Sichuan's Mad Dragon (Novel) - Chapter 142 - Baldy Slap Slap

Chapter 142 – Baldy Slap Slap

===================

Translated by Heavenly Cat
Edited by Celestial Knight

Read it only at Novelbyu.com & Utoon.net

===================

Sighing Branch was so dumbfounded he was getting a headache. Had he ever met such a rude brat in his seventy years of life?

To a friend of his master, he says what? ‘How about a match?’ Sighing Branch tilted his head and asked.

“Have you lost your mind?”

Ju-seong shook his head.

“No. Thank you for your concern.”

“Hah…”

Sighing Branch let out a hollow laugh and tapped the birdcage beside him. Inside the cage woven of pure silver sat Geo-geun, the cricket Ju-seong himself had raised.

Ju-seong’s thoughts drifted to a certain cricket that had been the original owner of that luxurious cage.

“You’re raising him well. Where did Dae-ung go?”

“I fed him to Geo-geun.”

“…”

Ju-seong was momentarily speechless at this cold-blooded gambler elder’s cruelty.

He’d cherished and raised it himself, yet immediately made it into feed?

‘No, that’s not what’s important right now.’

Ju-seong shook his head to clear his thoughts, then got to the matter at hand.

“As you know, a match with that Shaolin monk is scheduled soon. No matter how I think about it, the strongest person in this area is you, elder. So I came to request a sparring session.”

“Mm.”

Sighing Branch slowly nodded, then without warning thrust out a front kick. Ju-seong barely blocked the attack with both arms, but…

-BOOM!

He couldn’t fully disperse the explosive force, and couldn’t prevent his body from flying through the wall. One side of Azure Sky Tower’s annex wall exploded outward, scattering wood fragments everywhere.

‘If that had been a brick wall, I would’ve been screwed.’

“That’s cowardly!”

Ju-seong protested. Things he normally did to others became unfair when done to him.

Sighing Branch gave no response whatsoever. He simply leaped out through the broken wall and stomped down with his heel.

Using pure body techniques without even drawing his weapon, a short dagger, Sighing Branch pressed Ju-seong relentlessly.

Ju-seong rolled to dodge the heel strike, then slapped the ground hard and sprang up, launching a palm strike.

But his palm force was instantly shattered by Sighing Branch’s palm force. The quality of their internal energy was fundamentally different.

-Thwack!

The internal energy he couldn’t disperse rushed into Ju-seong, sending him flying further. Sighing Branch closed in on the airborne Ju-seong at terrifying speed as he spoke.

Ju-seong reflexively extended both palms, but Sighing Branch just smirked and straightforwardly extended his left palm to meet them.

“First rule when facing someone stronger than you: don’t engage in power struggles.”

And so began the teachings of an old master who had rolled through jianghu for decades.

* * *

Ju-seong’s one eyelid trembled as he thought.

‘Isn’t this cheating?’

The monk across the arena had his bald head reflecting the bright sunlight.

To encounter such an obstacle in the finals. As if he’d planned this, the monk had showed up today with an especially clean-shaven head. He’d even applied fragrant oil to his scalp.

Ju-seong barely managed to steady his mind, which was being unsettled by that dizzying reflected light.

Countless voices chanting his name.

“Wooooah!”

“Finally the finals, Mad Dragon! Do your best!”

“You really clawed your way up to the finals. Tenacious bastard…”

“Nice clothes, you bastard! Did you get new ones made for the finals?”

As one spectator noted, Ju-seong was wearing a splendid silk changpo newly tailored at a fabric shop. The color was, naturally, his favorite green.

The premium changpo gifted by the Zhuge family was unsuitable for combat, so he’d left it behind.

And yes, it was new clothes made for the finals. Though not simply for show.

‘Still, I never get tired of hearing these cheers.’

Ju-seong spread his arms wide arrogantly, savoring the shouts. Whether jeers or cheers, public attention was a form of power.

In contrast, voices mentioning Won-gong’s Buddhist name or alias were nearly nonexistent. Only gamblers who made safe bets on the likely winner barely considered cheering for Won-gong.

When you thought about it, it was natural. Ju-seong’s matches were more exciting, and he was the remarkable participant who’d reached the finals without being from the Seven Sects and Three Families.

Ju-seong’s previous opponents had lost their composure at this atmosphere, grimacing or unconsciously becoming intimidated.

‘Of course, that guy isn’t.’

A disciple of the Buddhist vessel.

Not a shred of worldly concern showed in those calm eyes. A sturdy neck. Powerful forearms. Thick knees.

It was like looking at a fortress rather than a human. With muscles packed so tightly on those long limbs, the intimidation was extraordinary.

The spirit of Shaolin resided there.

‘Fundamentally, a place that creates martial arts where the attacker’s hand breaks first.’

Buddhism fundamentally emphasized non-killing, so they might as well make bodies so hard that attackers injured themselves.

His thoughts were wandering all over today. Had he finally been bewitched by the monk’s bald head’s reflected light?

