Chapter 289: Martial Immortal of the World

Tsuru looked at his prized disciple and saw through his thoughts at a glance. With a snort, he asked, "Out with it. After a long day of travel, instead of resting, what do you want from me?"

After finishing drying Tsuru's feet, Tien lowered his head in silence for a moment. Then, looking up, his three eyes shining brightly, he said, "Master, I want to participate in the World Martial Arts Tournament too!"

"Get lost!" Tsuru kicked him away, then raised his foot and flipped the washbasin, sending it flying toward Tien without spilling a drop. Tien hurriedly reached out to catch it, only to have the wash water splash all over him. Tsuru scolded, "You spilled half of it—your training doubles tomorrow! With that little skill of yours, you want to go embarrass yourself at the World Martial Arts Tournament? Maybe you can afford to lose face, but I can't!"

Especially at that damned old bastard's tournament!

Back then, what happened with Tao Pai Pai had infuriated Tsuru. So ever since, he hadn't allowed his two newest disciples, Tien and Chiaotzu, to participate easily in the tournament. Both of them were descendants of former global finalists of previous World Martial Arts Tournaments—Tien was a descendant of Fan, while Chiaotzu was the heir to Huntun's legacy.

Truth be told, Tsuru only saw promise in Tien's potential, but when he found Tien, the two boys were relying on each other to survive. So, he took them both in. It was only after that he learned Chiaotzu also had a notable lineage.

Tien stood there soaked, not daring to talk back. He opened his mouth but ultimately said nothing.

After going outside to dump the wash water, Tien returned and finally couldn't help but ask his master, who sat on the bed in meditation:

"But Master, I could accept not being allowed to participate in the World Martial Arts Tournament… but why won't you let me join the Martial Arts Association either? I've heard that members of the Association gain access to many things on the Virtual Earth Network that greatly aid martial arts cultivation…"

"You're quite talkative today," Tsuru said coldly, raising his eyelids to gaze at the solemn, principled three-eyed youth before him.

Even so, the question left Tsuru silent for a moment. Eventually, he let out a faint sigh and said:

"Tien, remember this well—you're a disciple of the Crane School! A disciple of the Crane School doesn't need the techniques of the Muten School to become strong! What a joke! A joke!"

He slapped the mattress beside him forcefully, repeating the word "joke" through gritted teeth.

But the more Tien heard, the more confused he became. "But Master, as far as I know, the Martial Arts Association isn't solely run by the Muten School. And the resources on the Virtual Earth Network don't seem directly related to them either."

"You think you know better than me?" Tsuru's gaze turned icy.

"I wouldn't dare," Tien replied quickly, lowering his head.

Tsuru leaned forward, one hand pressing against the bed, his eyes sharp as blades, voice cold as steel.

"This is the last time I'm saying this—don't ask unnecessary questions! Just remember what I tell you. You are absolutely forbidden from participating in the World Martial Arts Tournament on your own! You are absolutely forbidden from joining the Martial Arts Association on your own! And you are absolutely forbidden from buying a Virtual Earth Network VR capsule!

"Let go of your distractions and train properly as a disciple of the Crane School! When the time is right—when I believe your skills are good enough that you won't shame the name of the Crane School—I'll let you enter the tournament… and make your name known!"

Tien, deeply shaken, nodded quietly. He knew that his master was truly angry now, so he dared not say anything more. Bowing, he left the room and, after a moment of pause, walked away.

Once he was gone, Tsuru sat on the bed and picked up the remote to turn the TV back on.

Bzzt bzzt bzzt…

The ancient, flickering TV screen finally brought up a shaky image: "...And he's still going! This young boy, suspected to be a descendant of the legendary Son Gohan, is still standing after so many matches!"

On screen, the long-tailed boy who had already fought countless opponents was clearly exhausted, yet his eyes still burned with intense fighting spirit. The camera zoomed in on those eyes that seemed to glow with energy.

That fighting spirit was so pure, so intense, that it made even Tsuru feel a chill.

The camera flickered and passed quickly—almost as if it didn't dare linger—on a gray-haired young man below the ring. Tsuru stared at the image, his expression unreadable, and then pressed the remote to turn off the TV.

The room fell silent again, as if no one existed within it.

Tsuru sat stiffly on the bed, face expressionless, his eyes dark and unreadable. Eventually, a cold, hushed voice echoed softly in the room like shards of ice falling onto the floor.

"Muten Tower… Muken… Heh heh… Old bastard… so this is your plan—to make everyone in the world a disciple of the Muten School, is it? Heh heh…"

His cold laughter echoed faintly, then vanished into silence.

The sun had set. It was dusk now. The blood-red twilight spilled through the window, casting a crimson hue over half of Tsuru's face, the other half shrouded in shadow. His expression shifted unpredictably.

No one knew how much time passed, but in the dead silence, a long sigh finally broke out:

"Master…"

In a daze, basking in the golden light of sunset, Tsuru's mind drifted back to three hundred years ago, to the days of training on Mount Mutaito. He recalled the story of his master's unwavering battle against King Piccolo, and remembered what Taro had once said about their master's dying wish.

"Our master was a great hero and a grandmaster. He never cared about narrow sectarian labels. What he carried in his heart was the entire world of martial arts… You know, he was aware of us accidentally drinking the immortal spring water as children on the mountain. So, in the endless years ahead, he wanted us to spread martial arts far and wide, raise generations of outstanding martial artists, and scatter the seeds of martial prowess across every corner of the world—so that, if one day the Demon King returned, there would be no room for evil to reign unchecked. Don't you agree?"

Taro's words from that day still rang like thunder in Tsuru's mind, shaking his very soul.

"Don't you agree?"

"Don't you agree?"

"Don't you agree?"

Tsuru murmured the words, then let out a long sigh with closed eyes. "Of course I agree… Taro, I'm not even close to your level…"

He sat in silence for a long time, then muttered to himself, "Let the two of us cross paths once more—through our disciples… That boy is incredibly gifted. You won't pass him up, will you? Muten School… Crane School… Mutaito School… heh."

He let out a laugh—whether it was bitter, mocking, or something more complex, even he couldn't say.