Chapter Ten: The Divine Dragon Unleashes Its Claws, The True Form of the Arhat

The officer shouted, and a dozen soldiers drew their weapons and rushed at the village maiden. She sighed, “The world has lost virtue, hearts incline to chaos—even you mere soldiers are driven to kill. It seems true disaster shall befall the realm.” As she spoke, the soldiers reached her, but a gleaming arc flashed forth, and they were hurled back as if pushed by an unseen force, crying out in pain as they flew dozens of feet away, unable even to touch the hem of her clothes.

The soldiers, battered and bruised, scrambled to their feet, while among the crowd a knowledgeable onlooker exclaimed, “That’s an immortal art—she’s a goddess!” Yang Nan watched closely, then turned and whispered to Chi Yang, “She seems a cultivator as well. I wonder what level she’s reached—it appears she’s even stronger than you, brother!” Chi Yang’s expression grew grave. “I can’t discern her depth either. I don’t know which branch of the Martial Sect she belongs to, but her arc-light shield is executed with astounding skill.” Yang Nan’s heart trembled. If even Chi Yang, a master, couldn’t gauge her power, could she be a revered sage or saint?

The village maiden seemed to overhear their discussion; her clear, bright eyes suddenly shot over like arrows. Yang Nan shivered under her icy gaze, chills running through him. He marveled inwardly at her strength—even her glance inspired fear.

Seeing that only a young boy and a sword-bearing man were conversing, the maiden looked away, letting Yang Nan breathe easier. The soldiers, humiliated, retreated. The officer, realizing she was no ordinary person, led his men away, yelling as they fled, “You wicked creature, how dare you use sorcery at the Hot Springs Pass? Just wait…!”

The maiden scoffed at his words, flicked her sleeve, and the officer’s face was struck as if slapped twice, swelling with pain. He and his men fled in panic like beaten dogs. The crowd cheered at the soldiers’ ignominious retreat, while the two drunken guests knelt, offering endless thanks. The maiden remained aloof, as if the previous events had not touched her. She spoke coldly, “Soon they’ll return with more troops. To avoid harm, you’d best disperse.”

Frightened, the crowd scattered like birds. Yang Nan hesitated, when suddenly a woman’s voice whispered in his ear, “Why linger here with your two little demons? Though your mortal body bears strange signs, beware lest one day you’re devoured by your own demons, beyond cure!” The voice was icy, chilling his soul. Shocked, Yang Nan realized she had seen through his secret. Chi Yang, fearing Yang Nan’s youthful impulsiveness and confrontation with Yang Cheng, pulled him away, leading their horse far from the scene. From a distant hillside, they watched the maiden’s actions. Yang Nan’s calm face betrayed none of last night’s grief; he met Chi Yang’s gaze with a slight smile, but said nothing.

Without strength, one must not speak of vengeance!

Such was Yang Nan’s resolve.

The officer indeed returned with a larger force, led by Yang Nan’s fourth uncle, Yang Cheng. Beside Yang Cheng stood several oddly featured figures, as well as some Daoists and Buddhist monks. Chi Yang explained, “The Daoists divide into Martial and Ritual Sects; the Confucians into Mind and Form Sects; Buddhists into Chan and Esoteric Sects. The Daoists here are Ritual Sect disciples, the monks are Esoteric Sect, and those strange figures are not human, but transformed spirits.”

Chi Yang, now a Martial Master with awakened spiritual sight, easily identified them. Yang Nan observed that the Ritual Sect disciples held ritual implements—whisks, bronze mirrors, jade tokens—instead of weapons, confirming their identity. The Esoteric monks were distinguished by their inch-long hair atop their heads, forming seals to subdue enemies, and wore yellow or golden robes, unlike the gray or white robes of the Chan Sect.

The strange figures wore thick garments, their faces wild with hair and fierce features, still bearing the untamed nature of beasts. Even without spiritual sight, Yang Nan recognized them as spirits in human guise.

Yang Cheng led his death-defying followers forward, yet the maiden showed no fear. Soon, the two sides clashed. The maiden, impatient, laughed coldly; from her brow flew a divine sword, radiating ten thousand rays, rivaling the sun. The sword, bathed in golden light, transformed into a golden dragon, circling her.

The dragon exuded awe-inspiring power, as if ready to swallow the world. Yang Cheng’s party was terrified, realizing the maiden was not to be trifled with. The spirits unleashed their sorcery, spewing clouds and mist; the Ritual Sect Daoists chanted, summoning thunder, ice, celestial troops, stones, and winds, all assailing the maiden.

She shook her head with a sigh. The golden dragon’s claws flashed, its roar devouring the thunder and sorcery. Its talons struck, tearing through the spirits’ skulls, fountains of blood rising as their bodies crashed to the earth, revealing their true forms—wolves, tigers, and other beasts.

The Daoists fared no better; their implements shattered into dust under the dragon’s claws. Dumbfounded, they fled in panic. The maiden did not pursue, hands clasped behind her back, her demeanor commanding admiration.

The Esoteric monks exchanged glances, then together formed hand seals, linking their Buddhist light. In the void appeared a wrathful Buddha, six-headed, six-armed, six-legged—the Great Vajra King, one of the eight Buddhist protectors, famed for subduing poisonous dragons.

Their plan was clever, using the dragon-slaying Vajra King against the maiden’s divine dragon. Their combined spiritual power made the Vajra King almost tangible, radiating gentle Buddhist light as he battled the golden dragon. As the struggle intensified, dragon and Buddha became two golden spheres. The maiden, impatient, waved her hand and shouted; the dragon split into two, then four, and soon twelve dragons surrounded the Vajra King.

