Demi-Gods and Semi-Devils: The Successor of Bodhidharma

Page 23

Chapter 73 Brothers Meet

At the foot of Wudang Mountain, Jinzha, carrying the Qingshuang Sword, muttered somewhat resentfully, "We agreed to come back together, so why did Master make us come back first? He's being so mysterious."

Holding the Nine Heavens Jade Zither in her arms, Yao Yao moved with light steps. Her cool gaze swept over the endless stream of disciples entering the mountain gate, all dressed in uniform black Daoist robes. She said calmly, "Master has made his own arrangements. The atmosphere of Wudang is exactly as Master described, very good." Her tone was calm, but deep in her eyes, there was also a subtle sense of scrutiny and approval towards this place that was about to become "home."

The two climbed the steps, and saw ancient trees reaching for the sky on both sides of the mountain path, shrouded in mist, with cranes soaring about—truly a scene of a blessed land. The higher they went, the more popular it became. Upon reaching the huge martial arts training square in front of the main peak, it was bustling with activity.

Hundreds of Wudang disciples, clad in black Taoist robes, were practicing a slow and fluid set of boxing techniques in perfect unison. Their movements were gentle and flowing, seemingly weak and powerless, yet each gesture contained an inherent sense of yin and yang, of movement and stillness. This was none other than the "Tai Chi" passed down by Qiao Tian.

It turned out that before his travels, Qiao Tianyun had been pondering the foundation of the Wudang school. Although he knew of the power of Zhang Sanfeng's Tai Chi, the techniques he "knew" were ultimately a step too far, making it difficult to truly grasp the state of "overcoming hardness with softness, and controlling movement with stillness"—the communion between heaven and man. However, during his repeated practice of this rudimentary form of Tai Chi, he unexpectedly discovered that this style of boxing demanded extremely high levels of mental fortitude from its practitioners, truly testing patience, composure, and comprehension. Those who were restless and impatient would find it difficult to grasp; those who were competitive and eager to win would only suffer the consequences. Only those with a calm and tranquil mind, who could slowly comprehend the changes of Yin and Yang, could gradually enter a higher level, and then gain deeper insights from the Daoist scriptures, which would then enrich their martial arts.

This discovery thrilled Qiao Tian! Shaolin uses Buddhist teachings to neutralize the "violence" in martial arts, prioritizing "Buddhism" before "martial arts." Wudang, however, could take the opposite approach, using Tai Chi as a sieve to first calm the mind before imparting the "Tao" and "skills"! Thus, Wudang established a new rule: all newcomers must first learn Tai Chi to temper their character. Only those with excellent character and who can gain insight into Tai Chi can proceed to the next stage: either studying Taoist scriptures in the "Taoist Canon Pavilion" to understand their own nature, or learning Wudang's many unique skills in the "Martial Canon Pavilion," progressing from "skills" to "martial arts."

At this moment, hundreds of disciples were practicing Tai Chi in the square. Their movements were synchronized and their breathing was steady. Although there was no fierce killing intent, there was a grand and majestic atmosphere of profound strength and endless vitality, which made people not dare to underestimate them.

Led by a young Taoist disciple, Jinzha and Yaoyao crossed the square and headed to the back mountain to pay their respects to their master. Along the way, they saw magnificent halls and thriving incense offerings. The disciples coming and going all had respectful expressions and composed demeanors, showing that their path of "entering Tai Chi and cultivating both Taoism and martial arts" was already showing initial results.

Outside Tingsong Pavilion on the Back Hill

Wu Yazi and Wu Xingyun had already received the message and were now standing outside the pavilion. Wu Yazi, dressed in a blue robe, stood with his hands behind his back, exuding an air of composure; the marks of his past severe injuries were almost invisible. Wu Xingyun was still wearing his signature red robes, his face cold and beautiful, his eyes sharp as lightning.

Jinzha and Yaoyao dared not be negligent and quickly stepped forward, bowing respectfully according to proper etiquette: "Disciple Jinzha (Yaoyao) greets Grandmaster and Grandmaster Uncle!"

