Demi-Gods and Semi-Devils: The Successor of Bodhidharma

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The oil lamp lit up again, its dim yellow light enveloping the man and his book. Qiao Tian unfolded his handwritten copy once more under the lamplight. The Sanskrit annotations unfolded like a riddle, still unfamiliar, still difficult. Yet, his heart was calmer than ever before. He took out his self-copied Sanskrit glossary and vocabulary notes, comparing each character and pondering each word.

He understood that this would be a long and arduous journey, like deciphering a celestial book. He remained calm and patient, spending his days studying Sanskrit and pondering its annotations, in addition to sweeping and cleaning. He combined this with modern scientific knowledge and breathing techniques to make the most basic and cautious attempts to experience what is known as "breath sensation."

Outside the window, the mountain wind rustled through the pine branches, the sound of the waves like an ancient sigh, or a silent guardianship. Qiao Tian's fingers traced the foreign characters on the manuscript, his eyes focused like a scholar, sharp as a strategist.

His world of martial arts, his battlefield, is not in Juxianzhuang, nor in Yanmen Pass, but in this lonely ancestral hall in the back mountains, on these pages of secret texts he personally transcribed.

Chapter 7 The Mysterious Cave

The night was as dark as ink, and all was silent. Only a solitary lamp in the Bodhidharma Temple swayed gently in the cool mountain breeze, casting a long, drawn-out shadow of Qiao Tian bent over his desk on the mottled stone wall.

He had been at this ancestral hall on the back mountain for almost a month. It had been more than a year since he entered the Shaolin Temple. He was eleven years old, while Qiao Feng at the foot of the mountain was already eight.

Life is like a still pond; a pebble thrown in creates ripples, then returns to its usual silence. There isn't much work to do here. Every morning, he washes his face with the cold mountain spring water to wake himself, then sweeps the courtyard, wipes the offering table, and adds new oil to the ever-burning lamp before the statue of Bodhidharma. Wisps of smoke rise, and the sandalwood incense mingles with the fresh scent of mountain plants fill the hall, creating a calming atmosphere.

By the time he finished all this, the sun had often just risen above the eastern hills. The rest of the time was entirely his own.

He remained disciplined. He devoted most of his mornings to Sanskrit. The handwritten copy of the "Nine Yang Divine Skill" filled with annotations was carefully wrapped in oilcloth and kept close to his body, never to be taken out until it was absolutely safe. His daily practice consisted of basic Sanskrit classics borrowed from his fellow disciples at the temple and his own thick notebooks.

The difficulty of deciphering the *Nine Yang Manual* far exceeded his imagination. The terminology surrounding meridians, acupoints, and breathing techniques was like a celestial scripture. Every ten days or so, he would take the opportunity of going down the mountain to collect rice and provisions to consult his senior brother, who was teaching him, in the side hall of the scripture pavilion. His questions were extremely skillful, always revolving around the original meaning of a Sanskrit sentence in a Buddhist scripture or a profound interpretation of a grammatical principle, concealing his doubts about the divine power beneath the vast Buddhist doctrines. His senior brother, seeing only his high comprehension and willingness to study, appreciated him more and more, providing increasingly detailed answers. But each time he returned, facing the sea of ​​unsolved problems in his handwritten copy, he still felt the weight of the task ahead. What he was doing now was still the arduous task of deciphering and recording, far from cultivation itself.

If the afternoon sun shone, he often didn't feel bored sitting indoors. Next to the ancestral hall was a small open space with decent soil. Qiao Tian spent some time clearing away pebbles, loosening the soil with wooden sticks, and mixing in humus collected from the forest, thus creating a small vegetable patch. He sowed seeds of easy-to-grow wild vegetables and tended to them daily. Unfortunately, the soil on the back mountain was thin and barren; only a few of the most resilient wild vegetables sprouted tender shoots, sparse and few. But seeing those fragile green shoots breaking through the soil and unfurling their leaves, a sense of vitality, so different from practicing martial arts or reading, arose spontaneously. This wasn't just for food; it was closer to an observation of life, a kind of "cultivation" pleasure.

Many afternoons, he would stroll through the back mountains. The back mountains of Shaoshi Mountain are rarely visited, yet their natural beauty remains hidden. Mountain mists often swirl, sometimes like a light veil, sometimes like surging tides, painting the verdant forests and peaks like a fairyland. Strange rocks rise dramatically, ancient trees reach for the sky, and babbling brooks create a symphony of nature's pure sounds. He knew every corner of this place intimately, knowing where the sweetest wild fruits were and which mountain spring was the coolest.

