Northern Song, Mount Song—Shaoshi Peak.
The Shaolin Temples of the Great Ming, Southern Song, and Northern Song had all gathered here. It was a sight rarely seen in the martial world for hundreds of years.
By custom, people referred to the Great Ming's Shaolin as the Shaolin Sect, the Southern Song's as Southern Shaolin, and the Northern Song's as Northern Shaolin.
In the past, whenever these three met, open rivalry and covert competition were inevitable—martial arts or Buddhist doctrine, one had to prevail.
But not today.
Not only Shaolin—other sects with similar divisions were also displaying an unusual unity.
Chu Yang's appearance had forced a turbulent martial world, divided for centuries, into a rare and fragile peace.
Inside the Mahavira Hall, heroes from across the lands gathered.
Nearly a hundred sects had come for this martial assembly. The seats were filled with sect masters; core elders and true disciples could only stand at the entrance to watch.
As the host, Abbot Xuanci did not sit at the place of honor. Instead, he yielded it to two figures—
One was a Daoist.
The other, a martial artist.
The Daoist was Zhang Sanfeng.
The martial artist was Feng Qingyang.
As the only two seniors who had managed to withdraw unscathed after facing "Mister Chu," they were the pillars of confidence for everyone present—the last reliance of the entire martial world.
Yet even placed upon such a lofty pedestal, neither showed the slightest joy. Instead, both wore expressions of helplessness.
Zhang Sanfeng and Feng Qingyang understood perfectly: the only reason they were still alive was because Chu Yang was not wantonly murderous. Had it truly been a fight to the death, neither of them was confident they would have survived.
They had come to this farcical martial assembly for one reason only—to prevent this crowd of fools from provoking Chu Yang and bringing about needless slaughter.
Zhang Sanfeng, being a man of the cloth, sought mercy.
Feng Qingyang feared that Mount Hua would lose its lineage altogether.
Inside the hall, the noise was deafening.
The sect masters argued heatedly; before the assembly had even truly begun, severe divisions had already formed.
The original purpose of convening this martial assembly was to negotiate with that "Mister Chu," to persuade him to stop his killings of the major sects.
But upon seeing such an imposing gathering, some people developed dangerous thoughts.
Perhaps…
Perhaps we should unite and launch a punitive expedition against that demon at the height of his power?
Thus, another voice emerged—one that advocated a far more aggressive stance toward "Mister Chu."
Just as the old saying goes:
The only lesson people ever learn from history is that people never learn from history.
Those calling for a crusade were invariably the ones who had never personally encountered Chu Yang, whose impressions were built entirely on hearsay.
Those who had truly suffered—whose mountain gates had been smashed, whose sects had been dissolved on the spot—were, instead, the most ardent supporters of negotiation.
Last time he only killed the sect masters. Next time, who's to say he wouldn't wipe out entire clans?
Even a clay Bodhisattva has three parts of anger—let alone a man who acted without restraint and had been crowned with the title of "Demon Lord."
Who would dare gamble on his patience?
As matters began to spiral out of control, Abbot Xuanci, as host, cast a helpless look toward Zhang Sanfeng at the head seat.
"Zhang Zhenren, what should we do?"
Zhang Sanfeng turned to Feng Qingyang. The latter gave a slight nod.
Then Zhang Sanfeng rose to his feet.
The hall fell instantly silent.
Every eye fixed on him.
Those present were all seasoned veterans—arguments aside, their attention had never strayed from the two strongest men in the room.
"Hahaha, please continue, everyone. Don't mind this old Daoist."
Zhang Sanfeng laughed aloud and walked straight out of the Mahavira Hall, ignoring the stunned expressions of the sect masters.
Yue Buqun hurried forward and blocked his path. "Zhang Zhenren, where are you going? The assembly isn't over yet."
"Isn't it already decided?" Zhang Sanfeng replied with feigned surprise. "Didn't everyone agree to go punish Mister Chu and restore clarity to the world?"
"The sect masters may be united in purpose, but we still need the support of the two senior experts…"
Yue Buqun looked awkward.
He had become the Five Mountains Alliance Leader only because the former leader, Zuo Lengchan, had been killed by Chu Yang.
Newly in office and lacking prestige, Yue Buqun desperately needed a grand act to secure his position—hence his loudest calls for crusade.
"Support?"
Zhang Sanfeng sneered and swept his gaze across the hall. There were many like Yue Buqun here—wolves with ambition, indifferent to the safety of others so long as their own reputation grew.
