Chapter 220 The Yin-Yang School of Military Strategy and the Book Turner
The Sutra Copying Hall of Donglin Temple is located between the Manjushri Pagoda and the Samantabhadra Hall.
The scriptures copied by monks and believers were mostly placed in the pagoda and hall on both sides for incense offerings, ostensibly to collect the power of wishes for blessings.
A middle-aged scholar arrived early at the Sutra Copying Hall today.
The middle-aged scholar had a fair complexion and a beard, and possessed a refined and scholarly demeanor. He wore a jade pendant at his waist. He reached into his sleeve and donated a sum of money for incense offerings.
The monk in charge of receiving guests smiled and led him to an area in front of the Buddha where scriptures were copied.
The pale-faced scholar washed his hands, burned incense, sat upright, and buried himself in copying scriptures.
Few people were copying scriptures in the Sutra Copying Hall today.
There was only a pale-faced scholar and a slightly deaf old monk.
The two strangers were quite far apart, positioned on either side of the large Buddha statue in the center of the hall, separated by a large area of unoccupied prayer cushions.
During a break from copying the sutra, the pale-faced scholar and the deaf old monk exchanged a glance, smiled at each other, and then bowed their heads.
It can be considered a kind of tacit understanding between monks and guests.
What the old monk, who had been copying scriptures in this hall for many years, did not know was that the pale-faced scholar, who had bowed his head again, took out a scripture from his sleeve.
He dipped his brush in ink and began to write.
Behind them, the palace doors were wide open, and the banners hanging in the sky above the palace fluttered in the wind from time to time.
The white-faced scholar's headband fluttered in the wind.
The hand holding the pen was raised.
Before him, the scriptures turned by themselves.
It's windy.
The style of turning pages.
...
In the rustling green bamboo grove, a hut has regained its atmosphere.
Wei Shaoxuan and Liu Zian took their seats.
Boss Li went to wait at the door.
The man named Qiu Qi, carrying a box on his back, walked to the window and quietly observed the lush green bamboo forest.
The recent hurried coming and going of an old monk with a white beard and black robes was merely an insignificant episode within the hut, and no one mentioned it again.
Liu Zian said with a smile:
"Having heard that Young Master Wei enjoys Zisun tea, I, Liu, specially asked someone to find some tea cakes for you. I hope you will be satisfied."
Wei Shaoxuan rolled his eyes slightly, looked at him for a moment, and said with a smile:
"Is Patriarch Liu here today to invite me for tea?"
"Of course not!"
Liu Zian immediately answered, then paused and lowered his voice to say:
"I was worried that I wouldn't be able to entertain you properly. Oh, I didn't expect Young Master Wei to arrive so early. I'm a little at a loss as to how to entertain you."
"I thought Patriarch Liu had something to hide, ha. Just continue with your work." Wei Shaoxuan paused, then narrowed his eyes and asked, "Where is that old gentleman? Why didn't he come?"
Liu Zian smiled bitterly:
“Young Master Wei, you know that old gentleman’s eccentric personality. He doesn’t like to mince words with anyone. Right now, it’s the final and most crucial moment, and the old gentleman has to stay there day and night…”
"You guys talk first."
Qiu Qi, who was standing by the window, suddenly spoke. He turned around and said calmly:
"I'm going to catch a mouse."
As soon as he finished speaking, the entire bamboo forest outside the window behind the man carrying the box, which had been swaying with a "rustling" sound, suddenly stopped moving, as if the wind had stopped.
"What rat?" Liu Zian looked around in confusion.
Wei Shaoxuan showed little surprise. He clapped his hands with his white paper folding fan, and stood up with a smile:
"Godfather, be gentle. How about we capture him alive this time? If he's too stubborn, then forget it. I can't stand to see a hero. I'll give him a quick death."
They seem to have a lot of experience.
Qiu Qi remained silent.
Because he was no longer in the hut.
Only a wooden sword case remained, leaning against the window, which drew surprised glances from Liu Zian and Boss Li.
He left the box behind and departed.
There is a sutra copying hall located a kilometer away from this bamboo grove dwelling.
A pale-faced scholar had a book of scriptures in front of him that turned silently on its own. He lowered his head and picked up a pen, which was copying a blank sheet of paper.
The pale-faced scholar kept writing, his brows furrowing slightly as he wrote something.