Wu Yazi nodded with a smile, his gaze sweeping over the two of them. Especially when he sensed the lively yet pure Nine Yang True Qi within Jinzha and the cold yet vibrant Northern Darkness True Qi within Yaoyao, a hint of satisfaction flashed in his eyes: "Good, good! Tian'er has good taste. Get up."

Wu Xingyun merely gave a cold "hmm," his gaze sweeping across the Qing Shuang sword at Jinzha's waist like a knife. His brows furrowed slightly, and he suddenly spoke, his voice filled with undisguised contempt: "What kind of broken sword do Wudang disciples use? Throughout history, swords have been nothing more than whimsical skills and minor arts! True strength lies in the bare hands of a true master!"

Jinzha had just stood up when he heard this, and his reckless spirit returned. Although he didn't dare to argue, he couldn't help but mutter under his breath, "What's wrong with a sword? It looks good and works well. As long as it can win, that's all that matters..."

Although his voice was soft, everyone present, who was highly skilled, heard it clearly.

"Insolence!" Wu Xingyun roared in fury. "You callous brat, how dare you presume to discuss the Great Dao! Today, I, your grandmother, will teach you a lesson on behalf of your master: what it means to respect your teacher and the Dao, and what it means that there are heavens beyond heavens!"

Before she finished speaking, a red shadow flashed and she was already in front of Jinzha. She struck out with her palm. The palm wind was not particularly fierce, but it was extremely agile and unpredictable. It seemed to instantly block all of Jinzha's escape routes. It was the exquisite move of the Tianshan Plum Blossom Hand, intended as punishment.

Jinzha was startled by her sudden attack, but he reacted extremely quickly, almost instinctively, his Qing Shuang sword flashing from its sheath. He moved backward like a willow catkin in the wind, narrowly avoiding the palm strike, and exclaimed, "Grandmaster Uncle, are you serious?!"

"Still dare to dodge?" Seeing his light and graceful movements, Wu Xingyun became even more furious and intensified his attacks, his palms and fingers changing in countless ways, revealing the exquisite skill of the Plum Blossom Hand.

Forced into a panic, Jinzha knew he could not defend himself empty-handed. With a clang, he drew his Qing Shuang sword! The sword light flashed like a bolt of cold lightning!

Knowing he must not harm his grandmaster, and daring not to use any killing moves, he could only employ the "Flying Star Chasing the Moon Sword" technique, taught to him by Qiao Tian, ​​which emphasized agility and nimble swordsmanship. His figure moved swiftly, his sword flashing like shooting stars across the night sky, its trajectory unpredictable.

"Scattered like stars!" he uttered softly, and the sword light suddenly dispersed, transforming into dozens of cold stars that protected his body, attempting to disrupt Wu Xingyun's vision.

Wu Xingyun snorted coldly, his Plum Blossom Hand darting like a butterfly flitting among flowers, precisely cutting into the gaps in the sword light. "A mere trick!"

Jinzha's sword technique changed again, the longsword sometimes slipping from his hand, using the skillful force of the Dragon-Capturing Technique to spin in mid-air, while he himself moved like a fish. "Swimming Dragon Startles the Wild Goose!" The sword moved with his body, man and sword became one, and in the blink of an eye, it slipped away from the palm shadow.

"Interesting!" A look of surprise flashed across Wu Xingyun's eyes, and his palm technique changed accordingly. The scorching palm force of the Tianshan Six Yang Palm began to be incorporated, combining hardness and softness, greatly increasing the pressure.

Jinzha suddenly felt short of breath as the sword light was compressed. He took a deep breath, and the Nine Yang True Qi surged, increasing his sword speed by three points. The sword light was like a sudden storm. "Meteor Chasing the Moon!" Ignoring his own weaknesses, he forcefully counterattacked, using offense as defense. He was incredibly brave!