"This old Daoist has lived over a hundred years, yet still clings to the mortal world. I won't accompany you all to the Yellow Springs. Come this time next year, I'll be sure to prepare plenty of paper money for the sect masters."
With that, Zhang Sanfeng flicked his sleeve, pushing Yue Buqun aside, and strode out of the hall.
His words fell like a bucket of cold water over everyone's hearts.
Yue Buqun's face turned iron-blue. He was left speechless.
At once, the sects grew uneasy again, their earlier bravado evaporating.
Seeing that the moment was ripe, Feng Qingyang leapt forward and blocked Zhang Sanfeng, calling out warmly, "Dao-brother, please don't be impatient. Everyone's still discussing matters. They've never witnessed that young man's power—some bluster is understandable."
Zhang Sanfeng nodded and stopped, standing quietly as he watched them, clearly waiting for an answer. If dissatisfied, he would simply part ways.
Feng Qingyang did the same.
Just then, a young novice monk pushed frantically through the crowd. When Abbot Xuanci saw him, his expression changed.
The novice had been sent to contact Chu Yang. His return meant only one thing—
"Abbot! Benefactor Chu… he has arrived!"
A chorus of sharp inhalations echoed inside and outside the hall.
Just hearing that name made scalps prickle.
Those from shattered sects turned pale, trembling uncontrollably.
Watching their fear, disciples from sects who had never met Chu Yang felt a sudden curiosity.
Zhang Sanfeng said gravely, "If you wish to leave the Mahavira Hall alive today, heed this old Daoist's warning—do not act foolishly!"
Every sect master, including Yue Buqun, stiffened.
Moments later, a carriage climbed the steps smoothly, without the slightest jolt, drawing the attention of disciples gathered in the square.
"The road ends below the Incense Hall. How did that carriage come up?"
"Look—the wheels are floating!"
"Have you been drinking this early? How could wheels float—holy mother of—it's true!"
"It's a flying carriage!"
"And that red horse doesn't look ordinary either!"
From the crowd came a simple, honest voice: "Master, isn't that my Little Red Horse?"
The blind man beside him, eyes covered in black cloth, hissed, "Shut up!"
Cold sweat poured from the blind man's palms and brow. When his foolish disciple had vanished before, they had searched half of the Southern Song before finally reuniting. Along the way, the boy kept mentioning an extraordinary man called "Mister Chu."
Never in their dreams had they imagined that the Mister Chu from his stories was the very young scholar seated on that carriage.
All eyes focused on it.
A man and a woman.
The man wore a sky-blue scholar's robe, gentle as jade. The woman wore a pale-yellow dress, lively and charming.
They looked like an immortal couple stepped out of a painting.
Many who had never seen Chu Yang imagined the legendary "Demon Lord" to be a hulking brute with a ferocious face.
Now that he stood before them, the tension eased instead—people grew as docile as rabbits.
The crowd naturally parted to form a path.
The carriage stopped before the steps of the Mahavira Hall.
"What should I say—'searched high and low, only to find you without effort'?" Chu Yang looked around, spotting many familiar faces.
Yue Buqun and the other sect masters wore stiff expressions.
"Amitabha… Today, we invited Benefactor Chu here with the hope of turning hostility into harmony."
Abbot Xuanci stepped forward, descending the stairs slowly until he stood directly before the carriage, meeting Chu Yang's gaze.
"Monk, you're mistaken," Chu Yang said with a half-smile. "Whether hostility can be turned into harmony isn't for me to decide. I'm not the victim."
"Then may I ask Benefactor Chu to invite that disciple of the Ancient Tomb Sect to speak, to grant a chance for reconciliation?"
Xuanci's calm eyes fixed on the carriage.
Huang Rong raised a brow and scrunched her nose. "Hmph! Old monk, who wants reconciliation with you? If not to settle this once and for all, you couldn't pay me to come to Shaoshi!"
Both Huang Rong and Chu Yang spoke with an undercurrent that suggested they wanted to wipe out everyone here, unsettling many and prompting whispered discussions.
Even Xuanci felt troubled. He had assumed that, no matter how domineering Chu Yang was, he would rein himself in before such an assembly.
He had underestimated his arrogance.
"Has Benefactor Chu not done enough slaughter already?"
"Old monk, why don't you ask them why stealing manuals wasn't enough—why they had to torment the women and children of the Ancient Tomb Sect?"
Xuanci fell silent and could only look pleadingly to Zhang Sanfeng and Feng Qingyang.
