Martial King's Retired Life

The junior under the same teacher of Abbott Xukong stayed at Shaolin Temple for decades of youth, then travelled for the latter half of his life, doing his best to protect the peace in the pugilistic world. Had it not been for his contributions to the pugilistic world, people would think Shaolin had withdrawn from the pugilistic world’s affairs. Ever since he started traversing the pugilistic world, he was always on the go, giving the impression that he was seeking something that eluded him.

Unlike the vandalised Buddha statue and dilapidated shrine, the seventy-plus monk lying behind the statue had skin comparable to an infant’s, though he was far from feeling as energetic as one. Venerable Kongcang’s most defining feature was his locked brows that somehow perfectly fit his facial features, which he kept locked even when sleeping or meditating.

“Venerable Kongcang? Venerable Kongcang? Are you all right?”

Venerable Kongcang barely managed to part his eyelids. Shaolin taught disciples to never show their emotions – a practice of stillness. At the highest level, as long as there was a trace of awareness, they could still hear anyone encroaching based on footsteps, yet Venerable Kongcang was no longer capable of that much. Nevertheless, he was genuinely relieved to see it wasn’t a hostile visiting him.

Kongkong’er enthused, “I brought my disciple and an adept. He may be able to treat your injuries.”

Kongcang summoned up what little energy he was surviving off to follow the direction of Kongkong’er’s finger. Though the young man was wrapped in a bed sheet that wasn’t enough to cover his left shoulder, he certainly was dashing. “It is an honour to meet you. May this one ask for your esteemed name?” Kongcang barely uttered.

Hua Qing acknowledged he heard Kongcang, but he said, “It is not me.”

“Yo, Ol’ Monk.” Ming Feizhen picked up Kongcang’s left hand. “You’ve been roughed up pretty nastily, huh? Shaolin monks are famous for having a fighting addiction, but you guys are usually the ones laying people out. How’d you end up in this shape?”

“Thank you,” expressed Kongcang, feeling oxygen coming in and exiting noticeably more comfortably, albeit still feeling weak.

It took a moment for Kongcang to determine that Ming Feizhen was using his left hand as a channel to recollect the scattered energy in his body and recalibrate it. Over time, the flow inside him accelerated. Following that, he felt a foreign energy siphon through, clearing the blocked paths in his body that his weak energy couldn’t unblock. By the time he could vividly sense the sensation of a guide in his body, he had gone far from the figurative coffin he had a leg in. Once he could monitor the situation inside him, he could identify the foreign internal energy guiding his energy was cultivated via an authentic Buddhist mental cultivation discipline. He could tell that Ming Feizhen learnt the mental cultivation through proper means because, if he learnt it through unorthodox means, then it wouldn’t be so effective.

He recollected my damaged energy as though he was threading. If he couldn’t do that at the start, he would need half a month to treat me even with an authentic Buddhist treatment method. This body has both advanced internal energy and exceptional control over his energy. Strength to drive off the tide with mountains, precision to find a target in turbulent winds.

“… Junior Brother?” Kongcang immediately knew his guess was wrong subsequent to blurting for, according to his memories, the two people he knew of who possessed both abilities had bid this world farewell decades ago.

Kongcang himself would’ve liked to know why he mixed up Ming Feizhen with the man in his memories when the two of them didn’t remotely resemble each other in any facet.

“Monk, calling me your junior is mixing up the hierarchy. In saying that, if you’re calculating based off my grandmaster, you might be right.”

As much as Kongcang would’ve liked to decipher what Ming Feizhen meant, there was something else that needed to inform them of. “Leave now! This shrine has been surrounded! There is no time to waste here!”

Ming Feizhen sighed.

Perhaps it was a fraction of a second after the four men donning black uniforms broke through the roof, blood whipped across the floor following a four groans.

Performing wrist circles, Ming Feizhen grumbled, “I was going to get the jump on them, but you switched our roles with your shouting. I, therefore, had no choice but to kill them.”

When Hua Qing and Kongkong’er had the time to catch up and look, the four on the ground were unrecognisable.

“Amitabha, killing four people in succession… It seems a ritual must be performed. Ah, thank you for saving this one.”

“Venerable Kongcang, are you all better?” Kongkong’er asked.

Kongcang smiled and nodded.

“Venerable Kongcang, who hurt you?” Ming Feizhen helped Kongcang up. “I found Vajra Divine Might inside you. As far as I know, there are only three factions who have mastered it to this extent. There’s no way your fellow members punished you for drinking or eating meat. There’s no way Hangzhou’s maidens beat you for peeping. So, my guess is that it’s the third possibility.”

“You are very perceptive. Indeed, this one suffered defeat at Shennong.”

Glossary

There’s an omitted joke in there that plays on a term that could be translated as “extremely skilled” or “eccentric” or “mutated” or… I’m stopping there. That’s why Kongcang looks to Hua Qing first instead of Ming Feizhen.

Second joke is the “ritual”. While it means “to perform a ritual for spirits to move on”, in Cantonese, it’s cursing someone (“I hope you die soon”).