Chapter Fifty-Three: The Centennial Banquet that Astonished the World (Conclusion)

Abbot Kongwen saw Zhang Cuishan step forward, joined his palms, recited a Buddhist blessing, and then asked, "Indeed. There is a matter we wish to consult with you, Fifth Hero Zhang. My senior brother, Master Kongjian, was a compassionate and virtuous man, never contending with others, yet he was cruelly murdered by Xie Xun, the Golden-Haired Lion King. I have heard that you know the whereabouts of that man named Xie. I ask you to reveal it."

For the past ten years, Shaolin and Wudang had accused each other of harming their disciples, creating a deep rift that was well known among the martial world.

Now, hearing Abbot Kongwen omit mention of anything else and directly inquire about Xie Xun’s whereabouts, the gathered martial heroes all thought to themselves, “How hypocritical these Shaolin monks are, caring only for the Dragon-Slaying Saber in Xie Xun’s hands and not the lives of their ordinary disciples.”

While the other martial factions could barely hold their tongues since it was not their business, the three chief bodyguards—Qi Tianbiao of Jinling’s Tiger Den Escort Agency, Yun He of Taiyuan’s Jinyang Escort Agency, and Guan Jiuji of the Yan Yun Escort Agency in the capital—could not bear it.

Since the day they were ejected from Zixiao Hall by Zhao Fan, their names had become widely known in the jianghu—though not for anything good.

Seeing Qi Tianbiao and Yun He nod slightly at him, Guan Jiuji stood up and said, “Greetings, Grandmaster Kongwen. Does the venerable master still recall the massacre of the Longmen Escort Agency ten years ago?”

His words, spoken with deep resentment, were rather impolite.

Yet Master Kongwen remained placid and not the least angered. In a gentle tone, he replied, “You must be Chief Guan of Yan Yun Escort Agency in the capital. The chief of Longmen, Du Dajin, was a lay disciple of Shaolin. I recall well the tragedy ten years ago when the entire Longmen Escort Agency was wiped out, and several Shaolin disciples perished alongside them.”

“The murderer was clearly Zhang Cuishan of Wudang. Why does the master not mention this, but only ask about Xie Xun? Does the life of a Shaolin disciple matter less than the Dragon-Slaying Saber?” As Guan Jiuji spoke these words, the hall fell so silent that the sound of breathing could be heard.

“Insolence! Who are you to question how the abbot conducts himself?” Suddenly, Grandmaster Kongzhi shouted. Though he was small and thin, his voice boomed like a great bell, making everyone’s ears ring.

Guan Jiuji, caught unawares, staggered back several steps before being supported by his disciples, chest tight and unable to utter another word.

“Amitabha,” Abbot Kongwen once again joined his palms and intoned a Buddhist blessing before saying, “Chief Guan, it is not that I do not inquire about that matter. But as it involves much deeper issues, I have been reluctant to speak of it here. Now, however, it seems I cannot but address it.”

He went on to recount, in detail, the tale he had heard from Yuanye about the Vajra Sect of the Western Regions submitting to the Mongol Yuan court and their plot to incite war between Shaolin and Wudang. The deaths at Longmen Escort Agency and those of the Shaolin monks were, as Yuanye intended, attributed to the Mongol Yuan court.

Standing in the middle of the hall, Zhang Cuishan’s expression was odd. He glanced furtively at Yuanye and saw him gently shake his head; the look of shame on Zhang’s face deepened, yet he said nothing.

Abbot Kongwen assumed he was feeling guilty for not saving the escort agents and Shaolin monks all those years ago and offered words of comfort.

Zhang Cuishan, however, was wracked with guilt—torn between the truth and his loyalty to his wife and son. In this inner turmoil, he could only remain silent.

“Ha! These villains are truly insidious. So even my Heavenly Eagle Cult has been used as their tool without knowing it!” Yin Tianzheng cursed angrily.

No one in the martial world had imagined that the sudden appearance of the Dragon-Slaying Saber years ago was a plot by the Mongol Yuan court, meant to sow chaos in the jianghu and eradicate the martial artists of the Central Plains. All now railed against the Mongols’ sinister machinations.