His soul ultimately returned to the modern world, devoid of deep-seated reverence for the strict rules and regulations, but rather bound by the necessary adherence and respect for his identity. The mountains were abundant with wild game, and occasionally, on foggy days, he would manage to catch one or two plump rabbits, find a secluded, sheltered valley, carefully ignite dry branches with a flint, and build a fire to roast them and satisfy his craving. The dripping fat sizzled in the fire, filling the air with the aroma of meat. He ate quickly, and afterwards, he would thoroughly clean up the remains, burying the bones and scattering the ashes, covering them with soil and fallen leaves, as if nothing had ever happened. Each time, his heart pounded like a drum, listening intently to the surrounding sounds, making sure there were truly no traces before leaving. This occasional "breaking of the rules," tinged with a thrilling adventure and a sense of guilt, was more like a brief glimpse back at his former free spirit.

Of course, life in the mountains is not always tranquil.

For example, the monkey that suddenly appeared.

It was a lean, brown-furred macaque with eyes that revealed the alertness and mischief unique to mountain spirits. Their first encounter was not pleasant—this creature swiftly stole a small handful of wild fruit that Qiao Tian had left drying on the windowsill.

When Qiao Tian heard the noise and went out to look, the monkey was squatting on a pine branch not far away, baring its teeth at him, with half a fruit in its paw, which it was eating with great relish.

Qiao Tian was both amused and exasperated, and gave a stern rebuke. The monkey, however, was not afraid, but rather found it amusing. It threw a fruit pit at him, let out a squeak, and darted away into the forest.

For the next few days, the monkey seemed to have its eye on him. It would either sneakily steal food, deliberately make noise while he was reading quietly, or pretend to cause trouble by his already sparse vegetable patch. Qiao Tian was initially a little annoyed, but soon realized that the monkey didn't seem to be doing anything seriously wrong; it was more like a mischievous test or someone looking for fun out of boredom.

He couldn't help but smile to himself. He stopped chasing them away and sometimes even deliberately placed one or two less desirable wild fruits on the stone stool in the yard.

The monkey, having fallen for the trap, initially remained wary and observed for a long time before finally succumbing to the temptation. It swooped down, snatched the fruit, and fled. After several such encounters, it grew bolder and appeared more frequently. Although it still maintained its distance, it caused less trouble, mostly perching on branches, curiously observing the monotonous, repetitive lives of the two-legged creature.

When Qiao Tian grew tired of reading, he would look up at the monkey, even talking to it as if to himself. The monkey, of course, didn't understand, only blinking its round eyes and occasionally scratching its head, as if trying to comprehend. A subtle and peculiar connection quietly arose between the man and the monkey in this quiet mountain forest.

As for his cultivation of the Nine Yang Divine Skill, progress was extremely slow. The Sanskrit annotations were profound and obscure, and he hadn't even grasped the first hurdle—"qi sensation." His dantian remained empty.

But he wasn't in a hurry at all.

What's the use of rushing? He knew all too well that this unparalleled skill couldn't be mastered overnight. He viewed the process of understanding it as a protracted deciphering process. Every word he learned, every breath he took each day, was a step forward for him. He no longer clung to the idea of ​​immediate "mastery," but instead focused his mind and spirit, comparing each annotation with known meridian diagrams, analyzing its possible operation using modern logic. Regular work, clean air, and consistent breathing adjustments, though not generating internal energy, made him feel light and energetic, which was enough for him.

That evening, he strolled through the mountains again, and the monkey, unusually, did not run away immediately. Instead, it darted and leaped in the nearby woods, occasionally turning back to look at him and making "squeak" sounds, seemingly excited.

Qiao Tian's mind stirred slightly, sensing that the monkey seemed unusual today, so he subconsciously followed it for a few steps.

When the monkey saw him following, it called out even louder, leading him away from the usual path and into a steep, less-visited mountainside.

The golden rays of the setting sun cast a hazy glow on the moss-covered mountain walls. The monkey stopped before a giant rock covered in vines, no longer leading the way, but instead eagerly scratching at the vines hanging from the rock face, trying to crawl inside, then turned back and cried out to Qiao Tian.

Qiao Tian stopped, surprised. Upon closer inspection, he discovered that the monkey wasn't gesturing to him, but rather seemed attracted by something behind the vine—perhaps a nest of wild bees, or some kind of wild fruit it loved.

