The scripture copying hall of Donglin Temple is located between Manjushri Pagoda and Fuxian Hall.

Most of the scriptures copied by monks and believers are placed in this pagoda and a hall on both sides of the incense offerings, and the beautiful name is to collect wishes and pray for blessings.

A middle-aged scribe came to the scripture copying hall early today.

The middle-aged scribe had a white face and beard, an elegant temperament, and a ring around his waist, and he reached out in his sleeve and donated a sum of incense money.

The monk smiled and took it to an area in front of the Buddha to copy the scriptures.

The white-faced scribe washed his hands and burned incense, sat quietly with his waist straight, and immersed himself in copying scriptures.

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

There were only white-faced scribes and an old monk who was a little deaf.

The strangers are quite far away, located on both sides of the Buddha in the center of the hall, and there is a large futon with no one sitting in the middle.

In between copying the scriptures, the white-faced scribe and the deaf old monk occasionally glanced at each other, smiled at each other, and bowed their heads.

It's some kind of tacit understanding between monks and guests.

It's just that what the old monk who has copied the scriptures in this hall for many years doesn't know is that the white-faced scribe who lowered his head again took out a scripture book from his sleeve.

He dips his pen into ink and puts pen to paper.

Behind him, the door of the temple was wide open, and the flags hanging over the hall were hunting from time to time.

The scarf worn by the white-faced scribe flies.

The hand holding the pen is raised.

In front of him, the scriptures turned to himself.

Windy.

Flip book style.

……

In the verdant bamboo forest with rustling leaves, a cottage has regained its atmosphere.

Wei Shaoxuan and Liu Zi'an sat separately.

Boss Li went to wait in front of the door.

The man with the box named Qiu Qi walked to the window and watched the bamboo forest green.

Not long ago, the hurried coming and going of a white-bearded and black-clothed old monk was just an inconsequential episode in the house, and no one mentioned it again.

Liu Zi'an smiled and said:

"I heard that Gongzi Wei likes purple bamboo shoot tea, Liu specially asked someone to find some tea cakes, and I hope Gongzi is satisfied."

Wei Shaoxuan's eyes rolled up slightly, looked at him for a while, and said with a smile:

"The head of the Liu family is here to invite my son to tea today?"

"Of course not!"

Liu Zi'an immediately answered, paused, and said in a low voice:

"Liu, it's not that I'm afraid of poor hospitality, hey, I didn't expect Wei Gongzi to come so early, so that Zai Xia was a little at a loss, and he didn't know how to entertain."

"My son thought that the head of the Liu family had a ghost in his heart, heh. Just keep doing your thing. Wei Shaoxuan paused, squinted his eyes and asked, "What about the old gentleman, why didn't he come?" ”

Liu Zi'an smiled bitterly:

"Wei Gongzi, it's not that you don't know the weird character of that old gentleman, no one likes to be polite, and now it's at the last moment, the most critical moment, 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 with a calm face:

"I'm going to get a mouse."

As soon as the words fell, outside the window behind the man with the box, the entire bamboo forest, which was originally swaying in the sound of "rustling", suddenly moved still, as if the wind had stopped.

"What mouse?" Liu Zi'an looked around suspiciously.

Wei Shaoxuan didn't have much surprise on his face, he clapped his hands with a white paper folding fan, and got up with a smile:

"Father-in-law, why don't you catch him alive this time? If the mouth is too stubborn, then forget it, my son can't see a good man, give him a good time. ”

Seems to have a lot of experience.

Qiu Qi had no sound.

Because there was no longer him in the house.

There was only a wooden sword box left, leaning against the window, which attracted Liu Zi'an and Boss Li to look at each other in surprise.

Leave the box behind.

A scripture copying hall is a thousand kilometers away from this bamboo forest house.

A white-faced scribe has a scripture in front of him silently turning to himself, and he bows his head to hold a pen, and under his pen is a white piece of paper that copies the scriptures.

The white-faced scribe kept putting down his pen and spilling ink, writing something, and his brows were slightly furrowed during the process.

Until this moment, as soon as the pen wrote the words of a certain man with a back box, the pen in the hand of the white-faced scribe who had been cultivating from just now to the present was suddenly pinched off.

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

He pressed the Confucian scripture in front of him with his big hand, stuffed the manuscript into it, and grabbed it together.

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

Only one jade ring fell silently on the futon below.

The banner above the scripture hall suddenly hunted loudly, and a gust of wind swept up and rushed to the door of the main hall.

But in the next second, a sturdy figure in short-sleeved linen clothes appeared outside the door of the main hall.

The sturdy man who dropped the sword box and lost the victory faced the door, with his back to the sunny sky behind him, and looked at it from the perspective of the welcome light in the hall, the man in front of the door was pitch black, only black shadows, and he couldn't see the specific expression.

And this scene, like a huge black mountain, poured over, wanting to squeeze the entire hall, very oppressive.

Sure enough, the breeze of the flipper hit this "black mountain" and was instantly shattered.

The white-faced scribe stumbled back from it.

