Chapter 9: Apprenticeship at Wudang

Amid the expectant gazes of the assembled crowd, Zhang Sanfeng entered the hall with Yuanye at his side.

“What a presence! What an outstandingly elegant young man!”

“Indeed, it’s no wonder Zhang Sanfeng would take him as his last disciple—a rare talent, a true gem!”

“Yes, yes!”

“But why isn’t he Han...?”

“That’s right! Why would Master Zhang accept a foreigner as his disciple?”

The crowd murmured amongst themselves. Though these martial artists prided themselves on their strength and rarely regarded the Mongol Yuan dynasty with respect, nor did they see themselves as lowly Han or southerners, they nonetheless harbored little affection for Mongols and foreigners. Thus, while their initial admiration was genuine, curiosity soon turned to confusion as they wondered why the greatest master of the martial world would accept a foreign disciple.

It was well known that Zhang Sanfeng, in his youth, was famed for slaying Mongol invaders, striking terror into their hearts. Only in the past twenty years, as he grew older, had he retired to Wudang Mountain to cultivate himself. Yet within a thousand miles of Wudang, no Mongol dared to approach; even the local county officials were Han. This situation was unique under the Yuan dynasty and naturally puzzled the sect representatives.

“He’s not a foreigner, gentlemen,” Song Yuanqiao explained, seeing their confusion. “His eyes are naturally so.”

Yuanye remained unmoved by their words. The mouth belongs to others; what could he do? After two years as a library custodian, immersed in the study of countless Daoist classics, he had trained himself to be indifferent to praise or blame. He was no longer the petty soul he once was. Now, at least, he could call himself a man of learning and taste, albeit still a bit of a rascal.

Once Zhang Sanfeng had seated himself at the head, the sect members rose to pay their respects. Zhang Sanfeng returned each greeting with equal courtesy, never showing favoritism even as a grandmaster. Yuanye yawned several times before the formalities were done.

His master shot him two discreet glares, prompting Yuanye to quickly compose himself. He strode forward to Zhang Sanfeng, bowed deeply, and declared in a clear voice: “I, Yuanye, pay my respects to Master Zhang. To meet you today is fortune earned through lifetimes. I humbly beg for your favor, that you might accept me into the Wudang Sect, to follow you in cultivating the Dao and martial arts.”

Zhang Sanfeng stroked his long beard, his expression solemn. “Yuanye, though the Wudang Sect was founded only decades ago, we have always followed the righteous path. From our founding, we established five main rules. Can you uphold them?”

Yuanye felt a slight twitch at his master’s serious demeanor.

“Yuanqiao, recite the sect rules,” Zhang Sanfeng ordered.

“Yes, Master.” Song Yuanqiao, standing to the left, bowed and stepped forward, then recited in a clear voice: “Wudang Rule One: Respect your master and the Dao. Rule Two: Do not harm fellow disciples. Rule Three: Do not bully the weak or bring chaos to the world. Rule Four: Do not associate with criminals or villains. Rule Five: Do not collude with or serve foreign powers to harm the people of the Central Plains. For each violation, the lightest punishment is the abolition of martial arts; the gravest, loss of life.”

When Song Yuanqiao finished reciting the five rules, the hall fell utterly silent, so quiet that a golden needle dropped would be heard. All eyes focused on the young Yuanye, awaiting his answer.

“I can uphold them,” Yuanye replied firmly. The oppressive atmosphere relaxed, and smiles appeared on the faces of the Wudang disciples. Yet inwardly, Yuanye added his own rule: “If others wrong me, I will not forgive; if they cross me, I’ll destroy them utterly!”

Song Yuanqiao nodded slightly and returned to the ranks of disciples.

Then Zhang Sanfeng spoke boldly: “Yuanye, I, Zhang Sanfeng, am the first generation head of Wudang. Today, I accept you as my last disciple. You are now a second-generation Wudang disciple. May you diligently cultivate the Dao and martial arts, uphold righteousness, and bring benefit to the martial world in the future.”

“Yes, Master. Your disciple pays respects. I shall strive to cultivate the Dao and martial arts, never diminishing Wudang’s reputation,” Yuanye replied, bowing respectfully once more.

He offered the teacher’s tea and the initiation ceremony was complete.

“Congratulations, Master Zhang, on acquiring an outstanding disciple...”

“Congratulations, Master Zhang...”

“Congratulations, Young Hero Yuan, for finding a great master. Surely you will become renowned in the martial world, your prospects bright!”

“Congratulations, Young Hero Yuan...”