But few mentioned the Vajra Sect of the Western Regions; after all, in the jianghu, aside from fools like Xihuazi of the Kunlun Sect, everyone was cunning. The Vajra Sect had been founded by Shaolin traitors and practiced Shaolin martial arts; to curse them would be to curse Shaolin itself.

After a long while, the commotion subsided. Abbot Kongwen once again asked, “Since you know Xie Xun’s whereabouts, Fifth Hero Zhang, I beg you to reveal it. We seek only to resolve our old grievance for Kongjian, not out of greed for the Dragon-Slaying Saber.”

Though he spoke with apparent sincerity, no one in the martial world could truly believe him. With a weapon as legendary as the Dragon-Slaying Saber, who would willingly give up such power?

Zhang Cuishan spoke loudly, “Master Kongwen, the passing of Master Kongjian brought grief to all under heaven. Yet the Golden-Haired Lion King is my sworn brother, our bond sealed in blood. I will not hide it from you—I did know where he was. But we of the martial community hold righteousness above all. My head may fall and my blood spill, but I will never betray my sworn brother’s whereabouts.”

“This matter involves only me, not my master nor my fellow disciples. If you wish to force me unto death, then do so. Never in my life have I brought shame to my sect or killed an innocent. If you insist on compelling me to betray righteousness, I can only die.” His words were calm and resolute, his face radiating integrity.

Abbot Kongwen murmured, “Amitabha,” and thought, “His words seem true. But how should this be resolved?”

Standing beside Yin Tianzheng, Yin Susu grew anxious upon hearing Zhang Cuishan’s reply, just as Yuanye had predicted. She turned to Yuanye, her eyes brimming with pleading.

Yuanye, seeing her look so lost, gave a slight nod. Then he rose and walked into the center of the hall.

The crowd, watching his every move, feared he might resort to force.

Ignoring them, Yuanye approached Zhang Sanfeng and bowed, “Master, may I handle this matter on behalf of Wudang today?”

Zhang Sanfeng’s expression relaxed at his words. He too was torn—between the morality of the jianghu and the safety of his beloved disciple. Hearing Yuanye’s request, he immediately knew his young disciple must have a plan, so he nodded, “You may handle it as you see fit. I will not interfere.”

“Master Kongwen is a venerable elder. Surely you would not force my fifth brother to betray righteousness?” Yuanye addressed Abbot Kongwen in a clear voice.

“Amitabha. I know that righteousness comes first to those of the martial world. I would not wish to force Brother Zhang. But for the sake of my senior Kongjian, and the many lives lost to Xie Xun’s crimes, I have no choice. I beg your forgiveness.”

Yuanye replied, “Master, your virtue is beyond reproach. I would not dare blame you. But have you considered that my fifth brother is not the only one who knows Xie Xun’s whereabouts?”

A stir swept through the crowd. “What does Young Master Yuan mean? Has Fifth Hero Zhang already told the grandmaster and the Wudang heroes of Xie Xun’s whereabouts?” Abbess Miejue asked anxiously.

Yuanye said, “Abbess, you misunderstand. My fifth brother is a true gentleman; he would never betray Xie Xun’s trust to our sect. Aside from him, no one in Wudang knows Xie Xun’s whereabouts. If you or any others doubt me, do you mistrust the sword in my hand?”

His double-edged words silenced the crowd. Who would dare question the man whose sword had brought so many to their graves? Those who did were already long dead.

“Then what do you mean, Young Master Yuan?” Abbot Kongwen asked.

Yuanye answered, “Master, my fifth brother is not alone in this world!”

All eyes turned, lighting upon the mother and son, Yin Susu and her child, in the corner. The predatory looks made Wuji hide behind his mother in fear.

Yin Susu’s face changed. “Does he mean to sacrifice himself?” she thought. But then she saw her husband’s gaze fixed not on her, but on Wuji, filled with pain and love.

So clever, she immediately guessed the truth, and grabbed her father’s arm to keep him from acting rashly.

Yin Tianzheng too thought Wudang would sacrifice his daughter to save Zhang Cuishan. His white brows bristled as he prepared to confront them. But Yin Susu quietly shook her head, eyes imploring him, and he restrained himself.

“Wuji, come to your eighth uncle,” Yuanye called.

