114: Chapter 114 Zen Martial Arts Breaking the Formation
The talisman arrays trapped over two thousand demon soldiers, but several hundred more had broken through.
They circumvented the layers of talisman arrays, surging towards the rear from both flanks.
That was where the Yuelu Confucian scholars and those Loose Cultivators were located.
The Noble Spirit could protect them for a time, but if these demon soldiers charged in, the scholars would not be able to hold them back.
Fa Ming saw it.
He was covered in blood, countless wounds covering his body. A chunk of flesh had been torn from his left shoulder by a demonic claw, his right leg bore a bloody hole from a bite, and four or five deep gashes scored his chest. Every breath sent a piercing pain through him.
Yet he did not retreat a single step.
He stood at the forefront, leading the Shaolin martial monks, forming the Arhat Array, steadfastly blocking those demon soldiers that had broken through.
Every punch thrown sent a demon soldier flying back. Every kick landed caused a demon soldier to dissolve into black smoke.
But there were far too many of those demon soldiers.
Kill one, and two more take its place. Kill two, and four more surge forward.
His fists began to weaken, his legs started to tremble, and darkness began to creep at the edges of his vision.
The martial monks beside him fell, one after another.
Gritting his teeth, he threw another punch.
This punch pierced through the chest of the demon soldier before him. Black mist gushed forth, splattering across his face.
But at the same time, three demon soldiers pounced from the side, six sharp claws simultaneously slashing towards him.
He had no time to dodge, nor did he wish to.
He used his body to block those three demon soldiers, preventing them from charging past.
Sharp claws pierced his back, and excruciating pain surged through him.
Gritting his teeth, he threw a backhanded punch, shattering the head of one demon soldier.
The other two demon soldiers were kicked away by a martial monk behind him.
But more demon soldiers were still pouring forth.
The old monk Jingchen stood at the rear, watching all of this.
He watched Fa Ming covered in blood, watched him not retreat a single step, watched those martial monks behind him who had already fallen.
He pressed his palms together.
"Amitabha Buddha."
A young martial monk beside him grew frantic.
"Junior Martial Uncle, let me go help!"
Jingchen shook his head.
"It is not yet time."
The young martial monk did not understand.
"Then when must we wait until?"
Jingchen looked at those demon soldiers.
"Until they believe we only have these few people."
He paused briefly.
"Until they let their guard down."
The young martial monk looked towards Fa Ming's position, his eyes rimmed red.
"But Senior Brother, he—"
Jingchen did not speak.
He simply looked at Fa Ming, at that child he had watched grow up.
Fa Ming had entered Shaolin at seven years old; it was Jingchen who had personally shaved his head. For over twenty years, Fa Ming was not one for many words, nor did he seek the limelight. He simply swept the grounds silently, practiced his martial arts silently, and silently guarded the Shizhuang Courtyard.
He thought this child would remain like this his entire life.
But today, he saw a different Fa Ming.
That Fa Ming was covered in blood, riddled with wounds, yet there was a fire in his eyes.
That fire was brighter than any flame he had ever seen.
Jingchen suddenly understood something.
He understood why Senior Brother Huijue had said to let Fa Ming go.
Because that child had a fire in his heart.
That fire was usually invisible. But when the time came for it to burn, it would ignite.
Now, was the time for it to burn.
Fa Ming threw another punch.
This punch used up the last shred of his strength.
The demon soldier before him fell, but he himself also dropped to his knees, gasping for breath.
His vision was a sea of crimson, indistinguishable whether it was his own blood or the black mist of the demon soldiers.
Only seven martial monks remained standing around him.
They formed a circle, protecting him in the center, desperately fending off those demon soldiers.
But there were far too many of those demon soldiers.
They could not be killed off.
Truly, they could not be killed off.
He closed his eyes.
Master, this Disciple has done his best.
Just then, a series of orderly footsteps sounded from behind.
He turned to look.
The old monk Jingchen charged forward, leading the remaining martial monks.
Not dozens, but over a hundred.
