Flower Stealing Master

Song Qingshu rolled away as he landed, feeling two long objects sweep past his face, no more than half a foot away. They moved with incredible speed yet without generating any gust of wind. Given his current level of martial prowess, he instantly recognized the two long objects—they were black cords.

‘Could this be the Vajra Evil Subduing Ring that beat Zhang Wuji like a dog at the Lion-Slaying Assembly?’ 

Just as the thought crossed Song Qingshu’s mind, another black cord shot toward his chest. This cord transformed into a straight weapon, resembling a spear or a staff, thrusting forward with astonishing speed. Simultaneously, two more cords coiled toward him from behind.

Song Qingshu flipped his left hand, pinching the cord aimed at his chest between two fingers. With a chuckle, he said, “Let me show you what Eagle’s Divine Finger is!” Just as he was about to exert force to snap the cord, he suddenly felt it tremble. A wave of overwhelming internal energy surged toward his chest. His expression changed slightly—if he took the hit head-on, even with his protective martial arts, his ribs would still break, and his internal organs would suffer severe damage.

In that split-second, he swung his right hand backward, deflecting the two black cords coming from behind. At the same time, he pressed down on the cord he was holding with his left hand, borrowing its force to propel himself upward like a swallow. With a sharp swish, he shot straight into the sky.

“Hmm?” Three low murmurs emerged from the darkness. It was unclear whether they were marveling at his martial prowess or his exceptional Qinggong.

The three figures did not hesitate for long. In an instant, the black cords shot upward like three inky dragons, attacking from three directions. In the pitch-dark night, the cords, completely black and devoid of any reflection, moved without leaving any trace.

Had Song Qingshu not already reached the state of returning to simplicity, he would have met his end right there. Even in the dark, he could see as clearly as if it were daylight. Otherwise, he would have been unable to avoid this unseen and deadly attack.

The black cords moved in absolute silence, a testament to the incredible purity of their wielders’ internal energy. Their mastery had reached a realm of self-reflection and seamless flow, leaving no openings. Any ordinary expert in Song Qingshu’s position would be unable to perceive the incoming attacks, let alone counter them. These three cords appeared slow yet moved with terrifying speed, producing no sound. They weaved through the darkness like ghosts, exuding an eerie and unpredictable presence.

Song Qingshu moved through the air with the grace of an immortal, effortlessly dodging lethal strikes with the slightest flick of his fingers or tap of his toes. Observing from the side, Zhang Sanfeng secretly nodded in approval. The three monks had unleashed a total of three moves, each containing nine variations, with each variation hiding dozens of intricate attacks and killing techniques. Yet, Song Qingshu managed to nullify them all. Although each counter was executed at the very brink of danger—where the slightest miscalculation would mean broken bones and certain death—he still moved with an air of ease, navigating peril with unmatched composure.

Under normal circumstances, Zhang Sanfeng would have carefully observed how Song Qingshu dismantled the Vajra Evil Subduing Ring. However, since they were infiltrating Shaolin Temple at night, prolonging the fight risked alerting other monks, which could lead to unforeseen complications.

Making up his mind, Zhang Sanfeng suddenly moved, stepping directly into the center of the three black cords. With a twist of his hands, he redirected their momentum, entwining the three cords together. His technique was none other than his self-created Taiji technique—his force was circular and fluid, immediately drawing in the internal energy from the cords and twisting them into a single spinning mass. With a simple rub of his palms, the bundled cords began rotating violently.

Three startled cries rang out in the darkness, and in the next moment, three figures tumbled out of a nearby pine grove in disarray.

Fortunately, Zhang Sanfeng had held back, not using his full strength. Because of this, the three monks were able to quickly exchange positions and regain their balance. With a swift shake of their hands, they finally managed to untangle the cords.

Zhang Sanfeng did not press the attack but instead revealed a look of appreciation. These three monks were indeed far superior to the Shaolin monks of the Xuan generation. They had managed to steady themselves quickly and maintain their composure despite the surprise.

Only now did the two get a good look at their opponents. The monk in the northeast had a face as dark as iron, the one in the northwest was gaunt and withered like dead wood, and the monk to the south was as pale as a sheet of paper. All three had sunken cheeks, appearing completely devoid of flesh. The yellow-faced monk was blind in one eye. Despite their frail appearances, their gazes burned with an intense, piercing light.

Zhang Sanfeng nodded to himself. These had to be the legendary Three Elders of Shaolin—Du Er, Du Jie, and Du Nan.

As Zhang Sanfeng and Song Qingshu examined the three monks, the monks, in turn, studied them. Earlier, Song Qingshu had maneuvered through the Vajra Evil Subduing Ring with remarkable ease. In all their lives, aside from the Ming Cult’s leader, Zhang Wuji, they had never encountered such a formidable opponent. Just as they were still reeling from this realization, the old daoist beside him had displayed even deeper, unfathomable martial arts. With a single move, he had forced all three of them off balance, requiring them to swap positions just to neutralize the strange force that had surged through their cords.

“Who are you two, and why have you trespassed into Shaolin’s forbidden grounds at night?” Du Jie was the first to speak. His voice, infused with internal energy, boomed like thunder, likely an attempt to alert the other monks.

In truth, had their opponents been anything less than terrifying, the Three Elders would not have considered calling for reinforcements. At the Lion-Slaying Assembly, when heroes from across the world gathered at Shaolin, they had repelled wave after wave of scheming martial artists using only their black cords, protecting the pavilion without the need for a single extra monk. Yet tonight, after just a few exchanges, they knew without a doubt—even if they fought as one, they might not be able to overcome just one of these two men, let alone both.

Seizing the moment, Song Qingshu whispered to Zhang Sanfeng, “Grandmaster, if we wait for Abbot Xuan Ci and the others to arrive, it’ll put both Shaolin and Wudang in a difficult position. You won’t be able to make a move openly. I think we should take this chance to investigate the Scripture Pavilion first, see if we can find any clues about my father and the others. Then, before Xuan Ci and his men arrive, we slip away without meeting them face-to-face. That way, both Shaolin and Wudang can save face.”

Zhang Sanfeng nodded in agreement. The logic was sound. Given Shaolin’s suspicious behavior, the Scripture Pavilion had to be investigated. However, since it was Shaolin’s most sacred ground, intruding would be a transgression. The sooner they finished, the better.

Exchanging a glance, the two understood each other’s intent. In the next instant, their figures blurred as they lunged toward the three monks.

“Such audacity!” The monks instantly grasped their intent and were both furious and alarmed. However, after thirty years of silent meditation, their greatest skill was their perfect unity of thought. The moment one reacted, the other two instinctively synchronized. Their combined strength far exceeded that of three ordinary experts working together. Despite their shock, they remained composed.

The three black cords lashed out again, forming an impenetrable wall around their opponents. As long as they could stall for time, once Abbot Xuan Ci and the temple’s top martial artists arrived, victory would be assured.

“You take Du Nan. Leave the other two to me,” Zhang Sanfeng quickly assigned their targets.

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