Chapter 327
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“Ah? Is that really the case? But what exactly happened? The Piaomiao Sect is, after all, a major sect in the martial world—how could it be wiped out just like that? Moreover, weren’t there several thousand disciples in Piaomiao? Did they all perish with the sect?”
Chu Yunfei gave a bitter smile and said: “In this world, is there truly a sect that can stand tall forever? Our Piaomiao Sect had long since declined. That we managed to survive in this unpredictable martial world for ten thousand years was already a miracle. I heard that long ago, there was a sect called the Divine Blade Sect, incomparably powerful—perhaps a hundred times stronger than our Piaomiao Sect back then—and yet they were destroyed even before us. Still, among the elite disciples of our sect, a small portion managed to escape. The rest, all lost their lives on the spot.”
“Buzz—!” A loud ringing filled his mind. Zhang Xiaohua’s body remained motionless, but he suddenly stood upright. His voice trembled as he asked: “Only a small portion of elite disciples escaped? The others all perished? Then… then what about a disciple named Zhang Xiaohu? Did he make it out?”
“Zhang Xiaohu???” Chu Yunfei froze for a moment, then said: “That name sounds familiar. Let me think… Ah, I remember now. He was the one who pulled some strings to enter our Piaomiao Sect, and later had a stroke of dumb luck and was taken in as a disciple by Uncle Master Wen, right?”
“Yes, that lucky fellow! Did… did he escape too?”
At this moment, Zhang Xiaohua no longer cared what others said about his second brother. He hurriedly asked, voice urgent.
“No!” Chu Yunfei replied decisively.
“Ah!” Zhang Xiaohua gasped, teeth clenched and fists tightly balled. Just as he was about to demand which sect had attacked Piaomiao Mountain Villa, Chu Yunfei added another line—and Zhang Xiaohua nearly fainted.
“However, it seems Zhang Xiaohu might not be dead.”
“Ah!” Zhang Xiaohua staggered, almost collapsing. In his heart, he muttered, Senior Brother, do you have to speak like that? Can’t you just say everything in one go?
Taking a step forward, Zhang Xiaohua asked: “Then, where is Zhang Xiaohu now?”
“This… I’m not entirely certain whether Zhang Xiaohu is dead or alive!”
Thud! This time, Zhang Xiaohua collapsed flat in front of Chu Yunfei. Even the three elite experts of the Heaven’s Way Alliance had failed to push him back half a step, but Chu Yunfei had done it.
Zhang Xiaohua forced himself up, inwardly cursing, My dear Piaomiao senior brother, could you please be a bit clearer? This little heart of mine—though tempered by Immortal Dao techniques—can’t withstand this kind of torment!
Seeing Zhang Xiaohua so rattled, Chu Yunfei felt a bit embarrassed and said: “Little brother, are you too exhausted? Those three Heaven’s Way Alliance disciples were no ordinary experts. They’ve been chasing me for several days. If you’re tired, why not rest a while?”
Zhang Xiaohua waved his hand and said: “Senior Brother Chu, no need. If you have time, please tell me in detail what happened to the Piaomiao Sect. I would be endlessly grateful.”
“So that’s how it was… In truth, what happened that day at the Piaomiao Sect is something practically the entire martial world knows about now. You could ask just about anyone and learn the details. Sigh, but a sorrowful tale is best told by someone who shares in the sorrow. Brother, let your senior tell you of that heart-wrenching past.”
And so, the two of them sat down on the ground. As Chu Yunfei slowly recounted the events, Zhang Xiaohua came to understand all that had happened in those days.
It was an autumn three years ago, a season when a hundred boats raced forward and all things competed beneath the frost. Yet on such a day of reaping and harvest, of looking forward to the future, Ou Peng—the great sect leader of the Piaomiao Sect—sat wearily in his seat in the Meeting Hall, his head aching so much he was on the verge of pressing his thumbs hard against his temples.
