Yu Shuntian shook his head and said, "No, Xiao Hen is not suited to learn the 'Thirty-Six Needles of Heavenly Yang'."
"Why?" Yu Yijun asked, confused.
Her father's talent was publicly acknowledged as the foremost in the martial world, earning him the title of peerless heavenly prodigy.
Yu Shuntian took a sip of cola, his brow furrowed. He explained, "Xiao Hen's talent is indeed extraordinary; even I am not his equal. However, the 'Thirty-Six Needles of Heavenly Yang' must be learned from a young age, or one cannot achieve great heights. His current combat style and magic are already set. As the saying goes, 'He who grasps too much, cannot hold tight.' It's better for him to master what he knows than to learn everything. His Five Elements Arts are proficient in both offense and defense. Having him learn the 'Thirty-Six Needles of Heavenly Yang' now would be superfluous."
Yu Yijun nodded in understanding. "So, Grandfather intends to teach me the 'Thirty-Six Needles of Heavenly Yang'?"
Yu Shuntian nodded. "That's right. Your current age is the optimal time to learn the 'Thirty-Six Needles of Heavenly Yang.' So, girl, do you want to learn our old Yu family's unique secret technique?"
Yu Yijun's small face turned serious, her eyes firm. "Grandfather, I will learn!"
Her Grandfather had achieved his status on the Black List solely through the 'Thirty-Six Needles of Heavenly Yang,' so this needle technique must possess extraordinary merit.
Hearing Yu Yijun's affirmative reply, a gratified smile spread across Yu Shuntian's aged face. He sighed, "It seems the Yu family's 'Thirty-Six Needles of Heavenly Yang' has found an inheritor."
Concurrently, Yu Daochen began teaching Zhou Fu the Flame Swallowing Art.
At the foot of Mount Da Huo.
Pilgrims flocked to the mountain to worship Buddha, the resounding peals of the ancient bell echoing through the heavens.
Within the main hall, the scent of incense billowed towards the sky from the entrance.
This indicated the sheer number of pilgrims offering prayers.
On the western heights, a young monk in saffron robes was laboriously striking an ancient bell that was five times his size.
Another monk of similar age approached from behind, covering his ears. He shouted, "Senior Brother, the Abbot wants to see you in the back hall."
Wang Ming paid no heed. He swung the hundred-year-old sandalwood pillar hanging from the roof beam and struck the ancient bell again, producing a resonant boom. He muttered, "Two hundred and ninety-seventh strike."
The other monk, thinking his senior brother hadn't heard, shouted again, "Senior Brother, you don't need to strike anymore. The Abbot wants to see you in the back hall."
Wang Ming seemed not to hear, swinging the hundred-year-old sandalwood pillar and striking again, "Two hundred and ninety-eighth strike."
"Two hundred and ninety-ninth strike."
"Three hundredth strike!"
Wang Ming finished speaking and brought the hundred-year-old sandalwood pillar down with a forceful strike.
"Bang!"
The booming sound of the hundred-year-old sandalwood pillar colliding with the ancient bell made the monk behind him cover his ears.
Wang Ming slowly released his grip on the sandalwood pillar, his cheeks slick with sweat. He turned to the monk behind him and asked, "Master, what does he want to see me for?"
The monk shook his head. "I don't know. The Abbot only instructed me to call you, he didn't mention why."
Wang Ming nodded, wiping the sweat from the corner of his eyes. He said, "Please tell Master to wait a moment. I'll change my clothes and see him shortly."
"Alright, Senior Brother," the monk agreed, nodding.
Wang Ming grunted and walked towards his quarters.
After Zhou Fu left, the monk looked towards the ancient bell and couldn't help but sigh, "A full three hundred strikes. Senior Brother is truly formidable."
Even monks who had been in the temple for five or six years could only strike this great bell about fifty times at most, and their shoulders and arms would ache the next day.
Yet, Senior Brother Wang Ming, striking the bell three hundred times daily, had been doing so for nearly a month, and he hadn't complained of pain.
A moment later.
In the back hall, an old monk with a grizzled beard sat cross-legged before a Buddha statue.
Wang Ming, having changed his clothes, entered. He clasped his hands together and respectfully called out, "Disciple Wang Ming greets Master."
The old monk paid no attention to Wang Ming, instead continuing to tap his wooden fish.
Wang Ming did not disturb him. He found a cushion, sat cross-legged, and waited for his master to finish his sutras.
The old monk merely glanced at Wang Ming behind him, without speaking, and smiled faintly, continuing to recite the scriptures.
Time passed slowly. Wang Ming remained seated cross-legged, not daring to speak.
He knew well that his master disliked being disturbed while reciting scriptures.
After an unknown period.
The old monk finished tapping the wooden fish for the last time and slowly said, "Disciple, did your master mispronounce a word while reciting the scriptures just now?"
Wang Ming blinked, his brow furrowed. He lowered his head in silence.
He had been lost in thought and hadn't paid attention. However, his master had been reciting these scriptures for most of his life; how could he make a mistake?
Seeing Wang Ming's silence, the old monk sighed helplessly. "Alas, you are simply too preoccupied."
Wang Ming dared not retort. Instead, he respectfully admitted his fault. "Your disciple was momentarily distracted and did not notice any error in Master's recitation."
The old monk waved his hand. "Never mind. I didn't call you here to discuss that."
Seeing that his master was not going to punish him, Wang Ming inquired, "May I ask if Master has any tasks to assign to your disciple?"
A inscrutable smile appeared on the old monk's face. "Yes, and no."
Wang Ming looked confused and raised his head to look at his master. "Your disciple is dull-witted. I do not understand Master's meaning."
The old monk slowly said, "I intend for you to go down the mountain."
"Down the mountain?" Wang Ming looked perplexed. "Does Master want me to do something down the mountain?"
The old monk nodded and uttered two words: "Earn money!"
"Earn money?" Wang Ming was utterly bewildered.
The temple wasn't short of money. Why would his master suddenly ask him to go out and earn money?
Moreover, he didn't know how to earn money.
He was skilled at catching ghosts and vanquishing demons.
But earning money... felt a bit beyond his capabilities.
Seeing Wang Ming's difficulty, the old monk said, "I won't make it too difficult for you. Earn fifty thousand yuan and you can return."
"Fifty thousand yuan!" Wang Ming blurted out, looking at his master in disbelief.
This was fifty thousand yuan. Was his master joking?
The old monk stroked his grizzled beard and smiled. "Don't worry. I've already thought of a way for you. You can use the skills I've taught you to earn money, but you must adhere to three rules I've set."
"First, you may only offer assistance after the buyer purchases a peace talisman from our temple."
"Second, if they do not purchase a peace talisman, you absolutely must not offer assistance."
"Third, each peace talisman must be sold for fifty thousand yuan."
Hearing these three rules, Wang Ming felt a bit confused.
The first two rules were fine, but the third one presented a challenge.
A peace talisman from the temple only cost a little over eighty yuan.
Now, selling them for fifty thousand yuan each...
His master was clearly asking him to rob people.
Wang Ming couldn't understand and asked, "Master, may I ask why?"