Chapter 12: Three Fleeting Years

Leisurely watching the flowers bloom and fall before the door, sitting quietly as clouds gather and disperse overhead—such scenes and sentiments have well matched the life that Wildfield has led these past three years.

For three years, Wildfield has secluded himself atop the mountain, diligently cultivating the Wudang Pure Yang Infinite Technique, his mind fixed solely on the promise of future happiness, with no other distractions.

Having lived his previous life steeped in countless classics, films, and dramas, he well understood that inner strength was the foundation of all things. Once one’s internal energy is robust, every punch and kick carries immense power, and weapons of every kind become tools easily wielded.

Aside from his daily practice, when idle, he would sit alone at the mountain’s peak, watching distant clouds drift over far-off hills, and wondering how his grandfather fared in that other world so far away.

Since Mo Shenggu discovered he was not difficult to get along with, he began visiting frequently. Together, they would roam the mountain, picking wild fruit, catching chickens, searching for spotted deer.

Later, when Wildfield revealed even a hint of the culinary skills honed through decades of solitary living in his past life, he completely won Mo Shenggu over. From then on, Mo Shenggu would often bring kitchen implements pilfered from the dining hall, and together they would venture into the back mountain in search of wild delicacies to cook.

Whenever they returned, the senior disciple would invariably catch them. Wildfield’s youth spared him from punishment, as Song Yuanqiao was reluctant to reprimand a child. But Mo Shenggu was always beaten until his backside bloomed, yet remained undeterred, tireless in his pursuit. Song Yuanqiao’s anger would flare, but ultimately he was helpless to stop them.

Time flowed gently and swiftly; Wildfield had now been in this world for five years. It had been three years since he began cultivating the Wudang Pure Yang Infinite Technique under his master’s guidance, and he had grown from a young child into a graceful youth of a meter and a half in height.

With ever-deepening internal energy, though he had not yet studied martial arts, his bearing was naturally dignified, like a mountain rising from the earth. Thus, while younger than the third-generation disciples of Wudang, none among them dared show him the slightest disrespect.

One day, Mo Shenggu, now fifteen, was sent down the mountain by Song Yuanqiao to seek experience in the outside world. Wildfield personally escorted him to the Sword Pavilion at the mountain gate, and the two reluctantly bid farewell.

Watching Mo Shenggu, dressed in coarse blue cloth and straw sandals, carrying his bundle and gradually receding into the distance, Wildfield turned and walked toward the mountain, bathed in morning light.

He had finally decided to begin training in martial arts.

Returning to the summit, Wildfield did not go to his own cottage, but instead turned onto the path to his master’s courtyard.

Knock, knock, knock...

“Master, your disciple asks to see you,” he called softly, rapping on the gate.

“Come in,” Zhang Sanfeng’s gentle voice replied.

Upon hearing this, Wildfield pushed open the gate and stepped inside.

His master was practicing boxing, still the same unfinished set from years ago, though now, compared to three years prior, the form was much more refined.

Wildfield had contributed to this progress, for while he did not grasp the deepest principles of martial arts, on occasion he could select a phrase or two from the ocean of knowledge and theories accumulated in his previous life, which often inspired Zhang Sanfeng to sudden insight, greatly accelerating the development of his boxing style.

After a cup of tea’s time, seeing his master finish his practice and stand at ease, Wildfield poured a cup of tea from the stone table and respectfully offered it, then said, “Master, I wish to begin learning the martial arts of the Wudang Sect.”

Zhang Sanfeng’s eyes shone with even greater satisfaction. For three years, his young disciple had devoted himself solely to cultivating inner strength—a choice most would not understand, but which Zhang Sanfeng greatly admired.

When he himself had studied under Abbot Jueyuan at Shaolin, he too had been single-minded in his cultivation of internal energy. Later, at Mt. Hua, he was fortunate enough to learn a fist technique, “Four Paths,” from the great hero Yang Guo, then a basic Shaolin boxing set from the iron-cast Arhat gifted by Lady Guo Xiang.

