The Sutra Copying Hall of Donglin Temple is located between Wenshu Pagoda and Puxian Hall.

Most of the scriptures copied by monks and believers were placed in the pagoda on both sides and offered incense in the hall, euphemistically known as collecting vows and praying for blessings.

Today, a middle-aged scribe came to the Sutra Copying Hall early.

The middle-aged scribe, with a white face and beard, elegant temperament and a ring around his waist, reached into his sleeve and donated a sum of incense money.

The monk who knew the guest smiled and took him to an area in front of the Buddha where he was copying scriptures.

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

There are only a few people copying scriptures in the Sutra Copying Hall today.

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

The two strangers were quite far apart, on either side of the Big Buddha with Kind Eyes in the center of the hall, separated by a large unoccupied futon.

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's a kind of tacit understanding between monks and monks.

What the old monk who had been copying scriptures in this hall for many years didn't know was that the white-faced scribe lowered his head again and took out a scripture from his sleeve.

He dipped his pen into ink and put pen to paper.

Behind you, the palace door is wide open, and the flags hanging over the palace are making a sound from time to time.

The white-faced scribe's shawl is flying in the air.

The hand holding the pen was raised.

In front of me, the scriptures are turning over themselves.

windy.

Book-turning style.

…

In the green bamboo forest with rustling leaves, a cottage regains its atmosphere.

Wei Shaoxuan and Liu Zian took their seats.

Boss Li went to wait in front of the door.

A man named Qiu Qi walked to the window and looked at the green bamboo forest.

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

Liu Zian smiled and said:

"I heard that Mr. Wei likes purple bamboo shoot tea, so Liu specially asked someone to find some tea cakes, hoping that Mr. Wei would be satisfied."

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

"Master Liu is here to invite me to tea today?"

"of course not!"

Liu Zian immediately answered, paused, and then lowered his voice and said:

"Liu is not afraid that the reception will not be good. Well, I didn't expect Mr. Wei to come so early, which makes me feel a little at a loss as to how to entertain him."

"I thought Master Liu had something up his sleeve, hehe. Just keep doing your job." Wei Shaoxuan paused, narrowed his eyes and asked, "Where's that old gentleman? Why didn't you come?"

Liu Zian smiled bitterly:

"Mr. Wei, it's not like you don't know that old gentleman's eccentric character. No one likes to be polite. Now it's the last minute, 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 around and said calmly:

"I'm going to catch a mouse."

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

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

There was not much surprise on Wei Shaoxuan's face. He clapped his hands with a folding paper fan and stood up with a smile:

"Father, please be gentle. Why don't you catch him alive this time? If you are too stubborn, forget it. I can't see a good man, so give him a good time."

He seems to have a lot of experience.

Qiu Qi made no sound.

Because there is no trace of him in the house anymore.

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

Leave the box and go.

There is a sutra-copying hall a thousand meters away from the bamboo forest hut in a straight line.

There is a white-faced scribe who silently turns over scriptures in front of him. He lowers his head and writes, and under his pen is a piece of white paper for copying scriptures.

The white-faced scribe kept writing something and frowning slightly.

Until this moment, the pen had just written the words of a man with a box on his back, and the white-faced scribe's pen, which he had been writing continuously from just now, suddenly broke.

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

He held down the Confucian scriptures that were turning in front of him in the windless wind with his big hands, stuffed the manuscripts of the scriptures into them, and grabbed them together.

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

Only a jade ring fell silently onto the futon below.

The flags and banners above the Sutra Copying Hall suddenly rang loudly, and a gust of breeze swept across the ground and rushed towards the entrance of the hall.

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

Throwing down the sword case, the strong man who had lost his victory faced the door, with his back to the sunny sky behind him. Looking from the light-facing angle in the hall, the man in front of the door was completely dark, with only black shadows, and his specific expression could not be seen clearly.

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

Sure enough, the book-turner's breeze hit this "black mountain" and instantly shattered into pieces.

The figure of the white-faced scribe stumbled back.

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

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

With a twisting kick, he smashed the white-faced scribe in front of him cleanly.

He is a good military strategist and Qi warrior. He possesses basic martial arts physique, can fight hand-to-hand, and is 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.

Qiu Qi's expression seemed to be unsurprised. He calmly turned his head and looked somewhere on the southeast side of the hall, and then he dashed after him.

A gust of breeze, which had become much weaker, was still escaping in all directions in the hall, both in and out.

"Seventh grade? Book translator?"

Qiu Qi shook his head.

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

At the same time, white-faced scribes appeared one after another, with different forms of death, and were beaten 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 scribe was tired of dealing with it, and the pages in the Confucian classic in his sleeve were getting fewer and fewer. The number had dropped sharply, and there would soon be no substitute.

Qiu Qi, on the other hand, was throwing punches and kicks as if he were taking a leisurely stroll in the garden. He even asked casually:

"You dare to come here if you are just a seventh-grade student. Who gave you the courage? Your Confucian Academy has enjoyed too much peace and prosperity. Is it such a waste?"

The white-faced scribe sighed:

"You are not an ordinary protector of the Wei family. You are...Qiu Shenji? A guest of the King of Wei. Aren't you in charge of the northern military camp on behalf of the Wei family to clean up the chaos on the front line of Yingzhou? The Palace of Wei sent you here as a

what?"

"It seems you don't know anything, but a dead person doesn'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 take action without fear of exposing your qi and being seen by other qi practitioners? Yunmeng Jianze is right next to you."

Qiu Shenji shook his head: "I don't need to use purple energy to kill you."

The white-faced scribe looked north at the blue sky outside the palace gate. A short distance away, there was a black mountain blocking the door. It seemed that he would not be able to get out today.

Below the confrontation between the white-faced scribe and Qiu Shenji, the old monk was immersed in copying scriptures with his head lowered, and was completely unaware of the magical battle between the qigong practitioners that took place in the hall.

The white-faced scribe turned back and suddenly smiled:

"Qiu Shenji, don't look down on others. The top grade purple energy is great. Have you not eaten enough? Your hands and feet are soft and soft, like a girl."
To be continued...