The Sutra Copying Hall of Donglin Temple is located between Manjusri Pagoda and Samantabhadra Hall.
Most of the scriptures copied by monks and believers were placed in the pagoda on both sides and offered incense in the hall. It was euphemistically called collecting wishes and praying for blessings.
Today, a middle-aged scribe came to the Sutra Copying Hall early.
The middle-aged scribe, with a white face and beard, elegant temperament and a ring around his waist, reached into his sleeve and donated a sum of incense money.
The monk who knew the guest smiled and took him to an area in front of the Buddha where he copied scriptures.
The white-faced scribes washed their hands and burned incense, sat in meditation with their backs straightened, and immersed themselves in copying scriptures.
There are very few people copying scriptures in the Sutra Copying Hall today.
There were only white-faced scribes and an old monk who was a little deaf.
The two strangers were quite far apart, on either side of the Big Buddha with Kind Eyes in the center of the hall, separated by a large unoccupied futon.
During the interval of copying scriptures, the white-faced scribe and the deaf old monk accidentally looked at each other, smiled at each other, and bowed their heads.
It's a kind of tacit understanding between monks and monks.
What the old monk who had been copying scriptures in this hall for many years didn't know was that the white-faced scribe lowered his head again and took out a scripture from his sleeve.
He dipped his pen into ink and put pen to paper.
Behind him, the palace door was wide open, and the flags hanging over the palace made a sound from time to time.
The white-faced scribe's free scarf flutters on his head.
The hand holding the pen was raised.
In front of me, the scriptures are turning.
windy.
Flipping book style.
…
In the green bamboo forest with rustling leaves, a cottage regains its atmosphere.
Wei Shaoxuan and Liu Zian took their seats.
Boss Li went to wait in front of the door.
A man named Qiu Qi walked to the window and looked at the green bamboo forest.
The hurried coming and going of an old monk with a white beard and black clothes not long ago was just an insignificant incident in the hut, and no one mentioned it again.
Liu Zian smiled and said:
"I heard that Mr. Wei likes purple bamboo shoot tea, so Liu specially asked someone to find some tea cakes. I hope Mr. Wei will be satisfied."
Wei Shaoxuan rolled his eyes slightly, looked at him for a while, and said with a smile:
"Master Liu is here to invite me to tea today?"
"of course not!"
Liu Zian immediately answered, paused, and then lowered his voice and said:
"Liu is not afraid that the reception will not be good. Well, I didn't expect Mr. Wei to come so early, which makes me a little bit at a loss as to how to entertain him."
"I thought Master Liu had something up his sleeve, hehe. Just keep doing your job." Wei Shaoxuan paused, narrowed his eyes and asked, "Where's that old gentleman? Why didn't he come?"
Liu Zian smiled bitterly:
"Mr. Wei, it's not like you don't know that old gentleman's eccentric character. No one likes to be polite. Now it's the last and most critical moment. The old gentleman has to stay there day and night..."
"Let's talk first."
Qiu Qi in front of the window suddenly spoke. He turned around and said calmly:
"I'm going to catch a mouse."
As soon as he finished speaking, outside the window behind the man carrying the box, the entire bamboo forest that was originally swaying with the sound of "rustling" suddenly stopped moving, as if the wind had stopped.
"What mouse?" Liu Zian looked around in confusion.
There was not much surprise on Wei Shaoxuan's face. He clapped his hands with a folding paper fan and stood up with a smile:
"Father, please be gentle. Why don't you catch him alive this time? If you are too stubborn, forget it. I can't see a good man, so give him a good time."
Seems like he has a lot of experience.
Qiu Qi made no sound.
Because there is no trace of him in the house.
There was only a wooden sword box left, leaning against the window, which attracted Liu Zian and Boss Li to look at it in surprise.
Leave the box and go.
There is a sutra-copying hall a thousand meters away from the bamboo forest hut.
A white-faced scribe had a scripture in front of him, silently turning over it. He lowered his head and held his pen. Under his pen was a piece of white paper for copying the scriptures.
The white-faced scribe kept writing something, frowning slightly.
Until this moment, the pen had just written the words of a man with a box on his back, and the white-faced scribe's pen, which he had been writing continuously from just now, suddenly broke.
