Chapter 33

Unaware of Zhang Jie’s furious inner complaints about him, Zhu Changling grew calm after Zhang Jie directly admitted to killing his sworn brother, daughter, and nephew.

“Since you can come down, you must be able to go back up, right?”

“Naturally.” Zhang Jie nodded.

He had come to find Zhang Wuji and the Nine Yang Divine Art, not to die—he’d already planned his escape.

As he spoke, Zhang Jie shook the rope in his hand.

Climbing up this rope would take him back to the cliff’s edge.

Zhu Changling stared at the rope with burning eyes, understanding dawning.

“If you let me use this rope, I won’t pursue you for killing my daughter and the others—

I’ll even share the entire Zhu-Wu Linked Mountain Villa with you!”

Who knew how he’d survived these past three years? Calling him a wild man living on raw flesh and blood wasn’t an exaggeration.

He couldn’t endure another day of this life.

As for avenging his daughter Zhu Jiuzhen and the others?

In Zhu Changling’s eyes, a self-proclaimed warlord, the deaths of a daughter, a nephew,

and a sworn brother meant less than a single hair on his own life.

As he spoke, Zhu Changling gazed at Zhang Jie with the most sincere look he’d ever worn.

He dared not press too hard—even though he believed his decades of rigorous cultivation had made him far stronger than Zhang Jie, who looked barely past adolescence.

Because Zhang Jie could snap the rope—the only hope of escape—with a single motion.

His martial arts far surpass those of Zhang Jie, who looks barely over twenty.

Zhang Jie spat inwardly at Zhu Changling’s offer.

The Zhu-Wu Linked Mountain Villa was already his for the taking.

Zhu Changling actually thought he could buy him with his own property.

As for Zhu Changling’s promise to abandon vengeance for his daughter’s death, Zhang Jie didn’t believe a single punctuation mark of it.

Anyone who trusted a treacherous, cunning worm like Zhu Changling deserved whatever misfortune came.

Zhang Jie knew with his toes that if he let Zhu Changling go,

the first person Zhu Changling would kill would be him.

Yet Zhang Jie wasn’t surprised by Zhu Changling’s idea: trading the abandonment of revenge for a chance to escape.

Zhu Changling had once made Zhu Jiuzhen sacrifice her beauty to seduce Zhang Wuji—

of course he could now pretend to forget his daughter’s murder for his own freedom.

“What if I refuse?”

Zhang Jie narrowed his eyes.

“Refuse?”

Zhu Changling’s eyes flashed with murderous intent.

“I’ll take it myself!”

Before his words finished, Zhu Changling blurred into a streak of motion, lunging at Zhang Jie.

“Is Zhu Changling mentally broken?”

Zhang Jie frowned, recalling how Zhu Changling had just been pleading and reasonable,

then flipped his attitude instantly over a single word.

But Zhang Jie quickly understood.

Zhu Changling had lived alone on this stone platform for three years—his mind was surely fractured.

After all, humans are social creatures; even if one grows used to solitude, prolonged isolation breaks the spirit.

In 21st-century military training, the most terrifying punishment wasn’t running, frog jumps, or pull-ups—it was solitary confinement in a black cell.

No matter how rebellious or strong-willed a soldier, ten or twelve days in a black cell would break him completely.

The most terrifying punishment in 21st-century military training is not running, frog jumps, or pull-ups, but solitary confinement in a dark room.

The next instant, Zhu Changling flew backward with the same speed he’d charged forward,

slamming hard into the cliff face, dislodging loose stones.

“How is this possible? How can you have such profound inner power!”

Zhu Changling slumped against the cliff, muttering in disbelief.

His once-certain strike had been shattered by Zhang Jie’s casual punch—like dry grass before a storm.

Had he not instinctively raised his internal energy to shield himself in retreat, he’d already been grievously wounded.

How could Zhu Changling, who had always considered himself equal to the masters of Emei and Kongtong, accept this?

“Master Zhu, the times have changed.”

Zhang Jie slowly lowered his fist stance and spoke calmly.

In this world, let alone a transmigrator like him with a golden finger and a cheat,

a once-in-a-century fate-blessed child—Zhang Wuji—was about to emerge.

Before the fate-blessed Zhang Wuji, everyone else—save himself and Zhang Sanfeng, the previous generation’s chosen one—

were nothing but stepping stones, weak chickens and brittle dogs.

Zhu Changling, a minor second-rank martial artist with a modicum of fame, couldn’t even squeeze into the final round.

Before the destiny-chosen Zhang Wuji, only this cheat and Zhang Sanfeng, the previous-generation destiny-chosen,

Having finished his mockery, Zhang Jie cleanly thrust his sword, sending Zhu Changling to join his daughter, sworn brother, and nephew.

Oh, and one niece—Wu Lie’s daughter, Wu Qingying.

“Families should be complete, after all!”

Looking at Zhu Changling’s corpse and the three graves he’d dug, Zhang Jie nodded in satisfaction.

Cut the grass but leave the roots, and the wind will bring it back.

Though he no longer feared revenge from Zhu or Wu descendants—he already had his golden finger—

why not solve all problems at once, simply and efficiently?

No matter how much effort it took, trouble was trouble—the less, the better.

