Master Liaoyin had brought disaster upon himself with his own words, yet remained wholly unaware of it. Even now he still declared:
"Let neither side waste breath in argument. The strong shall decide!"
At these words, the monks of Shaolin were struck speechless.
Holy Mother Chen Jinfeng cast a glance, and Holy Maiden Peach Blossom immediately strode forward at speed. She cupped her hands in salute and said:
"Old monk, Holy Maiden Peach Blossom requests a few pointers!"
Master Liaoyin replied calmly, "Young lady, you are no match for me. Withdraw."
With a sharp cry, Peach Blossom struck first, driving a punch straight toward his chest. Liaoyin brushed it aside with one hand and followed with a light palm strike. Peach Blossom spun and slashed out with a palm to block.
The two palms met with a sharp crack.
Peach Blossom was immediately driven back several steps.
At once Holy Maiden Plum Blossom leapt forward. Liaoyin pressed lightly with one foot and sprang into the air, turning a somersault in midair. In the same motion, both legs lashed downward in twin kicks.
Plum Blossom raised her arms to block.
Two sharp smacks rang out.
She too was driven backward several steps by the force of the kicks.
Thus it was said:
The monk spoke rashly, yet none could answer his blame,
The Holy Maiden cut through air, her palm descending swift.
Cinnamon and ginger burn with biting heat,
He raised his palm upon the wind and scattered flowers in bloom.
With only a few casual movements, Master Liaoyin had sent both maidens reeling.
Yet Holy Maiden Plum Blossom only clapped her hands and laughed.
"Master Liaoyin only knows how to bully two young women. That can hardly be called true skill!"
Holy Maiden Peony added coldly:
"Shaolin cannot frighten anyone. Why not face the Holy Mother of the West herself?"
Master Liaoyin had only recently fought the Undying Heavenly Demon and suffered defeat, leaving him badly injured. At this moment, it was truly unwise for him to fight Holy Mother Chen Jinfeng.
Just then, Ben Guang, First Seat Monk of Shaolin, stepped forward and said:
"The grievance between the Holy Church of the West and Shaolin—if this poor monk may offer a thought—why not let both sides each take one step back and turn weapons into jade and silk?"
Holy Mother Chen Jinfeng gave a cold snort.
"For many years Shaolin has carried itself as the summit of the martial world. Today your people have spoken of our faith with repeated disrespect. Since this matter is to be decided by combat, then let us spare ourselves all further argument."
First Seat Monk Ben Guang replied:
"The teachings of the Holy Church of the West are benevolent. Today you have traveled a thousand li only to guide and redeem the Martial Demon. This poor monk is both moved and impressed. If Shaolin has given offense today, I ask your forgiveness—"
But before he could finish, a voice cut sharply through the air:
"A heretical cult is still a heretical cult!"
At once the crowd erupted in uproar.
All turned toward the speaker.
It was Master Liaoyin.
His anger had not yet subsided, and he barked:
"You men of the Buddhist path—how can you sit and watch such a demonic cult run rampant in the world!"
Liaoyin was openly rebuking Ben Guang, First Seat Monk of Shaolin. It was indeed reckless beyond measure—yet was it not also what he believed must be done?
How could a disciple of the Buddha stand idle while the Holy Church of the West borrowed the Buddha's name to deceive the world?
At that moment, his words were truly those of fearless Buddhist conviction.
Yet for all that, Master Liaoyin—senior uncle by rank—had failed to consider Ben Guang's deeper concern.
Ben Guang knew that Liaoyin was already suffering from internal injuries. Though he too despised the conduct of the Holy Church, Shaolin had just suffered a humiliating setback. At such a moment, prudence demanded restraint. Better to dim one's own brilliance than court fresh calamity.
To act with humility is wisdom.
But Master Liaoyin was upright and inflexible by nature—blunt, unbending, and incapable of compromise. And as Ben Guang's senior uncle in rank, he spoke without restraint.
At last Holy Mother Chen Jinfeng could no longer suppress her displeasure. Her voice turned sharp and severe.
"Shaolin goes too far! There is no need for further argument between us. Let combat decide the truth—speak no more of right and wrong!"
Master Liaoyin answered furiously:
"You thieving hag! You borrow the Buddha's name to deceive the world—if this can be endured, what cannot?"
With that, he leapt into the field.
Yet even as he landed, a thought flashed through his mind.