Those martial monks wore neat monastic robes, barefoot, each step planted firmly. They formed a large Arhat Array, encircling those demon soldiers.
Jingchen landed beside Fa Ming, looking down at him.
"Still holding up?"
Fa Ming nodded.
"Still holding up."
Jingchen looked at the countless wounds covering his body and shook his head.
"You call this 'still holding up'?"
Fa Ming smiled.
"Won't die."
Jingchen also smiled.
"Good lad."
He stood up and looked towards those demon soldiers.
"Leave the rest to this old monk."
Jingchen pressed his palms together.
"Amitabha Buddha."
A single Buddhist chant shook the four directions.
Hearing this chant, those demon soldiers actually paused in unison.
Jingchen stepped forward.
He walked slowly, each step steady. His bare feet trod upon the gravel, seemingly unfazed.
Those demon soldiers looked at him, something flashing in their eyes—was it vigilance? Fear?
Jingchen did not look at them.
He simply walked.
Step by step, he walked into the midst of the demon soldiers.
The demon soldiers closed in, extending their sharp claws to grab at him.
He did not dodge.
The claws fell upon him but seemed to scrape against iron, emitting a grating, screeching sound.
His monastic robe was torn, revealing the skin beneath. That skin glowed with a faint golden hue, like the golden-bodied Arhats in the temple.
The demon soldiers froze.
Jingchen raised his hand and lightly slapped the chest of the demon soldier before him.
That demon soldier flew backwards, crashing into five or six behind it, all dissolving into black smoke together.
The other demon soldiers retreated in fear.
Jingchen continued walking forward.
With each step he took, a demon soldier inevitably fell. With each palm he struck, a group of demon soldiers inevitably dissipated.
Those demon soldiers attacked him desperately, yet those attacks landing on him left not even a white mark.
Fa Ming watched all this, his eyes wide.
He never knew Junior Martial Uncle was this strong.
Jingchen glanced back at him.
"Silly child, what are you looking at?"
He smiled slightly.
"Watch this next move carefully."
Jingchen stopped walking.
He pressed his palms together and closed his eyes.
Muttering incantations under his breath.
The demon soldiers seized the chance to close in, their claws simultaneously slashing towards him.
Just as the claws were about to land on him, he opened his eyes.
In that instant, a golden light erupted from his body.
That golden light was brighter than the sun, faster than lightning.
Wherever the golden light passed, demon soldiers melted away. Like snow meeting fire, like darkness meeting light.
In just a moment, over a hundred demon soldiers in the vicinity all turned to black smoke.
Fa Ming's mouth hung open, speechless.
Jingchen walked up to him.
"Do you know what this is?"
Fa Ming shook his head.
Jingchen said softly:
"This is the highest Realm of the union of Chan and martial arts—the Indestructible Diamond Body."
He looked at Fa Ming.
"All these years you've practiced, you've been training the skin. The skin breaks, and it hurts. It hurts, and you fear. You fear, and you retreat."
He paused.
"But true Chan martial arts trains the heart. If the heart does not move, the body does not move. If the body does not move, nothing can harm you."
Fa Ming was stunned.
If the heart does not move, the body does not move?
He remembered what Lu Mingyuan had said—"If the heart does not move, all Dharmas naturally return."
So, the principle was the same for Chan martial arts.
He looked at Jingchen, something flickering in his eyes.
Jingchen smiled.
"Understood?"
Fa Ming nodded.
"Understood a little."
Jingchen patted his shoulder.
"A little is enough. The rest, practice slowly."
He turned and looked towards the demon soldiers still surging forward.
"Next, let this old monk teach them a lesson."
Jingchen charged into the midst of the demon soldiers.
He was like a fierce tiger plunging into a flock of sheep; wherever he passed, demon soldiers dissipated one after another.
Those demon soldiers attacked him desperately, yet those attacks landing on him could not even make him pause for a moment.
One palm strike felled a group. One kick sent another group sprawling. One turn, and the area around him was cleared.
Those demon soldiers began to fear.