When Kunlun’s saint, He Zudao, challenged Shaolin, Zhang Sanfeng relied on his powerful internal energy, repeatedly employing just the “Four Paths” and the basic Shaolin boxing, so that He Zudao could not best him in ten moves, admitted inferiority to Shaolin, withdrew to the Western regions, and never set foot in the Central Plains again.

Thus, while others did not understand why Wildfield had spent three years without practicing other Wudang martial arts, Zhang Sanfeng could comprehend his disciple’s reasoning.

Now, hearing that Wildfield was ready to begin learning martial arts, he knew his disciple’s internal cultivation had certainly reached a mature stage.

With this in mind, Zhang Sanfeng reached out and grasped Wildfield’s wrist, channeling his own internal energy.

Wildfield was momentarily startled by his master’s sudden action, but his body instinctively responded, gathering his own energy for a counter.

As soon as their internal energies met—“Bang!”—the air around them crackled softly, force radiated outward, and dust and leaves flew.

A flash of astonishment crossed Zhang Sanfeng’s eyes. He released Wildfield’s wrist and exclaimed joyfully, “Excellent! You truly are a martial arts prodigy. To have reached such a level of internal strength in just three years—if word got out, it would put to shame those elders who require decades to achieve this!”

“It’s all thanks to your guidance, Master. I dare not claim credit,” Wildfield replied modestly, though his face betrayed a touch of pride.

Seeing his disciple’s “Go on, praise me more” expression, Zhang Sanfeng lightly slapped him and laughed, “You little monkey, do you think reaching the first rank is so remarkable? There’s still a long road ahead!”

Wildfield knew this well. He also knew that a century ago, the martial world had grandmasters—such as the Drunken Monk, who defeated Wang Chongyang and created the Nine Yang Manual. At that time, the Five Greats were all innate masters, and Wildfield suspected that the Five Greats, as well as Guo Jing and Yang Guo in their later years, had all approached the threshold of grandmastery.

Yet, surveying the current martial world, only his master Zhang Sanfeng had reached the innate stage. As for Shaolin’s Three Dhyana, Wildfield compared himself and found them merely on the verge of the innate realm.

Clearly, the martial world had declined greatly. Thus, Wildfield nodded seriously in rare earnestness at his master’s words.

Seeing his understanding, Zhang Sanfeng was gratified and said, “It is good that you understand. From now on, as you study martial arts, you may seek your senior brothers for instruction.”

Wildfield asked, “Master, whom should I seek first, and where should I begin?”

Zhang Sanfeng replied, “In martial arts, boxing and kicking are the foundation. You should first find Lianzhou to learn fist and foot techniques, for among Wudang’s boxing and kicking, Lianzhou is the foremost.”

Half an hour later, Wildfield left the courtyard and walked down the mountain path.

Today, he intended to visit Second Brother Yu Lianzhou and arrange a time to seek instruction in boxing and kicking.

After half an hour, Wildfield arrived at the mid-mountain area where Wudang disciples lived. This was a gentle slope beside the Purple Cloud Palace, with many courtyards built ascending from the base.

Passing the plaza outside Purple Cloud Palace, Wildfield saw Song Yuanqiao leading more than ten third-generation disciples in practicing the basic sword techniques of Wudang.

He didn’t disturb them, quietly skirting around from the back.

After walking a bit further, he came upon a cluster of identical courtyards. These belonged to the third-generation disciples—the last of their kind in Wudang, most of whom were Song Yuanqiao’s students. Now, all were away for morning practice, leaving the area empty.

Passing these, Wildfield continued upward, soon seeing several independent cottages scattered among the woods.

The lush, verdant forest was tranquil and elegant, birds chirped merrily, and squirrels occasionally leapt overhead from branch to branch. Walking along the woodland path, Wildfield’s earlier impatience gently eased into calm.

