Killing Monks

Guangyuan looked at him without saying a word.

The old monk assumed he had tacitly agreed, and continued, "As for the closure of Prajna Temple..."

He paused, then stretched out one hand, fingers spread wide.

"I offer five acres of fertile land to my junior brother. I wish to help him broaden the temple gates and save all sentient beings."

He knows his stuff.

For Prajna Temple to operate sustainably, it cannot rely solely on donations; it must own temple land. Only with land can it support the monks and maintain its long-term existence.

Five acres is enough to start a small temple.

Guangyuan looked at him and suddenly smiled.

There was a hint of mockery in that smile.

"Five mu?"

He spoke slowly.

"Is this some kind of beggar's fighting style?"

The old monk's face stiffened.

How much do you want?

"Fifty mu."

The old monk gasped.

Fifty mu?

How much land does this little Buddhist temple own? This monk is just trying to extort money from us!

He took a deep breath, suppressing his anger, and said in a deep voice, "Seven mu. No more."

He was a seasoned veteran; he knew this was the start of haggling. The other party asked for fifty, he countered with seven, and finally compromised at twenty or thirty—it was all part of the routine.

Guangyuan looked at him without saying a word.

A moment later, the black and white energy around him rose up again.

"Never mind then."

He said, "Let's fight. Let's see how much your old bones are worth."

The old monk was stunned.

That's not right.

The normal procedure should be negotiation, back and forth, until a compromise is reached and everyone is happy. Why resort to flipping the table like that?

He opened his mouth, looking at the increasingly intense true energy surrounding Guangyuan, and couldn't help but feel a little anxious.

The soft fear the hard, the hard fear the ruthless, and the ruthless fear the reckless.

Guangyuan is just taking advantage of his youth and is reckless, wanting to fight him to the death!

"Ten mu!" he shouted hurriedly, "Ten mu, no more than that!"

Guangyuan remained silent.

He raised his still-bleeding right hand and slowly clenched his fist. Black and white true energy condensed on his fist, growing thicker and brighter.

He really needs to keep playing.

The old monk's face darkened.

He looked at the fist, recalling the "Duang" sound from earlier, his buzzing head, the family fortune he had accumulated over the years, this small Buddhist temple, and these dozens of monks.

"slow!"

He waved his hand abruptly, "Fifty mu isn't possible, but thirty mu is! Plus two more households!"

This was his final line. Thirty acres of land, two tenant farmers—enough to keep that dilapidated temple afloat for several years.

Guangyuan's aura gradually subsided, and the black and white energies receded like a tide, returning to his body.

"Can."

He uttered only one word, clean and concise.

The old monk's expression remained unchanged, and he breathed a sigh of relief.

"I will send someone to complete the transaction with you within three days." He paused, then added, "The county magistrate will act as guarantor at that time."

He deliberately pointed out the words "county magistrate".

This is showing off connections.

Since we can't be enemies, let's be friends. Having many friends is never a bad thing.

The martial arts world is not just about fighting and killing; it's about human relationships and social interactions.

Guangyuan understood the meaning behind his words and smiled slightly.

That smile was ambiguous, not quite a smile.

"So... today was a misunderstanding?"

The old monk was taken aback, then burst into laughter.

"It's a misunderstanding! It's all a misunderstanding!"

He laughed loudly, "We've become friends through this fight! It's a great blessing that our Buddhist community has a disciple like you in Qujiang County!"

He spoke with such sincerity that it was as if the battle had never happened.

Qujiang County is the territory of the Nine Dragons Martial Arts Academy. The county is full of martial artists who practice the "Nine Dragons Overlord Body" and there are very few Buddhists.

The small Buddhist temple has been operating here for decades, but it has never been very popular. It just lacks a skilled fighter to bolster its reputation.

If we can win over this troublemaker, and the two families join forces, we can establish the Buddhist temple's reputation in Qujiang County. With more believers, there will be more donations.

More donations will benefit everyone.

