Volume One: Youthful Chivalry

Chapter One: Scheming Heart

The vast sky stretched endlessly, blue and pure as if washed clean, not a single white cloud in sight.

What beautiful weather... As Eric Bennett opened his eyes, this was the wonderful scene that greeted him, making him feel as if he had just awoken from a long dream, reluctant to leave the soft bed.

Just as he began to sigh inwardly, Eric Bennett felt his body being shaken violently. An urgent, anxious male voice sounded by his ear: "Second Young Master, are you awake?"

Young Master? Eric Bennett instinctively turned his head and saw a middle-aged man with a face full of tension. He had an extremely striking horse-like face and wore a long goatee split into five strands like a goat's beard. But that wasn't the main point—the key was the headscarf atop his head and the wide-sleeved robe he wore.

What is going on here?

"Second Young Master, are you alright?" The middle-aged man began to pat and feel Eric Bennett's body up and down, scaring him into thinking he'd run into some pervert. He hurriedly sat up and shrank back, but the man's hands were like iron pincers—his struggles were useless. Instead, he felt a warm current flow through his body, dispelling all discomfort, leaving him feeling as if he were soaking in a hot spring.

Seeing Eric Bennett stand up, the middle-aged man nodded slightly and said, "You should be fine now."

After making his own judgment, he still seemed uneasy and asked Eric Bennett, "Second Young Master, do you feel unwell anywhere else?"

His concern was written all over his face.

Eric Bennett had no idea what was happening. His mind felt like mush as he replied woodenly, "No."

The horse-faced man's expression immediately relaxed, then forced out a smile uglier than a cry: "Second Young Master, the Marquis had no choice. It's still better here at the temple than at home. Just think, although this place is filled with ancient lamps and distant from the mortal world, Shaolin is the greatest martial sect under heaven. Who knows, maybe you'll have the chance to forge a golden Arhat body in the future, awe the world, and transcend the sea of human suffering. Besides, you were born with a Buddhist affinity, and an unknown old monk even gave you a jade Buddha pendant..."

At this point, he seemed to realize how unlikely that was, and shame crept into his voice. He lowered his tone, his mouth moving a few times before changing his words: "Even if you can't achieve the golden body, the seventy-two supreme skills of Shaolin are all miraculous. If you can learn a few, you'll be able to roam the martial world, settle grudges and repay kindness—wouldn't that be wonderful..."

As he spoke, his voice grew lower and lower, until it was barely a whisper. In the end, he simply raised his left hand to cover his face, turned around, and left, leaving behind only a long sigh that faded like smoke.

Watching the horse-faced man's figure disappear into the wooded hills in just a few steps, Eric Bennett, left utterly confused by his rambling, only wanted to ask: "Uncle, who are you?"

This is just absurd!

By now, Eric Bennett had realized he was no longer in a familiar place, but in a bizarre and uncanny environment.

A place much like ancient China!

All I did was stay up late to watch the World Cup—did it have to come to this? I fell asleep and woke up in another world?

Eric Bennett didn't suspect this was some prank, nor did he think he was on a historical drama set, because when that horse-faced uncle left, even though his steps were hurried and chaotic as if chased by a ghost, his speed was like a startled horse—far beyond what any normal person could do!

"Definitely a martial arts master!" Eric Bennett "judged" based on his experience with novels and TV shows.

"Namo Amitabha, follow me into the temple." Just as Eric Bennett's thoughts began to race, a deep Buddhist chant suddenly sounded behind him, startling him so much he almost cried out.

When did someone get behind me?

And I didn't sense it at all!

Twisting his neck almost painfully to look back, Eric Bennett saw a monk in a yellow-brown robe. He was extremely tall but thin as a bamboo pole. His features were unremarkable, except for his eyes, which carried an unshakable sense of desolation, making it impossible to guess his age—he could be in his forties or fifties, or just over thirty.

Seeing that Eric Bennett had noticed him, the yellow-robed monk said nothing more, simply gestured with his eyes, and turned to walk toward the temple's main gate.

Yellow walls, black tiles, dark red doors—the front of this temple was no different from the temples Eric Bennett had visited before, except it was much larger and wider.

What shocked Eric Bennett was that above the main gate, a gilded horizontal plaque bore three large characters in a style much like regular script:

"Shaolin Temple"!

It really is "Shaolin Temple"!

And the writing here is almost identical to ancient regular script!

Arriving in this strange and uncanny place, Eric Bennett dared not ask questions. He suppressed his shock and confusion, and hurried to follow the yellow-robed monk.

Only now did Eric Bennett realize his hands and feet were short. After examining himself carefully, he wondered, not knowing whether to be happy or worried: "A different kind of 'returning to youth'..."

Judging by the size and fairness of his hands, and the jade pendant at his waist, this body was probably under fourteen years old and had lived a pampered life.

"I wonder what this body looks like. Only good-looking people have youth worth having..."

"In Shaolin Temple, with ancient lamps and Buddha statues, who needs youth anyway!"