Ji Chun had been walking for half a month, encountering many travelers from other sects also making their way to Jeju. During conversations along the way, he heard a widely circulated rumor in the martial arts world: Su Ran, the new leader of the Demonic Cult, was attempting to unify the martial arts world. It was said that he had begun by targeting the leader of the martial arts alliance and was now extending his reach to all major sects. Whispers claimed that the current leaders of prominent sects like Emei and Wudang had already been killed. What puzzled Ji Chun, however, was that despite these rumors, no one from these sects had come forward to refute them, leaving the truth shrouded in mystery.
On this particular day, Ji Chun arrived at an official road. To one side stood a dense, towering forest, its winding paths worn by the footsteps of those from the underworld. On the other side loomed a steep mountain wall, so high it blocked out the sun. Gazing upward, Ji Chun could only make out the faint outline of the mountain peak, veiled in white clouds. This road was the only route to Mao Xian County, and along its edges stood simple thatched houses offering tea and cakes to weary travelers. In exchange for these small comforts, the travelers left behind scattered coins, a modest means for the locals to eke out a living in these turbulent times. Among these humble structures was a small teahouse, nestled by the side of the main road.
At the edge of the forest, the trees and weeds thinned out, giving way to a relatively flat area. Here, a few simple, rustic thatched huts stood, providing just enough space for a small group of people to rest. At one of the small tables, a handful of underworld figures sat, drinking tea and snacking, occasionally slapping the table and loudly discussing the strange events that had recently unfolded in their world.
Ji Chun chose a quiet corner with fewer people, set down his bag, and took a seat. He ordered a pot of inexpensive tea and silently observed those around him. Throughout his journey, he had learned that simply sitting in a bustling spot for a while would bring all sorts of gossip to his ears.
At a table nearby, two burly men sat hunched together, speaking in what they likely thought were low voices, though their loud tones betrayed their conversation. Their faces bore lecherous grins as they repeatedly glanced at the young women nearby. Anyone with even a hint of worldly experience could guess the nature of their discussion, and while the others wore polite smiles, their eyes betrayed a subtle disdain.
Once he had drank his fill, it was time to continue his journey. Ji Chun stood up and made his way out of the teahouse, only to nearly collide with a bearded man. The man exuded an aura of cold ferocity, his eyes sharp and dismissive, as though no one around him was worthy of his attention. It was the first time the monk had ever felt so acutely the weight of someone's malevolent aura—so heavy and oppressive that it seemed to radiate from the man like a dark, suffocating cloud.
Though momentarily startled, Ji Chun maintained his usual composed and solemn expression. His distraction lasted only a brief moment before he continued walking forward without hesitation. After a few steps, however, he noticed that the man who had been about to enter the teahouse had stopped and changed direction. In the blink of an eye, the man had already vanished deep into the forest ahead.
When Ji Chun caught up, he found four ragged beggars lying on the ground, coughing up blood and groaning in pain. His thick brows furrowed as he clasped his hands together in a gesture of compassion. The beggars, though gravely injured and on the brink of death, were still kneeling and pleading for mercy. Ji Chun's gaze then shifted to the man, who stood half-turned, his face obscured. A cool breeze swept through, lifting the edges of the man's robes, making his presence appear even more imposing and menacing.
Realizing the urgency of the situation, Ji Chun used his Qinggong to leap in front of the man, intercepting the fatal strike meant for one of the beggars. With a stern expression, he addressed the man calmly, "Benefactor..."
The man, clearly taken aback that someone dared to intervene, raised an eyebrow and let out a mocking smile. With a tone laced with amusement, he muttered to himself, "A monk..."
The moment Ji Chun positioned himself in front of the man, he felt the overwhelming depth of the man's internal strength. His body instinctively tensed, every sense heightened in the face of such danger. He knew he couldn't afford to be careless—only by giving his all could he hope to hold his ground against this formidable opponent, even if only for a short time.
Leaves swirled wildly in the air as the force of the man's palm strikes sent towering trees crashing to the ground, their falls accompanied by deafening cracks and clouds of dust. The longer the fight dragged on, the more Ji Chun felt his strength waning. The man before him was no ordinary foe. Survival now depended on his ability to evade the man's relentless attacks.
Suddenly, a sharp whip lashed across Ji Chun's back with brutal force. The thin, simple fabric of his monk's robe tore instantly, and blood seeped through the fresh wound, staining the cloth. Seizing the brief moment as the man raised his whip for a second strike, Ji Chun gathered every ounce of his remaining internal energy and launched a desperate counterattack.
The whip fell from mid-air as the man let out a pained cry, collapsing to the ground. His body trembled violently, as if poisoned, his face flushed an unnatural red. His once-sharp eyes now flickered with fear and wariness. Clenching his fists tightly, he choked out a hoarse plea, "Dashi[1]... I was wrong..."
Ji Chun instinctively took a step back, his expression grim as he braced himself for the next attack from the man. At the same time, he was deeply puzzled by the man's behavior. Was this sudden shift genuine, or was it a ploy to catch him off guard? The man, who had been so arrogant and formidable moments ago, had now transformed into a pitiful figure, begging for mercy in a weak and trembling voice. The abrupt change was both shocking and unsettling.