Zhang Sanfeng stepped forward first, laughing. "Dao-friend, long time no see. Your bearing remains unchanged."
Chu Yang smiled and nodded. "Zhang Zhenren seems to have made another breakthrough. Congratulations."
Zhang Sanfeng raised his robe and bowed. "All thanks to that day's discussion with Dao-friend Chu, allowing this old Daoist to take one more step forward."
Chu Yang waved him off. "Zhang Zhenren, no need for courtesy. If you intend to block me today, bring out your true skill. I'll say this first—this time, I won't hold back."
Zhang Sanfeng pondered briefly and shook his head. "This old Daoist knows he is not your match. Even with Dao-friend Feng's help, the result would be the same. Still, as one of the cloth, I hope Dao-friend will lessen the killing."
Feng Qingyang added, "Little friend Chu, Zhang Zhenren and I do not wish to oppose you. We only hope you might choose another way to resolve this hatred."
"I'm not the victim—it's not my place to forgive. But for your sakes, I can let Mochou come out."
Chu Yang jumped down from the carriage and walked to stand before them.
These two elders had given him Taiji's essence and the Dugu Nine Swords respectively—no small favor.
Huang Rong slipped into the carriage. Moments later, she emerged with Li Mochou.
Many sighed in relief. As long as the victim appeared, there was hope for peace.
"Amitabha…"
Abbot Xuanci looked at Li Mochou with compassion. "Miss, regarding the calamity that befell your sect, this old monk deeply regrets it. The principal culprits have mostly paid with their lives. Only some minor sects remain. Might you show mercy and spare them?"
"To save one life is to build a seven-tier pagoda…"
Li Mochou clenched her teeth and glared viciously at several sect masters behind Yue Buqun. Just seeing their faces sent nightmarish memories crashing back.
Sun Po Po's miserable death.
Little Dragon Girl being poisoned mute.
Her body trembled uncontrollably, eyes bloodshot. She said coldly, "Spare them? Then what about me?! That day, I knelt and begged—yet Sun Po Po still died, my face was still ruined, and Long'er was still silenced!"
"Old monk," she demanded, voice shaking, "tell me—who spared us?!"
Li Mochou's shrill cry echoed across Mount Shaoshi, like a wailing ghost from the depths of the Nine Netherworlds.That bone-deep hatred sent chills through everyone who heard it.
Abbot Xuanci opened his mouth as if to speak, but in the end he could not bring himself to meet Li Mochou's venom-filled gaze. He could only close his eyes, wearing an expression of mournful compassion.
"Miss! Please don't be impulsive—anything can be discussed!"
"Heroine Li Mochou, please, show mercy and spare us a way to live!"
"Yes, yes! Miss Li, whatever you want, just say it—we'll find a way to get it for you!"
Pleading voices rose one after another. Some sect masters even dropped to their knees, kowtowing frantically. They had already heard Zhang Sanfeng's and Feng Qingyang's words earlier—any lingering hope had been completely extinguished.
Li Mochou sneered coldly.
"What I want has never changed.I want your heads."
The sect masters begging for mercy turned ashen.
"Well… looks like you couldn't persuade the real victim. That's truly a pity…"
Chu Yang shrugged helplessly, then turned to Li Mochou.
"Point them out. Make sure you don't miss anyone—killing the wrong people would be awkward."
Li Mochou raised her hand and pointed remotely toward several people inside the Mahavira Hall. The moment she did, those around them hurriedly scattered, leaving behind a clear vacuum.
"Not many left indeed." Chu Yang smiled in satisfaction.
Once this was done, he could finally go home and rest properly for a while.
Zhang Sanfeng and Feng Qingyang both wore bitter smiles.
"So be it… so be it. Debts have their owners. One who brings calamity upon themselves has no one else to blame."
Zhang Sanfeng flicked his horsetail whisk and shook his head, leading the Wudang disciples down the mountain. Before leaving, he cupped his hands toward Chu Yang.
"This matter has nothing to do with Shaolin. I hope Dao-friend will show restraint."
Chu Yang smiled. "That depends on whether Abbot Xuanci knows how to read the situation."
Feng Qingyang also prepared to leave with the Mount Hua disciples. Yue Buqun, who had shouted the loudest earlier, kept his head lowered, not daring to look at Chu Yang.
"That rebellious disciple Xianyu Tong has already been executed by you, little friend. The grudges between us are settled. I hope you'll honor your word and not trouble my Mount Hua again in the future."
Perhaps out of embarrassment, Feng Qingyang used voice transmission, his tone extremely gentle.