"Bang!" Wu Xingyun slammed his palm onto the spine of the sword. The scorching palm force penetrated through, and Jinzha felt his arm go numb and almost dropped the Green Frost Sword. He staggered back several steps, his blood and qi churning.

Wu Xingyun withdrew her palm and stood still, coldly watching him. Although her face remained frosty, a barely perceptible hint of admiration flashed deep in her eyes. This young man's internal strength wasn't top-notch, but his swordsmanship was agile and unpredictable, fierce and adaptable. Especially his fearless attitude in the face of enemies, and even his growing excitement as the battle progressed, was quite to her liking. She snorted, "Swordsmanship is flashy, but the foundation is unstable! Your temperament is impetuous, unfit for great use! Come learn palm techniques from your grandmother. Look at this set of palm techniques from your grandmother; it breaks through all martial arts in the world, how exhilarating!" Although it was a reprimand, it already contained an implicit instruction.

Wu Yazi chuckled and stepped in to smooth things over: "Senior Sister, why be angry? Jinzha is young and impetuous, and still needs to be tempered. However, his spirituality and courage are indeed rare." He then turned to Yaoyao, his tone much gentler: "Yaoyao, how is your master? Your foundation in the Northern Darkness is very pure."

Yao Yao replied respectfully, her words concise and to the point.

Huang Shang, who had been standing in the corner as if detached from the matter, gently closed the Taoist scripture in his hand. He looked at Jin Zha, who was slightly out of breath but had bright eyes, and then at Wu Xingyun, who had a cold face but a warm heart. The gentle smile on his lips seemed to deepen, and he murmured to himself, "Junior Brother Jin is like a sharp sword being honed, his sharpness is unstoppable; Grandmaster is like a divine iron hammer, removing the dross and keeping the essence. Wonderful." His words seemed to regard the conflict as some kind of natural "reason".

Wu Xingyun heard it clearly and was even more furious. He glared at Huang Shang and thought that this bookworm was even more infuriating than that brat who wielded a sword.

Meanwhile, a thousand miles away, in a restaurant in a small border town.

Qiao Feng and Xie Xiaoyu stepped into the shop, hoping to find a quiet corner to drink and relax. Xie Xiaoyu followed silently half a step behind Qiao Feng, his eyes habitually scanning the shop, wary of any potential danger.

However, when his gaze swept over a seat by the window, he suddenly froze! There sat a man in a blue robe, pouring himself a drink. His face was ordinary, his demeanor reserved, but for some reason, Xie Xiaoyu felt a strange, deep-seated familiarity emanating from him.

The man in the blue robe seemed to sense the gaze, raised his head, looked towards the door, his gaze passing over Xie Xiaoyu and landing directly on Qiao Feng, a warm and complex smile slowly blooming on his face.

Qiao Feng followed Xie Xiaoyu's gaze, and when he saw the face of the man in the blue robe, his burly body trembled violently, as if frozen in place. His eyes widened, his face filled with extreme shock, disbelief, and a surge of wild joy that seemed to burst from his chest! He opened his mouth, but his throat felt as if something was blocking it. After a long while, he finally let out a low growl that was almost like a dream:

...Big brother?!

The two brothers, separated for more than ten years, finally reunited at a tavern on the outskirts of the city.

Chapter 74 Even Buddha Has Wrath, Vajra Subdues Demons

The restaurants in the remote border town seemed to have been instantly silenced by an invisible force.

Qiao Feng's trembling and incredulous cry of "Big Brother?!" resounded like thunder in Xie Xiaoyu's ears, and even more so in the depths of his own heart.

He gazed at the man in the blue robe sitting by the window. The face vaguely overlapped with the features of his youth in his memory, yet it bore a depth of experience and serenity he had never witnessed before. Those eyes were no longer as calm as the deep pools of Shaoshi Mountain, but held something far more complex and indescribable, like a vast starry sea, captivating the gazer.

