Chapter 1
The raging flames burned fiercely, occasionally cracking with tiny bursts of sparks. The cold wind howled through the entrance, causing the firelight to flicker, just like the trembling hearts of everyone present. A chilling and terrifying atmosphere filled the dark great hall. A mass of people, cloaked in darkness, knelt on the ground, not daring to lift their heads, for seated above them was their new cult leader—Su Ran. He was cruel and cold-blooded, with tormenting methods of unimaginable brutality.
“Bring him up.”
A cold and clear command rang out. At first listen, it sounded like a young man just past twenty, but it carried with it a thick, oppressive aura of darkness and malice, making everyone present tremble in fear.
As soon as the words fell, a few cult members dragged in a filthy, severely wounded man through the main entrance. Bowing their heads, they spoke in low voices, “Reporting to the Cult Leader, the traitor has been captured. Please pass judgment.”
His tall, lean figure was wrapped in a robe of crimson. A dense beard covered half his face, but his eyes were as sharp as bloodthirsty, silent weapons, gleaming with cold light. Standing above, he slowly swept his gaze over the kneeling crowd. An aura of indifference and tyranny subtly invaded the hearts of those below, making their knees cramp with dread.
For a long time, the great hall remained in a strange, tense silence. Suddenly, he gathered his immense internal energy and flew down from the platform, landing steadily in front of the traitor. The two cult members escorting the prisoner instinctively knelt and backed away two steps, releasing their grip on the man’s arms. Trembling, they spoke, “Cult Leader.”
The crimson-robed cult leader said nothing. Wearing a mocking smile, he looked down at the man beneath his feet. After a moment of silence, he raised his foot and lightly stepped on the man’s dirty, disheveled face. Gradually increasing pressure, he deformed the man’s face, causing him to cough up blood. The man propped himself up with trembling arms, struggling to raise his hate-filled face, gritting his teeth and uttering each word with fury:
“Su Ran, you will die a miserable death!”
Su Ran looked down at the man mockingly and coldly replied,
“Victory crowns the king, defeat buries the loser. Your death is no pity.”
At some point, a bright red whip had appeared in his hand. With a sudden swing, the whip sliced through the air and struck the man’s flesh, embedding itself deep into his skin. Blood gushed instantly as the man fell straight into a pool of blood, unconscious.
Seeing the man no longer moving on the ground, Su Ran let out a cold chuckle. His piercing gaze swept across the gathered cult members.
“Those who betray me—Su Ran—this is their fate!”
His harsh, imposing voice echoed crisply through the great hall, reverberating long after, stirring fear in every heart. In that instant, the man on the ground was sent flying out the door by a powerful palm strike. Immediately after, Su Ran disappeared from the hall.
The bedroom door banged shut. Su Ran, supporting himself against the wall, quickly walked to the bed and sat down. With a wave of his hand, the wide-open door shut tightly with a perfect seal.
He squinted his eyes, leaning against the edge of the bed. His face was unnaturally flushed, now covered with sweat. His slightly parted lips exhaled scalding breaths. The sharp dominance from earlier in the hall had completely vanished. His lower abdomen felt as if a blazing fire raged within, and his body trembled more violently with every ragged breath.
His slender, fair, well-defined fingers reached into a secret compartment in the bed and retrieved a white jade medicine bottle. Quickly, he swallowed a pill and then tore off his belt in one swift motion. His hands fell weakly to his thighs.
At that moment, his slightly upturned eyes were half-closed, eyelashes damp, and his vision blurred. A faint, lingering flush clung to his cheeks like rouge that wouldn’t fade, lending his otherwise fierce and wild appearance an unexpectedly alluring charm.
Even with the pill in his mouth, Su Ran still felt dizzy and unbearably hot. He furrowed his brows, propped himself up, and sat cross-legged on the bed. But before he could circulate his internal energy, his body trembled violently. He quickly raised a trembling hand to cover his mouth, afraid of making some shameful noise.
After gradually adapting, he let out a slow breath, concentrating his internal energy in his dantian and cautiously guiding it toward the burning source in his lower abdomen, gently nourishing it. The feverish energy, once on the verge of bursting from his body, seemed to calm down, and his temperature slowly eased back to normal.
About an hour later, he slowly opened his eyes. His gaze had returned to its former cold and ruthless sharpness. His fists clenched. The moment he looked up, the furniture and decorations in the room instantly shattered.
Damn it! Another ten percent of my internal energy is gone!
Su Ran narrowed his eyes and stared at his hands, thinking grimly: If this continues, not only will I lose the cult leader’s seat I just seized, even my life won’t be safe!
The vast green mountains stretched clearly under the boundless blue sky. The world-renowned Shaolin Temple was nestled here. Clear streams gurgled, lush trees stood tall. In a remote clearing behind the mountain, a simple thatched hut stood. In front of the door, a tall monk was deep in contemplation over martial arts techniques, completely immersed in his own world, unaware that someone was approaching from afar.