Wuji looked to his mother and grandfather; his mother nodded slightly, so he bravely walked over and called out, “Eighth Uncle.”

Yuanye took Wuji’s hand, “Good boy. Look, there are so many people here. Some want to kill your godfather for revenge, some want the Dragon-Slaying Saber in his hand. It seems there’s no way your godfather can survive.”

His blunt words made the faces of all but those with a true vendetta against Xie Xun visibly change. Some, cunning and thick-skinned, even put on a show of righteous indignation.

“No! I don’t want godfather to die. I want him to live. Eighth Uncle, you’re so powerful, none of them can defeat you. Please, save my godfather!” Wuji clung to Yuanye, crying.

The crowd, unmoved at first by a child’s pleas, now grew pale at the end, fearing Yuanye might agree.

If not, would they dare to attack? Even if all present joined forces, could they win? Not with Zhang Sanfeng, invincible for decades, standing by Wudang.

Moreover, they now saw two men, swords on their backs, exuding murderous intent, emerge from the rear hall.

Someone immediately recognized these two as the infamous Heaven and Earth Generals under Young Master Yuan, true demons in battle capable of scattering a Mongol army.

Ordinary fighters trembled at the killing aura of the Xiong brothers, but the likes of Abbess Miejue, He Taichong of Kunlun, and the Five Elders of Kongtong noticed the pale-faced man behind Yuanye, whose subtle presence marked him as another formidable foe.

“Oh dear, what to do? Many here have never done anything truly evil. Wuji, do you want your uncle to kill them all, so no one will harm your godfather? But your uncle doesn’t like killing,” Yuanye said lightly.

Though the heroes knew he was only teasing the child, inwardly they cursed, “Butcher! The Sea Sand Gang, the Eighteen Strongholds of Yan Yun, the Tang Clan of Shu, the Huashan Sect, countless bandits of the west, Mongol troops… all slaughtered by you. To say you dislike killing—who are you fooling?”

If Yuanye knew their thoughts, he would surely cry injustice: “I only killed the leaders! Most of the butchery was done by the Xiong brothers!”

Wuji, his small eyes sweeping across the crowd, locked gazes with everyone, sending a chill through their hearts despite his youth.

After a moment, Wuji suddenly cried, “No, Eighth Uncle, don’t kill anyone. I don’t want godfather to die, but I don’t want them to die either.”

His words softened the mood of all present. “What a pure-hearted child,” they thought.

“But what can be done? You won’t let me kill them, but they want to kill your godfather,” Yuanye said in mock distress.

Suddenly, Yuanye suggested, “How about this, Wuji—you take your godfather’s place, and give your life to those who want revenge. Then they won’t have to kill him.”

“What? Kill this child? That’s out of the question!” Master Kongzhi exclaimed.

An uproar swept through the hall; the noise was deafening.

“What else do you suggest? Is it not natural for a son to pay his father’s debts?” Yuanye’s voice turned cold and stern.

Though softly spoken, his words reached everyone’s ears as if whispered directly to them.

The hall fell silent. All eyes turned to the Shaolin monks, awaiting Abbot Kongwen’s reply.

Abbot Kongwen shook his head, “Young Master Yuan, though our hatred for Xie Xun runs deep, we would never visit it upon a child.”

“Master Kongwen, your compassion is great. But who says Wuji will always be a child?” Yuanye’s voice rang out.

“Everyone, let us make a pact today. Eight years from now, Wuji will personally bring Xie Xun to answer for his old grievances with your sects. Life or death will be decided then, and neither Wudang nor I will interfere.”

With that, Yuanye picked up Wuji and asked the assembly, “Wuji, are you willing to take on your godfather’s enmity?”

“Yes, I am!” Wuji’s small face was resolute as he nodded firmly.

A few days later, as the martial artists returned to their homes, news of the Wudang Mountain gathering spread throughout the jianghu, causing a great stir.

Those who had come to watch the spectacle could never have imagined that the enormous grudge against Xie Xun would be taken up by a boy of only ten.

From that day forward, the name Zhang Wuji was known throughout the land. All waited to see: in eight years, would Wudang produce another Young Master Yuan, who would again force the world’s heroes to bow their heads in defeat?