Seeing his disciple suffer a setback, Yuanxin was both shocked and enraged.
He let out a fierce roar, his monk's robes billowing around him like wind-driven clouds, snapping loudly in the air.
Immediately following this, he executed the Shaolin Dragon Claw Hand, his five fingers hooking like talons and carrying a sharp, fierce gale as he lunged straight for Song Qingshu's vital center.
His idea was sound, but Song Qingshu suddenly shifted his sword's edge, executing the "Big Dipper" sword form.
In an instant, seven cold stars flashed simultaneously, resembling the Plough of the night sky, completely sealing off Yuanxin's seven primary acupoints. This was the move known as "Seven Stars Illuminating the World."
Upon seeing this, Yuanxin's expression changed drastically. Knowing the terrifying power of this sword technique and not daring to meet it head-on, he was forced to retreat seven steps in rapid succession just to barely dodge this fatal blow. With every step he took, he left a shallow footprint in the bluestone floor, a clear testament to his inner panic and tension.
Just as the Eighteen Arhat Formation was about to be broken by Song Qingshu, the Arhats suddenly changed their formation.
Six of them quickly used their staves as a base, standing firmly on the ground to form a solid foundation.
Another six nimbly stepped onto their shoulders and leaped into the air, their eyebrow-height staves ready to launch an attack at any moment.
The final six hung upside down like golden hooks, sealing off the dome above and completely trapping Song Qingshu in a three-dimensional encirclement.
This shift in formation was nothing short of exquisite, compelling one to admire the profound depth and versatility of the Shaolin Eighteen Arhat Formation.
"As expected of the Shaolin Temple's Eighteen Arhat Formation—endless in its variations!"
Seeing this, far from panicking, Song Qingshu's eyes flashed with a hint of excitement as he threw back his head and let out a long whistle.
The whistle shook the roof tiles, its majestic momentum fully displaying his heroic spirit.
Immediately afterward, he executed the tenth form of the Thirteen Swords of Shenmen, "Xuanji Hanging Illumination."
For a moment, sword light filled the air. The radiance fell like shooting stars, resembling the waters of the Milky Way reversing their flow and surging upward into the nine heavens.
Every streak of sword light contained formidable sword Qi, resembling a rushing waterfall with an overwhelming momentum as it charged toward the six monks in the air. This move contained the strength of "rowing a boat against the current"—the greater the resistance faced, the more astonishing its power became.
Several cries of alarm rang out as the waistbands of the six monks in the air snapped simultaneously. Losing their balance, they plummeted downward one after another.
When they landed, their once-neat formation was instantly thrown into complete disarray, and the Arhats sprawled about in a sorry and disheveled state.
Taking advantage of the chaos, Yuanyin quickly picked up a Zen staff from the ground, attempting to execute the formidable move known as the Weituo Pestle to salvage the situation.
However, Song Qingshu was quick-witted and sharp-eyed. Before Yuanyin could even fully raise his staff, Song Qingshu's sword had already thrust forward—it was none other than the thirteenth move of the Thirteen Swords of Shenmen, "Guicang Wuji."
This strike contained thirteen streams of sword Qi, acting like an invisible net that simultaneously sealed off monk Yuanyin's Shenmen acupoint.
Yuanyin felt a tightness in his chest, and the strength drained instantly from his entire body. He could no longer maintain his grip on the Zen staff, and with a sharp *clack*, it dropped to the floor.
His face turned pale, his footsteps staggered, and his body swayed so precariously that he nearly tumbled headlong to the ground.
As the billowing dust and smoke slowly dissipated, the entire main hall was enveloped in an invisible veil of quiet, plunging into dead silence.
Everyone held their breath, their gazes locked fixedly on the arena; no one dared to be the first to break this eerie stillness.
Song Qingshu, on the other hand, remained calm and composed, as if the thrilling battle that had just taken place were nothing more than a passing cloud.
With gentle and steady movements, he slowly sheathed his longsword. The blade and scabbard rubbed together, producing a crisp *click* that was exceptionally clear in the quiet hall.
At this moment, the Eighteen Arhats were either clutching their injured wrists or pressing against the acupoints where they had been struck, their weapons scattered all over the floor in utter disorder.
On their faces were pain, astonishment, and, above all, awe toward the young man before them.
Seeing this, Master Kongwen wore a complex expression. He brought his palms together and chanted, "Amitabha."