Chu Yang nodded.
However—
Just as the two old men were about to leave with their respective sects, a wild, unrestrained laugh suddenly rang out from the roof of the Mahavira Hall.
"So many heroes gathered here, yet all of you are cowed by a mere demonic upstart! Zhang Sanfeng or Feng Qingyang—it's all the same, nothing but hollow reputations!"
"If you don't want to die, join me in exterminating this demon!"
As his voice fell, a figure in a gray robe dropped in front of Chu Yang.
The man's face was masked, his features hidden. His temples were streaked with gray—he was clearly not young.
His index finger shot toward Chu Yang's throat with ferocious force, swift as wind and thunder.
This sudden intervention caught everyone completely off guard.
Even Zhang Sanfeng and Feng Qingyang had backed down—who was this man, so bold and fearless?
Even Chu Yang was momentarily stunned.
The man's technique was unmistakable—the Flower-Picking Finger, one of the Seventy-Two Ultimate Arts of Shaolin.
Yet the gray hair proved he was no monk.
The finger force was violent, his cultivation extremely deep. In Shaolin, he would at least rank among the chief elders.
Chu Yang frowned and raised his palm to counter.
His palm blocked the finger. Then his five fingers snapped upright, forming a claw that locked onto the gray-robed man's fingers.
The gray-robed man tried to retreat—
—but found his fingers held in an iron grip, utterly immovable.
Crack.
A crisp sound rang out.
Two of the gray-robed man's fingers snapped.
He was ruthless—despite the broken fingers, he made no sound. Using the pain, he forcibly broke free from Chu Yang's control.
But after suffering such a loss, the hatred in his eyes toward Chu Yang only deepened.
"Who are you?" Abbot Xuanci stared at the gray-robed man's back, feeling an inexplicable sense of familiarity.
"Who I am doesn't matter," the gray-robed man replied coldly. "What matters is that today we must work together to eliminate this demon and stop his rampage!"
He deliberately avoided revealing his identity.
"A coward who hides his face!" Zhang Sanfeng said coldly from the long stone steps of Mount Shaoshi.
"Wudang and Shaolin stand as the twin pillars of the martial world, respected across three kingdoms! You, Zhang Sanfeng, are hailed as the pinnacle of martial arts—yet now, with a demon running rampant, you watch these sect masters march to their deaths!"
The gray-robed man sneered repeatedly. Many in the crowd nodded subconsciously, agreeing with his words.
They had pinned all their hopes on Zhang Sanfeng and Feng Qingyang, believing the two together could suppress Chu Yang—
—but reality had shattered that illusion.
The murmurs grew louder, emotions stirring, verging on unrest.
Zhang Sanfeng took in their expressions and felt a suffocating frustration.
Unless these people personally witnessed Chu Yang's true terror, they would never understand why he avoided battle so desperately.
Feng Qingyang, long weary of human foolishness and entanglements, felt genuine anger rise within him.
And within that anger—
a trace of anticipation.
He found himself looking forward to the expressions on their faces when Chu Yang's blade finally fell.
The corner of Feng Qingyang's mouth lifted slightly.
After finishing his tirade, the gray-robed man had turned Zhang Sanfeng and Feng Qingyang into common targets. At that moment, a finely dressed young man stepped out from the crowd.
He was handsome, dignified, and carried himself with natural authority.
"I am Murong Fu of Gusu. Hearing this senior speak just now, I too felt indignant, and could not help but step forward!"
Murong Fu cupped his hands to those around him.
"This senior is right. Since we are no match for this demon individually, we should unite our strength—only then can we exterminate evil and uphold righteousness!"
"I want to see for myself just how formidable this demon is—this demon that even Zhang Zhenren dares not oppose!"
The gray-robed man laughed loudly.
"Everyone, feel free to stand aside and watch. After Murong gongzi and I die in battle, you can decide whether to fight this demon to the death—or bow before him!"
Their actions appeared heroic to many, stirring blood and courage. Quite a few people were already eager to join them.
Chu Yang, however, had been calmly observing the gray-robed old man all this time.
Only when Murong Fu appeared and stood beside him did realization finally dawn.
"Murong Bo… you old bastard, you're really good at slipping through cracks."
"Back then you fabricated false intelligence to trick Abbot Xuanci into leading a group to ambush Qiao Feng's parents. Now you're here again, stirring up these idiots to oppose me."
"Tsk tsk… If you didn't go into pyramid schemes, it'd be a waste of talent."
Chu Yang shook his head, amused.