Shaolin had already suffered great misfortune today. His own reckless words had drawn the wrath of the Holy Church upon them. Holy Mother Chen Jinfeng now stood ready to strike, and he himself was wounded. He could not be certain of victory.
If he fell, so be it.
But he must not drag Shaolin down with him.
So he raised his voice and declared:
"Today's matter has nothing to do with Shaolin. This old monk stands only for the righteous path of Buddhism. If death comes, then so be it!"
Holy Mother Chen Jinfeng leapt into the field as well and answered in a ringing voice:
"This Holy Mother has heard that Master Liaoyin recently fought the Undying Heavenly Demon, suffered defeat, and carries wounds still unhealed. I will not force the impossible upon you. If, before all the heroes of the world, Master Liaoyin sincerely apologizes today and withdraws his words, then I shall not dwell on old offense and will spare your life."
At these words, murmurs spread through the crowd.
Some whispered that Holy Mother Chen Jinfeng feared Shaolin's reputation and was merely seeking a graceful way down.
Others said that she was, after all, inclined toward mercy and had no wish to forge needless enmity with Shaolin.
Yet Master Liaoyin answered at once:
"This poor monk has already decided. For the righteous path of Buddhism, death is nothing."
At his words, Tan Wei and Li Jian exchanged helpless glances.
Each thought the same thing:
Why must it come to this?
But both sides had spoken themselves into a corner. There was no room left for mediation.
There is measure in yielding, and there must be limit even in kindness.
Holy Mother Chen Jinfeng was no saint, yet even her face changed sharply at this.
It was not, as some nearby thought, because she feared Shaolin's name and sought retreat.
Rather, she had truly not expected Master Liaoyin to be so utterly obstinate.
Though her words had not been gentle, she had already shown restraint and preserved Shaolin's dignity. She had asked only that Liaoyin apologize before the gathered heroes—not an impossible demand.
Yet despite her repeated concessions, Liaoyin refused to step back and instead drove her into a corner.
Now Chen Jinfeng had no road left to retreat.
Her voice dropped low.
"If that is your choice, then for the honor of the Holy Church of the West, there can only be battle between us. Make your move."
As she spoke, she lifted one hand and struck casually outward.
A blast of force shot forth like a flying blade.
Master Liaoyin saw Holy Mother Chen Jinfeng make her move. Though he knew his injuries had not healed, he still chose to fight for the righteous path of Buddhism.
He drew a deep breath, forcibly suppressing the surging blood and pain within. Pressing his palms together, he softly intoned the Buddha's name. Then his figure flashed and became a streak of golden light, shooting straight toward Chen Jinfeng.
Chen Jinfeng gave a cold laugh and flicked the horsetail whisk in her hand.
At once, countless silver strands poured down like a waterfall, each thread filled with razor-sharp inner force as they whipped toward Liaoyin to bind and pierce him.
Liaoyin dared not be careless.
He thrust both palms forward, unleashing Shaolin's supreme art—the Vajra Demon-Subduing Palm.
His palm force thundered like storm clouds, blasting the silver strands apart in all directions.
The two exchanged several moves in rapid succession.
Gale-force winds tore through the field, dust and earth spiraling into the air.
Though Master Liaoyin was wounded, his attacks remained fierce and unyielding, every palm strike carrying the force to shatter steel and stone.
Chen Jinfeng, however, met hardness with softness.
Her movement was fluid and ethereal, her body gliding like drifting cloud. The whisk danced in her hand, its silver strands writhing like living serpents—now coiling, now stabbing, now winding—forcing Liaoyin backward step by step.
Then suddenly Master Liaoyin gave a long roar.
His palms slammed together, and in that instant the true qi within him erupted outward. Golden radiance blazed from his entire body, as though a vajra guardian had descended to earth.
He thundered:
"Vajra Indestructible!"
Then he shot forward like lightning, charging directly at Chen Jinfeng.
Chen Jinfeng's brows drew together slightly. She snapped her whisk sharply.
In an instant, the silver strands condensed into a gleaming silver barrier before her.
Master Liaoyin's vajra palm force crashed into Chen Jinfeng's silver wall.
A deafening explosion tore through the field.
Shockwaves rolled outward in violent surges, forcing the surrounding spectators to retreat in alarm lest they be swept into the blast.
Though Liaoyin's palm force was mighty, Chen Jinfeng's silver barrier stood like a wall of iron and bronze.
No matter how fierce his strike, he could not break through.