"You..." Ji Chun hesitated, about to tell the man to leave, when suddenly a barrage of hidden weapons came flying toward him. He spun around, narrowly avoiding the deadly projectiles. By the time he turned back, the man had vanished without a trace.
Finally allowing himself to exhale, Ji Chun quickly bandaged his wound with a clean cloth and wasted no time in heading to the nearest town to seek medical attention. It was nearly dark by the time he reached Mao Xian. He first visited a clinic to tend to his injury, then found an inn to rest for the night.
Now seated on the bed, Ji Chun began to meditate and practice his martial arts. Despite the severity of his injury earlier that day, he felt a silver lining—his martial arts had advanced to the next level. The energy within his seven meridians and eight vessels flowed more vigorously than before, and his spirit felt renewed. He considered using this momentum to break through to the next stage, but he knew that rushing such progress could lead to setbacks. Deciding against pushing himself further, he resolved to rest early and continue his journey the next day.
Early in the morning, Ji Chun washed up and went downstairs to have breakfast. As he pondered how many more days it would take to reach Jeju, he suddenly felt his mind growing increasingly dizzy. He frowned, shaking his head in discomfort, trying to fight off the overwhelming drowsiness. But the strength in his body seemed to drain away, and his vision darkened as he collapsed in front of the table.
"Heh..." A chilling smile curled on the lips of a man watching from the shadows.
In a dimly lit room at the corner of the inn, a monk was tightly bound with strong ropes. Sitting before him was a man with a thick beard, his piercing eyes fixed on the monk's face as if contemplating a serious problem. This man was none other than Su Ran, the leader of the Demonic Cult. At that moment, Su Ran's mind raced with various ways to inflict torment. He harbored a deep grudge against the monk before him—how dare this "bald donkey" save people right under his nose and even strike him when the drug had taken effect? In all the world, no one had ever dared to defy him so brazenly as this ignorant monk.
Su Ran was no stranger to killing, but he had grown tired of it. To truly break a person, he believed, one had to target their most vulnerable point and dismantle their faith, piece by piece. And this monk, with his unwavering principles, presented the perfect challenge.
As soon as Ji Chun opened his eyes, he found himself staring directly into Su Ran's face. The man's features, magnified and unnervingly close, made Ji Chun instinctively lean back in shock. Those eyes... they seemed to hold an inexplicable power, drawing people in as if by force. Even as a chill crept up from the depths of his heart, Ji Chun found himself unable to look away.
"Is it you?" Ji Chun recognized the man and spoke in a cold, steady voice. The wound on his back from their battle in the woods the previous day still throbbed with pain. If Su Ran hadn't suddenly faltered, allowing Ji Chun to gain the upper hand, he likely wouldn't have survived the encounter.
Noticing that the monk had awakened, Su Ran took his time. He walked leisurely to the table, sat down, and poured himself a cup of tea with his slender, pale hands. After a sip, he frowned at the taste, then casually flung the cup into a corner of the room. The sharp sound of shattering porcelain echoed, deepening the seriousness on Ji Chun's face.
Closing his eyes, Ji Chun silently recited the Heart Sutra to calm himself. Life and death were predetermined, good and evil would be repaid, and all things were fated in the unseen workings of the universe. Suddenly, a hand gripped his chin with brutal force, forcing his head up. Ji Chun's eyes met Su Ran's once more, and he stared back coldly, unflinching.
"Reciting sutras to help me pass away? Hoping to be reborn into a better life next time, hmm?" Su Ran sneered, tightening his grip. Purple bruises began to form on the monk's smooth chin, yet Ji Chun remained silent. Su Ran chuckled inwardly, What a tough guy. I almost admire him.
Ji Chun's face, though handsome and finely structured, was now marked by a stern expression. His thin lips were pressed together, his brows furrowed, and his demeanor remained unyielding. Even as the pain from Su Ran's grip threatened to shatter his jaw, he refused to make a sound.
Su Ran's eyes narrowed, glinting with dangerous amusement. "Not afraid of death, are you? Good. I like people who aren't afraid of death the most." Abruptly, he released Ji Chun's chin, only to deliver a sharp slap across his face. Though he hadn't used his internal energy, the force was enough to leave Ji Chun's cheek swollen and blood trickling from the corner of his mouth.
At that moment, a noise came from the next room—something falling to the ground. Su Ran's gaze snapped toward the wall, his expression darkening as if he might tear it down and storm in. The sound was followed by a woman's voice, soft and coquettish, "Master, I don't want to..." Then came the rustling of fabric being removed.
Su Ran's initial rage seemed to dissipate as an intrigued smirk spread across his lips. Instead of acting on his anger, he turned back to Ji Chun, stepping closer with deliberate slowness. From inside the room the monk's panicked and furious roar erupted: "Get out!" This was followed by a cry of pain and the sound of clothes hitting the floor. Ji Chun's body tensed, his veins bulging, but he remained immobilized, his acupressure points sealed.
Su Ran's hand returned to Ji Chun's jaw, gripping it with renewed force as he pressed the monk's head down, his expression a mix of cruelty and curiosity.
[1] Honorific for Monk