With the ceremony concluded, Yuanye was officially recognized as Zhang Sanfeng’s last disciple. The martial artists on either side of the hall rose to offer their congratulations.

Yuanye discreetly wiped the cold sweat from his brow. He’d spent half the previous night memorizing this ritual, getting several flicks to the forehead from his master before he got it right.

He had no choice; performing such solemn theatrics was truly embarrassing! He was no actor!

After the congratulatory remarks, Song Yuanqiao took the lead, guiding the martial artists attending the ceremony to the banquet prepared outside in the plaza. Zhang Sanfeng, meanwhile, led Yuanye into the rear hall, relieved of the obligation to entertain these guests—after all, they were merely juniors to him and Song Yuanqiao could suffice.

Yuanye, too, had no desire to sit with Buddhist monks, Daoists, or boorish men boasting and chatting. He followed his master happily.

Entering the rear hall for the first time, Yuanye saw the statue and altar of the True Martial Emperor. The Emperor’s visage was heroic, clad in golden armor, sword in hand, standing atop a black tortoise, exuding an aura of majesty.

Known as the Northern Deity in Chinese myth and as the True Martial Emperor in Daoism, Wudang, adhering to Daoist tradition, had venerated him as their chief deity since the sect’s founding. Most of Zhang Sanfeng’s martial arts, except for a portion derived from the Nine Yang Scripture, were inspired by the teachings of the True Martial Emperor.

Zhang Sanfeng first led Yuanye in respectfully offering incense to the deity, then pulled Yuanye to sit on the meditation mat.

“Little Yuanye, you are now my disciple. From tomorrow, at the alternation of the hours of the Rabbit, Rat, and Ox, you will train with me in Wudang’s Pure Yang Infinite Skill. For other times, seek Yuanqiao or your other senior brothers to learn Wudang’s various fist, sword, and lightness techniques,” Zhang Sanfeng explained after they sat.

Yuanye was stunned. “What’s going on? Do I come with a max-level halo?”

From his previous life’s memory, Pure Yang Infinite Skill was reserved for unmarried young men aged 17 to 25. He was barely seven years old—why would his master let him start such advanced internal training?

After a moment’s pause, Yuanye voiced his doubts, though not too directly.

“Master, Pure Yang Infinite Skill is the highest internal cultivation of Wudang. I haven’t learned any basic internal skills yet—how can I practice it?”

Seeing Yuanye’s “I’m too young, don’t fool me” expression, Zhang Sanfeng angrily smacked his head. “Learn if you want! Otherwise, go back to the Daoist library tomorrow!”

“Don’t, don’t! Master, I’ll learn, I’ll learn! I’ve read all the books in the Daoist library!”

Seeing his aggrieved look, Zhang Sanfeng grew even more annoyed. Pure Yang Infinite Skill was Wudang’s highest method; even Yin Liting and Mo Shenggu, second-generation disciples, weren’t qualified to learn it yet! This brat looked so reluctant—Zhang Sanfeng was tempted to smack him again.

Seeing his master’s face flush with anger, Yuanye, though unsure why, decided not to provoke him further. After all, at ninety-something, a stroke would be disastrous.

“Master, you haven’t said why I can start training Pure Yang Infinite Skill directly,” Yuanye quickly diverted the topic.

“Hmph! You think anyone can train Pure Yang Infinite Skill? Unless one has profound internal strength and has opened the Eight Extraordinary and Twelve Main Meridians, attempting it will only result in the body being scorched by yang energy and dying from boiling blood,” Zhang Sanfeng replied.

“Ah! So my senior brothers all have such high skills? Truly impressive,” Yuanye said sincerely.

He was no longer a newcomer, at least understanding the grades of martial arts.

At first, training was about tempering the body. With strength, one could cultivate basic internal skills. Gifted individuals could sense qi and generate internal power in a matter of days; others might take months. Some never sensed qi at all—thus sects tested aptitude before accepting disciples.

Beyond internal skills, external skills existed, cultivating from outside in, generating internal energy naturally—such as Shaolin’s Vajra Indestructible Skill.

“Actually, your third senior brother has the best martial talent of all, but sadly...” Zhang Sanfeng added.

“Master, don’t worry. I will find a way to heal Third Senior Brother’s injury,” Yuanye comforted, seeing his master’s sorrow.

Indeed, Yuanye already knew how to heal Yu Daiyan. Once his own skills were sufficient, he would seek out the three Vajra Sect members serving the Prince of Ruyang. With the Black Jade Intermittent Paste, Yu Daiyan could be cured.