He was filled with doubt, so he took a few steps forward and carefully parted the dense vines.

However, behind the vines was not the imagined cave entrance, but a solid, cold stone wall with only a few deep cracks and uneven folds, making it impossible for anyone to enter. Upon seeing this, the monkey seemed to lose interest, let out a squeak, nimbly climbed the vines, darted to the top of the cliff, and disappeared.

Qiao Tian stood alone, pointing at the cold, rough stone wall, and couldn't help but shake his head and laugh.

"This mischievous monkey, is he trying to make fun of me?"

He pushed hard, but the stone wall remained unmoved, exceptionally solid. He then crouched down to try and clear the debris from the cracks, but it had long since become one with the mountain, utterly solid.

As Qiao Tian stroked the unusual stone wall texture, the doubts in his heart did not dissipate but instead grew stronger.

“This stone wall… is definitely not entirely natural,” he murmured, “but the cracks have long been completely sealed, so tightly that how could human hands have opened it?”

He didn't give up entirely, but circled the mountain wall again to examine it carefully, and finally concluded that with his current strength as a child and the tools at hand, it was absolutely impossible for him to explore any further. Perhaps there was another world behind the wall, but the key to opening it was definitely not now.

"Very well," he said, imprinting this geographical feature deep in his mind. "If there really is a secret, it's here and can't escape. I'll make a plan later...."

Putting this thought aside for the time being, he turned around and returned to the ancestral hall along the same route.

A mountain breeze blows, causing the vines on the stone wall to sway slightly, as if guarding a long-sealed secret, waiting for the right person to awaken it at the right time and in the right way.

Qiao Tian returned to the ancestral hall, lit the oil lamp, and once again unrolled the handwritten scroll that seemed impossible to decipher. Outside the window, the stars gradually brightened, and the mountain shadows grew silent.

His days remained like a deep, still pool, calm on the surface but with undercurrents surging beneath, gathering strength in preparation for the day when the waves would crash against the shore.

Chapter 8 Nine Yang Divine Skill, Second Level

Time flies, and Qiao Tian has been living in the Bodhidharma Temple on the back mountain for almost a year now.

Morning bells and evening drums, ancient lamps and Buddha statues. His days were simple, almost monotonous, yet he lived them with extraordinary fulfillment. Every morning, he would greet the first rays of sunlight in the courtyard and practice his self-created body-strengthening method, which incorporated modern exercise principles, to invigorate his entire body. Afterwards, without fail, he would sweep, clean, and oil the old ancestral hall, keeping it spotless.

After that, he devoted himself to two things: first, studying the handwritten copy of the "Nine Yang Manual" that he regarded as a treasure; and second, borrowing Sanskrit scriptures and commentaries from the temple.

The Nine Yang Manual truly lived up to its reputation as a peerless martial art, its profound and obscure nature far exceeding his expectations. According to its general outline, this skill was divided into nine realms, with each three realms forming a major hurdle. The first three realms, "Foundation Building and Strengthening the Foundation," focused on cultivating supreme Yang energy, opening the regular meridians, and undergoing a complete transformation. The middle three realms, "Wisdom Arises from Extreme Yang," allowed internal energy to circulate freely within the mind, giving rise to clear wisdom from supreme Yang, enabling one to ward off all poisons and cure all diseases. The last three realms, "Harmony of Yin and Yang," reached a state of perfection, where internal energy generated at an astonishingly rapid and inexhaustible pace, and every movement possessed immense power—the highest realm of martial arts.

The first layer, "swirling purple mist," had confined him for nearly a year. The coiled Sanskrit texts were like impenetrable fortresses, especially the key terms related to meridians, acupoints, and internal energy, which were extremely obscure and difficult to understand. Like a patient archaeologist, he meticulously examined and pondered each word. Every ten days, he would descend the mountain to fetch provisions and consult his senior brother, who taught him Sanskrit, cleverly concealing his exploration of the true scriptures within the vast sea of ​​Buddhist philosophical discussions.

His senior brother was very pleased with his eagerness to learn and explained things in even more detail. But every time he returned to the ancestral hall, faced with the still incomprehensible words on the handwritten copy, Qiao Tian could only suppress his anxiety and continue to bury himself in his studies.

The turning point came on a summer night.

By the dim light of an oil lamp, he was pondering the method of circulating Qi in the "Hand Jueyin Pericardium Meridian," attempting to guide the faint, almost nonexistent "Qi sensation" within his body. Perhaps it was the exhaustion from sitting in meditation for days, or perhaps the restlessness caused by forcibly breaking through the barrier, but suddenly his chest tightened, a feeling of nausea surged up, his vision blurred, and his Qi and blood seemed to flow backward!

