Chapter Five: The Seventh Grandmaster of Cantonese Boxing (Part Two)

Guo Jing’s expression remained unchanged, but one of the young pugilists suddenly bellowed in anger, "You bald donkey, what kind of nonsense are you spewing? Are you looking to die?"

"Oh, so it is Master Liu Bo of the Small Spirit Fist," the fat monk replied with a beaming smile.

"Liu Bo, your father is an elder of the Yue Guild. You cannot simply let these words go unheard."

"That’s right! Let these outsiders see the true mettle of our Guangdong pugilists."

"Don’t you dare bring shame upon Young Master Huang."

Unexpectedly, rather than standing in solidarity, the group of young fighters began to jeer and goad him on. Liu Bo, proud and arrogant—and possessing a level of martial skill considered advanced for his age—did not refuse. With a sharp lift of his eyebrows, he said, "Bald donkey, let’s trade a few moves."

"It is exactly what I wished for; I dared not be the one to ask."

The fat monk chuckled, stood up, and extended his thick, sturdy arms. He didn't seem to be adopting any particular stance.

*Esoteric school stance,* Guo Jing thought, his expression remaining neutral while his mind became even more certain that the man was a fighter from beyond the Great Wall.

Guangdong martial arts were heavily influenced by the Arhat Temple, whereas fighters from beyond the border followed the style of Tibetan Buddhism.

Liu Bo moved with nimble, flickering steps. The Liu family style, originating from the lower four prefectures, was characterized by its agility and versatility—defending left and attacking right, utilizing short bridges and short stances, or drawing back to strike. Its method of channeling power was highly sophisticated. Given that he had caught the eye of Young Master Huang, Liu Bo’s skills were, at the very least, refined.

He sank his chest, tucked his waist, drew in his abdomen, and dropped his shoulders. With a sudden burst of power, he shot forward like a sharp arrow.

However, the fat monk, looking like a smiling Maitreya, flashed a sinister glint in his eyes. A "Sea-Calming Seal" flickered into existence. The Small Spirit Fist fighter’s eyes bulged as he was instantly sent flying three yards away, crashing heavily to the ground.

*Fool!*

There were many among the onlookers with broad experience who understood immediately that the fat monk had played a dirty trick. The greatest characteristic of the Esoteric stance is that the mountain is a Buddha, and the Buddha is a mountain—known as the Great Earth’s Esoteric Treasure. Trying to push against his stance was like trying to push a mountain; it was impossible to move him.

Liu Bo scrambled up, covered in dust, his face bright red and his eyes burning with rage. In martial arts, "trading hands" is a form of sparring—a way to maintain mutual respect. Generally, even if one side’s skill was deeper, they would only push the opponent back a few steps as a gesture of courtesy. To do what the fat monk did—deliberately triggering internal force to make the opponent suffer a humiliating fall in public—was, for a pugilist, akin to being stripped of one's pants in front of a crowd.

"Let me try."

The one who spoke was a dark-faced, powerfully built fighter. He lacked a prestigious background, but within the Hong family boxing circles, he was a rising star: the "Little Qilin" of the Hong family, Hong Tielin.

The Hong family style had traveled from the regions of Henan and Fujian and was the most widely spread of the three. It was said to be a style belonging to no single family or person, purportedly created by the Fire-Head Master among the Five Monks, and thus naturally carried the Buddhist concept of equality for all living beings.

"Amitabha. The Hong family style evolved from the Great Red Fist of the Arhat Temple’s Thirty-Six Arts, so it can be considered a successor to that lineage. I shall meet you as a representative of the Esoteric school to see whose Buddha is the true one."

As soon as these words were spoken, Hong Tielin’s expression shifted. He was about to retort, but the monk did not wait. With a roar that sounded like a booming bell, he stepped forward with the 'Mysterious Monk’s Walk,' hands forming the Vajra Seal, striking down with the force of raw steel meeting iron.

The Mysterious Monk’s Walk, also known as the 'Forward-Propelling and Backward-Withdrawing Step,' required both toes to point forward while keeping the heels on the ground. It was an incredibly demanding technique, and when combined with the Esoteric school’s 'Immovable as a Mountain' principle, it was truly ferocious.

Fortunately, the popularity of the Hong family style was not without reason. Hong Tielin swallowed his breath and braced his arms, which instantly turned dark and thick. His feet twisted as he channeled the essence of the Ten-Shape Fist—mimicking the dragon, snake, lion, elephant, monkey, and biao. Exhaling a cloud of hot steam, he met the monk’s strike head-on.

The Ten-Shape Fist was the core of the Hong style. While not a primitive zoomorphic style, it allowed the practitioner to simulate the spirit and characteristics of animals, transforming them into fist intent and force. This high stance represented six of the ten shapes—the strength of six beasts!

The two collided like a battering ram striking a gate of iron-reinforced wood. With a thunderous *boom*, half the floor trembled. The sound waves rattled the paper windows, and the intense reverberations echoed in everyone's ears.

"Ha!"
"Ha!"
"Ha!"

