No, gentlemen also guard against

Chapter 220 The Yin-Yang Soldier and the Book-Flipping Man
The scripture-copying hall of Donglin Temple is located between Manjusri Pagoda and Puxian Hall.

Most of the scriptures copied by monks and believers are placed in the towers and halls on both sides for incense and offerings, which is called collecting vows and praying for blessings.

Today, a middle-aged scribe came early to the scripture copying hall.

A middle-aged scribe with a white face and beard, elegant demeanor and a ring around his waist, he stretched out his sleeve and donated a sum of incense money.

The Zhike monk smiled and took him to a scripture copying area in front of the Buddha.

The white-faced scribes washed their hands and burned incense, sat upright, and buried themselves in copying scriptures.

There are very few people copying scriptures in the scripture copying hall today.

There are only white-faced scribes and an old monk who is a little deaf.

The two strangers were quite far apart, located on both sides of the Compassionate Buddha in the center of the hall, separated by a large futon that no one was sitting on.

During the interval of copying scriptures, the white-faced scribe and the deaf old monk accidentally looked at each other, smiled at each other, and bowed their heads.

It is a kind of tacit understanding between monks and guests.

But what the old monk who copied scriptures in this hall for many years did not know was that the white-faced scribe who lowered his head again took out a scripture from his sleeve.

He dipped his pen into the ink and wrote down the pages of the book.

Behind him, the door of the hall was wide open, and the flags hanging above the hall were buzzing from time to time.

The happy towels worn by the white-faced scribes fluttered around.

The writing hand is raised.

In front of him, the scriptures were turned over.

windy.

Flipping the book.

……

In the emerald green bamboo forest rustling leaves, a cottage regained its atmosphere.

Wei Shaoxuan and Liu Zian sat down respectively.

Boss Li went to wait in front of the door.

The box-carrying man named Qiu Qi walked to the window and quietly watched the greenery of the bamboo forest.

Not long ago, the hasty coming and going of an old monk with white beard and black clothes was just an insignificant episode in the hut, and no one mentioned it again.

Liu Zian said with a smile:
"I heard that Mr. Wei likes purple bamboo shoot tea, Liu asked someone to find some tea cakes, and hoped that Mr. Wei would be satisfied."

Wei Shaoxuan rolled his eyes slightly up, looked at him for a while, and said with a smile:
"Patriarch Liu is here to treat me to tea today?"

"of course not!"

Liu Zian immediately rushed to answer, paused, then lowered his voice and said:

"It's not that Liu is afraid that the hospitality will not be good. Hey, I didn't expect Mr. Wei to come so early, so I am a little at a loss as to how to entertain him."

"My lord thought that Patriarch Liu had some ghosts in his heart, huh. Just continue to do your job well." Wei Shaoxuan paused, squinting his eyes and asked, "Where is that old gentleman, why didn't you come?"

Liu Zian smiled wryly:
"Young Master Wei, it's not that you don't know that old gentleman's weird personality, and no one likes to talk to you. Now it's the last moment, the most critical moment, and the old gentleman has to stay there day and night..."

"Let's talk first."

Qiu Qi in front of the window suddenly spoke, he turned his head and said calmly:

"I'm going to catch a mouse."

As soon as the words were finished, outside the window behind the man carrying the box, the entire bamboo forest that was swaying in the sound of "rustling" suddenly stopped moving, as if the wind had stopped.

"What mouse?" Liu Zian looked around in doubt.

There was not much surprise on Wei Shaoxuan's face, he folded the white paper fan and clapped his hands, and stood up with a smile:
"Father, be gentle, why don't you catch him alive this time? If you talk too stubbornly, forget it. My son can't see a hero, so give him a good time."

It seems to have a lot of experience.

Qiu Qi made no sound.

Because he was no longer in the house.

There was only one wooden sword box left, leaning against the window, causing Liu Zian and Boss Li to look at it in surprise.

Leave the box and go.

A scripture copying hall is a kilometer away from the bamboo forest house.

In front of a white-faced scribe, there was a scripture that he silently turned over. He lowered his head and held the pen. What he wrote was a blank sheet of scriptures.

