Fan Xian was alarmed. A yell had suddenly had erupted in what he thought was a silent and sacred place. He looked and found that there were people inside the temple. Blocking his path was a middle-aged man with deep-set eyes and a nose like a hawk, who stared at him with a vicious glare.
Fan Xian could see that the man was not pleased. He thought back to the historical classics he had read; in the customs of the Imperial City, for someone to hide behind the door of the Temple of Qing to scare people, swooping like a hawk hunting a rabbit, was certainly not right.
Who the hell wanted to be that rabbit?
Fan Xian frowned. "Sir, you almost made me deaf with how loud you were."
The man's expression was thoroughly stern, and he pushed Fan Xian away, admonishing him in a low voice. "Get out of here, quick! There are people praying inside the temple and they are not to be disturbed." It was clear by the man's clothes that he was the attendant for some rich family, though his tone of voice sounded like some sort of government official.
But Fan Xian did not realize this. Ever since Fei Jie had taken him to dig up graves in his childhood, he had become something of a clean-freak. He saw the hand that was coming toward him, frowned, intertwined his hands and grabbed the man by the wrists.
There was a small cracking sound.
The two stared at each other in astonishment, having discovered that they seemed matched in skill; they were intertwined around each other like two snakes, neither able to break free.
The middle-aged man made a noise of approval, his eyes shimmering. With a hidden power that flowed like a river, he forced his wrists back toward Fan Xian.
Fan Xian groaned. He hadn't expected to come across such an expert fighter. His back began to feel hot, and the powerful zhenqi he had kept pacified for many years immediately reacted, pouring out form the dantian point in his pubic region, striking the man with a rigid blow in response.
With a low humming sound, the dust that sat on the stone steps began to rise up into the air, forming itself into some sort of strange sphere before dissipating.
The pair walked back a few steps, shaken. The middle-aged man covered his lips and coughed. Fan Xian remained expressionless, as if nothing had happened.
The middle-aged man eyed him coolly. "So young, but with such powerful zhenqi. Who are you?"
"It doesn't matter who I am. I just want to get into the temple to pray. Why are you stopping me?" Fan Xian replied, matching his gaze.
"There are nobles within the temple. You'll have to wait, boy." The man thought that this boy's power seemed similar to his own. He wondered just which of the capital's families he may have come from, and whether it was senior to his own, and so he suppressed his own urge for violence.
Slight amusement flashed in Fan Xian's eyes. "In the laws of the Temple of Qing, there is no regulation that states I have to wait outside before I can pray."
The middle-aged man frowned. He did not like this boy. He brushed down his sleeves and went into the temple, leaving Fan Xian outside.
Fan Xian opened his mouth to speak, but he was overcome with a sense of gloom. He tasted blood, and retrieved a handkerchief from his sleeve to wipe his mouth. Luckily, as his secret power had flowed, at the crucial moment, his right forefinger had quietly flicked the man's pulse point. He had a much greater understanding of the workings of the human body than most skilled fighters; otherwise it was likely that he would suffer great wounds.
He looked at the heavy wooden door again, and his heart skipped a beat. He didn't dare try to push the seemingly-unopenable door open again.
...
...
Fan Xian coughed. A determined look crept across his handsome face. Since he couldn't beat the man in combat, it seemed best to retreat and come back to beat him some time later. As he turned to leave, the door behind him opened again. The middle-aged man who had injured him stood at the entrance. "The master says that you may enter the side chamber to pray. Don't go into the main hall."
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