Flower Stealing Master

Seeing that Zhang Sanfeng remained unresponsive, Xuan Ci could only sigh in frustration. Although he wanted to assist the Sweeping Monk, he knew that the martial skills of his group were far too inferior. If they joined the battle, they wouldn’t be of any help and would only hinder their companions. Xuan Cheng had been the best candidate to assist. With his strength, he was qualified to join the fight, but unfortunately, he had been injured by that foreign monk during the day.

Thinking of this, Xuan Ci grew even more resentful. As expected, this was all part of Wudang’s scheme—first colluding with the demonic cult leader and the western foreign monk to injure Shaolin’s elite, weakening their strength, and making it easier to sneak in at midnight.

At this moment, the surroundings were utterly silent. The gathered Shaolin experts watched the duel before them, their hearts filled with indescribable shock.

In the martial world, when top experts exchanged moves, each technique usually carried a renowned name. If one person used the ‘Eighteen Dragon Subduing Palms’, the opponent would counter with the ‘Nine Swords of Dugu’. Their battles were often famous duels between legendary techniques. However, the two combatants before them completely shattered this perception.

With a light palm strike, the Sweeping Monk executed a move that no one recognized. It seemed utterly ordinary, as if any countryside farmer could casually step aside to dodge it. Yet Zhang Sanfeng treated it as a dire threat, refusing to evade. Instead, he countered by punching straight toward the descending palm.

If Song Qingshu had been present, he would have been in awe. In the original novel, Murong Bo, a martial arts genius, had faced this very move and chose to raise his hand in defense while drifting backward. The Murong Clan of Gusu was already renowned for its formidable techniques, and after Murong Bo mastered Shaolin’s 72 Ultimate Techniques, his skills became even more unparalleled. His movement appeared simple—raising a hand, retreating slightly—but it was a perfect counter. That single block neutralized all attacks, and that single retreat evaded all pursuits. His defense was so seamless and graceful that it seemed flawless.

Yet, despite his mastery, he was still struck by the Sweeping Monk’s light palm on his ‘Baihui’ acupoint and instantly perished.

Though Zhang Sanfeng had never seen this move before, his century of experience allowed him to sense its hidden peril. Unlike Murong Bo, he chose not to retreat but to meet the attack head-on with his fist, breaking through the technique directly.

As Zhang Sanfeng threw his punch, the Shaolin monks gasped in astonishment once again. They couldn’t understand the Sweeping Monk’s palm technique, nor could they recognize Zhang Sanfeng’s punch. They all silently marveled in their hearts: ‘When martial arts reach such a profound level, who still relies on named techniques? A mere palm strike, a simple tap, or a casual kick is enough to defeat most experts in the world.’