Just as the words of a man carrying a box were being written down, the pale-faced scholar, who had been writing diligently since then, suddenly snapped the pen in his hand.
The pale-faced scholar, who had been leisurely and refined, suddenly changed his expression. The jade pendant at his waist trembled slightly, flashing a red light.
He pressed down on the Confucian classics that were turning over on their own without any wind, stuffed the manuscript paper into them, and grabbed them all at once.
The figure of the pale-faced scholar sitting on the futon disappeared.
Only one jade ring fell silently onto the prayer mat below.
Suddenly, the banners above the Sutra Copying Hall fluttered loudly, and a gust of wind swept up the ground and rushed towards the entrance of the hall.
But the next second, a burly figure in short-sleeved linen clothes appeared outside the main hall.
The burly man, having dropped his sword case and lost his amulet, faced the doorway with his back to the bright sunlight behind him. From the sunlit view inside the hall, the man in front of the door was completely black, just a silhouette, and his expression was not visible.
This scene resembled a massive, black mountain collapsing, seemingly trying to crush the entire hall, creating a very oppressive atmosphere.
Sure enough, the breeze from the person turning the pages crashed into this "black mountain" and shattered instantly.
The pale-faced scholar stumbled and retreated from the middle.
Qiu Qi remained calm, took a step forward, and instantly appeared in front of the white-faced scholar.
He twisted his body, thrust his shoulder forward, and stomped his leg.
With a twisting kick, he swept away the pale-faced scholar in front of him, clean and swift.
What a master of military strategy and internal energy cultivation! He possesses the basic physique of a martial artist and is virtually invincible in close combat among his peers.
However, the white-faced scholar who was kicked to pieces did not splatter blood and flesh; instead, he exploded into a fine shred of paper in mid-air.
Qiu Qi's expression seemed completely unsurprised. He calmly turned his head to look at a certain spot on the southeast side of the main hall, and then suddenly flashed away to give chase.
A gentle breeze, though its strength had diminished considerably, still lingered throughout the hall, creating a tangled web of illusions.
"Seventh rank? The book reader?"
Qiu Qi shook his head.
Immediately, Qiu Qi's figure appeared in various places in the main hall, like a phantom clone.
Meanwhile, one pale-faced scholar after another appeared, each dying in a different manner, beaten and kicked into pieces.
Complete and absolute suppression.
All of this happened in just three breaths, and nearly a hundred figures were shattered.
The pale-faced scholar was exhausted from dealing with the situation, and the pages on the Confucian classic in his sleeve were dwindling, until there were no more substitutes left.
Qiu Qi, however, delivered his punch and kick with the ease of a leisurely stroll, even casually asking a question:
"You dare to come here with such lowly seventh-rank rank? Who gave you the guts? Have you Confucian academies enjoyed too much peace and prosperity? Have you become so useless?"
A sigh came from the pale-faced scholar:
"You are not just an ordinary protector of the Wei family, you are... Qiu Shenji? A guest of the King of Wei, aren't you supposed to be in charge of the northern military camp for the Wei family, cleaning up the chaos at the Yingzhou front? What is the King of Wei's residence sending you here for?"
“It seems you know nothing, but the dead don’t need to know so much.” Qiu Shenji nodded: “Choose a way to die.”
The pale-faced scholar remained silent, then suddenly asked curiously:
"You dare to make a move? Aren't you afraid of exposing your aura and being seen by other Qi cultivators? Yunmeng Jianze is right next to us."
Qiu Shenji shook his head: "Killing you doesn't require using my Purple Qi cultivation."
The pale-faced scholar looked north towards the blue sky outside the palace gate, but just a stone's throw away, a massive black mountain blocked the way, making it seem impossible for him to cross it today.
Below the pale-faced scholar and Qiu Shenji, who were locked in a standoff, the old monk was engrossed in copying scriptures, completely unaware of the extraordinary exchange between the Qi cultivators taking place in the main hall.
The pale-faced scholar turned around and suddenly laughed:
"Qiu Shenji, don't look down on people. So what if you have a high-grade purple aura? Have you not eaten enough? Your hands and feet are weak, like a woman."
Qiu Shenji responded coldly, a slight twitch at the corner of his mouth.
His contempt was palpable.
What the pale-faced scholar found most terrifying was that no matter how much the man in hemp clothing blocking his way despised and looked down on him, he still locked onto his aura and wouldn't let go.