Each dragon was as fierce as the original. The Vajra King could not withstand them; within moments, he was torn apart, dissolving into light.

With the Vajra King gone, the Esoteric monks coughed blood and collapsed. The maiden’s eyes chilled; several dragons reached out, ready to tear the monks apart.

“Amita Buddha!” A resonant Buddhist chant echoed. A giant golden hand descended from the heavens, pushing back the dragons. The hand became a bald, gray-robed old monk. “Immortal, your powers are vast. Please show mercy—since the wine guests deserved not death, neither do these Buddhist disciples.”

The old monk, with white brows and a kindly face, stood like a mountain. His Buddhist chant lingered in the clouds. The maiden, recalling her dragons, sneered, “Long-Browed Monk, if you are so compassionate, why did you not save the wine guests? Since when does the Chan Sect concern itself with the fate of the Esoteric Sect?”

The monk pressed his palms together. “Amita Buddha. Chan and Esoteric are both of the Buddhist gate. Our order does not meddle in mortal affairs, but you, a high disciple of Kunlun, have wrought much slaughter—what is your purpose?”

The maiden laughed coldly, “So the old monk presumes to judge Kunlun’s conduct. You may have attained the Arhat’s true form, but if you wish to teach me a lesson, ask my coiling dragon first!”

The monk lowered his brow and sighed. “How could a poor monk presume to instruct the Immortal of Void? I have long heard your dragon is the purest and strongest. I am no match. If I can withstand a single move, please spare the Buddhist disciples.”

“Very well, let me witness Chan Sect's powers,” the maiden replied. At her command, the golden dragon grew even larger, its ancient majesty pressing down like a mountain. Yang Nan, hearing their exchange, realized this plain village maiden was a disciple of Kunlun, and his heart leaned toward her. The dragon’s aura was overwhelming; Chi Yang pulled him back dozens of yards, finally escaping its range.

The dragon’s appearance was majestic, its form beautiful and imposing. Amid swirling clouds, its head appeared without tail, hinting at world-shattering power. All mortals fled as far as possible. The maiden pointed skyward; the golden dragon roared, and its mountain-sized claw slashed down, seemingly cleaving the very heavens.

The old monk, knowing this strike was extraordinary, pressed his palms and chanted, “Amita Buddha!”

With the chant, Buddhist light blazed from him. Instantly, he transformed into three-headed, six-armed form—kneeling, punching, forming seals, his sacred image solemn. This was the true Arhat form.

Compassion radiated from his Buddhist eyes. Three heads, six arms, soft light enveloped the land. Floating in mid-air, the monk gazed down, infinite pity in his gaze.

The dragon’s claw split the sky, a golden arc striking the monk. He smiled lightly; all six hands moved, six implements shining with Buddhist light. Lotus flowers, as large as bowls, spun around him, forming a barrier of light. The golden dragon, as a rainbow, circled, its claws tearing at the monk’s shield, but for every lotus destroyed, another appeared—endless, inexhaustible.

With infinite lotus protection, the dragon, though fierce, could not break through. As the stalemate continued, the monk gently spoke, “One move has passed—please show mercy.” He knew the lotus shield would not long withstand martial power, and his words subtly yielded.

The maiden had promised only one move. Seeing her dragon fail, she honored her word, scoffing as she recalled the dragon. It returned to her brow as a weapon, disappearing within.

“Old monk, I’ll remember this. I’ll seek Chan Sect’s wisdom another day!” She glanced at the battered Yang Cheng and his men, her face icy. With a gesture, the spirits’ corpses on the ground flew into her sleeve, and she soared away as a rainbow.

From afar, the gathered crowd witnessed the divine dragon and Arhat descend, falling to their knees in worship, calling them immortals. Most were ignorant, unable to tell true immortals from false, their foreheads sore from prostration.

The gray-robed monk watched the maiden depart and sighed. He turned to the Esoteric monks, “Today, you provoked Kunlun’s true heir. Our Buddhist gate faces calamity. Cause and effect—go now.” With that, he melted into the crowd, vanishing in an instant.

In battle, the monk and maiden shook the heavens; in departure, he vanished like a ghost. His actions were inscrutable.

The Esoteric monks departed in sorrow. Yang Cheng, at a distance, was trembling—such mortals were as ants before cultivators, easily crushed. Who could have guessed a mere village maiden possessed such heaven-shaking power? He regretted bitterly—not seeing her worth earlier. With such an ally, would he not have seized the throne?

He, usually shrewd, had misjudged entirely.

Yang Nan noticed the maiden, though she slaughtered spirits and showed no mercy to the Esoteric monks, had merely broken the Ritual Daoists’ implements, leaving them unharmed. She seemed to spare some kindness for fellow Daoists.

Chi Yang laughed, “To encounter such a martial sovereign—truly unlucky for the Buddhists. The Esoteric Sect will have trouble ahead.” As a martial disciple, he was delighted to see Kunlun’s prowess. Martial Sovereigns rank equal to Arhats, but even at the same level, martial arts far surpass Buddhist or demonic arts.

Cultivators act as they please. The maiden was no gentle soul; those foolish Esoteric monks had angered her, and would surely suffer in the future.

Yang Nan could not smile. However strong the maiden, she was unrelated to him. Unable to pass Hot Springs Pass, he could not ascend Kunlun, let alone claim kinship. With her aloof, proud nature, she would hardly acknowledge him as a fellow disciple.

How could he cross Hot Springs Pass?

Yang Nan’s brow furrowed tightly…