152: Shaolin Xinmei, please come to Shaolin!

A Fei, who had been observing the battle with cold indifference, imperceptibly narrowed his pupils.

You Longsheng, who had just vented his frenzied emotions, also subconsciously held his breath.

They both knew that what they were about to witness might be an ultimate sight, rarely encountered in a lifetime.

Lu Jiuyuan's hand gently rested on the hilt of the Guhong Sword.

His movements were not fast, even carrying an unhurried elegance.

However, the moment his five fingers closed—

“Clang—!”

It was not a clear, resonant Dragon cry, but an extremely brief, extremely sharp, ear-splitting screech!

It was as if the speed of the sword's hum was so fast that even the sound itself was severed!

A flash of light!

A light more piercing than lightning, colder than moonlight, and swifter than a shooting star!

It flared up suddenly and extinguished just as abruptly.

So fast it seemed like an illusion lingering on the viewer's retina, so fast it made one doubt if it had truly appeared.

The curtain of rain seemed to be split open by this light, creating a straight, minuscule vacuum trace, which was then frantically filled by the rain.

In the center, Lu Jiuyuan still stood in place, as if he had never moved, gently blowing away a drop of blood from the tip of his sword.

The blood bead mixed into the puddles on the ground, spreading a faint red, proving that what had just happened was no illusion.

Heavenly Demon Disintegration Skill + Three-Part Yuan Qi with ice and fire clashing + a one-time normal amplification—

How fast was it? That's how fast it was!

Whip God Ximen Rou still maintained his standing invitation posture.

On his face, the expression of expectation and pain intertwined had frozen.

His eyes lost focus, yet strangely, there was no terror, no unwillingness, but rather a sense of knowing satisfaction.

In the very center of his glabella, an extremely fine, tiny red mark quietly appeared.

There was no gushing blood, only that single, cinnabar-like red dot.

As if the most precise craftsman, with the finest needle, dipped in the reddest pigment, had gently touched it.

Leaving a touch of crimson.

Fast! An ultimate fast sword strike!

So fast it surpassed nerve reactions, so fast it severed the transmission of pain, so fast that death itself seemed so peaceful and tranquil.

“I see this sword... as if I see a god!”

Whip God Ximen Rou's lips moved slightly.

The light in his eyes completely faded, his body swayed slightly, and then he fell forward.

With a “thud,” mud splattered lightly.

The seventh-ranked on the weapons ranking, Whip God Whip God Ximen Rou, died.

The rain still fell mercilessly, washing over his corpse, trying to cleanse the mark on his glabella, but it was in vain.

That touch of red, like an eternal exclamation mark, spoke of the peerless grace of that sword strike.

In front of the dilapidated temple, a deathly silence fell.

Only the rustling of rain hitting the ground, eaves, and leaves remained, along with You Longsheng's slightly heavy breathing.

A Fei stared intently at Lu Jiuyuan's sword, then at him, and for the first time, such clear and strong shock appeared in his cold eyes.

How could a sword be this fast?

He tightened his grip on the broken sword in his hand, his knuckles turning slightly white from the effort.

You Longsheng looked at Whip God Ximen Rou's fallen corpse, then at Lu Jiuyuan, and the frenzied look gradually faded from his eyes.

That flash of sword light just now quickly sobered him up.

Big Brother is Big Brother; the illusory sense of power brought by rapid growth in strength.

After seeing this sword strike, he immediately became extremely clear-headed.

Lu Jiuyuan slowly pulled a silk handkerchief from his in my arms, wiped it across his sword, and then lightly tossed it, covering Whip God Ximen Rou's face, where it was quickly soaked by the rain.

“Now, you have seen it.”

He said softly in the direction where Whip God Ximen Rou had fallen, unsure if he was speaking to the deceased or to himself.

Three days later.

That battle in the rain quickly spread far and wide.

After Whip God Ximen Rou's death in battle, no one came to challenge them in the following days.

No one else came to demand any evidence.

Lu Jiuyuan and the others also chose not to leave, but to quietly stay in the dilapidated temple, recuperating.

As for the injured You Longsheng, he lay on the ground, recuperating for three days, and only then could he exert a little strength with his severely injured shoulder.

Orderly footsteps, footsteps broke the silence of the forest.

A line of monks, with steady steps, came through the still-wet mud.

The leading old monk, dressed in a yellow kasaya, with a gaunt face and slightly furrowed brows, as if always carrying a hint of compassion and worry, was none other than Great Master Xinmei, the head of the Damo Academy of Shaolin Temple.

Behind him, eighteen warrior monks, dressed in gray monastic robes and holding staff-length black wooden staves, lined up in two rows, their steps neat and uniform, their eyes sharp and restrained, their temples bulging high, clearly indicating their profound Internal Energy.

The eighteen staff monks, the elite of Shaolin's Luohan Hall.

They stopped naturally in the open space in front of the temple, forming a formation with hidden profundities, their demeanor solemn and out of place with the surrounding dilapidated environment.

Great Master Xinmei's gaze swept over the traces of fighting on the ground, particularly lingering on a few dark brown marks, then clasped his hands together and softly chanted a Buddhist prayer: “amitabha.”

He raised his eyes, looked at the open temple gate of the dilapidated temple, and said loudly:

“This old monk, Xinmei of Shaolin, with the Disciples of Luohan Hall, seeks to meet Benefactor Lu Jiuyuan, Benefactor A Fei, and Benefactor You Longsheng.”

His voice was not loud, but it was deep and gentle, clearly reaching inside the temple, and even causing a subtle echo in the mountain forest, revealing his profound Internal Energy cultivation.

Silence fell within the temple for a moment.

Then, footsteps sounded.

Lu Jiuyuan slowly walked out, still in a green robe, with the Guhong Sword hanging from his waist, his expression calm.

A Fei and You Longsheng followed him on either side.

A Fei was still as cold as ice, his eyes as sharp as a lone wolf.

You Longsheng, however, had changed into a new, bright red outfit, strikingly conspicuous, with a strange expression on his face, a mix of a half-smile, frenzy, and sobriety.

His gaze swept over Xinmei and the eighteen staff monks.

“Great Master Xinmei.”

Lu Jiuyuan nodded slightly, as a greeting, “A Shaolin eminent monk, not cultivating in the temple, why bother to come to this desolate mountain wilderness to seek us?”

Great Master Xinmei's gaze carefully scrutinized the three of them, then slowly said:

“amitabha. Benefactor Lu, a wise person speaks plainly. This time, Xinmei left Shaolin Temple for two reasons: firstly, to apprehend Li Xunhuan, the Little Li Flying Dagger, and bring him back to Shaolin Temple to inquire about the murder of Great Master Xingyuan's father, Zhang Xiaoyi.

Secondly, a series of bloody cases recently occurred here, in which the Eight Friends of Hangu, the Ten Fiends of Qingping Mountain, and several benefactors from the weapons ranking, such as Whip God Ximen Rou, Liu Changkong, and Xiang Song, all perished here.

This matter has already caused a huge uproar in the Jianghu.”

Lu Jiuyuan said faintly: “So?”

“Jianghu rumors all point to the three benefactors.”

Great Master Xinmei's tone remained calm, yet carried an undeniable force, “The rumors indicate that all the deceased were somewhat connected to a female benefactor surnamed Lin.

As for the rights and wrongs of the matter, this old monk has no intention of judging here.

However, excessive killing is ultimately not a blessing for the Jianghu, nor does it accord with the compassionate thoughts of our Buddha.”