First Entry into the Spirit Void 13. Countless Lives Cannot Fill the Void!

Master Tiandao, seeing that Master Tiantai alone could not subdue the man in black, no longer cared for any martial code or sense of propriety. He leapt into the circle of battle, shouted fiercely, and struck a powerful palm toward the side of the black-clad figure.

Catching sight of Master Tiandao from the corner of his eye, the black-clad man quickly twisted his body, dodging the incoming palm. Then, with a backward sweep of his right hand holding the brush, he redirected the fierce force from Master Tiantai’s palm, channeling it toward Master Tiandao.

Startled, Master Tiandao tried to evade, but it was already too late. He hastily executed a turning palm technique, blending the incoming force with his own, and struck again at the man in black.

The maneuver backfired on the assailant, who realized he could not withstand the combined might of the two converging strikes. In desperation, he took a deep breath and vaulted more than ten feet into the air, barely escaping the oncoming force—a perilous escape indeed.

Angered by this turn of events, the black-clad man, still airborne, lashed his left hand in a chopping motion toward Master Tiantai. He pressed a hidden mechanism, and with a whoosh, a fierce and unnatural flame shot like lightning toward Master Tiantai.

Master Tiantai had not anticipated such cunning malice. The flames came upon him too rapidly for escape; forced to exhaust his energy, he urgently summoned the power of the Kalavinka Divine Skill, channeling his inner force to shield his flesh from being burned.

Even so, despite his swift response, his monk’s robe was set alight by the black-clad man’s fire. Protected by his divine skill and heedless of the flames, Master Tiantai struck once more at the attacker.

The black-clad man was astonished to see the old monk still fighting with his life on the line. He hurriedly dodged the blow, then unleashed another fierce technique—“Bashō Fan’s Fire”—aimed straight at Master Tiantai’s head.

Already ablaze, Master Tiantai’s robe caught the wind of this strike and ignited even more violently. In an instant, he was transformed into a figure wreathed in fire. Fortunately, the Kalavinka Divine Skill protected him; otherwise, he would have been reduced to charred remains.

Seeing the monk relentless amid the flames, continuing his wild assault as if untouched, the black-clad man realized this must be the protection of a supreme skill—such a monk would not fear fire or even the deadly blood-poison.

Dodging another furious attack from Master Tiantai, the black-clad man suddenly had a thought: Surely not every bald monk here possesses such formidable protection.

With that, he abruptly withdrew several steps and triggered the mechanism on his Soul-Chasing Fan, spraying fire to both sides at the monks standing nearby.

Masters Tiandao and Tiantai shouted in unison and launched a joint assault. The black-clad man swiftly sheathed his pen at his waist—the cap clicked into place with a snap.

He then executed “Disordered Mandarins and Drakes,” his strange pen stabbing toward Master Tiantai with lightning speed, forcing the old monk to fall back repeatedly, momentarily slowing his attacks for self-preservation.

At the same time, the man pressed the spring on his Soul-Chasing Fan with his left index finger. With a puff, a jet of fierce flame burst forth, and he fanned it with a sweep of his jade fan, intensifying the blaze toward Master Tiandao.

The flame, already swift, now surged forth with doubled fury, leaping toward Master Tiandao like a strike of lightning.

Greatly alarmed, Master Tiandao hastily withdrew his palm and dodged aside, but not quickly enough—his robe was set afire. Fortunately, he too possessed a protective skill and was unafraid of the flames.

With only a brief start, he roared again and pounced, joining Master Tiantai in a rapid assault on the black-clad man, hoping to bring him down in one decisive blow.

Master Tiantai, focusing decades of cultivated Zen-finger skill, struck with “Chief Star Strikes the Dipper,” a swift and deadly finger wind aimed straight at the black-clad man’s temple.

The attacker shifted slightly, evading the strike, and raised his golden pen to counter, aiming for Master Tiantai’s wrist. The old monk quickly withdrew, then launched several more finger thrusts at the man’s vital points.

Master Tiandao, too, brought all his learning to bear, secretly channeling his inner force and launching continuous attacks in concert with Master Tiantai. Together, their palms and fingers swept with thunderous might.

The black-clad man moved with an agility like that of a monkey, his footwork swift and elusive, allowing him to counterattack with pen and fan even as he dodged their combined assault.

Standing aside, Master Tianxin watched with wide eyes as his two junior brothers fought desperately with the black-clad man. The man’s pen and fan techniques were incredibly mysterious, his lightness skill truly extraordinary. Secretly marveling, Master Tianxin thought: This man’s techniques are like nothing I have ever seen; it is impossible to discern his sect or lineage.

The footwork the black-clad man now employed was bewildering, drawing the two eminent monks in endless circles. Even Master Tiantai, with his vast experience, could not identify the martial art being used.

Within the temple, two burly, bald old monks, their robes aflame, and a diminutive figure darted and lunged, gradually fighting their way to the temple’s edge.