Before long, Wildfield reached a cottage with neatly stacked stone walls and an antique, graceful gate—everything revealed its owner to be a meticulous and exacting person.

Knock, knock, knock...

He gently knocked and called out, “Second Brother, are you there? Junior Wildfield asks to see you.”

There was a brief silence, then footsteps approached, and the gate creaked open. Standing there was a man in his thirties, whose stern demeanor and steady gaze marked him as Yu Lianzhou, Wildfield’s second senior brother.

Once inside, Yu Lianzhou invited him to sit, then asked, “Junior, are you here at Master’s behest?”

Wildfield replied, “Not exactly. I’ve come to seek martial arts instruction from you. Master said you are the best in boxing and kicking on Wudang Mountain, and sent me to learn from you.”

Hearing this, Yu Lianzhou’s serious face revealed a hint of a smile—clearly he was pleased by such praise from their master.

Yu Lianzhou said, “In that case, come again tomorrow after sunrise to study fist and foot techniques with me.”

Yu Lianzhou knew Wildfield needed to practice Wudang Pure Yang Infinite Technique at dawn, as he himself did. After expressing his thanks, Wildfield took his leave. Yu Lianzhou did not urge him to stay, and Wildfield wasn’t bothered, knowing his second brother was not skilled in social interaction.

Over the years on the mountain, Wildfield had found Yu Lianzhou to be the least talkative. Yet he also knew Yu Lianzhou, though stern and earnest, was warm-hearted and always helped his fellow disciples and Wudang members. He was composed, rational, steady, and calm, and his martial skills were the strongest among the brothers.

Thus, he was greatly valued by their master, and all of Wudang regarded him with deep respect.

After bidding farewell to Yu Lianzhou, Wildfield had just stepped outside when he saw a dignified, elegant woman, dressed as a matron, emerge from the opposite cottage, holding the hand of a child about four or five years old.

Wildfield recognized her immediately—she was Ling, wife of the senior disciple Song Yuanqiao. As for the child, it was Song Qingshu, who would one day betray Wudang and cause the death of Seventh Brother Mo Shenggu.

Yet at this moment, Song Qingshu showed no sign of future arrogance or jealous rage, only giggling as he ran circles around his mother, an innocent child.

“Junior, are you here to see Second Brother?” Ling asked with a smile as Wildfield approached. The little Song Qingshu, carved from jade, gazed at him with wide-eyed curiosity.

“Yes, Sister-in-law. I’ve just seen Second Brother. Are you taking Qingshu out?” Wildfield asked.

Ling replied, “Yesterday, Qingshu’s grandfather sent a servant up the mountain, saying he misses him. I’m preparing to take Qingshu to my family’s home in the valley for a few days.”

Wildfield had long learned from Mo Shenggu that Ling was originally the daughter of the Ling family in Shiyan at the foot of the mountain. Once, while the Ling family was traveling, they were attacked by bandits. In that crisis, Song Yuanqiao, then in his twenties and out seeking experience, drew his sword and drove the bandits away.

His gallant bearing won Miss Ling’s heart. The Ling family sought to ally themselves with Wudang, and after some time, Song Yuanqiao and Miss Ling became a couple.

Thus, Song Yuanqiao became the only brother to have started a family—aside from Fifth Brother Zhang Cuishan, who was far away on Ice and Fire Island.

Song Yuanqiao had delayed having children until nearly forty, as his martial arts were not yet mature. Now, Ling, in her thirties, had finally borne a child in her later years, and naturally doted on her only son.

It was no surprise to Wildfield that Song Qingshu would grow up proud and arrogant.

After a brief exchange, Ling and her son departed, and Wildfield turned toward another path, heading further up the mountain.

He had no intention of changing Song Qingshu’s fate.

Life is full of disappointments; how much can one control? At most, in the future, he would dispose of Chen Youliang ahead of time.