Qiu Qi was calm, took one step, and came to the white-faced scribe in an instant.

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

A twisting kick swept away the white-faced scribe in front of him, cleanly.

A good soldier to practice qi, with a basic martial arts physique, hand-to-hand combat, almost invincible at the same level.

However, the white-faced scribe who was kicked to pieces did not sputter blood juice, but instead exploded into a cloud of fine shredded paper in the air.

Qiu Qi's expression didn't seem to be surprised, he turned his head calmly, looked at a place on the southeast side of the main hall, and his figure flashed and chased after him.

A gust of wind, a much weaker breeze, was still fleeing in all directions in the hall, empty and real.

"Seven pins? Flipbooker? ”

Qiu Qi shook his head.

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

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

Complete suppression.

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

The white-faced scribe was tired of coping, and the pages of the Confucian scripture in his sleeve became fewer and fewer, and the number of pages plummeted, and there was no substitute for him.

And Qiu Qi handed over his fist and took out his legs, as if he was taking a leisurely walk, and even asked casually:

"Just dare to come over with only seven grades, who gave you the guts? Your Confucian Academy has enjoyed a lot of peace and prosperity, is it wasted to such an extent? ”

The white-faced scribe sighed:

"You are not an ordinary protector of the Wei family, you are ...... Qiu Shenji? King Wei's guest, didn't you sit in the northern front military camp for the Wei clan and clean up the chaos on the front line in Yingzhou? Why did the Wei Mansion send you here? ”

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

The white-faced scribe was silent, and suddenly asked curiously:

"You dare to make a move, you are not afraid of exposing the qi machine and being seen by other qi practitioners? Yunmeng Jianze was next to it. ”

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

The white-faced scribe looked at the blue sky outside the door of the north hall, a stone's throw away, but there was a black mountain blocking the door, and it seemed that he couldn't step out today.

Below the white-faced scribe and Qiu Shenji, the old monk was bowing his head and immersing himself in copying the scriptures, unaware of the miraculous exchange of qi practitioners that took place in the main hall.

The white-faced scribe looked back and smiled:

"Qiu Shenji, don't look down on people, the purple gas is great? Have you not eaten enough, your hands and feet are soft, like a girl. ”

Qiu Shenji looked at him coldly, and the corners of his mouth twitched.

The contempt is palpable.

But the most terrifying thing that made the white-faced scribe feel was that even if the sackcloth man blocking the road in front of him despised and despised him, he still locked his qi rigidly.

Don't look at the man's loose muscles, like a lazy man, but this is the state of the top martial artist before he makes a move, the kind of muscles that are tense all over his body, but a third-rate martial artist on the rivers and lakes.

He waited for the battle, and did not give the white-faced scribe a chance.

This is the soldier who leads the large surrounding army to charge into battle and fight on the battlefield.

In the next second, the sighing white-faced scribe had a sharp red light, turning into a crimson rainbow and rushing towards the roof of the main hall.

It's a pity that Qiu Shenji unexpectedly blocked the roof opening.

The white-faced scribe's morale machine is locked to death, and the difference in physique, no matter how close he dares to get close, he is throwing himself into a net and a moth to the fire.

But the crimson rainbow that the white-faced scribe turned into was straight and unchanging, and it crashed straight into the mountain.

It was as if the turbulent river was diverted by a boulder, and the crimson aura in Changhong was rapidly consumed.

Qiu Shenji did not move for the time being, his face was calm, and he was looking at the reality in the cave, just like using soldiers on the battlefield to defend the enemy's strange soldiers.

The white-faced scribe began to bleed from seven orifices, and in the next second, the crimson rainbow in the air suddenly turned back, and the white-faced scribe turned his head and threw a scroll of Confucian scriptures in his sleeve in the direction of the temple gate.

Qiu Shenji, who was originally motionless, instantly appeared in front of the white-faced scribe.

A large hand clamped the right wrist of the white-faced scribe who wanted to throw the book.

Qiu Shenji folded off his right hand, like a woman's spring trip to the lakeside to fold willows.

And on the palm of this severed limb, he still holds a scroll of Confucian scriptures.

Qiu Shenji glanced at the Confucian scriptures of the flippers.

The white-faced scribe in front of him gushed out a large drum of blood from his mouth and nose, like a pumping machine pumping water from a well.

The scribe with the severed hand and the man with the "folding willow" kept this posture and stood quietly in front of the main hall.

The white-faced scribe chuckled lightly at Chaoqiu Shenji, whose face was bloodied:

"The Xianbei Yi clan is just that, being a lackey of the Wei family, and thinking that he is a king of Mu, but he is just a monkey and a crown."

As the words spoke, in an instant, fragments fell off the face of the white-faced scribe.

Piece after piece, it fell.

It's like a lifelike terracotta warrior with shards of paint falling from its face.

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

The crimson aura in his body became violent, like a pillar of light, shooting out one by one from the gap that disintegrated and fell off.

The white-faced scribe who did not leave his name had more and more of these pillars of crimson light on his body, or resembled a blood-stained hedgehog.