The moment these words were spoken—
Abbot Xuanci and the gray-robed man both changed color drastically.
Murong Fu froze on the spot.
Those who knew of the old incident wore expressions of utter shock.
"Murong Bo? That name sounds… familiar…"
Zhang Sanfeng stroked his beard, sinking into thought.
Song Yuanqiao, however, knew the name well. He was of similar age, and when Murong Bo had shaken the martial world, Song Yuanqiao had already been traveling outside the mountain.
He also knew some of the rumors surrounding the Yanmen Pass incident.
Song Yuanqiao stepped close to Zhang Sanfeng and whispered a few words. Understanding dawned on the old Daoist's face.
On the other side, Abbot Xuanci stared fixedly at Murong Bo, completely ignoring Chu Yang.
The Yanmen Pass massacre had been the greatest regret of his life.
After Murong Bo's feigned death, Xuanci had borne all the blame himself.
But now that Murong Bo stood alive before him, it proved that the entire incident had been nothing but a conspiracy.
"Are you truly… Elder Murong Bo?" Abbot Xuanci took a deep breath.
Murong Bo ignored Xuanci. He frowned at Chu Yang, thinking furiously how this man had seen through his disguise.
"Who exactly are you?!"
Even a man of Buddhist cultivation like Xuanci had his limits. Rage surged in his voice.
Having hidden for a lifetime, now exposed, Murong Bo could not be bothered to keep pretending.
He tore off the face covering, revealing his true appearance.
Murong Fu's body trembled as he looked at the man's face, then cried out in excitement:
"Father! It really is you!"
Murong Bo laughed heartily and embraced Murong Fu.
"Tsk tsk. Such a touching father-son reunion. By the way—where's the other father-son pair?"
Chu Yang looked around with interest.
Two father-son showdowns would be far more entertaining than a martial assembly. It felt like watching a fully immersive drama.
"Back then, I already had doubts about the Yanmen Pass incident. But with Murong Bo dead, there was nothing I could do."
"Now that you're alive and well, there's no need for further confrontation, is there?"
Abbot Xuanci gripped his staff tightly.
"Yes. I deliberately lured you into leading martial heroes to ambush that Khitan family."
"Why?" Xuanci demanded.
Murong Bo laughed madly.
"If Song and Liao continued their friendship, how would my Great Yan ever seize an opportunity to rise again and restore the nation?!"
His eyes were bloodshot, his tone increasingly unhinged.
Restoring Great Yan was his obsession—his inner demon.
As Abbot Xuanci was about to continue, the crowd suddenly erupted in shocked cries.
A towering, broad-shouldered man stepped forward slowly.
"It's Qiao Feng!!!"
Murong Bo's expression tightened.
The real person had arrived.
Murong Fu licked his lips nervously and subconsciously drew his sword.
The mortal enemy who had slain his kin stood right there—but Xiao Feng didn't even glance at them. Instead, he walked straight up to Chu Yang, clasped his fists, and bowed deeply.
"I heard that Sir Chu was coming here, and feared that villains might gang up on you, so I came to lend my strength. I never expected to receive yet another favor from you—this debt is something I truly don't know how to repay."
The crowd was stunned.
Shouts of disbelief erupted one after another.
The former Beggar Sect leader, Qiao Feng, was actually the demon's accomplice?!
Chu Yang had expected Xiao Feng to show up to watch the spectacle—but he hadn't expected him to come specifically to help.
"How is Miss Azhu doing lately?" Chu Yang asked.
"Thanks to Sir Chu, Azhu is doing very well. In a few days, she'll go beyond the borders with me."
"Let's not set that flag," Chu Yang replied casually. "It's bad luck."
Xiao Feng: "???"
Seeing Xiao Feng, Abbot Xuanci—who had been facing Murong Bo—showed guilt on his face and lowered his head, chanting a Buddhist invocation.
"So the Khitan dog and the demon really are birds of a feather!"
"Everyone, compared to these two, someone like me—a Xianbei—shouldn't be much of a threat, right?"
"If we don't eliminate them today, forget anything else—how many sects here will be able to leave Mount Shaoshi alive?"
Murong Bo continued to incite everyone who harbored hatred toward Chu Yang and Xiao Feng.
Xiao Feng's intention to help Chu Yang was well meant, but he hadn't realized that he himself was a lightning rod for hatred.
Just the two of them standing together was enough to offend nearly every sect across the Three Kingdoms' martial world.
More and more voices responded. Murong Bo's smile grew increasingly satisfied as he leaned close to Abbot Xuanci and whispered, "I ask the Abbot to put the greater good first."