The fat monk let out three strange laughs. With each laugh, his belly expanded, his strength grew, and his expression became even more like that of a Maitreya Buddha.

The Smiling Maitreya, also known as 'Master Changting' or the 'Cloth-Bag Monk,' was depicted as stout and pot-bellied, ragged in dress, and eccentric in behavior. It was the most unorthodox school of Buddhism, yet it was the primary Buddha of the Esoteric sect.

What was the power of mimicking beasts compared to the stature of a Buddha? These three laughs contained the very essence of the Maitreya’s 'Great Joy' and 'Utmost Happiness.'

After the third laugh, the fat monk’s pregnant-like belly suddenly contracted. In its place, he unleashed a 'Buddha Strike' with his shoulder, his hands swelling visibly as he delivered a final blow. Hong Tielin could no longer hold his ground and retreated six steps, each step marked by a cracking sound as the blue bricks beneath him shattered.

Though he did not suffer the same humiliation as Liu Bo, by the sixth step, his face was flushed, and sweat poured off him as if he had been completely drained.

"The great belly can contain all the world's difficulties; the smiling face greets all the world’s laughable people. It seems the Buddhist arts of the Arhat Temple are nothing more than this."

A slap in the face—a blatant, stinging slap!

Although the Arhat Temple had been burned to the ground by the imperial court, it remained an undisputed holy site for Guangdong pugilists. At these words, even the high-and-mighty Guo Jing’s face darkened. His gaze shifted, carrying both the pride of a phoenix and a lion, and a faint, bird-like cry seemed to emanate from around his body.

The monk, ever cunning, saw that the situation was turning against him. He laughed heartily, sat down cross-legged, and said, "My Buddha is merciful. I have fought two strong opponents from Guangdong, and my strength is exhausted. Everyone, please carry on; this poor monk will rest."

At this, the local fighters felt a surge of nausea. To run away after the fight—did this monk have no shame?

Because they were all working under Young Master Huang, they could not simply kill him on the spot. They had to swallow their bitterness, their expressions grim.

This monk’s actions served as a catalyst. The fighters Young Master Huang had recruited from across the Central Plains, each arrogant in their own strength, all wanted to make a name for themselves. After all, even among lackeys, there were ranks. If they didn't crush these local "young talents" one by one, how could they prove the locals were nothing but spineless cowards? After all, a fighter’s reputation is built on their fists.

"If our local brothers don't mind, I, a rough man from the North, would also like to test your methods."

The man who stood up this time was tall, his face, hands, and feet seemingly weathered by wind and sand, exuding a sense of rugged, unyielding toughness.

Northern boxing methods were the polar opposite of Southern styles; the North focused on 'skin-wrapped force' while the South focused on 'skin-spitting force.' His skin was like iron and his bones like steel—a clear sign that he had reached the stage where his Northern style had permeated to the very tips of his limbs. Under equal conditions, Northern fighting methods were always more ferocious and violent.

The tough man scanned the room and said with disappointment, "What? Are there no local brothers willing to give it a try?"

"Heh heh, Brother Xu. You spent three years beyond the Great Wall, slaughtering four tribes and killing nearly five hundred barbarians. The reputation of 'Human Butcher Ba' has surely reached these parts," a white-skinned old man said with a sinister tone.

Once these words were out, the young fighters who had harbored thoughts of stepping forward immediately dismissed the idea. Five hundred people! And they were foreigners! What did that mean? Even imperial soldiers patrolling the border wouldn't boast of such a feat!

With the Esoteric monk before and this "Human Butcher Ba" now, the morale of the local fighters had been crushed time and again. The young had spirit, but they were also more easily discouraged.

It wasn't that there were no formidable fighters present; it was that Young Master Huang’s methods of gathering so many Guangdong fighters in such a short time were not exactly honorable—coercion, bribery, and threats were all used. Consequently, he could recruit their bodies, but not their hearts.

In the end, only the group of young fighters who admired Princess Feng’s beauty remained truly loyal.

"No wonder the Young Master wanted to recruit us; they are all just this kind of trash."

"Hee hee, isn't that a good thing?"

"The reputation of the Five Great Guilds of Guangdong seems to be nothing more than this."

Liu Bo suddenly shouted in anger, "Hmph! Don't you boast. It’s not that our local fighters lack formidable figures; it’s just that he hasn't arrived yet. When he does, you’ll be beaten even worse than we were!"

At these words, the other young fighters wore strange expressions—some angry, some excited, some ashamed.

"There is indeed one formidable person."

"When he comes, you are all dead!"

"So, you are all losers after all," Human Butcher Ba said with a realization.

"Don't be so arrogant. In my eyes, among the entire young generation—not just the Yue Guild, but if you combined all the young talents of all the fighting guilds—there isn't a single soul who could be his opponent," Liu Bo added hastily.

"Is that so? I don't remember you saying that when I kicked you into the river."

Unknown to them, Kou Lie stood at the entrance, with Zhu Xiaojun and Zhu Ying'er on either side, like a maid and a pageboy attending to a young master in green.