The originally leisurely and elegant white-faced scribe suddenly changed his face, and the jade pendant around his waist shook slightly, and a flash of red light flashed.
He held down the Confucian scriptures that were turning in front of him in the windless wind with his big hands, stuffed the manuscripts of the scriptures into them, and grabbed them together.
The figure of the white-faced scribe sitting on the futon disappeared.
Only a jade ring fell silently onto the futon below.
The flags and banners above the Sutra Copying Hall suddenly rang loudly, and a gust of breeze swept across the ground and rushed towards the entrance of the hall.
But the next second, a sturdy figure in short-sleeved linen clothes appeared outside the hall door.
The strong man who dropped his sword case and lost his victory faced the door, with his back to the bright sunny sky behind him. Looking from the light-facing angle in the hall, the man in front of the door was completely dark, with only black shadows, and his specific expression could not be seen clearly.
And this scene is like a huge black mountain savage, pouring down, trying to squeeze the entire hall, which is very oppressive.
Sure enough, the book-turner's breeze hit this "black mountain" and instantly shattered into pieces.
The figure of the white-faced scribe stumbled back.
Qiu Qi calmly took a step forward and arrived in front of the white-faced scribe in an instant.
He twisted his body, raised his shoulders, and shook his legs.
With a twisting kick, he smashed the white-faced scribe in front of him cleanly.
A good military strategist and Qi practitioner, possessing basic martial arts physique, able to fight hand-to-hand, and almost invincible at the same level.
However, the white-faced scribe who was kicked to pieces did not splatter with blood and juice, but exploded into a ball of fine shredded paper in the air.
Qiu Qi's expression seemed to be unsurprised. He calmly turned his head and looked somewhere on the southeast side of the hall, and then he dashed after him.
A gust of breeze, which was much weaker, was still escaping around the hall, empty and real.
"Seventh grade? Book translator?"
Qiu Qi shook his head.
Immediately, Qiu Qi's figure appeared in various places in the hall like a phantom clone.
At the same time, white-faced scribes appeared one after another, dead in different ways, beaten and kicked into pieces of paper.
Complete suppression.
All of this happened in just three breaths, and nearly a hundred figures were shattered.
The white-faced scribe was tired of dealing with it, and the pages in the Confucian classic in his sleeve were getting fewer and fewer. The number had dropped sharply, and there would soon be no substitute.
Qiu Qi, on the other hand, was throwing punches and kicks as if he were taking a leisurely stroll in the courtyard. He even asked casually:
"You dare to come here if you are only seventh grade, who gave you the courage? Your Confucian Academy has enjoyed too much peace and prosperity, is it such a waste?"
The white-faced scribe sighed:
"You are not an ordinary protector of the Wei family. Are you...Qiu Shenji? A guest of King Wei. Aren't you in charge of the northern military camp on behalf of the Wei family, to clean up the chaos on the front line of Yingzhou? The Palace of Wei sent you here to serve as an official. what?"
"It seems you don't know anything, but a dead person doesn't need to know so much." Qiu Shenji nodded: "Choose a way to die."
The white-faced scribe was silent and suddenly asked curiously:
"You dare to take action without fear of exposing your qi and being seen by other qi practitioners? Yunmeng Jianze is right next to you."
Qiu Shenji shook his head: "I don't need to use purple energy to kill you."
The white-faced scribe looked north at the blue sky outside the palace gate. A short distance away, there was a black mountain blocking the door. It seemed that he would not be able to cross out today.
Beneath the confrontation between the white-faced scribe and Qiu Shenji, the old monk was immersed in copying scriptures with his head down, and was completely unaware of the magical battle between the Qi practitioners that took place in the hall.
The white-faced scribe turned around and suddenly smiled:
"Qiu Shenji, don't look down on others. A top-grade Ziqi is great? Have you not eaten enough? Your hands and feet are so soft, you look like a girl."
Qiu Shenji responded coldly and twitched the corners of his mouth.
The contempt is palpable.
But the most terrifying thing for the white-faced scribe is that the man in sackcloth blocking the road in front of him, no matter how much he despises or despises him, still clings to his energy.