Abbot Xuanci's gaze was complicated. He said nothing.
Xiao Feng stood in front of Chu Yang, his qi circulating through his body—he was fully prepared for a fight to the death.
The atmosphere was razor-sharp, ready to explode at any moment.
"Big brother!"
A young man in a long robe, dressed like a noble scion, struggled through the crowd and stumbled to Xiao Feng's side.
Xiao Feng cried out in surprise, "Second brother?!"
Duan Yu wiped the sweat from his brow and grinned. "Big brother, don't panic—I'm here to back you up too!"
After the two exchanged a few hurried words, several more people emerged from the crowd.
At the front was a man with elegant bearing—Duan Zhengchun, Prince of Zhennan of Dali—followed by his retainers.
Xiao Feng and Duan Zhengchun exchanged glances, both wearing slightly awkward expressions.
Duan Zhengchun already knew that Azhu was his daughter, and that Xiao Feng would very likely become his son-in-law.
Because of Azhu, Xiao Feng didn't want Duan Yu and Duan Zhengchun to be dragged into this, so he advised, "Second brother, you'd best stay out of today's matter. Leave with Prince Duan at once."
Duan Yu grew anxious.
Duan Zhengchun reached out and grabbed him, shaking his head solemnly. Given the situation, this truly wasn't something the Duan family could afford to be involved in.
Despite the tension, Chu Yang yawned. He strolled up beside Xiao Feng and patted him on the shoulder.
"You shouldn't take part either. Leave with them."
Xiao Feng froze.
He had just said those exact words to Duan Yu.
"Don't put Prince Duan in a difficult position. Azhu is his daughter—he can't really stand by and watch. If anything happens, the one who'll suffer most is Azhu."
"And besides…"
"To be blunt—even if everyone standing here turned against me, to me they'd be nothing but chickens and dogs. Utterly unworthy of mention."
That overwhelming confidence instantly affected Xiao Feng. He took a deep breath, cupped his fists, and retreated a few steps.
He didn't leave outright, but stood beside the carriage like a guard.
This was the greatest concession Xiao Feng could make—he wouldn't interfere, but he had to do something to repay the favor.
Protecting Huang Rong and Li Mochou in the carriage was the best choice.
"Come on—what are you waiting for?" Chu Yang sneered, beckoning to Murong Bo and his son. After a pause, he made the same gesture in all directions.
"Waiting for me to kill you one by one?"
An uproar exploded.
Zhang Sanfeng and Feng Qingyang both turned grave—they could clearly feel the killing intent radiating from Chu Yang.
A flash of excitement passed through Murong Bo's eyes. If he led the heroes in slaying Chu Yang and Xiao Feng today, the prestige of the Murong father and son would reach unimaginable heights.
With that prestige, restoring Great Yan would no longer be a dream!
"Everyone—follow me and kill!"
Murong Bo roared toward the sky and turned into a gray blur as he charged at Chu Yang. He intended to stake his life, leaving the fruits of victory to Murong Fu!
The crowd surged.
Sect masters who knew they were doomed followed closely behind, charging at Chu Yang. Their disciples, eyes bloodshot, rushed forward as well.
With two fingers already crippled by Chu Yang, Murong Bo had no choice but to use Weituo Palm.
Chu Yang didn't dodge at all, letting the twin palms strike his body.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
Dull impacts rang out. Murong Bo felt as though he'd struck solid bronze—unyielding. The recoil sent pain through his fingers and arms as if they were breaking.
"I thought you might show me something interesting," Chu Yang said calmly, "but in the end, you're still this boring."
Murong Bo looked up—just in time to meet Chu Yang's icy gaze. His heart lurched violently.
He turned to flee, but a terrifying suction force pulled from behind.
Chu Yang seized his throat.
The shadow of death closed in. Murong Bo completely lost his composure, screaming for help as his hands flailed uselessly in the air.
"No! Don't—!"
Crack.
Murong Bo's body stiffened, then his arms fell limply to his sides.
Murong Fu's eyes bulged. "Father!!!"
In the blink of an eye, the once-arrogant Murong Bo was a corpse. The sect masters halted in terror.
"Stopping now won't save you," Chu Yang said with a gentle smile, like a friendly neighbor.
That single sentence crushed the momentary clarity they'd regained. Their eyes turned blood-red, filled with desperate madness.
They surged forward again.
More and more people died.
Corpses piled up at Chu Yang's feet.