Qiao Tian was terrified. He tried to calm himself, but the aura was like a wild horse, impossible to control! At the critical moment—

"squeak--!"

A sharp scream rang out from outside the window. It was that monkey!

It had been squatting on the windowsill for some time, scratching its ears and cheeks, looking extremely agitated. Seeing that Qiao Tian's face was pale and his breathing was disordered, it suddenly threw something in from its paws—a cold mountain fruit still covered in night dew, which hit Qiao Tian right on the forehead.

The icy touch instantly pierced his nerves, clearing his mind!

Taking advantage of this moment of clarity, he bit his tongue hard, suppressing the surging blood and qi with intense pain. He slowly guided his mind according to the most basic calming method in the scriptures, and finally managed to soothe the restless qi.

After a long while, he exhaled a long breath, his back already soaked with cold sweat. He opened his eyes and looked out the window. The monkey, seeing that he was unharmed, seemed to breathe a sigh of relief, bared its teeth, let out a low growl, and turned to dart into the night.

Qiao Tian picked up the berry and held it in his still-cool hand. A complex mix of emotions welled up inside him—fear, relief, and a touch of warmth from the unexpected companionship he had found in this solitary cultivation.

From that day on, a subtle bond developed between him and the monkey. He called it "Little Black," which was also a way of expressing his feelings. "Little Black" was still mischievous, but it caused less trouble and mostly watched him cultivate and read quietly from a nearby branch. Qiao Tian would occasionally share some wild fruit with it, and it would sometimes bring back some rare wild fruit from somewhere as a "gift" in return.

Having survived this ordeal, Qiao Tian became even more cautious in his cultivation. He no longer rushed things, but instead devoted the vast majority of his energy to thoroughly understanding every single Sanskrit commentary. His hard work paid off. On a snowy night at the end of his twelfth year, when he once again guided his breath using the first method he had deciphered, a faint yet incredibly real warm current finally arose clearly deep within his dantian!

The warm current was as thin as a spider's thread, gentle and mild, like a breath of warm air in the dead of winter, yet it stubbornly followed its predetermined path and flowed slowly.

The first level of the Nine Yang Divine Skill—the Misty Purple Qi—is complete!

This marked a crucial step in his martial arts journey, a journey from nothing to something. Though weak, this wisp of true energy was extremely refined and pure, the seed of the future powerful Nine Yang Internal Force. From then on, his body officially accepted and began to nurture this supreme Yang divine skill, his five senses became more acute, and his energy increased daily.

After the spring season began, he went down the mountain to visit his relatives as usual.

Qiao Feng was nine years old, and had grown much taller. He was a robust and energetic boy with bright eyes, and his energy seemed to have nowhere to go. Master Xuanku had formally taught him the Shaolin Foundation Building martial arts, and he practiced extremely hard. He performed a set of Arhat Fist with great force, and the fist technique already showed a fierce and powerful aura.

"Brother! You're back!" Qiao Feng rushed towards him with the same excitement as when they were children, but his strength was no longer to be underestimated. "Do you think my punch is correct?"

Qiao Tianjing watched his younger brother's demonstration with keen insight. He noticed that Qiao Feng's power was strong but lacked flexibility, and his transitions were somewhat hesitant; prolonged practice might damage his meridians. However, he didn't directly point out the moves. Instead, after Qiao Feng stopped, he casually said, "Little Feng, when you exert force, don't focus all your attention on your fist. Try to feel the power rise from the ground, pass through your waist and hips, and then flow through your fist and palm. Like water flowing through a channel, once the channel is open, the water will flow freely."

He used the simplest metaphor to explain. Qiao Feng listened, seemingly understanding but not quite, but after trying it a few times as instructed, he found it much smoother and couldn't help but exclaim with delight, "Brother! Although you don't practice martial arts, you know more than I do!"

Qiao Tian smiled faintly, brushed the dust off his clothes, and said nothing more. His father, Qiao Sanhuai, remained silent, but his demeanor became increasingly calm, and a sense of relief filled his eyes. His mother, meanwhile, chatted with him about everyday things, and secretly slipped him two freshly steamed buns.

