Chapter Twenty-Five: Is the Shaolin Monk Truly a Demon Child?

Just as everyone was searching for Qin Xiaochuan, a bubbling sound came from the spot where Kongming had stood moments before. Hearing the commotion, Zhang Yang, ever sharp-eyed, instantly spotted Qin Xiaochuan’s arm shaking amidst the grass and hurried over to pull him out of the puddle.

“You were hiding in a place like this?” Zhang Yang looked astonished as he hauled Qin Xiaochuan up.

“Ahem, ptooey! I wasn’t hiding, I fell in! Ptooey, you idiot! Ahem…” Crawling onto solid ground, Qin Xiaochuan spat out the mud and weeds from his mouth and glanced in surprise at Kongming, who lay on his back nearby. “Is that why I won?”

“Your sudden disappearance startled Kongming, causing him to be defeated by his own ultimate move,” Master Jinghai explained, approaching with an approving gaze. “It seems your luck is quite remarkable, little one!”

“I can hardly believe it myself,” Qin Xiaochuan said, standing and looking at Kongming. “What about him…?”

“He’s not the demon child,” Xia Dan, helping Qin Xiaochuan to his feet, glanced at Kongming and continued, “I sensed no demonic aura from him. It seems he’s not the demon child after all!”

“So next…” Qin Xiaochuan looked to Zhang Yang, who was about to enter the next elimination round, and the confident young monk Shaolin. He concluded that this cute, harmless-looking boy, from whom he could sense no trace of demonic energy, must be the demon child. The less he sensed, the more dangerous this Shaolin seemed; to suppress his own aura for so long and slip among the contestants undetected was a feat beyond Qin Xiaochuan’s imagination.

‘This guy looks easy to handle…’ Zhang Yang eyed the slight, innocent-looking Shaolin, rotated his arm, and thought, ‘I’ll deal with him quickly, then it’ll be me versus Qin Xiaochuan. Let’s see how I settle the score with you, Qin Xiaochuan.’

“Wait, Zhang Yang!” As Zhang Yang prepared to face Shaolin, Qin Xiaochuan called out, only to be pulled aside by Xia Dan, who whispered urgently in his ear, “Do you intend to tell him Shaolin is the demon child? With the demon child right beside us, if his identity is exposed, it could be disastrous. Besides, this is a secret investigation—no outsiders must know.”

“Right, that’s…” Qin Xiaochuan scratched his mouth, reminded by Xia Dan.

“What is it? If you’re here to cheer me on, forget it—I’ll defeat the little guy in no time,” Zhang Yang grumbled, annoyed by Qin Xiaochuan’s silence.

“Ah? So… maybe this Shaolin fellow is an extremely dangerous opponent. Listen to me, I wouldn’t lie to you—just forfeit now!” Qin Xiaochuan said, his mind scrambling for an explanation, never his strong suit.

“What!? Forfeit? Are you out of your mind?” Zhang Yang exploded. He’d fought his way to the semifinals, and now Qin Xiaochuan told him to give up? Was he trying to steal the easy match for himself? Huffing, Zhang Yang raised his middle finger at Qin Xiaochuan. “You want me to forfeit after all this? You only got this far by luck and clever tricks. Just stand aside and watch how I defeat this guy and then deal with you, idiot! Moron!”

“Hmph, ungrateful fool! Go die, you bastard!” Qin Xiaochuan, not to be outdone, raised his middle finger right back at Zhang Yang.

“Go buy some life insurance, idiot!”

“No, you should! I’m ready to bury you, fool!”

“Moron!”

“Imbecile!”

“Simpleton!”

“Halfwit!”

“Enough, enough! You two, stop quarreling like children. This isn’t the time for squabbling!” Xia Dan hurried forward to restrain the charging Qin Xiaochuan. This guy really was a single-celled organism—her good intentions twisted into such nonsense left her speechless.

“Very well. Are you ready?” Master Jinghai glanced at Shaolin and Zhang Yang and announced, “Begin!”

“Please guide me,” Shaolin bowed politely to Zhang Yang.