After disposing of Zhu Changling, a minor nuisance, Zhang Jie turned to his real task.

Soon, he found a hidden passage leading to the Kunlun Valley on the stone platform.

“Damn it—if Zhu Changling hadn’t chased him relentlessly three years ago,

Zhang Wuji probably never would’ve found this entrance.”

Zhang Jie studied the “entrance,” recalling a primary school lesson from before his transmigration: “Yan Zi’s Mission to Chu.”

“The Chu people, seeing Yan Zi was short, built a small gate beside the main gate to receive him.

Yan Zi refused to enter. ‘One enters through the dog gate when visiting a dog country. I am here on a mission to Chu—I should not enter through this gate.’”

This wasn’t a cave—it was clearly a dog hole!

“Zhu Changling was a useless fool.

He’d been here three years and never thought to widen the passage.

He deserved to choke to death in it!”

Zhang Jie mentally dragged Zhu Changling out again and whipped him mercilessly.

“Enough. The Nine Yang Divine Art and the Kunlun Secret Realm come first!”

Zhang Jie gritted his teeth and bent low, crawling into the hole.

“Deng Ai, who secretly crossed Yinping and destroyed Shu Han, once said well:

‘Being born lowly isn’t shameful—true men bend and stretch as needed!’”

Zhang Jie told himself this as he crawled.

After advancing over a hundred meters through the winding tunnel, he reached an unnaturally narrow bend.

“This must be the spot from the original story where Zhu Changling got stuck and died.”

Zhang Jie stared at the passage—more a crack than a tunnel—and thought.

“Good thing I prepared.”

Zhang Jie smiled faintly. A series of *click-click* sounds echoed as his tall, sturdy frame shrank to less than five feet—like Wu Dalang from the Water Margin world.

Knowing the path to the Kunlun Valley had a section too narrow for anyone over twelve or thirteen,

Zhang Jie had prepared in advance—he’d specifically sought out a disguise and bone-shrinking technique from Wudang’s scripture hall.

The technique, “Thousand Changes,” was acquired by Wudang’s founder Zhang Sanfeng decades ago

after killing a killer known as the Thousand Faces Lord.

The Thousand Faces Lord excelled in disguise and bone-shrinking—he could mimic old men, children, women, and men flawlessly.

He often disguised himself as the weak to lure experts into lowering their guard, then struck.

Legend said he’d killed several top-tier martial artists in his time.

This scripture, "Thousand Mechanisms Transformation," was obtained by Wudang's founder Zhang Sanfeng many years ago,

after slaying a killer known as the Thousand Faces Lord.

The Thousand Faces Lord excelled in disguise and bone-shrinking, perfectly mimicking the elderly, children, women, and men alike.

He often disguised himself as a weakling to lull experts into complacency, then launched a surprise attack.

It is said that even several top-tier experts perished in his hands back then!

And with Zhang Jie’s superior talent, this martial art surpassed even its original form.

Even if the Thousand-Faced Lord were to return from the dead, he could not match Zhang Jie’s mastery of bone-shrinking.

Still, he needed to rely on various cosmetics, medicines,

and human-skin masks—Zhang Jie’s research had not gone very deep.

First, because Zhang Jie, as a man of yang vigor, had no habit of applying powder or rouge.

Second, wearing human-skin masks struck Zhang Jie as deeply unsettling.

“Eating their flesh, sleeping on their skin” was merely a metaphor for the depth of hatred.

Those who actually did such things were no different from Uncle Ba, who said,

“Bring your own ginger, garlic, and scallions when you go out—don’t make it hard for Uncle Ba,” or

“Wash yourself before you leave—don’t make Uncle Ba too hard to handle.”

Zhang Jie considered himself no saint, but certainly not a pervert.

As Zhang Jie walked through the narrow passage, he found it resembled the Peach Blossom Spring described by Tao Yuanming:

At first it was extremely narrow, barely wide enough for one person. After walking several dozen steps, it opened up suddenly into brightness.

Stepping out of the cave, Zhang Jie saw a valley before him.

The valley was surrounded by towering mountains, as if untouched by human feet since ancient times.

Around it rose endless snow-capped peaks piercing the clouds, their terrain steep and impossible to climb.

Inside, the valley was carpeted with lush green grass, blooming flowers, and heavy with fruit—like a paradise on earth.

The valley’s climate was mild, sharply contrasting the freezing cold outside.

“Truly, it is a paradise on earth.”

Gazing at the intoxicating scenery, Zhang Jie marveled, his spirit refreshed and uplifted.

Following a small stream, Zhang Jie ventured deeper into the valley.

Along the way, he discovered not only wild fruits and fish,

but also monkeys, red deer, and other creatures—teeming with life.

At the end of the stream, Zhang Jie saw a structure clearly built by human hands—a thatched cottage.

“I never expected Wu Jie to have such skills—excellent, excellent.”

After studying it closely for a few moments, Zhang Jie praised Zhang Wuji’s craftsmanship endlessly.

He had originally planned to live outdoors here for some time.

But then Zhang Jie thought again: Zhang Wuji had lived for over a decade on the Ice-Fire Island with his parents, Zhang Cuishan and

Yin Susu, and his foster father Xie Xun, in this desolate place,

so it was no surprise he had learned to build a thatched cottage through constant exposure.