Even though the man's muscles are flabby, he looks like a lazy man, but this is the state of a top martial artist before taking action. The kind of muscle that is tight all over the body is actually a third-rate martial artist in the world.
He stood ready and did not give the white-faced scribe any chance.
This is the military trainer who leads the surrounding army to charge into battle and fight to grow up on the battlefield.
The next second, the sighing white-faced scribe's body suddenly glowed with red light, turning into a crimson rainbow and rushing toward the roof of the hall. The bricks on the roof melted, and a gap opened silently. The crimson rainbow seemed to penetrate through the hole in the next second.
Unfortunately, Qiu Shenji blocked the gap in the roof as expected.
The white-faced scholar's energy was tightly locked, and his physique was different. If he dared to get close to a warrior, he would be like a moth in the fire.
But the direction of the crimson rainbow that the white-faced scribe transformed into remained straight, heading straight towards the mountain.
Like a turbulent river being diverted by a huge boulder, the crimson spiritual energy in the rainbow was consumed rapidly.
Qiu Shenji didn't move for the moment, his face was calm, and he was observing the reality in a cave, just like using troops on the battlefield to defend the enemy's surprise troops.
The white-faced scribe began to bleed from his seven orifices. The next second, the crimson rainbow in the sky suddenly turned back. The white-faced scribe turned his head and threw a volume of Confucian scriptures in his sleeve toward the palace door.
Qiu Shenji, who was originally motionless, suddenly appeared in front of the white-faced scribe.
A big hand clamped the right wrist of the white-faced scribe who was about to throw away the book.
Qiu Shenji broke off a section of his right hand, just like a woman breaking a willow tree during a spring outing by the lake.
And in the hand of this severed limb, there is still a volume of Confucian scriptures tightly clutched.
Qiu Shenji glanced at the reader's Confucian classics.
The white-faced scribe in front of him had big drums of blood gushing out from his mouth and nose, like a water pump pumping out water from a well.
The scribe with the severed hand and the man with the "broken willow" maintained the same posture and stood quietly in front of the main hall door.
The white-faced scribe smiled lightly at Qiu Shenji with his face covered with bloodstains:
"The Xianbei Yi tribe is just that. They are the lackeys of the Wei family and they think they are the king of Mu. They are just a monkey mu."
As soon as the words came out, fragments fell off the face of the white-faced scribe.
Piece after piece, they fell.
It's like a lifelike terracotta warrior with pieces of paint falling from its face.
The Confucian book reader smiled with a bloody face, and his body began to disintegrate inch by inch.
The crimson spiritual energy in his body became violent, like beams of light, shooting out from the cracks that disintegrated and fell off.
The unnamed white-faced scribe has more and more crimson light pillars on his body, or he looks like a hedgehog with blood-red thorns.
Qiu Shenji frowned slightly: "Are all scholars so stubborn?"
The next second, the man's shoulders shook slightly, and his muscles and bones crackled, squirming and twisting like an earth dragon turning over.
A fierce and terrifying lilac spiritual energy gradually emitted!
It's like being reborn.
Qiu Shenji's body was suspended in the air in the calm air.
A top-grade Qi practitioner who was terrifying in the world suddenly appeared in front of the hall, unscrupulously exuding his own surging spiritual energy.
Top-grade Qi Practitioners, that is, fifth- and fourth-grade Qi Practitioners, can release their spiritual energy.
If Ouyang Rong were here at this moment and saw this scene, he would definitely think of what his junior sister once casually said: a high-grade Qi practitioner can walk in the wind and does not need to rely on force to breathe like a middle-grade or low-grade Qi practitioner.
I saw that the surging purple energy temporarily suppressed the crimson spiritual energy that was about to burst away.
Qiu Shenji frowned in dissatisfaction and glanced at the white-faced scribe who looked at him with a bloody face and a smile. The latter was already dead, and he died with his eyes closed.
At least he forced out his high-grade purple energy cultivation.
Qiu Shenji snorted coldly, and grabbed forward with his big hand. The "fragments" that had fallen from the white-faced scribe returned to their original places one by one, and the blood returned to the broken meridians in his body drop by drop.
This scene is like going back in time and space, and the white-faced scribe is put back together neatly.
