I’ll not hide it—I am Kumārajīva, the Great Wheel King of the Great Wheel Monastery in Tibet.”

“Kumārajīva?” Li Qingluo paused: “You’re that foreign monk?”

She had heard Duan Yu speak of a foreign enemy chasing him—named Kumārajīva—surely this was the monk before her.

“Oh?” Kumārajīva chuckled: “Fair lady knows me? Then my reputation must be well-known—even in the Jiangnan region of Song. If so, might you kindly give me the final volume of the Lesser Void Skill? Without it, my practice remains incomplete. I thank you in advance.”

“You greedy, thieving monk!” Li Qingluo’s fury burned through her chest; she never imagined this monk would be so brazen—not only stealing the books, but now openly demanding them.

Kumārajīva remained courteous: “I never force others. I’d rather take it myself than trouble the owner—but since the final volume isn’t here, I must break my rule and ask you for it.”

“I’ll kill you, thieving monk!” Li Qingluo could bear it no longer. Before Zhao Ti, she dared not act out—but now, all her pent-up rage exploded. She drew her sword and lunged straight at Kumārajīva.

The blade flashed cold, swift as lightning. Kumārajīva slid backward, the tip always more than a foot from his body. He shook his head: “Fair lady, with such a treasure trove at your disposal, how can your martial skill be so poor? Have you not even learned the Lesser Void Skill?”

Hearing this, Li Qingluo grew angrier still, weaving several blue afterimages with her blade—Qingcheng Sect’s Pine Wind Sword Technique.

Kumārajīva laughed: “The technique is decent, but your execution is weak. Clearly, your martial talent is lacking. If so, what use is this treasure trove to you? Let me have it all!”

As he spoke, he sidestepped the sword and slashed out with a Palm of Flame.

The Palm of Flame could cleave air with palm-wind, projecting inner strength—its heat intense enough to light incense; at its peak, it could ignite candles.

Li Qingluo felt a searing rush of heat strike her face. She had never seen such a skill. She tried to dodge—but too late. The palm-wind struck her shoulder. She screamed, flung backward.

Kumārajīva wanted to question her about the eighth volume of the Lesser Void Skill, so he held back his killing intent—otherwise, that palm would have ended her life.

Li Qingluo propped herself up with her sword, spat blood, and barely sat upright, her face filled with shock. This monk’s martial skill was terrifying—only her father, Ding Chunqiu, might stand against him.

Kumārajīva raised his palm to his chest and smiled: “My apologies, fair lady.”

Li Qingluo’s heart raced. She urgently turned to Tong Guan—since he was kept close by Prince Yan, he must be a formidable martial artist.

Kumārajīva followed Li Qingluo’s gaze and glanced at Tong Guan. He had already sized him up earlier—this man seemed odd, but he couldn’t say why.

And behind him sat another person, cross-legged on the ground, hidden from view by the man’s body.

Tong Guan clasped his sleeves together, yet inside, he was far from calm. The Palm of Flame had startled him deeply.

Anyone who could project inner strength was a master. Though the Kuihuabaodian didn’t rely on this, if he truly needed to project, he could never achieve it.

“You bold monk!” Tong Guan snorted. The cave entrance was some distance away, and the cave amplified sound—he couldn’t shout loud enough for anyone outside to hear, and worse, he feared disturbing Zhao Ti, who was meditating behind him. Torn, he decided to stall.

“You’re a Tibetan monk—how dare you act so recklessly in Great Song? Do you harbor some secret agenda?”

Kumārajīva’s expression shifted. He finally understood the odd feeling: “You’re a eunuch?”

Tong Guan said: “If you know, then bow properly. I hold the sixth rank—how dare you act so brazenly here? Do you wish to provoke war between Great Song and Tibet?”

Kumārajīva frowned: “I am a monk, yet I hold rank too. As a eunuch, how dare you leave the palace and come to Jiangnan?”

Tong Guan sneered: “Are you a monk to manage my affairs? I’m here on imperial orders. Do you intend to sabotage me?”

Kumārajīva’s eyes flickered: “What imperial business could there be in this lakeside villa? Your Song emperor isn’t so idle—surely you’re here to seize the martial arts stored here?”

Tong Guan grunted: “I said I’m on official business. Don’t pry, foreign monk. Leave now, and I’ll pretend I never saw you.”

Kumārajīva fell silent for a few breaths, then gazed past Tong Guan and smiled: “That’s not true, is it? Who’s behind you? Why won’t they show their face?”

Tong Guan shrieked: “Leave, or do you truly intend to obstruct my mission and start a war?”

Kumārajīva shook his head: “You’re so tense—could the person behind you be from the Song imperial family?”

Tong Guan’s face twitched: “Where do you get all these guesses? You claimed to be from the Great Wheel Monastery—yet you dare interfere with my mission. Don’t you fear I’ll track you back to your temple? Remember: you can run, but your temple can’t!”

Kumārajīva’s expression turned grave: “Your eunuch’s words hold weight. But today, I must have this. I cannot abandon it. If the person behind you truly is from the Song imperial family, then I’ll simply take him to the Great Wheel Monastery. With him in my hands, what can your emperor do to me?”

Tong Guan breathed a slight sigh of relief—he feared the monk would kill to silence him. Hearing no such intent, he said: “You foreign monk truly have guts. You—”

Before he finished, Kumārajīva stepped forward, saying: “Let me see who it is—someone who can bring a eunuch to Jiangnan. Could it be a prince?”

Tong Guan’s face twisted with urgency: “How dare you, monk!” He flung twin silver needles from his sleeves, aiming straight for Kumārajīva’s eyes.

Hm? Kumārajīva murmured in surprise. The needles flew fast and strangely, trailing colored threads—he’d never seen such a technique.

He reached to catch them—then the threads jerked. The needles veered sharply, striking for his throat. He dodged sideways.

At once, Tong Guan lunged forward, releasing two more needles from his sleeves—aimed at two vital points on Kumārajīva’s ribs.

Kumārajīva frowned, slashed out with a palm—but the needles seemed weightless, paused, then changed direction and stabbed again.

The Kuihuabaodian allows rapid mastery. Tong Guan now controlled six needles. His steps glided like a phantom; in an instant, he was beside Jiumozhi . Between his fingers, two more silver needles shot out.

Kumārajīva shifted his body, eyes sharp, a strange smile curling his lips. He switched from palm to finger—like plucking a flower.

No one saw how he moved—he pinched two needles mid-air, gave them a light shake, bending them. Then he thrust one finger forward. Tong Guan’s soul nearly fled—he threw himself backward with all his strength.

At that moment, Zhao Ti opened his eyes.