“Senior Brother! Senior Brother! The Abbot asked me to call you!”
The repeated shouts finally led the young monk to push through the obstructing grass and branches. He stood before his senior brother’s secluded training spot.
Ji Chun finally came back to himself. Lowering his head, he adjusted his plain and modest monk’s robe and walked over to the young monk, patting his bald head.
“Junior Brother Wuzhi, did Master call me for something?”
Little Monk Wuzhi grinned and blinked, shrugging to show he didn’t know. Still, he quite enjoyed having his head patted.
“Maybe… maybe Master just hasn’t seen you in a long time…”
Ji Chun nodded, knowing that if Master sent someone specifically to fetch him, it must be something important. He didn’t overthink it—he would find out soon enough.
“Let’s go back, then.”
Leaving the back mountain and passing several courtyards where monks resided, they soon arrived at Abbot Huikong’s meditation room. A gentle knock on the door brought an elderly voice from within.
“Ji Chun, is that you? Come in.”
Ji Chun pushed open the door and stepped in, seeing Huikong looking toward him.
“Ji Chun, how long have you been in seclusion?”
“Master, it’s been one year and five months,” Ji Chun respectfully answered with a slight bow. His voice was low and steady, without embellishment—quiet like a beautiful landscape painting.
“Mm, over a year indeed. Not long ago, our temple’s benefactor, Alliance Leader Ouyang, suffered a massacre at his home. Only his young son survived. He now resides at Tiangang Sect, critically ill. Fortunately, Divine Doctor Xue of Medicine Sage Valley came out of seclusion and saved his life—blessings upon him. Yesterday, Sect Leader Xu Zhen of Tiangang sent a letter saying that the crucial medicine for treating Young Master Ouyang is our temple’s Ximai Ginseng. He hopes Shaolin can offer assistance. That’s why I’ve called you here today—to task you with delivering the medicine to Jizhou as a gesture of our condolences. Will you go?”
“Ji Chun respectfully obeys Master’s orders.”
His voice remained unwavering, as respectful as ever.
“Good, good. Since you entered the temple at age three, you’ve never had the chance to travel down the mountain. This will be your first long journey. Along the way, do not let worldly temptations cloud your pure heart. Be kind and compassionate…”
Listening to the Master who had always cared for him offering these heartfelt instructions, Ji Chun clenched his fists slightly. He understood that his teacher was reluctant and worried, but had no choice but to let him gain this experience.
“Master, rest assured. I will always remember your teachings and never slack off on my journey.”
Ji Chun looked up, his clear and resolute gaze meeting the abbot’s cloudy old eyes with sincerity.
“Very good, very good. It’s getting late. Go pack your things, take some travel funds, and get the Ximai Ginseng from your Uncle Master Huidao. Then head down the mountain. Be careful in all things.”
Huikong slowly nodded, lifting his wrinkled, age-spotted hand to gesture for Ji Chun to leave.
Ji Chun said no more. He bowed and took his leave. Walking through winding corridors, past scripture halls and Buddha shrines, he soon reached the meditation room where he had lived for many years. During his year-plus seclusion, Junior Brother Wuzhi had lived there alone. Just as he reached out to open the door, it was opened from inside by the round-faced little monk.
“Senior Brother! What did the Abbot want you for?”
Junior Brother Wuzhi quickly stepped aside to let his brother in, curiously following him in circles. He had only been assigned to live with Ji Chun for six months before the latter went into seclusion. Though they hadn’t spent long together, Ji Chun’s reputation and character earned the respect and affection of many fellow monks, including Wuzhi.
“Master sent me down the mountain to take care of something. I came to pack.”
Ji Chun briefly explained, then began packing. His expression was as calm as ever, like a drifting cloud in a clear sky, light and carefree, like a mountain stream flowing far and steady—no excitement about leaving the temple, no fear of the road ahead.
“When will you come back, Senior Brother? Please be careful on your journey.”
Wuzhi helped hand him things, asking with reluctance. His brother had just returned and hadn’t even stayed an hour before leaving again—it made him feel frustrated and upset.
Ji Chun didn’t have much to pack. Just two sets of clean robes, some thread and needles, a water pouch, and a few scriptures. Simplicity was key for anyone venturing into the martial world, even more so for a monk. Slinging the bundle over his shoulder, he patted Wuzhi’s shoulder to reassure him.
“I’ll come back once it’s done. No need to worry, Junior Brother.”
With that, he stepped out of the room, headed to the Treasure Pavilion to retrieve the Ximai Ginseng, secured it carefully, bid farewell to his fellow monks, and descended the mountain alone.
The journey from Shaolin Temple to Jizhou took an entire month. Fortunately, the one extending the life of the alliance leader’s son was a divine doctor from Medicine Sage Valley, so time wasn’t pressing. That was why the letter had merely requested Shaolin’s aid. Ji Chun was naturally meticulous and responsible. Once given the task, he didn’t delay and set off for Jizhou early in the day.