Guangyuan understood his implied meaning but did not respond.

He simply said, "Public opinion is insignificant, and youthful impetuosity will likely prevent the flourishing of Buddhism; in fact, it may bring trouble."

After saying that, he turned around, stepped on the pebbles scattered on the ground, and left the small Buddhist temple without looking back.

The old monk stood before the ruins of the mountain gate, gazing at the departing figure, remaining silent for a long time.

As far as the eye could see, there was the collapsed mountain gate, the stone slabs shattered into dust, and the stone plaque lying askew in the ruins. Every piece of rubble was a reminder of this.

Today's fight was a huge loss.

The temple gate is the face, while money is the substance!

How much money would that cost?!

"Abbot..."

The supervisor leaned closer and lowered his voice, "Are we just... going to accept this? Those thirty acres of land, those two households..."

The old monk did not turn around.

"What can we do?"

The abbot's eyes darted around, and he moved even closer.

"Perhaps... we should ask the Dharma Protector?"

The old monk's brow twitched, and he turned to look at him.

"Kill him?" The supervisor gestured, a ruthless glint in his eyes.

The old monk was silent for a moment, then asked, "How much silver will it cost?"

The abbot counted on his fingers.

"The Dharma Protector doesn't want money, but he wants a set of top-quality eight treasures."

The so-called Eight Treasures are the eight treasures of Buddhism: wheel, conch, umbrella, canopy, flower, vase, fish, and long spear.

Each piece must be made of the finest materials and be crafted with meticulous care. A complete set would cost at least one or two hundred taels of silver.

"Then how much would this thirty mu of land plus two households amount to?" the old monk asked again.

The abbot did the calculations again.

"That's about right..."

"In that case," the old monk looked at him, "why bother asking a monk for protection?"

The superintendent was alarmed.

"But! Our little Buddhist temple can't be trampled on for no reason!"

Buddha fights for a stick of incense, man fights for a breath of air.

This is his reason for seeking the protection of the monk. For the same amount of money, one option results in loss, while the other is to buy the other's life!

Which one is more satisfying?

The old monk looked at him, a hint of disappointment in his eyes.

He turned to look at the dejected monks.

"If you put more effort into your skills than your reputation, why should I bother talking to him?"

Several monks lowered their heads in shame, not daring to meet his gaze.

The old monk withdrew his gaze and sighed.

"Our small Buddhist temple is a small establishment, with a less rich heritage than larger temples and a less established foundation than famous monasteries. Sometimes, we must know how to act within our means."

He paused.

"That person's techniques are strange, his origins are unknown, and he's clearly not a good person. If the monks protecting him fail, how many people from our little Buddhist temple, from top to bottom, will survive?"

"It is extremely unwise to entrust one's life and fortune to others."

He gazed intently in the direction where Guangyuan had disappeared.

"I think that guy is young and probably loves fame. Let's flatter him a bit more later to make him happy. What's wrong with letting him be for a few years?"

"If he achieves great things in the future, our small Buddhist temple will honor him as its leader. The Buddhist community is vast, and if his Prajna Temple prospers, we can also benefit from it."

"If he doesn't achieve anything in the future," the old monk said with a slight smile, "with his temperament, he's always ready to fight to the death. Sooner or later he'll run into a tough opponent and die a horrible death. Then, won't all those fields and those houses still be ours?"

The abbot and the monks were stunned and speechless for a long time.

After a long while, the abbot put his hands together and bowed deeply.

"Been taught a lesson."

The monks also bowed and said in unison, "We have learned a lot."

The old monk nodded, clasped his hands together, and looked at his disciples and grand-disciples.

"If someone in the world slanders me, deceives me, insults me, laughs at me, belittles me, despises me, hates me, or cheats me, how should I deal with it?"

He paused, a slight smile appearing on his lips.

"Just tolerate him, let him be, let him do as he pleases, avoid him, be patient with him, respect him, and ignore him. Wait a few more years, and you'll see what becomes of him."