But this is just a rough splicing, not a complete restoration or resurrection of the dead.
Qiu Shenji stretched his fist forward, loosened his fist into a claw, and suddenly took a shot from the air.
The body of the white-faced scribe was like a broken rag doll, with his head tilted and his arms drooping, he slowly floated up.
With his other hand, he raised two fingers and pointed directly at the golden Buddha in the center of the hall.
It is said that military qi practitioners, in addition to practicing the most basic martial arts physique, are also divided into four categories according to different qi refining techniques:
A military planner, a weapons expert, a military yin-yang expert, and a military situation expert.
Among them, the Yin and Yang Family of Soldiers, according to ancient books, move in accordance with the times, and they can pretend to be ghosts and gods to help them.
That is to say, he is proficient in the Yin Yang and Five Elements methods similar to those of the Yin Yang family, and at the same time, he has a thorough understanding of the surrounding battlefields, and takes advantage of the situation to take action according to local conditions.
Amid the curls of green smoke in the hall, the head of the Buddha slowly rose, and its head and body separated.
Qiu Shenji casually threw the dead Confucian book reader and all traces of it into the Buddha.
The suspended Buddha head gradually fell down, and the head and body healed.
Completely sealed.
After doing this, Qiu Shenji turned around and rushed towards the futon where the white-faced scribe had been sitting before.
I saw a jade pendant lying still.
But he was still a step late. The aura of the white-faced scribe had just closed and disappeared, and the jade pendant suddenly shot towards the palace door at an extremely fast speed.
Qiu Shenji chased after him, first dodging to the gate of the palace, and then over the square outside the palace... His natal jade pendant shot into the sky, Qiu Shenji dodged and followed him all the way.
Thousands of feet high in the sky, a jade pendant is about to penetrate the rich aroma of incense in Donglin Temple and explode in the sky to send a message.
But a big hand suddenly stretched out and grabbed the jade pendant. It was Qiu Shenji who suddenly appeared.
The jade pendant had been blown to pieces, but hundreds of fragments and a certain spiritual energy among them were trapped between a palm.
When Qiu Shenji saw this, his expression seemed to be relieved.
A gentleman has no reason to keep jade from his body. Every Confucian Qi practitioner wears a natal jade ring. After the host dies, the jade pendant explodes and reports to the Confucian sect's ancestor hall.
He looked around and nodded slightly.
I am quite satisfied with the rich scent of incense that can block the connection with the outside world.
Bing Yinyang's family just borrowed it to vent their anger.
I saw the man in linen clothes suspended in the air, using a special breathing method, taking a long breath, arms folded, and the surging purple energy wrapped around his body gradually restrained until it disappeared.
In a few moments, thousands of feet high in the sky, the figure disappeared, leaving only the sound of the wind.
Sutra copying hall.
At a certain moment, an old monk rested his pen and looked to the left. A certain futon was empty.
The figure of the white-faced scribe who was copying books disappeared.
The deaf old monk shook his head and muttered something, then raised his face and glanced at the golden Buddha.
The Buddha has kind eyebrows and kind eyes.
The old monk continued to copy scriptures.
…
Bamboo forest, cottage.
Liu Zian and Boss Li stared wide-eyed.
When Qiu Shenji returned, he held a cracked jade pendant in his left hand and a bloody broken palm in his right hand. The broken palm was also holding on to a volume of Confucian scriptures.
The man walked to the window and put the sword case on his back again.
Wei Shaoxuan took the Confucian classics, threw away his severed hand, took out several manuscripts sandwiched between pages, glanced down at them, and shook his head:
"It should be the secret sentry protecting Li Xian's family. They were attracted by the signs of our sudden arrival and came here to eavesdrop...
"And it seems that we haven't heard anything. The Liberationists haven't discovered the big thing we are going to do yet, haha."
Liu Zian's face seemed to be relieved, and he glanced at the man in sackcloth who was carrying the box again from the corner of his eye.
Wei Shaoxuan suddenly put down the Confucian classics and turned around:
"Master Liu, when will the sword be released?"
Liu Zian's face suddenly became serious:
"The old gentleman said it's the fifteenth of this month!"
or2
(End of chapter)
