At that moment, the short lama, Zhaxi Dele, suddenly spoke up:"Senior brother, let's hear him out. A few days ago, I really did lose my prayer wheel. It was given to me by our master—if he finds out, I won't be able to answer for it."
Li Jian was startled at the coincidence and quickly said, "Masters, would you be willing to follow me to the Persian temple up ahead? I will retrieve the prayer wheel for this master."
The lamas muttered among themselves for a while. Before long, the senior disciple, Ciren Nima, said, "Fine. You lead the way. You two—come along as well. And don't try anything clever."
After about half an hour, they arrived at a Persian temple on a hillside. Outside stood a monk dressed in Daoist robes, his head shaved like a Buddhist monk, yet clearly not one. Hanging upon his chest was a cross. His lips moved as he chanted scriptures:
"The body of the Great Void Immortal, we bow before the True Master.Great compassion, deliver suffering…Let us raise high and praise the image of Christ…"
His chant resembled Buddhist scripture in cadence and tone. Seeing the lamas approach, he greeted them, "Honored patrons, you have come from afar. What business brings you here?"
Li Jian, inexperienced and improvising on a lie, stepped forward and said, "Master, please inform your abbot that Li has urgent matters to discuss."
The Persian monk replied calmly, "There is no one inside. All the monks have gone out to preach. If you truly have urgent business, there is nothing to be done."
Hearing this, Danba Duozi's face darkened. "Second brother… I'm afraid the prayer wheel is lost for good. What shall we do?"
Zhaxi Dele's expression hardened. "Forget it. First deal with these three. If we seize the Heavenly Subtle Chapter Scripture, what have we to fear from our master's blame?"
At once, the lamas advanced. Ciren Nima shouted, "Hand over the scripture, and we'll spare your lives! Give us the Heavenly Subtle Chapter—we have a mission to complete!"
Upon hearing the name of the scripture, the Persian monk immediately became alert. Before he could question further, Wu Tong suddenly shouted:
"Dharma King Alopen! These lamas have been ordered to seize your sect's sacred treasure—the Heavenly Subtle Chapter! This scripture originally belongs to your faith. By chance, it came into my possession. Once you deal with them, it shall be returned to you!"
The monk was none other than Alopen, Dharma King of the Jingjiao faith. Around thirty years of age, he was of similar years to Wu Tong. Their scriptures—Heavenly Subtle, Earthly Truth, Attainment of Immortality, and Embodiment of the Dao—were four handwritten originals long scattered across the world.
Legends said these texts concealed a great treasure—the lost wealth of the Yan Empire. It was rumored that after the An Lushan Rebellion, the rebel Shi Siming plundered vast riches and hid them within these sacred texts of the Persian faith.
Alopen looked closely—and recognized the disheveled man before him. Was that not Wu Tong, the famed "Desert Falcon"? Without hesitation, he leapt forward with lightness skill.
Just as the lamas were about to strike, a figure descended between them. Palms clashed—then both sides separated.
Alopen said urgently, "The Heavenly Subtle Chapter belongs to our faith. It has been lost for many years. Today, fate allows its return. May I ask—will Hero Wu Tong return it to its rightful owner?"
Wu Tong, overjoyed at his arrival, replied, "Of course! Once you deal with these lamas, the scripture is yours!"
Alopen nodded firmly. "A gentleman's word is as good as his bond!"
The five lamas, enraged that their plan had been disrupted, burned with fury. Ciren Nima growled, "It doesn't matter who you are—Dharma King or not! Without the scripture, none of you leave alive!"
Ciren Wangdui struck first—but Alopen met him with a single palm and elbow strike. With a cry, Wangdui fell.
The remaining lamas rushed forward. Ciren Nima shouted, "Take out the implements!"
They drew not blades, but ritual instruments—bells, drums, and cymbals.
Alopen calmly removed the large cross from his neck, holding it before him. His lips moved in prayer:"Let us raise high and praise the image of Christ… Great compassion, deliver suffering…"
Both sides now wielded sacred implements.
The lamas formed a circle, slowly raising their instruments. The bells chimed, the drums thundered softly, and the cymbals shimmered with metallic echoes.
"Form the array!"
Their voices rose in unison:"Om mani padme hum… Om mani padme hum…"
The chant deepened, resonating through the mountains. The air itself seemed to tremble.
Wu Tong's expression changed drastically. "Little brother, this is bad! Don't listen—focus your qi! We cannot resist—we can only cover our ears!"
The six-syllable mantra echoed like a cosmic sound from the void, penetrating the mind like thunder.
The lamas joined their palms, forming seals. Their bells rang sharply, their voices surged like waves—growing from soft murmurs into roaring tides. The forest itself seemed to pulse with invisible sound.
At the same time, Alopen stood still, eyes closed, holding the cross. His voice was low but steady:
"Let us raise high and praise the image of Christ… Great compassion, deliver suffering…"
An unseen force gathered around him. Leaves stirred though no wind blew. A sacred pressure spread outward.
The clash had begun—not of blades, but of faith and sound.