Chapter Twenty-Three: Unexpected Turn

“What orders do you have, young hero?” the Skinny Monkey hurried over at Yuan Ye’s summons, asking respectfully.

Yuan Ye said, “I want to know—what kind of men are these two brothers usually? Have they ever slaughtered the innocent or committed any truly heinous acts?”

Hearing this, the Skinny Monkey’s bright eyes rolled twice over the two brothers, Big Bear and Second Bear, before he answered triumphantly, “Young hero, Big Bear and Second Bear were brought back by the chieftain three years ago, when he was out raiding. They have great appetites and are fierce fighters, so the chieftain made them leaders.”

“Every time there’s a fight, they’re sent to the front, but they always end up killing only those penniless bodyguards and martial escorts. The rich lords and wealthy merchants’ daughters are always snatched by Mad Wolf, the other leader.”

“That’s why not many people want to follow Big Bear and Second Bear. Normally, they don’t kill unless they’re eating or looking for a fight—they haven’t done any real evil.”

After listening, Yuan Ye pondered for a moment before turning to Second Bear. “How did you end up in this mountain stronghold? Why don’t you kill ordinary people?”

Second Bear glared and answered, “The chieftain promised us meat every day—what’s the point of killing those folks? None of them can withstand a single punch from me.”

“Alright, for that answer alone, I’ll let you go. From now on, you’re both my men,” Yuan Ye said with a laugh.

He found himself liking these brothers—warlike but not wantonly murderous. Not bad, he thought. They’d serve well in the future.

He quickly gagged both of them again and tossed them into a corner.

Motioning to the Skinny Monkey, Yuan Ye asked, “Skinny Monkey, do you know what martial arts your chieftain practices?”

The Skinny Monkey replied, “Young hero, I only know the chieftain likes to keep snakes and is skilled with poisons. I don’t know anything else. Usually, I just guard the hostages—I don’t go out with him.”

Yuan Ye frowned and walked over to remove the gag from Big Bear’s mouth. “Big Bear, do you know what martial arts your chieftain is skilled in?”

Big Bear replied, “The chieftain rarely shows his skills. All we know is he practices a set of fist techniques and uses an iron staff. That’s all.”

Getting nothing useful, Yuan Ye gagged Big Bear again, then left the underground cavern with the Skinny Monkey.

Once outside, Yuan Ye saw that the sky was glittering with stars and moon—already past midnight, perhaps one or two in the morning.

In the cool, silvery moonlight, he realized they’d emerged halfway up the mountain; the exit was surrounded on three sides by cliffs, with only one path leading down to the valley below.

Scattered houses lay below—a bandit stronghold built in the valley. The place was silent, the bandits deep in sleep. Only at the valley’s mouth did a few torches burn.

There were two watchtowers flanking the main gate, and with his keen eyesight, Yuan Ye could make out two drowsy bandit sentries atop them.

It was late autumn, and the mountain air was biting. A cold wind swept through, and without his inner energy to protect him, Yuan Ye shivered.

He beckoned to the Skinny Monkey and whispered, “Come, lead the way to your chieftain’s quarters.”

Following the Skinny Monkey, they wound their way down to the valley, carefully avoiding the sentries’ gaze, and arrived at a secluded courtyard.

Hiding beneath a tree, Yuan Ye surveyed the scene. It was clear the chieftain took his security seriously—even in the heart of his stronghold, fast asleep at midnight, there were men patrolling with swords and sabers at each corner and at the gate.

Yuan Ye ordered the Skinny Monkey to hide, then slipped toward the courtyard himself. The patrols were ordinary men—unlike martial artists, they weren’t particularly alert and failed to notice him approach.

From ten yards away, Yuan Ye snatched two pebbles from the ground and flicked them like lightning. With two soft thuds, the drowsy bandits dropped where they stood.

Circling the courtyard, Yuan Ye dispatched the remaining four guards in similar fashion—a hidden weapon technique he’d learned from his seventh senior brother, Mo Shenggu, whose skill in such arts was unmatched among the Seven Heroes of Wudang.

With the sentries dealt with, Yuan Ye approached the door. It wasn’t locked—he pushed it open without a sound.

But as his eyes narrowed, he retreated at once, wary of traps. He decided not to enter through the door, but to climb the wall instead.

After all, wasn’t that what they always did in the shows?

It’s always in moments of overconfidence that disaster strikes, when one falls into some inexplicable trap. With a smirk, Yuan Ye grabbed a steel saber, vaulted lightly over the wall, and landed softly in the yard.

He tiptoed to the bedroom door, paused, and listened intently.

After several breaths, he heard the steady, faint sound of snoring and relaxed. He gently pushed the door.

Creak…

The door opened with a soft groan. The moment it was open a crack, Yuan Ye surged inside, saber aimed straight at the bed—executing the Mysterious Blade Technique.

