James Morgan walked toward the door: “I’ve discussed it with Abbot. For these ten days, you can temporarily stay in the Shaolin Temple and get used to life here. After school starts, you’ll have to fend for yourself—no one can help you.” As he stepped out of the room, he remembered something else: “Oh, right! From today on, my identity is only Jason Reed, and I have nothing more to do with you. Whatever happens to you in the future has nothing to do with me!”

It wasn’t until he had gone far that Brian Morgan finally got up from the bed: “Trying to fool me? Only a fool would believe you!”

He picked up his travel bag, ready to leave this wretched place. Seeing the admission notice on the bed, he hesitated for a moment, but in the end, stuffed it into his pocket.

When Brian Morgan left the room, he ran into the young novice who had been sweeping earlier. Brian Morgan asked him for directions down the mountain, then, carrying his travel bag, headed toward the temple gate.

Along the way, Brian Morgan wasn’t stopped by anyone. He left the ‘Shaolin Temple’ smoothly. He had already mapped out his route in his mind: since it was still early, he would walk down Mount Song first, then take a bus to Kaifeng, and from there catch a train back to Shanghai.

But after leaving the Shaolin Temple, he found things weren’t as he had imagined. The stone steps he’d seen during his last trip had turned into a rugged mountain path. He carefully made his way down, and after walking for about a mile, a mountain gate appeared ahead. Two sturdy warrior monks stood guard there, blocking the road down the mountain completely, one on each side.

Brian Morgan smiled politely at them: “Masters, could you please let me pass?”

“Do you have Abbot’s written order?” the monk on the left asked sternly.

Brian Morgan pointed to his travel bag: “I’m a tourist. Do I really need your Abbot’s approval just to go down the mountain?”

“Tourist? Nonsense! We never allow tourists up to Blackwood Cliff!”

“Blackwood Cliff?” Brian Morgan looked at the monk in surprise. Was this a joke? The Shaolin Temple was clearly on Mount Song—how did it end up at the headquarters of the Sun and Moon Sect? He wondered if George Washington would jump out next.

Brian Morgan didn’t take these two monks seriously at all. This was a law-abiding society; monks were citizens too, and they couldn’t just attack people at will.

“Take one more step and don’t blame us for being ruthless!” the two warrior monks shouted angrily.

Brian Morgan arrogantly raised his head: “To tell you the truth, I’m from the Wudang Sect. If you know what’s good for you, get out of my way. If you make me angry, I’ll use my Taiji skills on you both!”

“Then bring it on!” The two monks were unfazed. As if by magic, each produced a wooden staff, crossing them in the air, clearly ready for a showdown with Brian Morgan.

Brian Morgan hadn’t intended to cause trouble, but the monks’ bad attitude sparked his competitive spirit. He wanted to see just how formidable Shaolin staff techniques really were.

He turned and hung his travel bag on a tree branch behind him, then returned to face the two monks. “Are you planning to attack together, or one at a time?”

“We fight together against one, and together against an army!” The two monks were sly, justifying their ganging up with such righteous words.

The monk on the left was the first to attack Brian Morgan, sweeping his staff horizontally at Brian Morgan’s waist. The other monk circled behind Brian Morgan and launched an attack from the rear. The two of them must have trained together for years—their coordination was seamless.

Brian Morgan had long heard of the power of Shaolin staff techniques. Facing the monks’ thunderous assault, his best strategy was to use softness to overcome strength—Taiji was the perfect example of this.

Brian Morgan put his weight on his right foot, left foot light, and slowly drew a circle in the air with his right hand, skillfully placing his arm on the incoming staff. His spinning force continued, and under Brian Morgan’s sticky, pressing motion, the staff veered off course. This move was the “Grasp the Sparrow’s Tail” from Taiji. The opponent’s fierce strength was neutralized, and the monk staggered two steps forward from inertia before barely regaining his balance.

The other monk’s attack from behind was silent and swift, his staff technique completely different from the first. He aimed for the acupoint on Brian Morgan’s lower back, but Brian Morgan used his left hand to deflect the staff, spun on his right foot, and dodged the sure strike.

The two monks were astonished—they hadn’t managed to take down this seventeen-year-old boy even working together.

They exchanged glances and attacked simultaneously from left and right.

Brian Morgan cursed inwardly. His earlier success was only because the monks were unfamiliar with Taiji. Their actual skills far surpassed his. If the fight dragged on, he would surely lose. But things had come to this—there was no other choice but to fight.

“Stop!” a clear child’s voice called from afar.

The two monks immediately halted their attack. Brian Morgan turned to see the young novice who had been sweeping in the temple earlier, flying toward them, stepping lightly on the tree branches.

Brian Morgan rubbed his eyes hard. Good heavens, the Shaolin Temple was truly full of hidden dragons and crouching tigers—even a little sweeping novice had mastered such advanced qinggong.