On the way back to the temple, he inevitably encountered the monks. Some ignored him, while others cast disdainful glances. What future could a menial disciple, who spent years holed up in a remote shrine in the back mountains, possibly have? He was merely wasting his time. Qiao Tian remained oblivious to all this, walking past calmly. Only when he encountered Master Xuanku did he bow respectfully. Xuanku's gaze lingered on him for a moment, noticing his calm demeanor and inner brilliance in his eyes. Although there was no sign of surging internal energy, there were subtle signs that his physical constitution was becoming increasingly solid. Xuanku's heart stirred slightly, thinking that although he did not practice martial arts, his daily labor and chanting of scriptures were also greatly beneficial to his body and mind.

He had returned to that unusual stone wall several times. He channeled his faint "swirling purple energy" to try and push the wall or examine the cracks. The results were still disappointing. The stone wall remained unmoved, and the cracks were as solid as iron. His meager internal strength was like an ant trying to shake a tree.

But he was not discouraged. On the contrary, because he had gained internal strength, he could perceive more clearly that there was indeed a vast space behind the stone wall, as well as an indescribable, ancient and profound aura.

He knew the time wasn't right.

So he suppressed his desire to explore again, returned to the ancestral hall, and continued his practice.

The first level, "Misty Purple Qi," is merely the seed-nurturing stage. The next level, "Tendon and Marrow Cleansing," is far more arduous. This level requires guiding the pure Yang Qi through the twelve regular meridians and eight extraordinary meridians, clearing blockages, strengthening muscles and bones, and expanding the width and resilience of the meridians. The process is akin to repeated tearing and reshaping, incredibly painful, and demands extremely high precision in controlling internal energy. It is one of the biggest hurdles in the early stages of the *Nine Yang Divine Skill*, and countless exceptionally talented individuals have failed due to unbearable suffering or improper control.

Boredom, pain, loneliness... these became the themes of his life for the next year and a half.

Under the oil lamp, he was drenched in sweat, his body feeling as if it were being plunged into an ice cave or scorched by fire as his internal energy washed over him. "Little Black" seemed to sense his pain, and stopped making a fuss, quietly watching outside the window, occasionally letting out a few low sobs, as if encouraging him.

Until one summer day when he was fourteen, when he once again guided his true energy to complete a full cycle, the intense pain throughout his body suddenly eased, as if an invisible shackle had shattered, his meridians were unobstructed, and the speed and amount of his internal energy circulation suddenly increased!

My body felt light and agile, as if I could fly, and my limbs and bones were filled with unprecedented power. My hearing and eyesight were sharp, and I could clearly hear the distant mountain stream and see the fine veins in the leaves.

The second level of the Nine Yang Divine Skill – Yi Jin Xi Sui – is achieved naturally!

At this point, he had completely opened up all the regular meridians in his body, completing the first half of the "foundation building" stage. Although his internal energy was still not profound, it had already taken shape and was extremely refined and pure, circulating freely from his mind. His physical body had been initially tempered, making him far stronger than his peers, laying a solid foundation for his future martial arts path.

He walked into the courtyard and casually struck out with his palm against the old pine tree. Although the palm strike was still immature, it already carried a noticeable heat, causing the pine needles to fall in a rustling sound.

Qiao Tian slowly withdrew his palm, his gaze calm, and looked once again at the stone wall hidden deep behind the vines.

Now, perhaps we can try again.

Chapter 9 Cave

Successfully breaking through to the second level of the Nine Yang Manual, "Tendon Changing and Marrow Cleansing," brought about a transformative change. Qiao Tian felt an unprecedented lightness and clarity throughout his body, his five senses were exceptionally sharp, and he could even clearly distinguish the faint sound of pine needles falling to the ground in the distance. The true energy within his body, which was originally as thin as a spider's thread, had now grown into a warm stream. Although it had not yet become a mighty force, it could now circulate at will, flowing through his widened and resilient meridians, and abundant power arose with every thought.

He suppressed the urge to set off immediately and went first to the courtyard of the Bodhidharma Temple to familiarize himself with this new power. There was an old pine tree in the corner of the courtyard. Without using any techniques, he simply moved his mind slightly, and a stream of Nine Yang True Qi naturally gathered in his palm, which he then casually pushed out.

With a deep, muffled thud, a wave of scorching heat slammed into the tree trunk with the force of the palm strike. The pine tree trembled slightly, and needles fell like rain. A charred palm print, several inches deep, was clearly left on the tree trunk, as if it had been branded with a hot iron.

Qiao Tian slowly withdrew his palm, staring intently at the palm print, his eyes gleaming. This palm strike, devoid of any clever techniques and powered purely by raw internal energy, was the most direct proof of his three years of arduous training.

