“Outrageous!”
At the critical moment, Song Qingshu descended from the sky. He hadn’t expected himself to blurt out a phrase so commonly ridiculed in wuxia films in his past life, but at this moment, he couldn’t find any other words to express his fury.
He never imagined that the supposedly virtuous monks of Shaolin would resort to such despicable tactics. Outnumbering an opponent was one thing, but attacking Zhang Sanfeng at a crucial moment in his internal energy clash? That was a blatant attempt to kill him.
Song Qingshu’s eyes turned red with rage. After neutralizing the various ranged attacks coming his way, his wooden sword hovered subtly at his side—he had already decided to go on a killing spree tonight.
Seeing the look in Song Qingshu’s eyes, Abbot Xuan Ci felt a jolt in his heart. He knew that today’s events wouldn’t end peacefully, so he made a decisive call, shouting, “Form up! Our Shaolin’s reputation is at stake. There’s no need to abide by the rules of the martial world—attack together!”
Song Qingshu chuckled coldly. “So, the abbot plans to keep the two of us here. By the time outsiders learn of what happened tonight, Shaolin can simply fabricate an excuse and cover it up. You’d also get to eliminate Wudang, your greatest rival. Truly a brilliant move—I really underestimated your cunning.”
He secretly regretted his oversight. Xuan Ci was the same man who had led the massacre of Xiao Feng’s family years ago. Back then, he could still blame Murong Bo’s deception, but later, he secretly had an affair with Ye Erniang, leaving her pregnant before abandoning her. As a result, Ye Erniang turned into a scourge of the martial world. Where did she learn her martial arts? Xuan Ci always preached benevolence and compassion—so why didn’t he stop her? And when so many righteous men died one after another to keep his secret, why did he remain silent? Only when Shaolin was forced into a corner at the great assembly did he finally confess.
In the end, Xuan Ci was nothing more than a hypocrite. Comparing him to Yue Buqun wouldn’t be an exaggeration.
As he assessed the monks before him, Song Qingshu calculated his next move. Xuancheng, Fangzheng, and the Three Dhyana Masters were still severely injured. The remaining monks of the Xuan and Fang generations might be top-tier experts in the eyes of ordinary people, but to him now, only Xuzhu and Xuan Ci were worth any attention.
His best choice now was to seize the opportunity to gravely wound the Sweeper Monk. Since the old monk was locked in an internal energy battle with Zhang Sanfeng, if Song Qingshu joined forces with Zhang, even the Sweeper Monk, with his godlike martial arts, wouldn’t stand a chance. With him gone, no one in Shaolin could resist them. However, Song Qingshu couldn’t bring himself to take advantage of the old monk, who had once given him valuable guidance. Instead, he shifted his focus to Xuan Ci and the others.
Shaolin had clashed with Song Qingshu many times and had long wished to eliminate him. Thus, the monks’ gazes toward him were filled with hostility.
A great battle was about to erupt!
Suddenly, the sound of a zither and flute harmonizing echoed through the air. It was as if multiple jade zithers and flutes were playing simultaneously. The melody was ethereal and indistinct, yet everyone could hear it clearly. However, the source of the sound seemed to shift unpredictably from east to west.
Song Qingshu was momentarily stunned. Who was putting on such a mysterious display? But when he noticed the slight change in expression on Xuan Ci and the other monks’ faces, he grew even more curious—clearly, they knew the identity of this mysterious presence and were quite wary.
After three clear zither notes, four white-clad maidens gracefully descended from the eaves, each carrying a zither. These zithers were half the length and width of a typical seven-stringed instrument but retained all seven strings. The four maidens took their positions in the courtyard. Then, four black-clad maidens entered from outside, each holding a long black flute that was longer than an ordinary one. The four black-clad women positioned themselves in a cross formation opposite the white-clad ones.
Once they were in place, the zithers began playing, soon joined by the flutes, creating a melody of extreme softness and elegance. Even though Song Qingshu knew little about music, he found the tune captivating. Despite the tense situation, he couldn’t help but want to listen a little longer.
Amid the lingering music, a woman draped in a light yellow robe walked in. She appeared to be around twenty-seven or twenty-eight, with an extraordinary grace and stunning beauty. However, her face was deathly pale, devoid of any color.
“What an over-the-top, flashy entrance…” Song Qingshu was momentarily taken aback. He couldn’t help but recall a particularly mysterious character from the original story—the Yellow-Robed Maiden. She had also appeared at the Lion-Slaying Assembly. However, at that time, Song Qingshu had been on the verge of death with his meridians severed, so he never had the chance to see her.
The woman smiled faintly. “I wouldn’t dare call it guidance. I merely came to prevent Shaolin and Wudang from being manipulated into needless bloodshed.” Her voice was as soft as melting snow, and many young monks blushed involuntarily upon hearing it.
“Being manipulated?” Xuan Ci frowned, murmuring to himself.
However, the Yellow-Robed Maiden didn’t bother explaining further. Instead, she turned toward Song Qingshu, her bright eyes filled with curiosity. “In recent years, you have risen like a comet, your fame rivaling that of Zhang Wuji in his prime. I had imagined you to be an unparalleled genius, but upon meeting you today, all I see is a man consumed by bloodlust. What a shame, what a shame.” She shook her head, looking rather disapproving.
Song Qingshu sneered. “I once heard that at the Lion-Slaying Assembly, you appeared like a celestial maiden descending to the mortal realm. I regretted never getting the chance to meet you. But now that I finally have, all I see is a woman obsessed with theatrics and appearances. What a letdown, what a letdown.” He perfectly mimicked her tone, causing several Shaolin monks to stifle their laughter.
The Yellow-Robed Maiden’s face flushed. She was of noble lineage and possessed breathtaking beauty. Everywhere she went, people treated her with reverence, as though fearing to offend a celestial being. She had never encountered such a shameless man before.
“I’ve long heard of your silver tongue, how you’ve deceived many women into falling for you. Now that I’ve seen it for myself, your reputation is well deserved.” She smiled faintly.
Song Qingshu chuckled. “You’d best avoid talking to me too much, Miss. I fear that if you do, you might just fall for me.”
The Yellow-Robed Maiden’s star-like eyes widened. She had never met someone so brazen. With a delicate snort from her nose, she ignored him and instead walked toward Zhang Sanfeng and the Sweeper Monk, who were still locked in their internal battle.
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