Flower Stealing Master

Everyone could see that Jiumozhi was only in his forties. Even if he had mastered one supreme technique every year since birth, it would have taken him seventy-two years to achieve such mastery. Each of these seventy-two techniques was incredibly complex and profound—could he really have mastered multiple within a single year?

Only Song Qingshu understood the key to this. 

Jiumozhi was merely using the No Phase Technique to execute the movements of the 72 Ultimate Techniques, imitating their form without capturing their essence. However, the No Phase Technique was immensely powerful, and Jiumozhi himself possessed deep internal Qi, so his execution was no less formidable than the original techniques.

The Shaolin monks, unable to grasp the truth, pondered in disbelief: “This man speaks such grand words—could he be mad?”

Xuan Sheng secretly sneered but maintained a respectful demeanor as he said, “The Maha Cakra Vajra claims to have mastered the 72 Ultimate Techniques. I would like to seek guidance on the Maha Finger, Prajna Palm, and Great Vajra Fist, among others.”

In Shaolin’s thousand-year history, only Xuan Cheng had ever mastered thirteen techniques, an unprecedented feat. Naturally, Xuan Sheng did not believe Jiumozhi’s claim. He assumed Jiumozhi was boasting and that, once they fought, his lies would be exposed.

Jiumozhi smiled. “I wouldn’t dare. Please, Master Xuan Sheng, enlighten me.”

He slightly shifted his stance. Suddenly, he raised his left palm while his right fist struck forward with a sharp whoosh. A bronze incense burner at Shaolin Temple’s front gate resonated with a loud “clang” and leaped into the air—this was the “Eastern Bell Resonates” move from the Great Vajra Fist. The punch did not make direct contact with the burner, yet it produced a sound. More astonishingly, though the punch was aimed forward, the burner jumped upward instead, proving the profound mastery behind it.

Without waiting for the burner to descend, Jiumozhi swiftly struck with his left palm in a motion identical to the “Subduing Heretics” move from the Prajna Palm. The burner spun in mid-air with a “snap”, and something fell from it, though the lingering incense ash obscured what it was.

Xuan Sheng’s face turned ashen. He knew that the seemingly ordinary three strikes contained an unfathomable level of skill. This was the orthodox Maha Finger technique, known as “Three Steps into Hell”—so named because each strike was said to bring the practitioner through an agony akin to entering hell itself.

As the incense ash settled, a palm-sized object was revealed on the ground. The monks gasped in shock—it was a brass hand, its five fingers distinct, with the edges gleaming like gold while the back remained a dull greenish hue.

Jiumozhi flicked his robe sleeve and chuckled. “The Kasaya Evil Subduing Skill still has its imperfections. Abbot, I would appreciate your guidance.”

The moment he finished speaking, the bronze incense burner, standing seven feet away, seemed to come alive, suddenly spinning multiple times before settling in place again. However, the side originally facing inward now faced outward, revealing a palm-shaped hole in its center. The cut gleamed with golden light.

The younger monks finally understood—when Jiumozhi had performed “Subduing Heretics”, his palm force had sliced out that palm-shaped chunk as if using a divine blade.

Song Qingshu’s heart stirred. ‘I nearly forgot—Jiumozhi also knows the Prajna Palm. Could he have been the one responsible for my martial uncles’ disappearance?’

He quickly dismissed the thought. Their current relationship was unusual, and Jiumozhi had no motive for such actions. Moreover, his reaction upon hearing of the incident earlier had seemed genuine.

Still, Jiumozhi’s demonstration triggered a revelation in Song Qingshu’s mind. There is someone else who might know the Prajna Palm… and given his usual behavior, he could very well be behind this. n/o/vel/b//in dot c//om

Xuan Sheng, seeing how thoroughly Jiumozhi had outmatched him, felt utterly defeated. ‘Perhaps this great monk speaks the truth. Our Shaolin’s 72 Ultimate Techniques truly originated from India. Learning them from the original source might indeed make one superior to those of us in the Central Plains.’

He pressed his palms together and bowed. “The Maha Cakra Vajra’s divine skills have broadened my horizons. I am in awe!”

The final move, Kasaya Evil Subduing Skill, was something that Abbot Xuan Ci had devoted a lifetime to mastering, neglecting his Zen studies in the process. At times, he regretted spending years refining a single sleeve technique. But the thought that his Sleeve Skill could dominate the martial world had been a source of pride.

Now, seeing Jiumozhi perform it with effortless elegance—conversing casually while executing it flawlessly—he felt deeply conflicted.

Silence blanketed the courtyard. Everyone was overwhelmed by Jiumozhi’s unparalleled mastery.

After a long pause, Xuan Ci let out a heavy sigh. “Today, I have learned that there is always someone greater, that the heavens stretch beyond what we can see. My decades of arduous training are laughable in the Maha Cakra Vajra’s eyes. Shaolin Temple is but a small pond unfit to house a dragon. A humble place such as this cannot retain an esteemed guest like you, Maha Cakra Vajra. Please, leave as you wish.”

Hearing the abbot’s words, the Shaolin monks were dejected. They understood that he had been forced into this admission—conceding that Shaolin’s martial arts were inferior.

For centuries, Shaolin had been the undisputed leader of Central Plains martial arts. Now, they had suffered a crushing defeat, shaming all martial artists of the region in front of a foreigner. Even Zhang Sanfeng furrowed his brows.

“Wait, Abbot!”

Xuan Cheng, who had been watching coldly, finally stepped forward. He had been holding back, saving his strength for a potential clash with Zhang Sanfeng. However, seeing Xuan Ci admit defeat, he could no longer stay silent.

He stepped out from the crowd and addressed Jiumozhi. “I consider myself to have some talent, yet after decades of training, I have only scratched the surface of thirteen supreme techniques. You claim to have mastered all seventy-two? I absolutely do not believe it. Please enlighten me.”

Jiumozhi’s expression grew serious. “So, you are the Master Xuan Cheng, known as Shaolin’s greatest in two hundred years.”

He had planned to humiliate Shaolin today, but he had not expected Xuan Cheng to step forward. Though arrogant, Jiumozhi was no fool—this man was undeniably Shaolin’s top expert, and he could not be underestimated.

Xuan Cheng scoffed. “In front of someone claiming mastery of seventy-two techniques, I am hardly worthy.”

“Empty words only bring frustration. Master, please.”

Jiumozhi had come to overpower Shaolin through sheer strength and cement his reputation. Now, with his prior demonstrations as a foundation, if he defeated Xuan Cheng, no one in the martial world would ever doubt his claims.

However, Xuan Cheng did not move. Instead, he stood with his hands behind his back. “You are a guest from afar, Maha Cakra Vajra. Please, you may strike first.”

Seeing Xuan Cheng’s arrogance, Jiumozhi sneered. “Since that is the case, I shall not hold back.”

As soon as he spoke, his body shifted like flowing water, simultaneously unleashing “Sleeve Concealing the Universe” and “Animitta Kalpa Finger” against his opponent.

Xuan Cheng frowned. As a Shaolin grandmaster, he recognized the brilliance of these techniques. He sidestepped, narrowly avoiding the deadly strikes. However, Jiumozhi had already anticipated his movement—his Great Vajra Fist was already in motion.

Boom!

The punch landed squarely on Xuan Cheng’s shoulder, forcing him back two steps.

Jiumozhi laughed. “Your reputation is grand, yet this is all you amount to?”

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