Qiu Shenji frowned slightly: "Scholars are so tough? ”

In the next second, the man's shoulders shook slightly, and the muscles and bones of his body "crackled", squirming and twisting like a dragon turning over.

A fierce and terrifying light purple aura gradually emanated!

It's like a rebirth.

Qiu Shen's fuselage, in the windless, suspended in the air.

A terrifying high-grade qi practitioner appeared in front of the main hall, unscrupulously exuding a surging aura that belonged to him.

The high-grade qi practitioners, that is, the fifth-grade and fourth-grade qi practitioners, can be released.

If Ouyang Rong was present at the moment and saw this scene, he would definitely remember what the little junior sister had said casually: A high-grade qi practitioner can go against the wind, and there is no need to borrow strength to exchange qi like a middle-grade and low-grade qi practitioner.

I saw that the surging purple qi temporarily suppressed the crimson aura that was about to burst away.

Qiu Shenji frowned dissatisfied, and glanced at the white-faced scribe who looked at him with a bloody face and a smile, the latter was already dead, dead and blind.

At least he forced out his top-grade purple qi cultivation.

Qiu Shenji snorted coldly, grabbed his big hand forward, and the "fragments" that the white-faced scribe had originally fallen 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 the white-faced scribe is reassembled and neatly put together.

But this is only a rough patchwork, not a complete restoration, a resurrection of the dead.

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

The white-faced scribe's body was like a rag doll that had been broken, tilting his head and hanging his arms, slowly floating.

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

It is rumored that in addition to practicing the most basic martial arts physique, there are also four categories according to the different qi refining techniques:

Strategists, weapons, soldiers, and soldiers.

Among them, the soldiers of the Yin and Yang family, the ancient books say, go with the times, but the fake ghosts and gods think that they are helpers.

That is, he is proficient in the five elements of yin and yang similar to the yin and yang family, and at the same time observes the surrounding battlefield, takes advantage of the situation, and makes a move according to local conditions.

In the green smoke in the hall, the head of the Buddha slowly rose, and the head and body separated.

Qiu Shenji threw the dead Confucian book-turner, as well as all traces of it, into the Buddha.

The suspended head of the Buddha gradually falls, and the head and body are healed.

Completely sealed.

After doing this, Qiu Shenji did not leave, and turned around and rushed towards the futon where the white-faced scribe had been sitting before.

I saw a jade pendant lying quietly.

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

Qiu Shenji chased after him, first flashed to the gate of the palace, and then flashed to the sky above the square outside the hall...... The natal jade pendant shot into the sky, and Qiu Shenji dodged all the way and followed.

Thousands of feet in the air, a jade pendant is about to penetrate the rich incense qi of Donglin Temple, and the volley explosion is transmitted.

But a big hand suddenly stretched out and grabbed the jade pendant, which was a sudden flash of Qiu Shenji.

The jade pendant had been shattered, but the hundred fragments and one of the spiritual qi in it were trapped between the palms of one hand.

Seeing this, Qiu Shenji seemed to breathe a sigh of relief on his face.

The gentleman has no reason, the jade does not go to the body, every Confucian practitioner wears the natal jade ring, after the death of the host, the jade pendant blew itself up, and reported to the Confucian patriarch hall.

He looked left and right, nodding slightly.

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

Bing Yin and Yang family just moved to borrow.

I saw the man in sackcloth levitating in the air, with a special breathing method, a long breath, his arms were open, and the surging purple qi wrapped around his whole body gradually restrained until it disappeared.

In the air, thousands of feet high, the figure disappeared, and only the sound of the wind remained.

The Temple of Copying the Scriptures.

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

The figure of the white-faced scribe who copied the book disappeared.

The old monk, who was quite deaf, shook his head and muttered something, and raised his face to look at the golden Buddha.

The Big Buddha is kind and kind-eyed.

The old monk continued to copy the scriptures.

……

Bamboo forest, house.

Liu Zi'an and Boss Li's eyes widened.

Qiu Shenji, who had returned, held a cracked jade pendant in his left hand, and in his right hand, he held a bleeding and severed palm, and the severed palm also clutched a scroll of Confucian scriptures.

The man walked to the window and put the sword box back on his back.

Wei Shaoxuan took the Confucian scriptures, threw away his broken hand, took out a few manuscripts sandwiched between the pages, browsed them with his eyes, and shook his head:

"It should be the secret sentinel that protects the Lixian family, attracted by the signs of our sudden arrival, and has come to eavesdrop......

"And it seems that I haven't heard anything, and the Baoli faction hasn't found out about the big things we want to do yet, heh."

Liu Zi'an's face seemed to breathe a sigh of relief, and he glanced at the man in sackcloth who was re-carrying the box.

Wei Shaoxuan suddenly put down the Confucian scriptures and turned his head:

"Master Liu, when will the sword come out?"

Liu Zi'an's face suddenly became serious:

"The old gentleman said, the fifteenth of this month!"

or2

(End of chapter)