Chapter 86

Though her heart churned with countless thoughts, Misty Master’s expression remained utterly calm:

“What secret is there between the Yi Tian Sword and the Tu Long Dao? How could I possibly know?”

Seeing Misty Master’s refusal to admit anything, Zhang Jie smiled faintly:

“Legend has it that a hundred years ago, when the Mongol iron cavalry swept across the land,

Guo Jing and his wife, defenders of Xiangyang—the southern gate of the Great Song—sought to leave future generations hope to resist the Yuan court,

specifically sought out the Divine Condor Hero Yang Guo, and obtained from him the Black Iron Heavy Sword,

which, combined with western white gold and the essence of a hundred metals, was forged into the Yi Tian Sword and the Tu Long Dao.”

“Ah!”

Zhou Zhiruo, suddenly hearing this secret, clapped her cherry lips with her hands and gasped.

“Brother Zhang Jie, with the Yuan court’s power, wouldn’t just having the Yi Tian Sword and Tu Long Dao be useless?”

Zhou Zhiruo’s eyes were filled entirely with thirst for knowledge.

With Zhou Zhiruo as his perfect foil, Zhang Jie felt a surge of delight and continued his revelation:

“Naturally—the Yuan court had hundreds of thousands of iron cavalry; two divine weapons meant little.

But these two weapons are keys—inside them are hidden the divine scriptures: the Nine Yin True Classic, the Eighteen Dragon-Subduing Palms,

and most importantly—the military treatise left by Yue Wumu: the Wu Mu Legacy!

“Yue Wumu!”

Hearing that name, Zhou Zhiruo was stunned again.

She had never heard of the Nine Yin True Classic or other scriptures, but Yue Wumu’s name rang like a bell—

the Jin people’s famous saying, “It is easier to shake a mountain than to shake Yue’s army,” was known throughout the land.

“Master, is what Brother Zhang Jie says true?”

Zhou Zhiruo turned to Misty Master for confirmation.

After hearing Zhang Jie’s revelation, Misty Master’s face darkened as if it could drip with ink,

yet she knew this secret could no longer be concealed,

and Zhou Zhiruo was already her chosen successor to lead Emei—so she nodded:

“Yes.”

“So that’s why the Tu Long Dao commands ‘all under heaven to obey’—because of this.”

Zhou Zhiruo understood: divine weapons were only effective against ten or a hundred men, but if one obtained the Wu Mu Legacy,

trained an army like Yue’s, it would be an army of ten thousand, even a hundred thousand!

Only then could one command all under heaven and make none dare defy!

“Boy, have your Wudang sect uncovered clues to the Tu Long Dao?”

Misty Master stared at Zhang Jie and asked.

Hmm—she still didn’t believe Zhang Jie had found these secrets himself.

Zhang Jie was under twenty, beardless, inexperienced.

But if that hundred-year-old Daoist had uncovered something, that would make sense.

“Misty Master, please look.”

Zhang Jie unslung the bundle on his back and untied the rope:

“The Tu Long Dao is right here.”

Zhou Zhiruo and Misty Master stared closely—they saw a blade, plain and unadorned, black and utterly unremarkable in appearance,

yet engraved with dragon patterns, lying quietly within Zhang Jie’s bundle.

Zhang Jie picked up the Tu Long Dao and gave it a slight shake; Zhou Zhiruo and Misty Master saw faint strange light shimmering beneath the blade’s surface.

“Brother Zhang Jie, you’re amazing—you actually got your hands on the Tu Long Dao!”

Zhou Zhiruo’s attention wasn’t on the Tu Long Dao at all—her gaze toward Zhang Jie glowed with admiration.

The instant she saw the Tu Long Dao, Misty Master’s eyes flickered:

“Should I seize the Tu Long Dao right here?”

With her rank as a top-tier martial artist, taking down Zhang Jie—a mere third-generation Wudang disciple—should be effortless, right?

“Will my lifelong wish finally be fulfilled?”

Misty Master’s heart surged wildly; a voice within seemed to urge her:

“Seize Zhang Jie, obtain the Tu Long Dao, extract the scriptures, and make Emei dominate the Jianghu!”

Yet reason held her back: Zhang Jie was no wandering martial artist without ties—

behind him stood one of the two supreme sects of the Jianghu: Wudang!

She wasn’t afraid of Song Yuanqiao and the other second-generation disciples once she had the Nine Yin True Classic and other scriptures—but what of that hundred-year-old Daoist?

He was the true invincible master of the land for six decades, a peerless martial patriarch who had crushed all opponents!

Only because he still lived did he not rank among the immortals like Shaolin’s Bodhidharma

or the Daoist Pure Yang Zi—figures worthy of being enshrined in the Immortal Records!