The white-faced scribe kept writing, frowning slightly as he wrote.

Up to this moment, just after writing the words of a certain man with a box on his back, the penholder in the white-faced scribe's hand, which had been working continuously since just now, suddenly broke.

The originally leisurely and elegant white-faced scribe suddenly changed his face, the jade pendant on his waist shook slightly, and a flash of red light flashed.

He put his big hand on the Confucian classics that he turned without wind in front of him, stuffed the copied scriptures into it, and grabbed them together.

The figure of the white-faced scribe sitting on the futon disappeared.

Only one jade ring fell silently on the futon below.

The banners above the scripture-copying hall suddenly slammed loudly, and a gust of breeze blew up on the ground, rushing towards the entrance of the hall.

But in the next second, a burly figure in short-sleeved sackcloth appeared outside the door of the main hall.

The burly man who dropped his sword box and lost his victory faced the door, with his back to the sunny sky behind him. From the perspective of facing the light in the hall, the man in front of the door was completely dark, only a shadow, and his specific expression could not be seen clearly.

And this scene, like a huge black mountain barbarian, is pouring over, trying to squeeze the entire hall, which is very oppressive.

Sure enough, the wind from the flipper hit this "black mountain", and it was instantly shattered.

The white-faced scribe stumbled back from it.

Qiu Qi was calm, took a step forward, and arrived in front of the white-faced scribe in an instant.

He twisted his body, stretched his shoulders, and shook his legs.

A twisting kick smashed the white-faced scribe in front of him cleanly.

What a military strategist and Qi fighter, with a basic martial arts physique, close to hand to hand, almost invincible at the same level.

However, the white-faced scribe who was kicked to pieces did not splash blood and juice, but exploded into a ball of fine shredded paper in the air on the spot.

Qiu Qi's expression seemed to be unsurprising, he turned his head calmly, looked at a certain place on the southeast side of the hall, and chased after him in a flash.

A gust of wind, which was much weaker, was still escaping around in the hall, false and true.

"Seventh Grade? A book flipper?"

Qiu Qi shook his head.

Immediately, Qiu Qi's figure appeared in various places in the hall like a phantom.

At the same time, the white-faced scribes appeared one after another, in various forms of death, and were punched and kicked into pieces of paper.

Complete suppression.

All of this happened in just three breaths, and nearly a hundred figures were shattered.

The white-faced scribes were struggling to deal with it, and the pages of the Confucian classics in their sleeves were getting fewer and fewer, and the number dropped sharply, and there would be no substitutes.

And Qiu Qi punched and kicked, as if walking in a courtyard, and even asked casually:
"You dare to come here at the seventh rank, who gave you the courage? Your Confucian Academy has enjoyed a lot of peace and prosperity, is it so wasteful?"

The white-faced scribe sighed:
"You are not an ordinary guardian of the Wei family, you are... Qiu Shenji? The guest of the king of Wei, aren't you sitting in the northern barracks for the Wei family, cleaning up the chaos on the front line of Yingzhou? Wei Wang's mansion sent you here to act what?"

"It seems that you don't know anything, but the dead don't need to know so much." Qiu Shenji nodded: "Choose a way to die."

The white-faced scribe was silent, and suddenly asked curiously:
"You dare to make a move, not afraid of exposing your energy and being seen by other Qi practitioners? Yunmeng Jianze is right next to you."

Qiu Shenji shook his head: "To kill you, you don't need to use purple energy to cultivate yourself."

The white-faced scribe looks at the blue sky outside the gate of Beiwang Temple, but there is a black mountain blocking the gate, and it seems that he will not be able to get out of it today.

Below the confronting white-faced scribes and Qiu Shenji, the old monk was lowering his head and immersed himself in copying the scriptures, and he was completely unaware of the miraculous confrontation of Qi practitioners in the hall.

The white-faced scribe turned his head and smiled suddenly:
"Qiu Shenji, don't look down on people, the top grade of Ziqi is great? Are you not full, your hands and feet are limp, like a woman."

Qiu Shenji looked at it coldly, and the corner of his mouth twitched.

The contempt is beyond words.

