Chapter 31

Zhang Jie looked up and saw a young man charging toward him with fierce intent.

Though his face didn’t match the striking beauty of Tian Le or Yan Zu,

he was still handsome enough to please the eye.

But now his face was twisted with rage, distorting even his noble features.

Zhang Jie, who had already guessed the man’s identity, feigned ignorance:

“Who are you?”

Zhu Jiuzhen replied in a soft, trembling voice: “That’s my cousin Wei Bi.

He’s my father’s nephew and Master Wu’s top disciple.”

“Wu Lie’s top disciple? Then he can’t be left alive!”

Zhang Jie, the ultimate actor, his eyes glinting with malice, seemed ready to eradicate him utterly.

The killing aura he carried—borrowed from the Water Margin version of Zhang Jie—was unmistakable:

it came from slaying the mighty Ximen Daguan, wiping out the Wild Boar Bandits’ stronghold,

and the hundreds of routed soldiers, Yuan troops, and bandits he’d cut down on his way to Zhu Wu’s Linked Mountain Fortress.

“Sssss…”

Zhu Jiuzhen, engulfed by Zhang Jie’s overwhelming killing aura, shuddered involuntarily.

She hadn’t expected this boy, barely her age, to be a blood-soaked demon.

Though she’d raised fierce dogs and delighted in sending them to maul people,

the lives she’d taken couldn’t even match a fraction of Zhang Jie’s tally.

Zhu Jiuzhen suddenly realized Zhang Jie wasn’t as easy to control as she’d thought.

But she was already on the bandit’s boat—there was no getting off.

She quickly declared her unwavering loyalty:

“Whatever you wish to do, Zhang Young Master, do it.”

“Excellent.”

Zhang Jie nodded with apparent satisfaction, his hand growing unsteady.

“What are you doing? You two filthy lovers!”

At that moment, Wei Bi drew near and witnessed the scene that made his eyes bulge.

“Jiuzhen, are you involved with him?”

Zhang Jie lazily pointed at Wei Bi with one finger, frowning:

“I was young and foolish once—I fancied Wei Bi, swore I’d marry no one else.

But now that I’ve met Zhang Young Master, I realize I only love heroes like you.”

Zhu Jiuzhen quietly dismissed her past as youthful ignorance,

and bluntly flattered Zhang Jie.

“Cousin, don’t come looking for me again—I’m afraid Zhang Young Master will misunderstand.”

She tossed the words at Wei Bi, then nestled contentedly against Zhang Jie’s chest.

“What’s the difference between this and those Japanese movies where the husband’s still alive?”

Watching Wei Bi’s furious, tear-filled eyes, Zhang Jie mused, stroking his chin.

But in his heart, toying with Wei Bi was like Germany in WWII—Poland meant nothing to him.

Wei Bi, heir to the Zhu and Wu families, appeared gentle and refined, but was in truth cunning and scheming.

Before Zhang Wuji arrived, he’d skillfully exploited the rivalry between Zhu Jiuzhen and Wu Qingying to secure his position.

After Zhang Wuji came to Zhu Wu’s Linked Mountain Fortress, he actively joined Zhu Zhangling’s plot to deceive Zhang Wuji’s trust,

and after the scheme failed, he repeatedly hunted Zhang Wuji until he fell off the cliff—alive or dead, no one knew.

To heighten the effect, Zhang Jie waved his hand as if shooing away flies:

“You’re Wei Bi, right?

I’m in a good mood today—I’ll spare your life. Get out.

Remember: stay away from Jiuzhen, or your life won’t last long!”

“You—you, you filthy lovers!”

Wei Bi’s rage boiled over.

Jiuzhen had grown up with him—she’d sworn to marry no one but him, just like Wu Qingying!

And now, right before his eyes, Zhang Jie was boldly exploring places he’d never even touched!

“Ahh! I’ll kill you both!”

Consumed by fury, Wei Bi drew his sword in a flash and lunged straight for Zhang Jie’s vital points.

The blade gleamed with a chilling, icy light—

if Zhang Jie were struck, he’d die—or at least be maimed beyond repair.

“Child’s play.”

Zhang Jie uttered his second “child’s play” of the day.

“Wudang Cotton Palm.”

Without drawing his own sword, Zhang Jie extended his right hand—smooth as the finest sheep-fat jade—

and seized Wei Bi’s lethal strike mid-air.

“Huh! Huh!”

No matter how hard Wei Bi strained, his sword wouldn’t budge an inch.

It was as if Zhang Jie’s hand wasn’t flesh and blood, but the legendary Buddha’s hand—

impervious to all weapons, inescapable by all blades!

“Ding!”

