Capítulo Vinte e Oito: O Reencontro com Wang Yuan

Clang! Clang! Crack!

Zhang Yang seemed to hear something splitting. Looking up, he saw the four fangs of the poor "little kitten" beginning to shatter. Fragments of fangs flew everywhere.

Puhui’s words were no exaggeration; the defensive power of his Golden Bell Cover was indeed formidable. It had cracked the fangs of the Fanged Black-Spotted Tiger, yet the golden bell itself hadn't even flickered.

Awoo!

The poor "little kitten" let out a mournful howl.

"Shut up!" Puhui barked at the creature.

"Wuu..." The Fanged Black-Spotted Tiger whimpered and clamped its mouth shut, its eyes looking utterly aggrieved.

Clang! Crack!

With another collision, a crisp sound echoed as the tiger’s four fangs were completely destroyed, leaving only four bare stumps behind. Drops of purple-black blood dripped from its mouth onto the concrete floor of the plaza.

The Fanged Black-Spotted Tiger could no longer be called "fanged." It looked absolutely miserable. Yet, no one felt pity or compassion; there were plenty of reports on the internet of these creatures slaughtering humans.

"Well? Have you considered it?" Ignoring the pathetic tiger, Puhui looked at Zhang Yang with a smug expression.

Zhang Yang shook his head again. "I’m not becoming a monk."

Puhui fell silent, then gritted his teeth. "It’s fine, you don't have to take vows. You just need to take me as your master."

Zhang Yang was taken aback, then shook his head once more. "Forget it. You’re an old monk; if I become your apprentice, wouldn't I just be a young monk?"

"I already told you, I don't need you to be a monk," Puhui said, speechless.

"Still, I’d rather not. If my grandfather finds out I apprenticed under a monk, he’d probably break my legs." Zhang Yang cast a curious glance at the interdimensional rift, then turned to leave, ignoring the strange Master Puhui.

Even though Puhui was an Earth-rank martial artist, his sudden insistence on taking him as an apprentice felt bizarre. Puhui clearly didn't know him, and Zhang Yang had only learned of Puhui's existence yesterday.

"A monk..." Zhang Yang muttered to himself.

He recalled some unofficial historical records from before his transmigration, which suggested that his ancestor, Zhang Sanfeng, might have originated from Shaolin. It was impossible to know if it were true; it was just folklore, and no one ever mentioned Zhang Sanfeng’s status as a monk. Whenever Zhang Sanfeng was mentioned, people immediately thought of Wudang and, consequently, Taoist priests. His monastic background remained a point of doubt, but his identity as a Taoist was common knowledge.

Perhaps it was just Shaolin gilding its own reputation—after all, the historical prestige of Wudang rivaled that of Shaolin. It was just hearsay, not worth debating. Besides, he hadn't seen any such folklore on the planet Water Blue.

Shaking his head, he stopped dwelling on these thoughts and walked toward the side entrance of the Martial Arts Association building.

Forget it, he would just go back. As for Puhui’s Shaolin techniques, while they were tempting, he didn't envy them. He had been practicing Tai Chi for over a decade and now possessed the True Tai Chi Canon. Zhang Yang had a feeling that his own manual was no worse than the Shaolin arts.

Behind him, the golden bell around Monk Puhui dissipated as he stared at Zhang Yang’s retreating back in deep thought.

"Where did this genius pop up from? I’ve never seen him before," Puhui muttered softly.

Although Puhui didn't know how Zhang Yang trained, his senses as an Earth-rank martial artist were incredibly sharp. When Zhang Yang moved, especially when his Tai Chi internal energy circulated involuntarily, Puhui could sense his aura.

It was vibrant, full of life, and possessed a sense of perfect, rounded unity.

The young prodigies at Yangcheng No. 1 High School were all from prominent families, and he wouldn't dare poach them. But this boy was someone he had never seen before. Having stayed in Yangcheng for so many years, he knew all the influential families. Even if he didn't know why this boy was in the Martial Arts Association building, he was certain Zhang Yang was not from a noble lineage.

Watching Zhang Yang disappear through the side entrance, Puhui made up his mind: he would definitely take this boy on as his disciple!

Glancing sideways at the Black-Spotted Tiger still struggling in mid-air, Puhui waved his hand, his interest suddenly lost.

Thud!

The half-dead tiger was tossed in front of the thirty martial artists.

And then... after casting a glance at the pitch-black interdimensional rift and muttering something under his breath, Monk Puhui returned to his meditation.

...

Walking up the stairs, Zhang Yang wondered why he felt more comfortable the closer he got to the rift. He had walked from the first floor to the seventh without finding an answer, so he decided to stop overthinking it.

Since he was on the seventh floor and had nothing to do, he might as well go back and practice. He couldn't go above the tenth floor, and he had no idea what his grandfather was doing.

Back in the lounge, Zhang Yang took his stance, resuming the form that had been interrupted by Li Qilan earlier that morning. He was alone, the door was locked, and there was no need to hide anything.

Focus followed the fist!

He activated the Tai Chi Heart Sutra, and internal energy surged through his body. As he unfurled his Tai Chi stance, his internal energy bolstered his movements, drawing the airflow in the room along with him.

The energy flowed across his skin, intertwining with the surrounding air to form an invisible Tai Chi Yin-Yang pattern. The pattern enveloped his entire body, rotating slowly with his movements.

Wisps of spiritual energy from heaven and earth were drawn into the pattern, refined through its rotation, assimilated by his internal energy, and absorbed into his body. As this happened, his internal energy grew, bit by bit.

After a few minutes, Zhang Yang suddenly frowned and stopped. Without his energy to support it, the Tai Chi pattern dissipated.

A light breeze swept through the room as the formation dissolved.

Zhang Yang looked around the lounge with a frown. It was too small; he felt restricted mid-practice. He hesitated for a moment, looking up at the ceiling.

Maybe he should go to the training hall on the eighth floor. It had plenty of space, various equipment, and custom-made training dummies. Besides, there was hardly anyone in the Association building right now, so the training halls were likely empty.

He acted on the thought and headed up.

Upon reaching the eighth floor, Zhang Yang’s expression changed.

Hey! Ha! Ha!

Crisp sounds echoed through the eighth-floor corridor. The place was quiet, so the noise was clearly audible.

Someone else was practicing? Zhang Yang was surprised and curious. Judging by the sound, it was a girl.

Should he take a look? He followed the sound.

Soon, he arrived at the entrance of a training room. Inside, a girl in a white training outfit, with a graceful, slender figure, was practicing her forms.

Zhang Yang was surprised to see her face. The girl practicing alone on the eighth floor was Wang Yuan.

Previously, Wang Tianhong had carried Wang Yuan to safety before returning. Zhang Yang hadn't expected her to be sent to the Martial Arts Association. But then again, Wang Tianhong knew his grandfather, who was an honorary vice-president of the Association, so it made sense for their family to have connections here.

"Wang Yuan," Zhang Yang called out softly.