Chapter 48

“Rebuild the Xiaoyao Sect~”

After a moment of contemplation, Zhang Jie said:

“Let Mu Hua recall the other Seven Friends of Han Gu.”

“Besides, Master’s tomb also needs A San’s help.”

Feng Asan, known as the Master Craftsman, was a disciple who brought his own skills; he excelled in civil engineering and could dismantle traps.

Since Wuyaozi had passed on everything to Zhang Jie,

Zhang Jie naturally must see to his master’s funeral with proper grandeur.

What if this reveals to Ding Chunqiu that Wuyaozi had never truly died, prompting him to interfere?

Zhang Jie didn’t care: Ding Chunqiu was already on his death list.

If Ding Chunqiu dared leave the Starry Sea and come to the Central Plains,

Zhang Jie wouldn’t mind sending him to his grave years ahead of schedule, using his head to honor Wuyaozi.

“As the Sect Leader commands.”

Xue Muhua accepted the order with trembling excitement.

“Good, good.”

Feeling the confidence in Zhang Jie’s words, Su Xinghe stroked his beard and smiled.

Yet, thinking of the Eight Friends of Han Gu, Zhang Jie felt an odd pang of emotion.

Su Xinghe’s disciples were collectively known as the Eight Friends of Han Gu.

Besides the already-introduced physician Xue Muhua and craftsman Feng Asan, the other six were:

Kang Guangling (the Mad Melodist)—master of the qin, pure-hearted yet stubborn.

Fan Bailing (the Chess Demon)—expert in weiqi, wielding a magnetic chessboard as a weapon.

Gou Du (the Bookworm)—obsessed with books, well-versed in all schools of thought,

using the “Method of the Benevolent” to trigger Xuan Tong and attain sudden enlightenment and nirvana.

Wu Lingjun (the Painting Maniac)—skilled in ink painting.

Shi Qinglu (the Flower Fiend)—Master of Flower Cultivation, specializing in using pollen as a weapon.

Li Kuilei (the Drama Fanatic)—addicted to opera, sometimes dressing as Emperor Xuanzong of Tang,

sometimes as Princess Mei, fierce-tempered and unyielding even unto death.

What do these eight have in common?

Each of them possessed an extraordinary skill.

Their only flaw? None of these skills were martial arts.

Since the founding patriarch, Xiaoyaozi, the Xiaoyao Sect had upheld the tradition of mastering an art to refine one’s spirit, complementing martial cultivation.

By Wuyaozi’s time, his natural talent was extraordinary;

martial arts like Xiao Xiang Gong and Bei Ming Shen Gong posed no challenge to him.

In his spare time, he delved deeply into countless arcane arts—

mastering music, chess, calligraphy, painting, medicine, engineering, horticulture, and opera—all with equal brilliance.

Su Xinghe once said of him: “My master’s knowledge rivals heaven and earth;

what I have learned is but a ten-thousandth of his.”

Under Wuyaozi’s influence, Su Xinghe became a cultured youth.

And under Su Xinghe’s influence, the Eight Friends of Han Gu, immersed in this culture, became cultured youths themselves.

What was originally meant to be auxiliary arts for refining the spirit and aiding martial cultivation

had, ironically, become their primary focus.

Though each of the Eight Friends of Han Gu met the Xiaoyao Sect’s high standards for talent,

their obsession with music, chess, calligraphy, and painting consumed so much of their energy

that their martial arts, though not entirely abandoned, were merely passable.

Take Xue Muhua: according to Zhang Jie’s assessment, his martial skill barely reached second-rank.

And because he was obsessed with medicine, he lacked combat experience—

he likely couldn’t even defeat a third-rank specialist in fighting.

Here one must mention the man with a built-in sound system.

Qiao Feng, barely past thirty, possessed only first-rank internal energy,

yet with his innate heroic spirit and unrestrained nature, his natural warrior’s talent allowed him to match masters like Murong Bo and Xiao Yuanshan.

Back to the topic: the Eight Friends of Han Gu, lost in music, chess, calligraphy, and painting,

even combined, could not stand against Ding Chunqiu, who had pursued power by cultivating poison arts.

Zhang Jie found it hard to judge the Eight Friends’ behavior.

To criticize them for neglecting martial arts due to their arts?

You are not a fish—how can you know the joy of a fish?

For the Eight Friends of Han Gu, their arts were likely more important than their lives.

Yet the martial world remains one ruled by strength.

What is martial arts?

Just a horizontal and a vertical stroke!

The winner stands; the loser lies down. That’s all there is to it.

No one believes Qiao Feng could command the Beggar’s Sect solely through his charisma, do they?