‘No, that’s not it.’

Ju-seong examined Won-gong’s gaze. The eyes that seemed unshakeable showed no competitive spirit even against Ju-seong… they were settled and calm.

‘What, does he not intend to win?’

A contest that wasn’t a life-or-death battle required both participants’ hearts to align.

In competition, when both sides poured their entire hearts into winning, only then could both enter perfect immersion.

Endless competitive spirit toward each other. In that taut tension, both would hone their minds. But if he couldn’t feel that from this guy now… Ju-seong’s immersion was also tumbling around aimlessly like an arrow that lost its target. So there was a reason he couldn’t quite concentrate. Ju-seong narrowed his eyes. Was he enlightened about winning because he’s a monk? Or did he have other worries? Perhaps concerned about hair loss lately?

Just then, Won-gong stepped forward first and bowed his head. He formed Shaolin’s characteristic half-palm and spoke in a pleasant voice.

“I humbly request your teachings, benefactor.”

Ju-seong also awkwardly extended a fist salute in response.

“…Sure, let’s do that.”

His heart was restless until the last moment. The gong rang three times, and the two mechanically charged at each other.

-Thwack!

A golden Buddhist radiance-filled fist targeted Ju-seong’s face.

Ju-seong dodged by tilting his head back while simultaneously kicking hard at Won-gong’s left ear with his right foot.

Won-gong shot palm force from his already-withdrawn right hand to deflect Ju-seong’s leg, then attempted to grapple him.

Exchanging over a dozen moves against the grappling technique where he keenly felt the greatness of Shaolin martial arts, Ju-seong thought.

‘What the hell is this bald monk bastard trying to do?’

At this rate, it was like performing a choreographed martial demonstration at some weak-hearted rich elder’s seventieth-birthday feast.

From most spectators’ perspective, it would be a tense, nail-biting match. Internal energy crafted into colorful attacks flew about and shattered, energy waves burst forth, the stone floor broke apart.

But to those who’d reached a certain level, it was a yawningly boring contest.

-Thwack!

They exchanged powerful palm forces, both retreating exactly four steps into a momentary lull.

Ju-seong narrowed his eyes and observed Won-gong. Won-gong was calm as before, with no apparent competitive desire.

Suddenly, something flashed through Ju-seong’s mind.

‘Could it be?’

The Martial Alliance wanted Ju-seong to expose the Ten Thousand Ears Gang’s atrocities if he won the championship.

Ju-seong was a young martial artist steadily building enormous recognition. He was perfect for informing fellow martial artists of something.

Whatever the Martial Alliance’s true intentions, Ju-seong exposing the Ten Thousand Barbarians’ atrocities would be an important cornerstone of their plans.

And Shaolin Temple was the progenitor and great elder of the martial world.

It was obvious they’d exchange the most intimate secrets with the Martial Alliance’s inner circle.

They were also a major sect that wouldn’t fret over losing one Ascending Dragon Assembly championship.

‘Could it be…’

The pieces began fitting together in Ju-seong’s head. And flames immediately sparked in his eyes.

‘He’s planning to throw the match!’

That bald bastard was clearly intending to yield victory to Ju-seong so that he could smoothly carry out the Martial Alliance’s plans. Ju-seong experienced heat rushing all the way to his crown for the first time in a long while… not from anger at injustice or evil, but purely from wounded pride.

Ju-seong stood rooted on the arena, staring fixedly at Won-gong, then spoke.

“Hey, monk.”

“…”

Won-gong naturally didn’t bat an eye at such low-quality provocation. Ju-seong twisted his lips, then immediately pushed off the ground and charged in.

Both hands curved like tiger claws had ten Kunlun Iron Claws sprouting menacing edges.

-Shing!

Perhaps instinctively sensing danger from the Kunlun Iron claws, Won-gong lightly stepped away to dodge.

Ju-seong clicked his tongue at his opponent’s still-passive response and continued his provocation.

“Hey, you bald monk bastard.”

-Shing! Thwack! Thud!

Still a passive response like a friendly spar. This wasn’t enough. Ju-seong threw a punch while adding another taunt.

“Born with equipment you’ll never use in your life.”

The moment he said this, Ju-seong immediately regretted it.

‘This damages me more.’

Ju-seong wasn’t a monk yet had never used his either. An amateur mistake unbefitting a master of taunts, mockery, and snark.

Ju-seong observed the monk’s expression, then deflected his punch with Red Lotus Palm and spoke.

“Your master is bald too.”

A slight vein bulged on Won-gong’s scalp. Ju-seong lifted the corner of his mouth.

Stating simple facts works surprisingly well?

“Your master forgot a passage while reciting the Heart Sutra and got utterly humiliated in front of the child acolytes.”

“You go too far, benefactor!”

Won-gong finally responded with a word. He forcefully pushed Ju-seong away with a voice feigning anger.

But his eyes quickly calmed again. They clashed once more.