"You all like calling me a demon," Chu Yang said calmly as he killed, "so I might as well do something worthy of that title."
By the end, no one dared step forward anymore.
Before the Mahavira Hall, corpses lay everywhere. Blood flowed like a river.
Someone's weapon clattered to the ground.
Clang.
The sound snapped everyone awake.
The remaining sect masters and disciples dropped their weapons one after another, collapsing to the ground, trembling as they kowtowed frantically to Chu Yang.
Chu Yang looked at them indifferently. "Not exterminating demons and upholding righteousness anymore?"
They didn't dare answer—only kept kowtowing, even when blood covered their foreheads.
Zhang Sanfeng closed his eyes in pain. He had tried his utmost to prevent this, yet it had still come to pass.
Feng Qingyang sighed and turned away.
Yue Buqun followed him, shaken to the core.
Just a little more—and Mount Hua would have ended up like these people…
Linghu Chong carried his unconscious junior sister, walking slowly, utterly dazed.
Scenes of Chu Yang killing replayed endlessly in his mind. He had wanted to stop it—but Feng Qingyang had restrained him completely.
Even if he'd rushed in, he would only have died.
What's the point of practicing the sword?
The more Linghu Chong thought, the more pain twisted his expression.
Chu Yang stepped through the sea of blood back to the carriage, looking at Li Mochou—and at little Long'er sleeping peacefully in her arms.
"From today onward, between you and this martial world, all grudges are wiped clean."
Li Mochou was already in tears. She nodded vigorously.
Before the Mahavira Hall, blood ran like a river.
Looking at the corpses everywhere, Abbot Xuanci's face turned ashen, a trace of blood slowly trickling from the corner of his mouth.
After this battle, Shaolin's reputation would be forever bound to Chu Yang.
Zhang Sanfeng's expression was sorrowful as he silently recited a Daoist scripture for the departed.
"One who brings calamity upon themselves cannot live," Feng Qingyang said calmly.
Chu Yang emerged from the mountain of corpses and sea of blood, his sky-blue robe spotless, untouched by even a speck of gore.
He walked up to Abbot Xuanci and looked down at him coldly.
"Shaolin may not have acted, but as the host, you still bear responsibility."
Abbot Xuanci smiled bitterly. "As abbot… may I alone go to my death?"
Chu Yang shook his head and pointed toward Xiao Feng by the carriage.
"Your life belongs to him."
Xiao Feng stepped forward, stopping before Abbot Xuanci. His eyes were icy, brimming with killing intent.
The true mastermind, Murong Bo, was already dead. If Xiao Feng wanted revenge, the only person left was this highly revered Abbot Xuanci.
"Amitabha… all faults lie with this old monk alone. I beg Hero Xiao to spare the other monks of Shaolin."
"Do not forget—your master, Xuanku, was also a disciple of Shaolin…"
Thinking of his former master, the killing intent on Xiao Feng suddenly weakened.
"Die, you old villain!"
While Xiao Feng was still hesitating, a black-clad figure descended from the sky, landing in front of Abbot Xuanci and striking with a palm that shattered his heart meridians.
Xuanci spat blood, clutched his chest, and collapsed. A string of prayer beads slipped from his body and scattered across the ground, shattering into pieces.
The black-robed man glanced at Xiao Feng and immediately used lightness skill to flee the scene.
Xiao Feng snapped out of his shock and hurried after him. The two vanished together.
"With Xiao Feng's temperament, he likely wouldn't have killed you. That's why Xiao Yuanshan suddenly appeared," Chu Yang said, crouching down to pick up a prayer bead and placing it into Xuanci's palm.
Hearing the name "Xiao Yuanshan," a strange light burst into Abbot Xuanci's eyes. His breathing quickened. "So that's how it is… so that's how it is. Evil truly does beget retribution…"
The moment Xuanci fell, a large number of monks rushed out of the Mahavira Hall—some calling for the Abbot, others calling for senior brothers, masters, and uncles.
Chu Yang stepped aside, yielding the space to the monks. While they wailed in grief, he moved forward.
He was heading for the Sutra Library.
"Benefactor Chu… this old monk deserves his fate. May I ask that you spare the other monks of Shaolin?" Xuanci's voice rang out, suddenly loud, as if from a final burst of vitality.
Chu Yang nodded and continued on.
"Xiao Chu, wait for me!"
Seeing Chu Yang going inside, Huang Rong quickly jumped down from the carriage. After a few steps, she hesitated, then turned back with a sweet smile toward Zhang Sanfeng. "Grandpa Daoist, could you please look after Mochou and Long'er for a bit? Xiao Chu and I will be right back."