Raising his eyes to look at Song Qingshu, he said, "Young Hero Song, truly brilliant swordplay. Today, our Shaolin disciples are inferior in skill, and we accept our defeat as we agreed."
Though he spoke thus, the slight frown on Master Kongwen's brow and the trace of reluctance flashing in his eyes betrayed his inner turmoil.
As the supreme leader of the martial world, Shaolin had suffered a crushing defeat today at the hands of a junior on Wudang Mountain, a pill he found truly difficult to swallow.
Yet, matters having reached this point, Master Kongwen knew that further entanglement would achieve nothing. He could only forcefully suppress the resentment in his heart and silently retreat back into the crowd, his figure carrying a trace of loneliness that made him stand out amidst the throng.
"Is there anyone else who is unconvinced?" Song Qingshu stood tall and upright, resembling an unsheathed sharp sword that radiated a fierce aura.
Ignoring the people of Shaolin Temple, his gaze swept like lightning toward the various sects such as Huashan, Kunlun, and Kongtong, his expression as cold as frost, as though he could freeze the air itself.
Upon meeting Song Qingshu's falcon-like piercing gaze, everyone felt a tightening in their chests, so frightened that the corners of their mouths twitched uncontrollably.
What kind of joke was this?
How could anyone still be unconvinced? Even the Shaolin Eighteen Arhat Formation just now had been unable to do a thing to this kid; their own strength went without saying.
"You... Young Hero Song, our coming here this time was not out of any intention to make things difficult for Wudang. We merely wished to inquire about the whereabouts of the Golden-Haired Lion King Xie Xun."
Amidst the crowd, Xian Yutong felt a light film of sweat bead on his forehead. He forced a smile, putting on a brave face as he spoke with a slight tremble in his voice.
He knew very well that by asking this question, he might once again provoke the wrath of the fierce star before him. Yet as the leader of the Huashan Sect, in front of so many other sects, he had no choice but to put up a front.
"Get lost! What Golden-Haired Lion King Xie Xun? What business does he have with Wudang? If you want to find him, go look for him yourselves! In any case, he is certainly not here with us in Wudang."
Song Qingshu's gaze was like a torch, interrupting Xian Yutong without a shred of mercy, his tone as cold as the wind of the twelfth lunar month. "As for my Fifth Uncle, although he knows the whereabouts of that Xie Xun, he is unwilling to speak—which means he will say nothing at all. Don't try to use some pretense of 'righteousness' to bully and constrain us."
Song Qingshu directly cut him off, leaving no room for courtesy.
Xian Yutong's expression turned instantly unsightly under Song Qingshu's fierce barrage, alternating between pale and ashen.
He bit his lower lip tightly, his hands involuntarily clenched into fists. He was both angry and annoyed in his heart, yet he dared not vent it.
"One by one, you put on righteous airs, yet behind closed doors you act like thieves and whores! Under the nominal banner of eliminating evils for the martial world, aren't you all actually just coveting that Dragon-Slaying Saber!"
"Putting on such a righteous facade—looking at the lot of you makes me sick!"
The anger in Song Qingshu's heart burned ever fiercer. His gaze was like a blade as it swept across each of their faces, releasing his inner contempt without the slightest reservation. "Get out!"
With that final word "Get out," Song Qingshu channeled his full Pure Yang True Qi, roaring it out with the gathered power of his entire life.
This single shout was just like a thunderclap exploding on flat ground. Carrying rolling waves of sound, it shook the roof beams of the main hall until they trembled slightly.
Those martial artists with slightly weaker cultivation felt the world spin and their heads swim, losing their footing one after another. Some even collapsed directly onto the ground, their faces revealing expressions of agony.
Watching Song Qingshu's domineering display before the crowd, Zhang Cuishan could not help leaning over toward Song Yuanqiao and asking in a low voice, "Eldest Brother, is Qingshu usually this temperamental? Ten years without seeing him, and he has changed so much indeed!"
Hearing this, Song Yuanqiao could not help coughing twice, his expression turning slightly awkward as he said, "Ahem, well, not really. Usually, he just follows Master to cultivate in the back mountains, perhaps..."
As he spoke, he subconsciously glanced toward his master, Zhang Sanfeng. Zhang Cuishan followed Song Yuanqiao's gaze to look at Zhang Sanfeng, who sat in the seat of honor.
*The 60-year cycle of purging demons?!*
Now he understood!