But the moment he stepped in, his eyes shrank and his face darkened—his heart skipped a beat.

“This old fox—such cunning! Once again, my wits have been utterly outmatched,” Yuan Ye cursed inwardly as he surveyed the room.

The chieftain wasn’t lying in bed at all, but crouched in a strange posture in the middle of the room—legs bent, hands on the floor, chest puffed up as if filled with air.

A pair of bulging eyes stared intently at Yuan Ye, full of smug satisfaction. Clearly, he had anticipated everything.

Looking at that bizarre stance, and the way his throat swelled and issued a faint “gugu” sound, Yuan Ye’s mind was awash with wild frustration.

Damn it all… To run into this troublesome technique! So this is the dreadful poison that blocked both my inner power and chakra.

Realizing at last what the chieftain was using, Yuan Ye was alarmed, but in critical moments, a trained martial artist’s instincts take over.

His toes pressed the floor as he sprang back, saber drawn to guard, left hand raised for defense.

As Yuan Ye retreated, there was a thunderous crash—the chieftain shattered the floor beneath him and shot forward like an arrow loosed from a bow, ramming into Yuan Ye just as he reached the door.

Bang!

With a loud crash, Yuan Ye took the chieftain’s double palm strike full on the chest and was hurled against the courtyard wall. He slammed into it with a tremendous thud before sliding to the ground.

Blood spurted from his mouth, pain twisting his features. Yet inwardly, he was grateful: “If not for my master’s teachings in redirecting force, that palm would have crushed me. Lacking inner strength to defend myself, how else could I have survived?”

He glared at the chieftain, now crouched again in his toad-like stance, and thought, “That was close—almost seriously injured. My luck’s been rotten lately: running into Wei Yixiao yesterday was bad enough, but tonight I meet a disciple of the Western Venom!”

At the sight of the familiar posture and after feeling that collision, Yuan Ye was sure: the chieftain was using the “Toad Skill,” the secret technique of Ouyang Feng, the Western Venom, from a hundred years ago.

“So I’ve been poisoned by snakes. Who would have thought Ouyang Feng’s venomous arts and snake-keeping skills would survive all these years?” Yuan Ye mused.

The chieftain's voice rang out coldly, “Boy, you’re not simple. You must have woken up on the road today. Last night, my twin silver snakes used up all their venom to knock you out. I knew then I’d invited big trouble.”

Yuan Ye, still recalling Ouyang Feng’s legendary exploits, was momentarily stunned by these words. “If you knew, why didn’t you just kill me?”

“Because I need your inner cultivation method,” the chieftain replied.

“I see! That explains why your attacks are so weak—you know only the outer techniques, not the profound inner arts,” Yuan Ye realized.

He had wondered—this chieftain, though a top-tier third-rate fighter and acting with full advantage, using the formidable Toad Skill, had only lightly injured him, when he’d only managed to block part of the attack. Now it all made sense: the chieftain possessed Ouyang Feng’s Toad Skill and Poison Sutra, but lacked the crucial inner cultivation. That’s why his style was so crude and incomplete.

“Thank heaven he doesn’t have the full Toad Skill. With his cunning, he’d be another Western Venom,” Yuan Ye thought, secretly relieved.

The chieftain, still crouched in attack posture, raised his head slightly and said, “Well, boy, now you have no inner strength left—you’re no match for me. You’ve avenged yourself by killing three of my men. Just hand over your inner cultivation method, and I’ll let you go.”

He did not realize the Bear brothers were still alive. Evidently, he’d witnessed the Skinny Monkey’s deception and the brothers’ actions, yet did nothing.

This thought sent a chill through Yuan Ye’s heart.

“What deep scheming! To reach his goal, he cares nothing for his men’s lives, nor does he want anyone to know he possesses the Toad Skill. No matter what, I can’t hand over Wudang’s inner cultivation method. Even if I did, he’d probably kill me to keep the secret. I’ll have to play along for now,” Yuan Ye thought, masking his feelings.

After a pause, he hesitated. “How do I know you’ll let me go once you have my inner cultivation method?”

Seeing the doubt on Yuan Ye’s face, the chieftain was elated. He’d feigned ignorance of Yuan Ye’s awakening earlier, not wanting word to spread.

Though only a third-rate fighter, he’d roamed the martial world for years and had a keen eye. This youth, so young yet already at second-rate level—remarkable! He’d known at once that Yuan Ye must be a core disciple of a great sect, which was why he acted with such caution.

Now, having lured Yuan Ye here alone, with everything under his control, he was determined: once he had the cultivation method, he’d slaughter every soul in the stronghold, then vanish into the mountains. Once he’d mastered the skill, he’d fear no one—not even a disciple from a great sect.

Of course, plans are often thwarted by fate. He had underestimated Yuan Ye in the end.