It had been a year since he’d subdued Shui Yupeng and promised the position of Deputy Leader of the Piaomiao Sect. With the Luo River Gang firmly brought under the Piaomiao Sect’s control, the sect’s overall strength had grown significantly. This notable success greatly ignited the ambition of the Six Tigers of Piaomiao, each one hoping to achieve feats surpassing all their predecessors within their lifetime.
But just as Ou Peng had finished integrating the Luo River Gang’s resources, harmonizing the sect’s operations across land and water, and was preparing both a Immortal Dao revival plan and to once again cast the sect’s gaze over the martial world—he suddenly found himself mired in difficulties, facing inexplicable setbacks.
First, there was the so-called Immortal Dao Revival Plan. Since he already known that the Yuan Qi of Heaven and Earth was recovering, and around the same time Zhang Xiaohua’s Big Dipper Divine Fist was discovered—a technique that seemed to carry the legacy of the Immortal Dao and might be the very progenitor of martial fist arts—Ou Peng nearly believed himself to be the “Heaven-ordained herald of Immortal Dao resurgence, blessed with enduring prosperity.” In high spirits and at an absurdly low cost, he acquired the Big Dipper Divine Fist manual.
He immediately dispatched his chief disciple, Zhang Chengyue, to teach the Big Dipper Divine Fist to Vice Chief Shui Yupeng’s only son, Shui Tiantian. Though the boy was just four years old, he was a prodigy born of heaven. In only a short time, he mastered the Big Dipper Divine Fist to proficiency and practiced it at least five times daily.
Of course, since Shui Tiantian was not only blessed with great innate talent but was also the son of an important ally—especially one to whom Ou Peng had promised the full transmission of the Piaomiao Sect’s core techniques back when convincing Shui Yupeng to join—there could be no holding back. Whatever could be taught, was. Everything appropriate for early instruction was given to Shui Tiantian.
Shui Yupeng beamed with joy watching his son, and dedicated himself even more wholeheartedly to the Piaomiao Sect. As for Shui Tiantian, he absorbed the essence of the sect’s legacy like a sponge soaking in water. Whether it was the Piaomiao Steps or the Piaomiao Divine Technique, he showed remarkable comprehension.
As for the Big Dipper Divine Fist? It was just a martial fist style—what was there that could demand such deep thought or strain from a prodigious child like Shui Tiantian?
Thus, apart from the fixed three daily practice sessions—morning, noon, and night, without fail—all of Shui Tiantian’s remaining time was spent comprehending the Piaomiao Steps and Piaomiao Divine Technique. Although Shui Tiantian’s progress in the latter two was astonishingly swift—far beyond what Zhang Chengyue and Oupeng had expected—their attention wasn’t actually on that.
Their focus was on that seemingly ordinary, even flawed and full of mistakes from a conventional perspective, Big Dipper Divine Fist.
Shui Tiantian had been cultivating the Big Dipper Divine Fist for more than half a year by then, and there hadn’t been any unusual signs. Apart from the fact that his arm strength was somewhat greater than that of other children his age, there was nothing else apparent.
And could one say that Shui Tiantian wasn’t diligently practicing the Big Dipper Divine Fist? That wouldn’t be right either. The Big Dipper Divine Fist was the first martial technique he had learned; even after mastering it, he never set it aside. He still practiced it three to five times each day. If it had been any other technique, even once per day—or even once every few days—would already be considered frequent.
After all, people of the martial world ultimately value inner strength, and fist techniques were generally seen as mere external means.
Could it be that this increase in arm strength was the only effect of the Big Dipper Divine Fist? Thinking of Zhang Xiaohua’s arms, which had always been unusually strong, Ou Peng couldn’t help but come to such a conclusion from time to time.
Later, when the Piaomiao Sect recruited another batch of young disciples the following year, Ou Peng specifically instructed Zhang Chengyue to select a group of talented ones and include the Big Dipper Divine Fist as a compulsory part of their curriculum. But the results were still underwhelming—just like with Shui Tiantian, there was only a marked increase in arm strength and little else.