Qiao Tian slowly stood up, his smile still warm, yet tinged with an indelible sigh. More than ten years had passed in the blink of an eye. Looking at his tall, robust younger brother, whose imposing presence was like a mountain, he was filled with mixed emotions.

This is Qiao Feng. A tragic hero whose story stirred my blood and brought me immense sorrow in my past life, both through books and on screen. He was hailed as the "ceiling of martial prowess," a man of boundless courage and unwavering loyalty, yet ultimately, torn between national duty and personal emotions, he met his tragic end.

Now, his younger brother, alive and well, with a breath as scorching as the blazing sun, stood before him. He was no longer a paper doll, but a man of flesh and blood, capable of excitement, trembling, and with his tiger-like eyes reddening at the reunion.

Qiao Tian was filled with complex emotions. He had once been a fan of Qiao Feng, captivated by his heroic spirit of "I will go even if there are thousands of people against me," but he had also been puzzled countless times by Qiao Feng's final choice—why choose to commit suicide outside Yanmen Pass? Wouldn't it have been better to roam the world freely with his sworn brothers, Xu Zhu and Duan Yu, enjoying the beauty of nature?

At this moment, looking at the pure, almost overflowing ecstasy and excitement in Qiao Feng's eyes, Qiao Tian suddenly understood something.

Perhaps it's not because he's unwilling, but because he's unable.

His life was rooted in the Beggars' Sect, with "loyalty and righteousness" etched into his very bones, yet he was ultimately betrayed by this very "loyalty and righteousness." The kindness of Qiao Sanhuai and his wife, who raised him with a debt heavier than Mount Tai, and his mentor Xuan Ku, who taught him, both died at the hands of his own father; his beloved A'Zhu even died by his own hand… Everything he cherished was almost shattered by the cruel twists of fate. When he discovered that behind the "truth" he had so desperately sought lay an even more unsolvable ethnic hatred and original sin from his birth, the once upright and indomitable Qiao Feng, who believed he could shoulder the entire world, was already riddled with wounds in his heart.

In this vast world, there is no place for Qiao Feng to stand; in this wide-ranging world, there is no longer a place of pure belonging.

Thinking of this, Qiao Tian looked at Qiao Feng with a deep, bone-chilling heartache. It was an elder brother's pity for his younger brother's tragic fate.

He stepped forward, his movements natural and gentle, as if he were brushing mud off his younger brother's trousers when he climbed trees to steal birds' nests. He reached out and brushed away the dust and sand that had settled on Qiao Feng's shoulder armor, his voice unusually gentle: "Brother Feng, you've grown up."

Those five simple words seemed to possess a strange magic, instantly shattering all of Qiao Feng's composure. This once-powerful Beggar Clan leader, feared by all the villains of the martial world, felt a lump in his throat, his tiger-like eyes welling with tears. He suddenly opened his arms, giving his brother a tight, forceful embrace that seemed to engulf him completely! His voice choked with emotion: "Brother! It really is you! I…I…"

The two brothers embraced tightly, all the separation and longing of more than ten years contained in that hug.

After a long while, Qiao Feng finally let go, still excitedly gripping Qiao Tian's arms, looking him up and down as if to confirm that this was not a dream.

Xie Xiaoyu, who had remained silent like a shadow, slowly stepped forward. His face, usually cold and aloof, commanding the respect of the Beggars' Sect, now held a childlike bewilderment and curiosity. He stared intently at Qiao Tian, ​​his sharp, hawk-like eyes filled with confusion and a glimmer of uncertain hope.

He stared for a long time, then suddenly spoke, his voice still hoarse and low, yet carrying a cautious, tentative tone:

"You...you are...that...older brother from back then?"

Upon hearing this, Qiao Feng looked at Xie Xiaoyu in astonishment, then at Qiao Tian.

Qiao Tian looked at Xie Xiaoyu with gentle eyes, nodded, and confirmed his guess: "Xiaoyu, you've grown up. Very good, you've protected Fengdi very well." He already knew about Xie Xiaoyu's actions over the years from various intelligence sources, and he was very grateful for Xie Xiaoyu's almost obsessive protection.