Don't be fooled by a man's loose muscles, which may make him look lazy. That's the state of a top-notch martial artist before he makes a move. On the contrary, a man with tense muscles is a third-rate martial artist.
He was on high alert, giving the pale-faced scholar no chance whatsoever.
These are the military strategists who have grown through leading the surrounding armies in battle and fighting on the battlefield.
The next second, the pale-faced scholar who had been sighing suddenly shone with a red light, transforming into a crimson rainbow that rushed toward the roof of the main hall. The bricks and tiles on the roof melted away, and a gap opened silently. The crimson rainbow seemed to pierce through the gap the next second.
Unfortunately, as expected, Qiu Shenji blocked the gap in the roof.
The pale-faced scholar's aura was firmly locked in. Due to the difference in their physical strength, if he dared to get any closer and get into close combat with a martial artist, it would be like walking into a trap or a moth flying into a flame.
However, the crimson rainbow that the pale-faced scholar had transformed into remained straight and crashed directly into the mountain.
Like a turbulent river being divided by a giant rock, the crimson spiritual energy within the rainbow was rapidly depleted.
Qiu Shenji remained still for the time being, his expression calm, observing the situation with the precision of a general, just like a commander on a battlefield, using a conventional defense to guard against an enemy's surprise attack.
The pale-faced scholar began to bleed from his seven orifices. The next second, the crimson rainbow in the sky suddenly turned back. The pale-faced scholar turned his head and threw a scroll of Confucian classics from his sleeve toward the direction of the palace gate.
Qiu Shenji, who had been motionless, suddenly appeared in front of the white-faced scholar.
A large hand clamped down on the pale-faced scholar's right wrist as he was about to throw his book.
Qiu Shenji broke off a section of his right hand, as casually as a woman breaking off a willow branch while strolling by a lake in spring.
And on this severed hand, a scroll of Confucian classics was still tightly clutched.
Qiu Shenji glanced at the Confucian classics being turned by the person.
Blood gushed from the mouth and nose of the pale-faced scholar in front of him, like a water pump drawing water from a well.
The scholar with the severed hand and the man who had broken a willow branch stood silently in front of the main hall, maintaining this posture.
The pale-faced scholar, Chaoqiu Shenji, whose face was covered in blood, chuckled lightly:
"The Xianbei barbarians are one thing, but to act as lackeys of the Wei clan and think they are basking in the king's grace is nothing but a monkey in a crown."
As soon as the words left his mouth, fragments instantly fell from the pale-faced scholar's face.
One by one, they fell down.
It's like a lifelike terracotta warrior, with bits of paint falling off its face.
The Confucian scholar, his face covered in blood, smiled as his body began to disintegrate inch by inch.
The crimson spiritual energy within him became turbulent, shooting out like beams of light from the gaps in the broken tiles.
The pale-faced scholar, who had not left his name, had more and more crimson beams of light around him, making him look like a hedgehog with blood-stained red quills.
Qiu Shenji frowned slightly: "Are all scholars this stubborn?"
The next second, the man's shoulders twitched slightly, and his muscles and bones crackled and popped, writhing and twisting like an earth dragon turning over.
A powerful and terrifying pale purple spiritual energy gradually emanated from it!
It's like a complete transformation.
Qiu Shenji's body rose into the air without any wind.
A terrifyingly powerful Qi cultivator suddenly appeared before the main hall, unabashedly radiating his unique and surging spiritual energy.
Superior Qi cultivators, namely fifth-grade and fourth-grade Qi cultivators, can release their spiritual energy.
If Ouyang Rong were present at this moment and saw this scene, he would surely recall what his junior sister had casually said: "A high-grade Qi cultivator can ride the wind and does not need to rely on external force to exchange Qi like a mid-grade or low-grade Qi cultivator."
The surging purple energy temporarily suppressed the crimson spiritual energy that was about to explode.
Qiu Shenji frowned in displeasure and glanced at the pale-faced scholar who was smiling at him with a bloodied face. The latter was already dead, his eyes closed in peace.
It at least forced him to reveal his superior purple qi cultivation level.
Qiu Shenji snorted coldly, and with a grab of his large hand, the "fragments" that the white-faced scholar had fallen off returned to their original positions one by one, and drops of blood returned to his broken meridians.