Zhang Jie seemed oblivious to Misty Master’s shifting, dangerous, then calm gaze, and spoke calmly:

“We can each make a copy of the Nine Yin True Classic and other scriptures. What do you think, Misty Master?”

“Master~”

Zhou Zhiruo tugged at Misty Master’s sleeve, pleading.

Having lived with her master day and night,

she knew her master was not as heartless and emotionless as the world claimed,

yet faced with the temptation to strengthen Emei, she did not know whether her master would commit an unforgivable act.

But here, one was her master, the other the man she loved—

if either were harmed, she would regret it for life.

“Enough.”

Faced with Zhang Jie’s formidable backing and her beloved disciple’s plea,

Misty Master decided to abandon the temptation of seizing Zhang Jie and monopolizing the scriptures.

Besides, Zhang Jie carried the Tu Long Dao—over a hundred catties heavy—yet handled it as if it were a straw,

showing her that Zhang Jie was no reckless fool,

and that his bold journey to Emei must have been backed by some hidden strength.

Misty Master unfastened the Yi Tian Sword from her waist—never parted from her side:

“Boy, I accept your idea of sharing the scriptures between our sects.

But I have one condition—you must agree to it.”

“Oh?”

Zhang Jie became interested; if he could trade one or two conditions, he was willing—

after all, Zhang Jie had always been a refined and easygoing man.

He had only resorted to the Zhu Wu Linked Mountain Villa out of necessity.

He spoke slowly: “Misty Master, state your condition—I will not refuse if it lies within my power.”

“This condition is simple for you.”

Misty Master glanced at Zhou Zhiruo, who seemed ready to melt into Zhang Jie:

“My condition is that from now on, you must never see Zhiruo again!”

My condition is that from now on, you can never meet Zhiruo again!

Zhou Zhiruo stared in disbelief—her master was breaking up her happiness.

“Master, this cannot be! Zhang Jie and I are truly in love!

Please, Master, don’t tear us apart!”

Zhou Zhiruo’s nose crinkled, tears falling like broken pearls as she pleaded desperately.

Misty Master’s face remained icy, unmoved:

“Zhiruo, you are Emei’s future leader—you cannot be entangled with a man from another sect!”

“I’ll give up being the leader!”

Zhou Zhiruo immediately prepared to renounce her position as Emei’s leader.

Zhou Zhiruo immediately prepared to relinquish her position as leader of the Emei Sect.

Misty Master’s eyebrows shot up—she had never imagined her beloved disciple would abandon the sect that had raised her for a man.

“Misty Master, you’ve gone too far.”

Zhang Jie sighed, drawing the tear-streaked Zhou Zhiruo into his arms.

Zhang Jie sighed and pulled Zhou Zhiruo, weeping like pear blossoms in the rain, into his arms.

I am acting for Emei’s future—a hundred-year plan! It is not excessive!”

Misty Master dismissed it.

“Misty Master, are you choosing to sever ties with Wudang?”

Facing Misty Master, determined to break up the lovers, Zhang Jie sighed.

“You, a mere third-generation disciple, are not enough to make Wudang sever ties with Emei!”

You, a mere third-generation disciple, are not enough to cause Mount Wudang to break ties with my Mount Emei!

“It would be more plausible if your senior brother Song Qingshu came to take his place!” Master Miejue said coldly.

Zhang Jie sneered: “Then what about Sister Ji Xiaofu?”

At the mention of Ji Xiaofu, Master Miejue’s heart skipped a beat, but she still retorted:

“Xiaofu? What does this have to do with Xiaofu?”

“It seems Master Miejue wants me to reveal everything.”

Zhang Jie’s face grew even colder: “What do you think of the name Yang Buhui?”

Zhang Jie sneered: “Buhui?

Hah! If Ji Xiaofu did this, where does that leave Wudang?”

Ji Xiaofu’s love affair with Yang Xiao, the Bright Left Messenger of the Ming Cult, was not in itself scandalous.

After all, although the female disciples of Emei dressed as nuns,

Emei was not a nunnery and did not observe the Buddhist precepts.

Many of its female disciples found suitable husbands and left the mountain to marry.

But Ji Xiaofu was betrothed to Yin Liting, the Sixth Master of Wudang!

What is it when a woman with a betrothed husband bears a daughter with another man?

It is adultery!

By tradition, she should be drowned in a pig cage!

Worse still, she named her daughter Buhui to express her unwavering devotion to Yang Xiao—

This is not merely an insult to Wudang; it is tearing off Wudang’s face and grinding it into the dirt.

If Wudang did nothing after learning of this,

its disciples would surely be mocked throughout the Jianghu as green-haired turtles.