Upon confirmation, Xie Xiaoyu's perpetually icy face slowly and with great difficulty tugged at the corners of his mouth, revealing a smile that was seven parts honest and three parts excited. He gave a heavy "Hmm!" and then fell silent again, taking a step back and reverting to his cold and stern self as a guard. However, something different had appeared in the depths of his eyes.

The three found a quiet table and sat down. Qiao Feng eagerly inquired about his brother's experiences over the years, while Qiao Tian listened with a smile as his younger brother recounted the Beggars' Sect's affairs, occasionally offering a few pointers, just like their rooftop conversation on Shaoshi Mountain years ago. Drinks were continuously served, creating a warm and lively atmosphere that shut out the hustle and bustle of the surrounding tavern.

Meanwhile, on the official road far to the southwest, a completely different scene unfolded.

Banners fluttered, and the procession was magnificent! A group of dozens of people were marching in a grand procession towards Dali. In the center of the procession, on a splendidly decorated palanquin carried by eight strong lamas, sat a dignified monk. He wore a bright red robe, had a handsome face, and his eyes shone with a sharp light. He was none other than the Tibetan National Preceptor—"Great Wheel King" Kumārajīva.

His journey was a grand affair, with knights leading the way and attendants carrying sutra banners and incense burners, their chanting faintly audible, creating an imposing spectacle. This drew the attention of the people along the way, who gave way and stared at him. What Kumārajīva was thinking of was the treasured Six-Pulse Divine Sword of the Tianlong Temple in Dali. Confident in his mastery of techniques like the Flaming Blade and his knowledge of all martial arts, he had long coveted the Six-Pulse Divine Sword, hailed as the greatest sword technique in the world, and was determined to obtain it this time.

Just as they were pondering this, a commotion suddenly broke out at the front of the group.

Suddenly, a disheveled, ragged, and seemingly insane beggar appeared out of nowhere, blocking the middle of the road. He stretched out his filthy hand and mumbled incoherently, "Give me money...give me money...to buy chicken...I'm hungry..."

Upon seeing this, the Tibetan warriors clearing the way shouted at the beggar to drive him away. The mad beggar, however, seemed not to hear them and continued to stretch out his hand. Several warriors, growing impatient, stepped forward to forcibly drag him away.

However, something strange happened.

The mad beggar appeared unsteady and his steps were unsteady, but as soon as the hands of several elite warriors touched his body, it was as if they had hit an invisible wall of energy. They screamed and flew backward, and the sound of their bones breaking could be clearly heard!

The line of people came to a sudden halt.

Kumārajīva on the palanquin slowly opened his eyes, his gaze shooting towards the mad beggar like cold lightning. Even with his keen eyesight, he couldn't immediately see through the beggar's true nature. He only sensed that the beggar's aura was chaotic and disordered, seemingly insane, but the recoil force from the blow that sent the warrior flying was profound and pure, containing the essence of authentic Buddhism, and was by no means ordinary!

A dozen more warriors roared and charged forward, their swords drawn, gleaming coldly.

The mad beggar continued to laugh and joke, facing the swords and knives without flinching or dodging, simply waving his hands, clapping his hands, and kicking his legs at will. His movements were completely haphazard, like a drunkard playing around, but every strike was precisely aimed at the warriors' weaknesses, whether it was their wrists, joints, or pressure points.

"Bang bang bang!"

Screams rose and fell, and the warriors who had rushed forward were thrown back like tumbling gourds, landing on the ground in a heap, groaning incessantly. The mad beggar, however, hadn't even been touched by the blade!

Kumārajīva's face darkened completely. As the National Preceptor of Tibet, his martial arts and Buddhist teachings had reached a state of perfection. How could he have ever been provoked like this? Moreover, at this crucial moment on the way to Tianlong Temple, he was blocked by a crazy beggar who appeared out of nowhere, suffering losses and vanity.