Since the Eight Friends of Han Gu chose their arts,

they must bear the consequences of neglecting martial cultivation:

being hunted by Ding Chunqiu, living in constant fear, like rats in the dark.

“Younger brother, let’s move Master’s body out.”

Su Xinghe, unaware of Zhang Jie’s furious inner commentary on his disciples, suggested.

"Young brother, let’s move Master’s body out."

Zhang Jie nodded in assent.

This chamber held no sentimental value for Wuyaozi.

To him, it was a prison—a prison that had confined him for decades.

Though Wuyaozi never said so, he surely would not wish to remain here after death.

To him, this secret chamber was a prison, a prison that had confined him for decades.

Still choked with emotion, Su Xinghe gently lifted Wuyaozi’s body and walked slowly out of the chamber.

After leaving the chamber, Zhang Jie grew increasingly displeased with the place.

“It must be Master’s decades of resentment and bitterness that have tainted this place.”

Zhang Jie speculated.

Heaven and earth can influence people—for example, the saying that harsh mountains and cruel waters produce cunning folk.

This does not mean the people of such lands are inherently evil,

but that their harsh environment forces them to become “cunning.”

Just as those living by rivers, lakes, and seas cannot comprehend how those in deserts

value water resources.

In the 21st century, it was said that people in northern Shaanxi washed only three times in their lives:

once at birth, once at marriage, once at death.

It wasn’t that they disliked cleanliness—it was that water was too precious.

And people can also influence their environment.

Take the management of the Yellow River alone—it is a clear example of humans altering nature.

The people living on this land have long called the Yellow River their Mother River.

Yet this mother was never gentle; she often caused chaos—

floods, course changes, diverting into the Huai River, and so on.

Every dynasty treated Yellow River management as one of its most vital tasks.

The Yuan Dynasty was the best example of failing to manage it.

In a world devoid of Qi and magic, individual power is negligible compared to heaven and earth,

so individuals cannot directly alter the environment.

But in a world of transcendence, individuals can grow powerful enough to reshape their surroundings.

In the Sacred Ruins cultivation system, there are methods to breakthrough by leveraging special terrain,

yet the strongest Supreme Terrains are not naturally formed—they arise from the influence of Dao Ancestor-level beings.

Prisons where many die always feel dark and terrifying.

Wuyaozi was stronger than all the ordinary people in a small prison combined,

But were generated under the influence of a Dao Ancestor-level supreme being.

Prisons where people often die give off a chilling, terrifying aura,

Wu Yashu was stronger than all the mortals in the small prison combined,

His decades of resentment and anguish had transformed this secret chamber.

Any ordinary person who lived here would be plagued by nightmares every night, unable to sleep, their spirit weakening.

As Zhang Jie’s thoughts churned, his Northern Darkness True Qi surged through his body.

Xue Muhua, who had left the tunnel a dozen meters ahead of Zhang Jie,

Su Xinghe suddenly felt a massive stone pressing down on their hearts.

“Crash!”

Zhang Jie’s robes fluttered as his black hair whipped wildly under the force of his chaotic True Qi,

He slammed his palm against a weak spot in the tunnel wall.

Sssss~

The hard rock shattered like tofu beneath Zhang Jie’s palm print.

“Boom! Boom!”

Before Su Xinghe and Xue Muhua’s stunned, frozen gazes, the chamber collapsed entirely.

Dozens of boulders, weighing hundreds to thousands of jin, rolled down from the cliff face.

Amid the swirling dust, the chamber that had imprisoned Wu Yaizi for decades vanished completely.

“This… this…”

Xue Muhua was too shocked to speak.

How could such a feat of splitting mountains and shattering rocks be achieved by mere human strength?

He temporarily placed Wu Yaizi’s corpse beside the massive stone platform holding the Jade Puzzle,

On the stone bench, Su Xinghe instinctively plucked out several of his already thinning white whiskers.

“Even when Master was in perfect health, he never possessed such power, did he?”

Su Xinghe murmured to himself, staring in disbelief at the almost mythical scene before him.

“This chamber was Master’s place of sorrow,

Today, let it return to dust with him.”

Zhang Jie brushed his sleeve, settling the dust, and spoke calmly.

“Mm.”

Su Xinghe and Xue Muhua nodded mechanically.

Unable to fathom any explanation, Su Xinghe ultimately attributed this spectacle to

Wu Yaizi’s continued cultivation progress over the years, and Zhang Jie’s extraordinary talent.

But Xue Muhua’s heart burned with excitement:

With a sect leader like Zhang Jie, seemingly divine, how could vengeance remain unfulfilled? How could the Xiaoyao Sect fail to flourish?