"it's time."

He muttered to himself, his gaze passing over the low wall and landing on the deeper, denser forest behind Shaoshi Mountain.

Without hesitation, he went back into the house and carefully put away the dried berry that had been left when "Little Black" woke him up, along with his personal handwritten copy of "Nine Yang". He took a deep breath and strode out, heading back towards the stone wall along the path he had walked through a thousand times in his mind.

The mountain path was rugged, and the forest was dense and lush. However, with his newly formed Nine Yang True Qi, he moved lightly and swiftly. In less than the time it takes for an incense stick to burn, the steep rock wall covered with vines reappeared before his eyes.

Unlike his usual struggles filled with anticipation, this time, he felt only unwavering determination. Standing before the wall, he slowly regulated his breathing, completely calming the surging true energy caused by his journey, allowing it to flow freely and reach its peak.

With his energy fully restored, his gaze sharpened, and he swiftly raised his right palm. The Nine Yang True Qi, at its peak second level, surged forth from within his body, flowing entirely into his right palm! His entire palm instantly turned slightly red, radiating a scorching heat.

With a low shout, Qiao Tian did not hesitate and firmly imprinted his palm, which was full of all his strength and extremely powerful and yang energy, into the center of that area that he had already identified as abnormal and the hardest in texture!

"boom--!"

A deafening roar erupted, its sound echoing through the valley! Qiao Tian's heart skipped a beat. He immediately crouched low, held his breath, and strained his ears to scan his surroundings. After a long while, only the sound of wind rustling through the treetops and the occasional chirping of birds calmed him down.

The instant his palm struck the stone wall, Qiao Tian clearly felt that the wall remained completely still, instead repelling the powerful force of his palm strike. His arm bones instantly felt numb and tingly! The strength of this rebound far exceeded his expectations. Qiao Tian steeled his resolve, ignoring the violent tremor in his arm, and pushed his Nine Yang True Qi to its limit. This pure, yang-like internal energy, originating from the *Nine Yang Manual*, was far beyond the reach of ordinary Shaolin internal energy. At this moment, with his peak second-level cultivation, he relentlessly attacked a single point, regardless of the cost, turning it into a pure battle of internal energy!

Fine beads of sweat appeared on his forehead, and his internal energy was being depleted at an unprecedented rate. The stone wall, however, remained as immovable as an ancient mountain, coldly enduring the impact, with wave after wave of recoil force!

Just as Qiao Tian was nearly exhausted and his inner strength was about to dissipate—

"Crackling..."

A dull yet clear sound, as if an ancient giant pivot had been forcibly pried open, suddenly came from deep within the mountain!

The entire stone wall began to tremble violently!

Immediately afterward, under Qiao Tian's incredulous gaze, the massive, incredibly hard stone wall that had once left him helpless slowly cracked open beside the spot where he had struck with his palm, creating a narrow, deep crevice that could only accommodate one person sideways, accompanied by a piercing sound of rocks grinding together!

A wind, sealed for who knows how many years, mixed with the smell of earth and a strange dryness, rushed out from the darkness!

Qiao Tian abruptly withdrew his palm, revealing a bright red, burning pain, but thankfully no blisters formed—just a superficial wound. He shook his hand, sensing the meager 30% of his true energy remaining, and frowned slightly. Entering now was far from ideal, yet the stone door behind him was slowly closing, its next opening likely a long time coming. His eyes sharpened, and he no longer hesitated—opportunity always comes with risk!

He didn't rush in immediately, but held his breath, listening intently to the sounds coming from the cave; only deathly silence remained. He picked up a pebble and tossed it into the darkness, producing a hollow echo, indicating the presence of an inner space. He then lit a portable torch, its flickering light illuminating a corner of the passage. Only then did he carefully squeeze in, fully alert, ready to retreat at any moment.

The stone wall behind him emitted an increasingly heavy rumble, and the crack closed faster, swallowing up the outside light and his resolute figure.

What kind of world lies inside the cave? All remains a mystery, waiting to be revealed.

Chapter 10 Bodhidharma Stone Wall

The stone wall closed heavily behind them, the last rays of daylight vanished completely, and the world sank into absolute darkness. Only the torch that Qiao Tian had hastily lit crackled, becoming the sole source of light and sound in this deathly silence.

The flickering firelight stretched and shortened his shadow, casting it like a ghost on the rough cave walls. The air was thick with dust and an indescribable, ancient aura, as if time itself had frozen, dry and cold.