He slowly rose from his palanquin, his crimson robe billowing even without wind, exuding an imposing aura that suffocated his surrounding followers, who retreated hastily. He stared at the mad beggar still shouting "Buy chicken!", his eyes blazing with fury and murderous intent, his voice icy as he spoke, each word distinct and chilling:

"What a reckless mad beggar! Daring to block the presence of this national master and injure my followers... Today, I will show you what it means for even the Buddha to be angry, and for Vajra to subdue demons!"

Chapter 75 Even Buddha Gets Angry? Your Ancestors Are Here!

The atmosphere on the official road was somber and tense!

Kumārajīva's body suddenly sank, his feet seemingly rooted to the ground, spinning rapidly! His true energy surged, stirring up mud, sand, and gravel, forming a small tornado! All his pure power gathered between his palms, his robes billowing and rustling, his eyes sharp as a hawk, firmly locking onto the still grinning, shouting "Buy chicken!"

"Playing tricks! Take this!" Kumārajīva shouted, no longer hesitating. His figure shot out like lightning, his palms striking out in rapid succession. The palm wind was scorching and fierce, carrying the sound of wind and thunder. This was one of his most prized techniques, the Flaming Blade.

Faced with this fierce offensive, the mad beggar remained in a dazed and confused state. His steps were unsteady, like a drunkard, his body swaying and staggering, sometimes like a willow swaying in the wind, sometimes like a nimble monkey climbing a branch. In the blink of an eye, he narrowly avoided Kumārajīva's seemingly inevitable palm strike. His movements were completely haphazard, seemingly full of flaws, yet they were also fluid and effortless, as if in accordance with some profound natural principle. He always found a way out of the impossible, "slipping" away from Kumārajīva's exquisite palm techniques like an eel entering water, leaving no room for attack.

As Kumārajīva fought, he became increasingly alarmed. He was proud of his extensive martial arts skills and broad knowledge, but he had never seen such a strange movement technique before! This mad beggar's internal strength was unfathomable, yet he did not use any known moves. With just this seemingly absurd footwork and posture, he had forced Kumārajīva to a standstill!

"Outrageous!" Having failed to gain the upper hand, Kumārajīva grew increasingly furious. Seeing the mad beggar stumble and about to fall, his chest wide open, a glint of light flashed in his eyes. He changed his palm into a finger, his index finger and thumb gently snapping together, as if plucking a flower. A subtle, yin-like force silently struck the mad beggar's vital point! This was one of the seventy-two Shaolin arts—the Flower-Plucking Finger—that he had simulated based on the Lesser Formless Skill!

This finger strike is silent and stealthy, yet it has endless follow-up attacks, specifically designed to break through internal energy!

However, just as the finger force was about to reach his body, the previously drunken and dazed beggar's eyes suddenly cleared! It was an almost instinctive reaction! As if completely out of his control, his right hand also shot out swiftly, his index finger and thumb gently pinching, his posture elegant and composed, and he actually arrived first, meeting Kumārajīva's finger force with perfect precision!

A soft sound of energy clashing.

Kumārajīva felt as if his soft and ever-changing finger strength had struck a Buddhist wall containing boundless compassion and resilience, instantly dissolving into nothingness! The pure Buddhist power emanating from the opponent's fingers further shook his mind!

"The Flower-Plucking Finger? You...who exactly are you?" Kumārajīva suddenly retracted his finger and leaped back, his face filled with extreme shock and disbelief! This mad beggar actually knows the Seventy-Two Shaolin Arts? Moreover, the artistic conception of this Flower-Plucking Finger is so harmonious and clear that it seems to be even more refined than he knew!

The mad beggar defused the crisis with a flick of his finger, but his clear eyes were quickly replaced by chaos. He rubbed his temples, seemingly in pain, then pointed at Kumārajīva and chuckled, "A complete misfit, merely a shell! Even Buddha can be angry? Heh heh, I am your Buddha's ancestor!"