‘Strike first!’ Seeing Shaolin bowing, Zhang Yang seized the moment, leapt forward, and punched Shaolin squarely in the face, making him stagger.

“Ow, that hurt!” Shaolin rubbed his left cheek, wincing. “This punch is much stronger than the boxing machine.”

“Hey, are you alright?” Zhang Yang scratched his head, a little embarrassed by his sneak attack. “That was just a warm-up. Are you okay?”

“Then I’ll go all out too.” Shaolin pushed himself up and stood, “Prepare yourself!”

He raised his right knee toward Zhang Yang, who dodged sideways with ease. Shaolin launched a flurry of punches, but Zhang Yang slipped away, then seized an opening and hammered Shaolin on the crown of his head, making Shaolin squat down, clutching his head in pain.

“Ouch, ouch…”

“The difference in strength is huge!” Zhang Yang was surprised at how easily he made Shaolin squat. Was Shaolin just easy to fight, or had Zhang Yang become too strong?

“Hey, really?” Qin Xiaochuan glanced at Xia Dan, confused. “Is this really the demon child? Hard to believe—he’s so weak! Maybe the rumors exaggerated his power, or he was taken out before we noticed?”

“I’m… not sure either.” Xia Dan looked at Shaolin, equally puzzled; she still sensed no demonic energy.

Shaolin stood up again, took a firm stance, and grew serious. “Alright, I’m going to use my finishing move!”

“Hm? Shaolin’s spiritual energy is changing?” Xia Dan was startled to see visible spiritual energy emanating from Shaolin.

After some rubbing of his hands, a sphere of white flame slowly formed in Shaolin’s palm, resembling a fireball. “Take this—Flame Blast Palm!” With that, Shaolin hurled the flame toward Zhang Yang.

“What’s this?” Master Jinghai was startled, as if recalling something from the past, seeing the fireball in Shaolin’s hand.

Zhang Yang dodged the fireball, which grazed his waist, and exclaimed, “So hot!” The residual heat from the fireball burned him.

“Are you a beast? Afraid of fire to the point of losing your composure? Idiot!” Qin Xiaochuan shouted excitedly from the sidelines, egging Zhang Yang on.

Stoked by Qin Xiaochuan’s ‘encouragement’, Zhang Yang pulled from his pocket the broken sword tip he’d picked up in the Dark Arena, gripped it tightly, and summoned a blade of spiritual energy. “So you’re using a projectile—watch me hit a home run!” He gripped the broken sword, wiggled his hips for a batter’s stance, and focused on Shaolin’s fireball.

Shaolin, boosted by nearly hitting Zhang Yang, regained confidence. Fireball seemed effective, so he conjured another and launched it at Zhang Yang, trying to burn him. Zhang Yang watched the trajectory, swung his spiritual blade, and made a perfect counterstrike, sending the fireball back at Shaolin, striking him in the abdomen and knocking him to the ground.

“Beautiful! He batted the fireball right back!”

Proudly, Zhang Yang pointed his spirit blade at the seated Shaolin. “Your fireball’s speed is nowhere near 120 km/h like a pitching machine. Want me to hit another?”

“Impressive,” Shaolin said, wiping blood from the corner of his mouth and rising. “You can return my fireball—that’s a first for me. Your defense and offense are exceptional!”

Zhang Yang rested his spirit blade on his shoulder. “Even if you flatter me, I won’t let you off easily. Unless you forfeit, I’ll use all my strength to defeat you.”

“Then how about this?” Shaolin stood in a horse stance, hands clasped, forefingers touching in a mudra. He began chanting in Sanskrit, reciting what seemed like a scripture.

Hearing Shaolin’s chant, Zhang Yang was startled. “What, reciting a scripture? Are you preparing your own funeral rites?”

“Hey, what about that spell?” Xia Dan asked.

Master Jinghai grew solemn. “That Flame Blast Palm and this spell are the signature moves of famous spiritual warriors from the past. They spent half their lives creating them, only to be slain by monsters years ago—the killer was never found.”

“So this guy really is…!” Hearing Master Jinghai’s words, Qin Xiaochuan felt certain: Shaolin was indeed the demon child in disguise.