Chapter 24: Setting Foot on Shaolin

Shaolin Temple, the venerated titan of the martial arts world, found itself engulfed in the sounds of slaughter.

"Kill! Kill them all! Wipe out these bald donkeys!"

Who possessed the audacity to lay siege to the Shaolin Temple? In the current martial arts world, only the Money Gang dared.

The gates of Shaolin were shattered by the forces led by Jing Wuming. The one who breached the entrance was Zhuge Gang of the Money Gang. Wielding a massive vajra hammer, he smashed open the gates of the centuries-old temple with a single strike. His original weapon had been a vajra staff, but bolstered by the teachings of the Money Gang’s Elder of Power Transmission, he felt his strength was now boundless. The iron staff could no longer satisfy him; only the raw destruction of his heavy hammer could appease the urge to ruin that simmered within him.

Jing Wuming gazed at the panicked monks behind the threshold. "Bai Xiaosheng is linked to the case of the Plum Blossom Bandit. The Shaolin Temple has harbored a fugitive wanted by the Money Gang, and the deadline for our ultimatum has passed!"

"Anyone who resists is to be killed without mercy!"

Bai Xiaosheng was known throughout the realm as the "Sage of the Martial Arts World." Years ago, he had authored the "Weaponry Records," a ranking of the weaponry and martial prowess of the world’s greatest fighters. The "Weaponry Records" had caused a sensation, as it not only critiqued various schools but also directly influenced the power dynamics of the martial arts community. Using intelligence and connections as his ink, he manipulated the world with his pen, deeply proud of his own stratagems.

However, the martial arts world was a place where fists commanded respect. Bai Xiaosheng, being a man of flesh and blood, naturally feared that if found, he might simply be beaten to death by those who cared nothing for his schemes. Thus, he spent most of his time within or near the Shaolin Temple, knowing that as long as he remained there, no one would dare forcibly remove him. He was right in his assessment, but unfortunately for him, he had crossed the Money Gang. It mattered little that he was in Shaolin; he had broken the gang’s rules. And whenever anyone broke the Money Gang’s rules, the gang would inevitably find them.

Bai Xiaosheng, gaunt and small with a hooked, eagle-like nose, watched in horror as the temple gates were breached. The monks behind the gates were locked in combat with the Money Gang. From the look of things, the Shaolin monks were at a disadvantage, and blood was already pooling on the ground.

"Abbot Xinhu, this..." Bai Xiaosheng faltered. "Perhaps you should just hand me over. Why let your temple suffer for my sake?"

The leadership of Shaolin consisted of monks of the "Xin" generation, followed by their disciples and grand-disciples. Abbot Xinhu shook his head. Watching the fray, he let out a roar using the Lion's Roar technique: "Stop! Hear this old monk out..."

Before he could finish, he felt his circulation seize—he had been poisoned! "You used poison!" he gasped, clutching his chest and pointing at Jing Wuming.

The Abbot looked at Jing Wuming’s cold, stoic expression and had not expected him to resort to such underhanded tactics. Jing Wuming looked at the Abbot and the white-bearded monks of the "Xin" generation surrounding him. "Surround them," he commanded. "Let us hear what these trapped beasts have to say for themselves."

Following his order, more men surged through the gates, flooding into the temple. Even the back slopes were swarming with reinforcements. Abbot Xinhu scanned the crowd; most were unfamiliar faces, save for experts like Zhuge Gang, whose names appeared in the Weaponry Records.

"Amitabha!" the Abbot said, addressing Jing Wuming. "Bai Xiaosheng has embraced the void of Buddhism. Why must the Money Gang be so relentless?"

Jing Wuming replied coldly, "He is a suspect in the Plum Blossom Bandit case and many other murders throughout the realm."

"He has set aside his blade, severed his earthly ties, and no longer concerns himself with worldly affairs. He is a man of the temple," the Abbot retorted. To hand over Bai Xiaosheng would not merely be surrendering a man; it would be the utter humiliation of the Shaolin Temple. From that day forth, Shaolin would never be able to hold its head high in the face of the Money Gang or the rest of the martial arts world.

"You say he has severed his ties, so he has? You say he ignores the world, so he does?" Jing Wuming sneered. "By what right?"

"The Buddha’s mercy is vast!" the Abbot insisted. "Even if Benefactor Bai has..."

"Bullshit! Absolute bullshit!"

A woman’s voice cut through from the left of the Abbot. She was a woman of alluring charm, with long, seductive eyes, thick lips, and pale yet rough skin. This unique appearance gave her a dangerous, captivating allure. She was Blue Scorpion of the Money Gang. Beside her stood a tall, stout woman and a short, thin man who looked like a young boy. They were all part of the Money Gang—specifically, the Fried Chicken Hall.

It was one of the three halls of the Money Gang. Because their hall master, the Great Joyous Bodhisattva, loved fried chicken, Li Xunhuan had offhandedly named it the Fried Chicken Hall. Behind their backs, others in the Money Gang called it the "Pig Hall." The term "pig" was not meant as an insult, but as a compliment; anyone who saw the Great Joyous Bodhisattva would realize that comparing her to a pig was an insult to pigs. Though the name sounded ridiculous, the members of the hall were masters of poisons and venom, recruited by the Money Gang to eliminate those who defied their rules. Each possessed unique skills, and together, they had managed to poison the Shaolin monks without them even realizing it. How they administered the poison and what its effects were—no one knew but them.

Blue Scorpion said quite bluntly, "You commit crimes outside and then hide in a temple like a turtle retracting its head!" At the mention of a turtle, the women around her giggled and twittered. The monks of Shaolin, rarely exposed to so many women, began to blush.

Jing Wuming spoke coldly, "Even if you handed him over now, it is too late. We gave you a chance! You ignored the Money Gang's ultimatum; that is a failure to show us respect. Since you refuse to be respectful, we have no choice but to make you respect us."

"Kill!"

With that single command, he initiated the slaughter. Jing Wuming moved like a gray shadow, crossing the space between the monks to stand before Abbot Xinhu. He did not come alone; he brought with him a sword—a sword made for killing.

Within the Money Gang, he was the Master of the Hall of Rules. Those under his command were martial artists secretly recruited by Shangguan Jinhong. Wherever they went, they enforced the rules of the Money Gang. Whoever disobeyed was their enemy—even if that enemy was the Shaolin Temple.

The sword light flashed with a terrifying gray hue, like the shadow of a venomous snake darting through tall grass in the sun. The tip of the blade locked onto the Abbot's throat and heart, aiming for a lethal strike.

"Audacious!" Before the Abbot could react, his junior brothers, Xinshe and Xinmei, moved to intercept. They had been poisoned, so they were forced to act together. In this life-or-death moment, they could no longer concern themselves with the codes of the martial arts world. Yet, no matter how fast they moved, they could not outpace Jing Wuming’s blade.

Jing Wuming was no longer the man he once was. Having been taught by the Elder of Power Transmission, he had become the very god of death in his swordsmanship. A sharp "shing" rang out, and only after he had sheathed his blade did the sound of the wind it created reach the ears of the onlookers. Following that sound, three bald heads tumbled to the ground.