These words were incredibly arrogant! But when combined with his mad appearance and the astonishing martial arts skills he had just displayed, they created a chilling and eerie feeling.

Kumārajīva was enraged by his words, but more than that, he was filled with curiosity and greed for the exquisite finger technique. He suppressed his anger, rolled his eyes, and put on what he thought was a kind expression, saying, "Very well! I misjudged you! That finger technique just now was exquisite! Could you... demonstrate it again so I can see for myself?" He was a martial arts enthusiast all his life, and seeing such a wonderful finger technique, he no longer cared about the dignity of the Imperial Preceptor.

The mad beggar shook his head vigorously, shouting, "No way! My head hurts!"

Kumārajīva hurriedly said, "This humble monk will buy you chickens! Lots of chickens! Roasted chickens, stewed chickens, beggar's chickens, as much as you want!" His tone was urgent, like a child who had seen a new and exciting toy.

Upon hearing the word "chicken," the mad beggar's eyes lit up, his mouth practically watering, and he clapped his hands and laughed, "Chickens! So many chickens! Great!"

Kumārajīva was secretly delighted, thinking he had succeeded. He was about to coax the beggar into using his finger techniques again when he saw the mad beggar suddenly clutch his head and squat down in pain, crying, "No, no... it hurts just thinking about it... I won't hit him, I won't hit him..."

Kumārajīva's patience ran out, and his face darkened: "Since you refuse, then this humble monk has no choice but to come and 'ask for instruction' in person!" He decided to subdue this mad beggar first, and then slowly interrogate him about the secrets of martial arts!

Before he finished speaking, Kumārajīva moved again, his palm technique suddenly changing. His palms conjured up numerous palm shadows, the force of his palms shifting between reality and illusion, unpredictable and ever-changing, enveloping the mad beggar's vital points! This time he held back, unleashing one of the seventy-two Shaolin arts—the Prajna Palm! The palm wind howled, carrying the sound of wind and thunder, its power far surpassing its previous strength!

However, faced with this exquisite and domineering Prajna Palm, the crouching mad beggar suddenly raised his head, his eyes regaining their clarity, even carrying a transcendent calm. He slowly stood up, neither dodging nor avoiding, and struck out with his own palm, the trajectory of which was also the Prajna Palm!

However, his palm strikes and Kumārajīva's palm strikes have completely different meanings!

Kumārajīva's Prajna Palm is sharp and fierce, aiming to "break through all dharmas".

The mad beggar's Prajna Palm, however, is perfectly integrated and transparent, containing the wisdom of "seeing that the five aggregates are all empty".

Just as their palms were about to collide, the mad beggar suddenly recited clearly:

"Form is not different from emptiness, emptiness is not different from form!"

"Bang!" When the first palm strikes collided, Kumārajīva felt as if his powerful and unparalleled palm force had struck empty air, while the opponent's palm force penetrated like flowing water, directly impacting his meridians! He groaned, his blood and qi churning!

The mad beggar changed his palm technique again, and a second palm strike followed immediately, as he chanted:

"The same applies to sensation, perception, volition, and consciousness!"

Kumārajīva hurriedly changed his move to defend, but felt that his palm power was being guided by the opponent and was somewhat out of control. His moves were outdated and his weaknesses were immediately exposed!

"All phenomena are empty of inherent existence, neither arising nor ceasing!" The mad beggar unleashed his third palm strike, the force of which surged like the tide, wave after wave!

Kumārajīva was forced to take the hit head-on, staggering back three steps until his arm went numb and sore!

"Neither defiled nor pure, neither increasing nor decreasing!" The fourth palm strike! The palm intent is ethereal, seemingly ignoring all defenses!

Kumārajīva exerted all his strength, slashing horizontally with his fiery blade, but it was directly shattered by the ethereal palm force, and his chest felt as if it had been hit by a heavy hammer!

Therefore, there is no color in emptiness…

"Without sensation, perception, volition, or consciousness..."