He didn’t tell his master directly, as he couldn’t explain how he knew such secrets—information even the invincible Zhang Sanfeng didn’t possess, how could a child know?

Zhang Sanfeng smiled with relief at his disciple’s promise. “No need to force it. Everyone has their own destiny. Perhaps this is Daiyan’s fate.”

“Yes, Master.”

“But Master, you haven’t explained why I can begin training Pure Yang Infinite Skill directly?” Yuanye asked again, his curiosity undiminished.

“My good disciple, do you know you are a martial prodigy seen only once in a hundred years?” Zhang Sanfeng replied.

“A martial prodigy?” Yuanye’s face lit up. “Is my golden finger finally awakening?”

“Because your meridians are all open from birth. No matter what skill you practice, you can easily reach the top level,” Zhang Sanfeng explained.

“All meridians open?” Yuanye’s eyes widened.

He wondered silently, “Is it because of the unique constitution of the Hyuga clan?”

“No, could it be chakra?” Yuanye suddenly recalled that his memory had awakened in the Naruto world when he first refined chakra, along with that damned system.

Now, hearing from his master that his meridians were all open, Yuanye could only think of that reason. The Hyuga clan’s powerful body, combined with the mental shock from refining chakra, had fully opened his body’s meridian network.

Now, he was curious whether the chakra and internal energy networks were the same system.

After pondering for a while without an answer, Yuanye decided to set the matter aside and experiment after learning Pure Yang Infinite Skill.

He then asked his master about the martial arts and backgrounds of the guests, absorbing tales of the martial world. Zhang Sanfeng, at ninety years, had an encyclopedic knowledge of its secrets and stories, telling them with ease and delight, making Yuanye smile with delight.

While Yuanye and his master chatted in the rear hall, outside on the broad plaza of the True Martial Hall, the feast was in full swing—wine flowed, meat was abundant. The usually vegetarian Wudang kitchen had prepared copious chicken, duck, fish, and aged wine for the occasion.

After an hour, the banquet ended. Song Yuanqiao came to inform them, and Zhang Sanfeng took Yuanye out to bid farewell to the guests. Except for a few particularly close friends of Wudang who stayed overnight, most martial artists departed the mountain after paying their respects.

Thanks to his master’s explanations, Yuanye now recognized many guests. The burly, red-faced old monk accompanied by several little bald disciples was none other than Kongxing, later famous for his Dragon Claw technique at Bright Peak—though ultimately defeated by Zhang Wuji. Kongxing was one of Shaolin’s four great monks: Jian, Wen, Zhi, Xing.

The dignified middle-aged man with a folding fan was Xianyu Tong, head of Huashan Sect.

The stern-faced middle-aged nun was Abbess Miejue, head of Emei Sect, with two disciples behind her: one with an oval face, gentle and poised like a noble lady; the other with a sharp chin, pretty but haughty, glancing sideways at others—reminding Yuanye of the nouveau riche he’d met selling insurance in his previous life, and instantly disliked her.

Suddenly, Yuanye noticed his sixth senior brother, Yin Liting, gazing affectionately at the oval-faced girl.

“That must be Ji Xiaofu,” Yuanye thought.

The guests from allied sects took their leave, led down the mountain by Song Yuanqiao.

As the sun set, those who wished to depart had done so, but Abbess Miejue remained with her two disciples. One reason was the longstanding friendship between Emei and Wudang since Lady Guo Xiang. The other was that, over the past decade, Abbess Miejue had fought the Ming Sect relentlessly after the deaths of her senior and lover, Lone Swan. Months earlier, she had lost Emei’s treasured Sword of Heaven and was hoping for Wudang’s assistance.

That evening, after a simple meal with his master and the three from Emei, Yuanye returned to his small courtyard at the mountain’s summit.

Night fell, and the usually bustling Wudang returned to its tranquil state.

Lying in bed, Yuanye thought of tomorrow, when he could begin training martial arts, roam the world, eat heartily, drink boldly, uphold justice—truly the life he’d always dreamed of!

Thinking thus, he drifted to sleep. In his dream, clad in red robes, he stood atop a high platform, gazing at the throngs below cheering, “The sun rises in the east, undefeated am I! The Divine Sun Sect shall unify the martial world! ...”

Wait!

Something was wrong with the slogan!

Yuanye instinctively reached beneath the sheets.

“Ah!” A startled cry escaped him as he woke abruptly, drenched in cold sweat. He reached trembling hands beneath the covers.

After two seconds, relief spread across his face.

“It's fine, it's still there.”

“It was all a dream!”

Feeling the reassuring fullness in his palm, Yuanye murmured to himself.