But the most frightening thing for the white-faced scribe was that the sackclothed man blocking the road in front of him, no matter how much he despised and despised him, still locked onto his aura.

Don't look at the man with loose muscles and looks like a lazy guy, but this is the state of a top martial artist before he makes a move. That kind of muscle tightness is actually a third-rate martial artist in the world.

He was ready to fight, and he didn't give the white-faced scribes a chance.

This is the military master who led the surrounding army to charge and fight to grow up on the battlefield.

In the next second, the sighing white-faced scribe burst into red light, turning into a crimson rainbow and rushing towards the roof of the hall. The bricks and tiles on the roof melted, and the gap opened silently.

It's a pity that Qiu Shenji blocked the gap in the roof without accident.

The morale of the white-faced man was firmly locked, and his physique was different. If he dared to get close to a warrior, he would be thrown into a trap and moths to the flame.

But the crimson Changhong that the white-faced scribe turned into went straight to the mountain without changing its direction.

Like a turbulent river diverted by boulders, the crimson aura in Changhong was consumed rapidly.

Qiu Shenji didn't move for a while, his face was calm, he was looking at the reality in the cave, just like using soldiers on the battlefield to defend the enemy's surprise soldiers.

The white-faced scribe began to bleed from his seven orifices, and in the next second, the crimson rainbow in the sky turned back suddenly. The white-faced scribe turned his head and threw a roll of Confucian classics in his sleeve towards the gate of the palace.

Qiu Shenji, who was motionless at first, appeared in front of the white-faced scribe in an instant.

A big hand clamped the right wrist of the white-faced scribe who was about to throw the book.

Qiu Shenji broke off a piece of his right hand, like a woman breaking a willow on a lakeside trip in spring.

And on the palm of this amputated limb, there is still a volume of Confucian classics tightly clutched.

Qiu Shenji glanced at the Confucian classics of the pager.

The white-faced scribe in front of him gushed out of his mouth and nose in bursts of blood, like a water pump pumping well water.

The scribe with the severed hand and the man who broke the willow, both of them maintained such a posture, standing quietly in front of the main hall.

The white-faced scribe smiled slightly at Qiu Shenji with his bloodstained face all over his face:
"That's all for the Xianbei Yi people. Being Wei's lackeys, they still think that Zhanmu Wanghua is just a Muhou."

The words came out, and in an instant, fragments fell off the face of the white-faced scribe.

One piece after another, it fell down.

Like a lifelike terracotta warrior, crumbs of paint fell from the face.

The Confucian book flipper smiled with a bloody face, and his body began to disintegrate inch by inch.

The crimson aura in his body became irritable, shooting out one by one from the disintegrated gaps like beams of light.

The white-faced scribe who did not leave his name has more and more crimson beams of light on his body, or looks like a hedgehog with blood-stained red thorns.

Qiu Shenji frowned slightly: "Are all scholars so stubborn?"

In the next second, the man's shoulders shook slightly, his muscles and bones cracked, and he wriggled and twisted like an earth dragon turning over.

A fierce and terrifying lavender aura gradually radiated out!

It's like being reborn.

Qiu Shenji's body rose up in the air in the absence of wind.

A frightening top-grade qi trainer suddenly appeared in front of the main hall, unscrupulously exuding his unique aura.

Top-rank qi trainers, that is, fifth-rank and fourth-rank qi trainers, can release their spiritual energy.

If Ouyang Rong was present at this moment and saw this scene, he would definitely think of what my junior sister said casually: a high-rank Qi trainer can walk against the wind, and does not need to use force to breathe like a middle-rank and low-rank Qi trainer.

I saw that the surging purple energy temporarily suppressed the crimson aura that was about to explode.

Qiu Shenji frowned in dissatisfaction, and glanced at the white-faced scribe with a bloody face and a smile. The latter was already dead, and he died in peace.

At least he forced out his high-grade purple energy cultivation base.

Qiu Shenji snorted coldly, and grabbed it forward with his big hand, and the "shards" that the white-faced scribe returned to their original places one by one, and the blood also returned to the broken meridians in his body drop by drop.

This scene is like going back in time and space, and the white-faced scribes have been put together neatly.