Won-gong spoke in a low voice.

“Surely you understand by now, young hero? You must win this match. The Martial Alliance has a very important plan…”

Ju-seong finally gained certainty from Won-gong’s words.

‘Those Military Affairs Division fuckers. They were hyping me up about having the qualities of a Grandmaster and whatnot.’

They’d talked as if Ju-seong would win the championship through skill, but it was all lies.

Feeling his head heat up further, he gathered his eighteen years of performer experience to prepare an even stronger lineup of provocations.

First, starting lightly with a variation of his earlier words.

“Master Bulgi’s bald head slap slap…”

And Ju-seong’s vision turned yellow.

-KABOOOOM!

For an instant, heaven and earth flipped and righted themselves.

‘I think my soul briefly left and came back.’

Ju-seong shook his head side to side to steady his vision. And through the thick dust, he saw Won-gong looking absolutely furious beyond measure.

Ju-seong looked at his face with golden flames blazing from his eyes and clicked his tongue.

‘His cultivation is shallower than I thought.’

‘Master Bulgi’s bald head slap slap’ was merely a scout Ju-seong had sent out. A diverse array of provocations had been preparing to deploy after.

Such as the improper relationship between Master Bulgi and the courtesan Chunwol, or the story of the erotic picture book that Master Bulgi had hidden since his days as a temple servant and looked at so much that the corners were worn round, or that the pages of that erotic book stuck together and wouldn’t separate easily…

‘I’d better just stop here.’

If he actually told everything he’d prepared, he might not see tomorrow’s sunrise.

Ju-seong didn’t want a fight to the death; he’d only wanted a satisfying match as a martial artist. Before Ju-seong could even catch his breath, Won-gong charged in at terrifying speed and unleashed palm force with tremendous explosive power.

Prajna Vajra Palm.

One of Shaolin’s Seventy-Two Consummate Arts, said to make the palm hard as diamond when mastered, with that weight fully contained in the palm force.

That seemed true, as Ju-seong instinctively knew he couldn’t directly counter that golden palm force head-on.

He used Red Lotus Palm with both hands to deflect while preparing for Won-gong’s closing attack.

The moment he deflected the golden palm force, a fist wrapped in Buddhist radiance targeted his liver.

Ju-seong raised his knee nearly to his collarbone with his characteristic flexible movement to block the attack.

Then immediately extended the folded knee into a side kick.

-Thwack!

A kick extending in a crisp rhythm like multiple spear thrusts. The moment Won-gong stepped back slightly with a footwork technique, Ju-seong leaped up and poured out palm force with considerable internal energy.

Red Lotus Palm.

Cotton tufts filled the air. Having fought Mount Hua Sect twice now, Ju-seong knew how to utilize the flashiness of their martial arts.

Crimson palm force scattered everywhere, chaotically filling the arena. Staggering, wavering, drifting without fixed direction… the palm force was harder to counter.

Linear attacks with clear intent were easier to block after all.

Won-gong stood amid that dizzying display of palm force with hands in half-palm, legs shoulder-width apart, eyes closed.

Golden Buddhist radiance enveloped his body. The grain of his muscles became visible through his skin, his form transforming into that of a divine general whose body seemed impervious even to bladed weapons.

Vajra Indestructible Divine Art.

The supreme external art of jianghu was being manifested.

Originally, training that elevated the body’s fundamentals was also called external arts, but techniques that temporarily maximized the body’s durability to the limit were also called external arts.

The Vajra Indestructible Divine Art was a divine art that could only be trained by those who had refined their body’s foundation with Shaolin Temple’s Muscle-Tendon Transformation Classic.

Those who reached mastery could supposedly maintain an impervious body throughout an entire fight.

Won-gong hadn’t reached that level yet, apparently needing to stand still to manifest the Vajra Indestructible Divine Art.

Of course, given its extremely difficult cultivation, reaching this level at his age was already being hailed as the emergence of the next generation’s best-under-heaven.

His alias being Vajra Divine Dragon was largely due to his cultivation of the Vajra Indestructible Divine Art.

-Thud, thud thud… Thwack, thump!

Light impact sounds from the Red Lotus Palm continued incessantly, but Won-gong seemed to suffer not even a scratch. Then again, could anyone in the Ascending Dragon Assembly break through that?

Nine out of ten would exhaust themselves wasting internal energy and collapse.

But Ju-seong had other ideas. He too knew Won-gong practiced the Vajra Indestructible Divine Art and had prepared countermeasures.

As Ju-seong descended from the air, he thought.

‘Still, it’s Shaolin Temple… surely he won’t die from being cut up?’

Shelving his worry, he sharply yanked both hands.

Cho Yu-gyeong, watching from the spectator stands, involuntarily widened his eyes and half-rose from his seat.

‘That madman is using that in a contest?!’

-Hisssss…!

A sound like a venomous snake’s threat rang out as threads too thin to perceive with the naked eye began rapidly constricting around Won-gong.