This scene was like a time rewind, with the pale-faced scholar being reassembled neatly.
But this is just a crude patchwork, not a complete restoration or a resurrection of the dead.
Qiu Shenji stretched out his fist, then loosened it into a claw, and suddenly grabbed from a distance.
The pale-faced scholar's body, like a broken rag doll, tilted his head and drooped his arms, slowly rising.
With his other hand, he raised two fingers and pointed them directly at a large golden Buddha statue in the center of the hall.
Legend has it that military practitioners, in addition to cultivating the most basic martial arts physique, are also divided into four categories based on their different qi cultivation techniques:
Military strategist, weapon expert, military yin-yang expert, military situation expert.
Among them, the Yin-Yang School of military strategy, according to ancient texts, acts in accordance with the times and can rely on ghosts and gods for assistance.
In other words, they are proficient in the principles of Yin and Yang and the Five Elements, similar to those of the Yin-Yang School, while also having a keen understanding of the surrounding battlefield, leveraging external forces, and making moves according to local conditions.
Amidst the wisps of smoke rising from the hall, the Buddha's head slowly rose, separating from its body.
Qiu Shenji casually tossed the dead Confucian scholar, along with all traces of him, into the Buddha statue.
The suspended Buddha head gradually fell down, and the head and body healed.
Completely seal it off.
After doing all this, Qiu Shenji did not leave. He turned around and rushed towards the futon where the pale-faced scholar had been sitting.
There was a jade pendant lying there quietly.
But he was still a step too late. The pale-faced scholar's aura had just been sealed and disappeared when the jade pendant suddenly shot towards the palace gate at an extremely fast speed.
Qiu Shenji gave chase, first flashing to the palace gate, then flashing to the sky above the plaza outside the palace... His natal jade pendant shot into the sky, and Qiu Shenji followed closely behind.
A thousand feet in the air, a jade pendant is about to pierce through the rich incense smoke of Donglin Temple and explode in mid-air to transmit a message.
But suddenly a large hand reached out and grabbed the jade pendant; it was Qiu Shenji who appeared out of nowhere.
The jade pendant had shattered, but the hundred fragments and a certain wisp of spiritual energy within them were trapped in the palm of a hand.
Upon seeing this, Qiu Shenji appeared to breathe a sigh of relief.
A gentleman never removes his jade pendant without good reason. Every Confucian Qi practitioner wears a jade pendant that is his natal jade ring. When the host dies, the jade pendant explodes and sends a message to the Confucian Ancestral Hall.
He looked around and nodded slightly.
They were quite satisfied with the rich incense smoke that could shield them from external stimuli.
The Yin-Yang School of War can borrow and utilize this energy.
The man in hemp clothing hovered in the air, exhaled a long breath using a special breathing technique, and spread his arms wide. The surging purple energy surrounding his body gradually receded until it disappeared.
A moment later, a thousand feet in the air, the figure disappeared, leaving only the sound of the wind.
The Sutra Copying Hall.
At one point, an old monk put down his pen to rest and looked to his left, where he saw that a certain meditation cushion was empty.
The pale-faced scholar who had been copying the book with them disappeared.
The hard-of-hearing old monk shook his head and muttered something, then looked up at the golden Buddha statue.
The Buddha has a kind and benevolent expression.
The old monk continued to bury himself in copying the scriptures.
...
Bamboo grove, huts.
Liu Zian and Boss Li stared wide-eyed.
Upon returning, Qiu Shenji held a cracked jade pendant in his left hand and a bleeding severed hand in his right, which also gripped a Confucian classic tightly.
The man walked to the window and put his sword case back on his back.
Wei Shaoxuan took the Confucian classics, discarded his severed hand, and took out several manuscripts tucked between the pages. He glanced at them, then shook his head.
"They must be the sentries protecting Li Xian's family, drawn by the signs of our sudden arrival, who came to eavesdrop..."
"And it seems we haven't found out anything yet. The conservatives haven't discovered the big thing we're planning to do. Heh."
Liu Zian seemed to breathe a sigh of relief, glancing out of the corner of his eye at the man in hemp clothing who was carrying the box again.
Wei Shaoxuan suddenly put down the Confucian classics and turned his head:
"Master Liu, when will the sword be forged?"
Liu Zian's expression immediately turned serious:
"The old gentleman said, the fifteenth of this month!"
or2
(End of this chapter)
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