But this is just a rough splicing, not a complete restoration, the resurrection of the dead.

Qiu Shenji stretched his fist forward, loosened his fist as a claw, and suddenly took a shot from the air.

The body of the white-faced scribe was like a broken rag doll, with his head tilted and arms lowered, slowly floating up.

With his other hand, he raised two fingers and pointed directly at a golden Buddha in the center of the hall.

It is rumored that besides practicing the most basic martial arts physique, Qi practitioners of military strategists can also be divided into four categories according to different Qi refining techniques:

Strategists, weapon masters, soldiers of yin and yang, soldiers of the situation.

Among them, the Yin and Yang family of soldiers, the ancient books say that they follow the time, but they can pretend to be helpers from ghosts and gods.

That is to be proficient in the way of Yin-Yang and Five Elements similar to the Yin-Yang School, and at the same time observe the surrounding battlefields, take advantage of the situation and take action according to local conditions.

Amidst the green smoke curling up in the hall, the Buddha's head slowly rose, and the head and body were separated.

Qiu Shenji threw the dead Confucian book-turner and all traces of him into the Buddha.

The suspended Buddha's head gradually fell, and the head and body healed.

Seal it up completely.

After doing this, Qiu Shenji didn't leave, and turned around and rushed to the futon that the white-faced scribe had been sitting on before.

I saw a jade pendant lying quietly.

But he was still a step late, the white-faced scholar's aura had just been sealed and disappeared, and the jade pendant shot towards the gate of the palace suddenly, extremely fast.

Qiu Shenji chased after him, first he dodged to the gate of the hall, and then he dodged to the sky above the square outside the hall... The natal jade pendant shot towards the sky, Qiu Shenji dodged all the way to follow.

Thousands of feet in the sky, a jade pendant is about to pierce through the rich incense of Donglin Temple and explode in the air.

But a big hand stretched out suddenly and grabbed the jade pendant, it was Qiu Shenji who suddenly appeared.

The jade pendant had been shattered, but a hundred fragments and a certain aura within them were trapped between the palms of one hand.

Seeing this, Qiu Shenji seemed relieved.

A gentleman has no reason, and the jade does not go to the body. Every Confucian Qi practitioner wears a natal jade ring. After the death of the host, the jade pendant explodes and reports to the Confucian Patriarch Hall.

He looked around and nodded slightly.

I am quite satisfied with the strong incense that can block the connection with the outside world.

Bing Yinyang's family just borrowed their breath.

I saw the man in sackcloth hovering in the air, using a special breathing method, let out a long breath, stretched his arms around, and the surging purple energy wrapped around his body gradually restrained until it disappeared.

In a few moments, thousands of feet above the sky, the figure disappeared, leaving only the sound of the wind.

Copy the scriptures hall.

At a certain moment, an old monk rested his pen and looked to the left, a certain futon was empty.

The white-faced scribes who copied the books together disappeared.

The deaf old monk shook his head and muttered something, then looked up at the golden Buddha.

The big Buddha has kind eyebrows and kind eyes.

The old monk continued to copy scriptures.

……

Bamboo forest, cottage.

Liu Zian and Boss Li stared wide-eyed.

The returned Qiu Shenji held a jade pendant full of cracks in his left hand, and a broken palm bleeding in his right hand, which was also tightly grasping a volume of Confucian classics.

The man went to the window and put on the sword case again.

Wei Shaoxuan took the Confucian classics, threw away his severed hand, took out a few manuscripts sandwiched between the pages, looked down, and shook his head:

"It should be the secret sentinel protecting Li Xian's family. He was attracted by the signs of our sudden arrival, so he came here to eavesdrop...

"And it seems that we haven't heard anything. The Baoli faction hasn't found out what we're going to do, heh."

Liu Zian's face seemed to be relieved, and he glanced at the man in sackcloth who was carrying the box again from the corner of his eye.

Wei Shaoxuan suddenly put down the Confucian classics and turned his head:
"Patriarch Liu, when will the sword come out?"

Liu Zian's face suddenly became serious:
"The old man said, it's the fifteenth day of this month!"

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(End of this chapter)