They began to retreat.
But Jingchen would not let them retreat.
He chased after them, one palm strike per demon, one kick clearing a swath, slaughtering until those demon soldiers scattered and fled.
In less than half an hour, the several hundred demon soldiers that had broken through were utterly annihilated by him alone.
He stood amidst the mountain of corpses and sea of blood, without a single wound on his body.
His monastic robe had a few holes, but those were merely torn by demon claws. The skin beneath still glowed with a faint golden light.
He looked back at Fa Ming.
"See clearly?"
Fa Ming nodded.
"Saw clearly."
Jingchen asked:
"How much do you remember?"
Fa Ming thought for a moment.
"Remembered a little bit."
Jingchen smiled.
"A little bit is enough. The rest, observe slowly later, remember slowly, practice slowly."
He walked to Fa Ming's side, looking down at his wounds.
"Quite seriously injured."
Fa Ming nodded.
"Yes."
Jingchen took out a small porcelain vial from his robe and handed it to him.
"Shaolin's secret golden wound medicine. Apply it; you'll heal in three days."
Fa Ming took the vial, looking at Jingchen.
"Junior Martial Uncle, you..."
Jingchen looked at him.
"Hmm?"
Fa Ming opened his mouth, wanting to say something, but nothing came out.
Jingchen smiled.
"Silly child. This old monk is your Junior Martial Uncle. If I don't help you, who should I help?"
He stood up and looked towards those still fighting.
"Go. There are still matters over there."
Fa Ming nodded, struggling to stand.
Jingchen watched his staggering back and suddenly spoke.
"Fa Ming."
Fa Ming turned around.
"Junior Martial Uncle?"
Jingchen was silent for a moment.
"Your Master was right. You should have come out."
He looked at Fa Ming.
"You are more useful here than at Shaolin Temple."
Fa Ming was stunned.
He looked at Jingchen, his eyes growing warm.
Jingchen waved his hand.
"Go. Don't keep people waiting."
Fa Ming bowed deeply.
Then, he turned and walked towards Lu Mingyuan's location.
Behind him, Jingchen stood there, watching his retreating back for a long, long time.
Then, he smiled.
That smile was faint, but there was light in his eyes.
By the time Fa Ming reached Lu Mingyuan's side, both his legs were trembling.
Lu Mingyuan looked at him.
"Still holding up?"
Fa Ming nodded.
"Still holding up."
Lu Mingyuan looked at the wounds covering his body, at the injuries smeared with golden wound medicine, at his monastic robe torn into strips.
"Your Junior Martial Uncle came?"
Fa Ming nodded.
"He came."
Lu Mingyuan asked:
"How is he?"
Fa Ming thought for a moment.
"Very strong."
Lu Mingyuan smiled.
"Nonsense. Zen Master Jingchen of Shaolin Temple, how could he not be strong?"
He looked at Fa Ming.
"What did you learn from him?"
Fa Ming was silent for a while.
"Learned one phrase."
Lu Mingyuan asked:
"What phrase?"
Fa Ming said softly:
"If the heart does not move, the body does not move."
Lu Mingyuan was stunned.
He looked at Fa Ming for a long, long time.
Then, he smiled.
"Good. A fine phrase indeed, 'If the heart does not move, the body does not move.'"
He looked at those still fighting.
"Having learned this phrase, your coming here was not in vain."
Fa Ming nodded.
He stood there, gazing at those fighting, at those demon soldiers, at that blood-colored Rift.
If the heart does not move, the body does not move.
He closed his eyes, feeling his own heartbeat.
Thump, thump, steady.
The wounds on his body still ached, but that pain seemed somewhat more bearable now.
He opened his eyes.
Before him were still those demon soldiers, that blood, that black mist.
But he knew he was different now.
From this day forward, he was no longer that monk who only knew how to sweep the grounds.
He was Fa Ming of the Zhenyi Alliance.
He was one who had learned "the heart does not move."
He took a deep breath and walked forward.
There, demon soldiers still awaited him.