Suddenly, like a ghost, the black-clad man leapt clear of their combined force. In a flash, he lunged toward the gathering of monks across the square. With three quick presses of the spring on his jade fan—puff! puff! puff!—three jets of fierce fire shot forth.

The monks, absorbed in the deadly struggle unfolding, never expected the black-clad man to deploy such a cunning feint. Only when the flames reached them did they react, but by then it was too late. Cries of terror and agony erupted as burning monks toppled to the ground, rolling in pain.

The tragic wailing roused Mo Dao from slumber. He rushed out from his quarters, and upon witnessing the black-clad man’s inhuman slaughter, was momentarily stunned.

At this moment, Master Tianxin suddenly intervened. Like an eagle, he swept toward the black-clad man. Seeing the attack, the man snapped his jade fan, sending a jet of fire toward Tianxin.

Master Tianxin responded with a flurry of palm strikes, dispersing the flames outright. The black-clad man, surprised by the monk’s formidable power, quickly dodged a palm strike, then thrust his strange pen toward Tianxin’s face.

But Master Tianxin was not so easily struck; he dodged to the side, causing the attack to miss. “Amitabha—why does the benefactor seek enmity with Dharma Gate Temple?” Master Tianxin asked, regaining his composure.

The black-clad man ceased his attacks. Masters Tiantai and Tiandao also stood aside, joining Tianxin to surround the man. He did not answer, but simply raised his fan before his chest, took up his pen, and began to write swiftly across the fan’s surface. The three elders tensed, thinking he was about to attack again.

But the black-clad man instead wrote a message, then raised the fan so that Tianxin could see. With his keen eyesight, Tianxin immediately made out the blood-red characters:

“People of the martial world have long brought chaos to the jianghu. Dharma Gate Temple claims to be a righteous sect, yet it cannot lead or uphold justice. On the contrary, it shelters evil under a guise of virtue. Despicable! Therefore, I have come to make an example of you bald monks.”

Reading these words, Tianxin’s face grew dark with anger. He asked in a deep voice, “On what grounds does the benefactor accuse our temple of meddling in martial affairs? Would you explain yourself?”

The man wrote again, then raised the fan: “Is the Fat Arhat, Luo Wuzhou, a disciple of your temple?”

At the sight of those words, Tianxin was startled. He realized the assailant’s vendetta was not baseless. Luo Mingyuan had indeed been a disciple, but repeated violations of the temple’s rules had led to his expulsion. Clearly, the man in black sought vengeance for past wrongs committed by Luo.

Suppressing his anger, Tianxin pressed his palms together and replied regretfully, “It is true—Luo Wuzhou is a traitor to our temple. But what grudge lies between you?”

The black-clad man’s eyes flashed with a cold, murderous light as he stared at Tianxin. Though his face was masked, the depth of his hatred was plain.

After a moment, he wrote again: “A hatred that cuts to the bone—my very flesh and blood are gone. Even slaughtering all of Dharma Gate Temple would not repay what was taken from me.”

Tianxin shuddered inwardly and furrowed his white brows, sighing deeply. “Having seen your words, I am moved by your misfortune and offer my sympathy. Yet, enmity has its instigators, and debts their collectors. Luo Wuzhou, the traitor, was expelled by the previous abbot and has no connection to our temple. I urge you to consider carefully—do not deepen the cycle of killing.”

The black-clad man swiftly wrote: “Where the child is not taught, whose fault is it?” To which Tianxin replied, “The parent’s fault, of course.” The man’s jade fan was remarkable—its surface, pure white save for a few honeycomb holes, was instantly pristine after each message, no trace left behind.

Turning the fan, the black-clad man wrote again: “If the teaching was not strict, whose fault is that?” Tianxin thought to himself, This is bad—he circles back to implicate us after all. Forced to defend himself, he replied, “If the child is unfilial, what can the parent do? Besides, he was expelled as a traitor in the previous generation.”

The man wrote again, “Does Dharma Gate Temple have rules for dealing with disciples who violate its laws?” At this, Tianxin suddenly recalled the temple’s tenth rule: for grave offenses, a disciple is to be expelled and stripped of his martial skills, or even executed. For Luo Wuzhou’s crimes, death or at least crippling was warranted, but the founder had shown mercy. Thus, disaster remained.

With effort, Tianxin argued, “Buddha teaches compassion—we spare those who can be spared. Who could have foreseen the traitor’s lack of repentance? What does the benefactor intend for our temple?” The black-clad man wrote: “My hatred is as deep as the sea—ten thousand lives would not suffice to fill it!”

Cornered, Tianxin saw there was no escape and steadied his spirit, coldly replying, “Our temple has thousands of disciples. Do you believe you alone can act as you wish?”

Once more, the black-clad man wrote: “I will kill one if I can, two if I must.” Tianxin’s face frosted over, and he answered gravely, “Amitabha—unless the benefactor possesses earth-shattering skills, such wild boasts are unfounded.”

Thus, words had reached their limit; only force could resolve the matter. All the monks gripped their weapons, the air thick with tension—a calamity of violence in the martial world was about to descend.