Disappointed, Oupeng couldn’t help thinking again of the missing Zhang Xiaohua. If not for the fact that he had personally seen all 108 postures of the Big Dipper Divine Fist, each exquisitely designed, vastly different from contemporary techniques, and with a well-balanced offensive and defensive structure—if not for all this, he wouldn’t have considered it such a rare and precious set. He wouldn’t have felt that spending a thousand taels of silver had been worthwhile. But now? Zhang Xiaohua had simply vanished after leaving the Piaomiao Sect, not even providing so much as a trace of follow-up—let alone any kind of after-sales service.
As for Zhang Xiaohua’s disappearance, Ou Peng could only sigh helplessly. In fact, when Zhang Xiaohua had first requested leave from the sect, Ou Peng had been quite unwilling to let him go. But Zhang Xiaohua was not, after all, a disciple of the Piaomiao Sect—he was merely the subordinate of Ou Peng’s own younger sister. It wouldn’t have been appropriate to forcibly interfere. And Zhang Xiaohu? That was purely incidental. Whether he returned or left had no bearing on Ou Peng whatsoever—there wasn’t even half a copper’s worth of connection. So, of course, Ou Peng had agreed readily and without the least hesitation.
What Ou Peng never expected was that Zhang Xiaohu returned to the Piaomiao Sect—yet Zhang Xiaohua did not. What came back was only the news of Zhang Xiaohua’s disappearance. Ou Peng was furious, to the point where he nearly wanted to strike Zhang Xiaohu dead with a single palm. But seeing how absent-minded and guilt-ridden Zhang Xiaohu appeared, he forced himself to suppress his anger again and again. Still, he didn’t dare make too much noise about it and quickly dispatched several capable disciples to go gather information.
In fact, long before returning, Zhang Xiaohu had already risked his life to scout out West Cui Mountain once. That was after he had settled Li Jinfeng’s family and waited in Lu Town for a whole day, yet still saw no sign of Zhang Xiaohua. It was then that he began to feel something was wrong. Not daring to return to Guo Village, he headed straight for West Cui Mountain.
Knowing full well there were tigers on the mountain, he still chose to walk toward them—because his own younger brother was up there. How could he care about his own safety? All he could do was blame himself for not staying behind, for leaving his younger brother alone. And he blamed himself for his poor martial skills, which left him unable to stand guard for his brother.
But since things had come to this, what use was more regret? It wasn’t until Zhang Xiaohu ascended West Cui Mountain with unwavering resolve that he discovered the entire place was in utter chaos. Some were fighting hand-to-hand, others were clashing with blades. But more were carrying small bundles on their backs and fleeing down the mountain in a panic.
Zhang Xiaohua lay hidden by the roadside, observing this person and that—none of them looked like decent folk. And with people everywhere, he didn’t dare to reveal himself. It wasn’t until night fell that he managed to intercept an older-looking bandit. One question was all it took, and the answer shook him: the West Cui Mountain of today was no longer the West Cui Mountain of yesterday. It no longer existed—just like several years ago, all over again!
As it turned out, on the night of that day, Zhang Xiaohua had been captured by Qin Shiyue. Qin Shiyue had Ying Fei lift him up with one hand, while he himself returned to the stronghold to conduct a thorough search. Yet he found nothing of value. Enraged, he went on a killing spree, slaying many of the stationed guards and virtually wiping out the elites of West Cui Mountain. The resulting panic was tremendous. Once Qin Shiyue left in a huff, the bandits had rushed to find their stronghold master—only to discover that the master himself had been killed in his own chambers. At that point, the entire bandit gang fell apart. They all assumed they had provoked some martial world expert who had come to exact vengeance. The stronghold was left headless—no, more accurately, the whole front half of the dragon had been severed—leaving only weak martial artists with scattered discipline.
How could such people still hold onto the notion that “the stronghold is my home”?
Some even stumbled upon an open secret chamber and found scattered jewels in the corners. And so, the age-old truth of “man dies for wealth; birds die for food” began to play out before their eyes—infighting broke out in earnest!
P.S.: After much thought, I’ve decided to depict the fall of Piaomiao directly. Telling it through others’ mouths lacks detail and cannot convey the emotion properly.