Zhang Sanfeng gave a wry smile. "Miss, on Mount Shaoshi today, who would dare provoke Daoist Chu?"
Huang Rong glanced around. Everyone nearby looked terrified and uneasy—no one even dared meet her gaze.
A group of people scared out of their wits truly wasn't anything to worry about.
After passing through the Mahavira Hall, walking through several corridors and past a few great halls, Huang Rong stopped before an ancient, unadorned pavilion.
Ahead of her, Chu Yang was speaking with an old monk sweeping the ground.
The monk's brows and beard were snow-white, his age clearly advanced. His hands gripping the broom were covered in wrinkles, like the bark of an ancient tree.
Yet his eyes—bright and piercing—left a deep impression on Huang Rong.
"Benefactor, your killing intent is heavy. It would be good to visit the Sutra Library and read some Buddhist scriptures to dispel it," the sweeping monk said, palms pressed together.
"Why didn't you stop me earlier?" Chu Yang asked with a half-smile. "You, plus Zhang Sanfeng, plus Feng Qingyang—perhaps you could have taken me down."
"There is absolutely no such possibility," the monk shook his head.
"Oh? Why's that?" Chu Yang grew curious.
"This old monk is dull-witted. I spent decades in the Sutra Library seeking the Dao, comprehending nearly all of the Buddhist martial arts, and only then managed to grasp the barest hint of cultivation. I cannot be compared to Mister Chu," the monk said, pausing before adding with a sigh, "nor even to that Daoist friend from Wudang."
Chu Yang laughed heartily. "I thought you might also want to 'save' me, like you did with Xiao Yuanshan and Murong Bo."
The sweeping monk was startled.
"Since you won't stop me, then I'm going in," Chu Yang said. He turned and beckoned Huang Rong to follow him inside.
Huang Rong immediately beamed, bouncing along behind Chu Yang like a little squirrel.
"Mister Chu is already a figure like an immortal—why remain so attached to mortal martial arts?" the monk asked, genuinely puzzled.
"Because it's interesting," Chu Yang replied, giving an answer that only deepened the monk's confusion, before walking into the Sutra Library under his bewildered gaze.
A month and a half later.
The carriage returned to the familiar small city in the Southern Song.
Pushing open the gate and looking at the sunlit courtyard, Chu Yang felt as though an age had passed.
He had originally only gone out to get the Dragon Elephant Prajna Technique, yet somehow ended up becoming the most notorious demon in the land.
Setting down their luggage, Chu Yang, Li Mochou, and Huang Rong began cleaning the rooms that had long been left vacant—these would become Li Mochou and Little Dragon Girl's living quarters.
The cleaning wasn't hard, just a bit dusty. There were even signs that someone had been tending to the courtyard.
As long as local children studied at Chu Yang's private school, the neighbors would voluntarily help him with small tasks, like cleaning. Chu Yang never locked his doors.
Even thieves wouldn't come to steal from his home. First, there really wasn't much worth stealing. Second, Chu Yang was widely known across the countryside as a kind and reputable man—a teacher, no less. Even thieves had their code.
By the time everything was tidied up, evening had fallen. No one had the energy to cook, so Chu Yang took them to their usual tavern.
Huang Rong was especially happy—this was where she and Chu Yang had first met, a place with special meaning.
The scar on Li Mochou's face had mostly healed, leaving only a faint trace. Walking through the streets, she could now calmly meet the gazes of passersby.
Little Dragon Girl nestled in Li Mochou's arms, quietly peeking at the world.
In the tavern hall, the storyteller was speaking animatedly, sweat pouring down his face. Chu Yang and the others drew closer to listen, their expressions growing strange.
"Everyone, did you know that recently a top-ranked demon has appeared in the martial world? No one knows his real name—he's simply called 'Mister Chu'!"
"This Mister Chu is something else! Even the several-hundred-year-old immortal Zhang from Wudang was defeated by him!"
"And not long ago, at Mount Shaoshi—"
The storyteller's clapper had yet to strike. He went on at length, the diners listening intently, chopsticks frozen midair.
Until—
A waiter emerged from the kitchen, spotted Chu Yang's group, and called out with a cheerful grin.
"Oh! You're back!"
"Mister Chu!"
The storyteller's voice cut off abruptly.
The clapper crashed to the floor.
The diners turned around in terror.
Chu Yang smiled.
"Mhm."
"I'm back."
(End of Chapter)