Chapter 122

"Taixuan brother!" Huang Rong sat down beside Zhang Taixuan, her eyes smiling.

Yotsuya Miko hurriedly sat on the other side, asserting her position.

Kasumigaoka Uta, Yukinoshita Yukino, and Su Xiao saw this and quickly joined the same table.

In the end, only Amano Hina and Xiao Wu lagged behind and failed to find seats.

Seeing this, the lively Su Xiao stepped forward at once, ordering a Daoist acolyte to bring two stools so the two could squeeze in at the table.

Nine beautiful girls gathered together, and Zhang Taixuan truly felt as if surrounded by a bouquet of flowers.

"How's that?" Su Xiao winked mischievously. "I understand people's hearts, right?"

Huang Rong was speechless: "Xiao Xiao, you just love to cause trouble."

Just then, a Daoist acolyte announced the guests.

"Abbot Kongwen of Shaolin Temple, accompanied by monks Kongzhi and Kongxing, arrives to pay respects on the birthday."

"Sect Master Tang of Kongtong Sect arrives to pay respects on the birthday."

"Emei Sect arrives to pay respects on the birthday."

"Shi Huolong of the Beggars' Sect comes to pay birthday respects."

【13】 "Shi Huolong of the Beggar's Sect arrives to pay respects on the birthday."

"..."

As the Daoist acolyte's voice faded, delegations from all sides strode forward and entered the Zhenwu Grand Hall.

"Brother, something's off. Why haven't we seen Zhang Zhenren?"

"Zhang Zhenren is a hundred years old—perhaps..."

Kongzhi and Kongxing exchanged glances; though their words expressed concern, their eyes gleamed with ecstatic joy.

Mount Wudang relied solely on Zhang Sanfeng to stand as a martial paradise equal to Shaolin.

If Zhang Sanfeng died, it would be a tremendous blessing for Shaolin.

Other sects glanced around but saw no Zhang Sanfeng; their hearts began to doubt.

"Amitabha," Mei Jue Shitai stepped forward first. "May I ask, Sect Master Song, is Zhang Zhenren well?"

Song Yuanqiao snorted: "My master is inside the hall. How can you all be so blind?"

At these words, everyone's faces darkened with anger.

"Wuliang Tianzun."

Just then, a calm voice rang out—not loud, yet like a thunderclap in everyone's ears.

They turned to see the young Daoist priest, who had stood at the center moments before, step forward.

Mei Jue scrutinized him closely and gasped: "Zhang Zhenren!"

"He's Zhang Zhenren?"

"This is a joke, right? We're martial artists, not cultivators. Zhang Zhenren is a hundred years old—how could he look this young?"

The boy looked no more than a teenager—how could anyone link him to the hundred-year-old Zhang Sanfeng?

Even major sects like Shaolin, who knew true qi was mysterious, did not believe anyone could achieve reversal of aging through martial arts.

At least according to Wu Lin records, Shaolin had never produced such a person.

"Wuliang Tianzun," Zhang Sanfeng said calmly, "Thank you all for traveling so far. Please, be seated."

Mei Jue snapped back to herself and bowed quickly: "Greetings, Zhang Zhenren. I never imagined you, at a hundred years old, could reverse aging—truly joyful. But 283, we've come today not only to wish you longevity, but also to ask your help with one matter."

"Amitabha," Kongwen stepped forward immediately. "The Golden-Haired Lion King Xie Xun has slaughtered fellow martial artists and amassed countless sins. Several years ago, he vanished alongside your disciple. Surely, Great Master Zhang knows his whereabouts—please reveal it, so we may fulfill our desire for vengeance."

Zhang Cuishan stepped forward and sneered: "You want vengeance—or the Dragon-Slaying Blade? Why disguise your greed with such lofty words, Abbot?"

"Zhang Cuishan, how dare you!" Kongxing roared in fury, lunging forward with Dragon Claw Hand.

"It's you who dares to be reckless!"

Song Yuanqiao had anticipated this. As his words ended, his sword pierced the air. Kongxing felt a chilling killing intent descend upon him, his heart filled with terror.

When had Song Yuanqiao become this powerful?

"Disciple, step back. Today is my birthday—there shall be no bloodshed!"

Just then, Zhang Sanfeng's gentle voice rang out. Song Yuanqiao felt a soft force surge through him, and his body involuntarily retreated to stand beside the other disciples.

Kongxing, meanwhile, was flung backward by an invisible force, landing outside the hall—alive or dead, no one knew.

Zhang Sanfeng slowly took a few steps forward. The martial world's crowd changed expression instantly, retreating in perfect unison.

Too terrifying.

Everyone said the martial legend Zhang Sanfeng was an unparalleled master.

But no one imagined his power had reached this level—he hadn't even moved properly, yet Kongxing was already flung out.

Is this even a martial artist?

Seeing his youthful, reversed-aging form, everyone's hearts trembled.

Members of minor sects had already turned pale, trembling uncontrollably, too afraid to even look at Zhang Sanfeng.

"Amitabha, Zhang Zhenren!" Kongwen steadied himself and stepped forward. "We've come here sincerely to pay our respects. Why are you so angry?"

"That's right—we're over a thousand people. Even if your divine arts are supreme, can you kill us all?"

With someone leading, others gained a little courage and spoke with bravado—the most cowardly words imaginable.

Zhang Sanfeng laughed heartily: "Angry? Do you even deserve to make me angry?!"

His aura solidified instantly. Everyone felt a mountain crushing down—their bones and tendons cracked audibly.

Like a tiny boat in a raging ocean wave, they were moments from being swallowed whole.

"So terrifying!"

"I don't want the Dragon-Slaying Blade anymore!"

Many martial novices collapsed onto the ground, screaming for mercy.

"Hmph!"

Zhang Sanfeng gave a cold snort. "You lot have trespassed onto Wudang—though the death penalty may be spared, the living punishment will not be so easily forgiven."

He stretched out both hands, and instantly, a great hand-seal of yin and yang swirling together materialized in the void, seizing all of the thousand-plus people at once.

The crowd felt as if they were trapped within another world entirely.

To people of a low-martial-arts world, a method like this was far beyond the scale of what was reasonable.

The expressions of the crowd changed drastically.

Even the Shaolin side no longer had the slightest hint of arrogance in their eyes.

What they practiced was not martial arts, but immortal cultivation!

Faced with Zhang Sanfeng, who cultivated immortality, what qualifications did Shaolin have to run wild?