Zhang Jie channeled the fierce force within Wudang Cotton Palm, flicked his finger—

and Wei Bi’s sword, forged from a thousand-fold refined iron, crafted over a hundred days by a master smith,

worth a thousand gold pieces, shattered into countless fragments on the ground.

Though called “Cotton Palm,” Wudang Cotton Palm wasn’t merely soft and subtle;

it embodied the meaning of ceaseless flow, vast as mist.

Created by Zhang Sanfeng, famed for Yin-Yang Taiji, Wudang Cotton Palm naturally balanced water and fire, hardness and softness.

“Impossible! How is this possible?”

Wei Bi, still clutching the hilt, muttered in disbelief.

In Zhang Jie’s arms, Zhu Jiuzhen’s eyes sparkled with awe:

Zhang Jie shattering Wei Bi’s sword with one finger was astonishing enough,

but what was truly unbelievable was that he shattered only the blade—not the hilt in Wei Bi’s grip.

Logically, when the blade shattered,

Wei Bi’s arm should’ve been twisted into a knot.

The only explanation: Zhang Jie had mastered Wudang Cotton Palm to perfection—

not an ounce too much, not an ounce too little!

“Go to your end.”

Zhang Jie ignored Wei Bi’s shattered state, tapped his toe lightly—

a shard of the broken sword shot forth like a released arrow, piercing Wei Bi’s heart.

The man, already stripped of will to resist, died instantly.

As crimson blood soaked his pale silk robe,

this cousin—handsome as those in Jin Yong’s other tales, gentle on the surface,

yet cruel, heartless, and cold-hearted—met the King of Hell.

“Miss Zhu, tell me—how should I deal with you?”

After killing Wei Bi, Zhang Jie asked with interest.

“Zhang Lang, don’t—don’t scare me.”

Sensing Zhang Jie’s shift in tone, Zhu Jiuzhen grabbed his sleeve,

changing her address from “Zhang Young Master” to “Zhang Lang,” trying to draw closer.

“Zhang Lang?”

Hearing the term, Zhang Jie thought of a certain loathsome creature called the cockroach.

Every creature in this world has its place—except cockroaches and mosquitoes.

Had he the power, he’d exterminate both utterly.

“I have one rule in killing: I never kill women or children.”

Zhang Jie shoved Zhu Jiuzhen away, speaking slowly.

Before she could breathe easier, he added:

“Unfortunately, you’re not a child.”

Zhu Jiuzhen’s face went blank: “??”

Am I not a woman?

“Thud!”

Before Zhu Jiuzhen could protest, Zhang Jie slapped her on the head.

Under this identical palm strike as that of the Lord of Ximen, Zhu Jiuzhen ascended to immortality.

“Sigh!

Had you not been so cruel-hearted, I truly would have hesitated to crush such a flower.”

Zhang Jie gazed at Zhu Jiuzhen’s lifeless, unblinking corpse and sighed.

He considered himself a man who cherished flowers, but such cherishing did not mean he would blindly cater to anyone.

Zhu Jiuzhen was beautiful, yes—but her heart was like that of a queen bee.

She freely beat and cursed the servants at the Zhu Wu Linked Mountain Villa,

and kept dozens of vicious dogs, delighting in making them chase and maul living people.

Know this: in a world without rabies vaccines, once infected, there was nothing but waiting to die.

Worse still, three years ago, on her father Zhu Zhangling’s orders, she feigned affection for Zhang Jie’s beloved younger brother, Zhang Wuji,

exploiting his infatuation to trick him into revealing the whereabouts of Xie Xun and the Murderous Sword.

After the plot was uncovered, she joined Wei Bi, Wu Lie, Zhu Zhangling, and others in hunting down Zhang Wuji, forcing him to leap helplessly off the cliff.

Zhang Wuji was Zhang Jie’s dearest friend, his brother in arms,

so avenging him, righting the wrong done to him—these were plainly Zhang Jie’s duty.

Zhang Jie picked up Zhu Jiuzhen’s and Wei Bi’s corpses and carried them to the cliff’s edge,

then hurled them, along with Wu Lie’s body, over the precipice to destroy all evidence.

“Hmph. Seems my original plan won’t work.”

Zhang Jie stared at the vast, bottomless chasm—so wide it stretched for miles, as if a wound carved into the earth—

and instantly realized his earlier plan of shouting for Zhang Wuji at the cliff’s edge was futile.

With a chasm this immense, even if he screamed until his throat burst, his voice could never reach Zhang Wuji’s ears.

Plans change faster than they’re made; with his original plan ruined, Zhang Jie turned back toward the Zhu Wu Linked Mountain Villa to search for ropes or other supplies.