Chapter 95

Ji Chun sighed deeply, frustration weighing on him. The martial world was surely in turmoil, yet here he remained, forced to recuperate. This helplessness - to see danger approaching but lack the strength to act - gnawed at his spirit.

As days passed, their wounds gradually healed. Though not fully recovered, they regained enough strength to travel. On the morning of their departure, they searched for Old Man Wu to bid farewell but found no trace of him. After combing through the house repeatedly, they resolved to leave a note - only to discover a letter already waiting on the table.

Ji Chun's expression darkened as he read. The letter revealed their savior as Wu Hui, a long-vanished martial arts master. Decades ago, Wu Hui had taken in an orphan and trained him meticulously, only to watch the disciple's heart grow increasingly twisted. Forced to expel him, Wu Hui had wandered the land, believing the matter closed - until recently learning this same disciple had become Shang Luo, the Sha Yin Sect's young master.

The letter explained everything: Di Mang was no ordinary treasure but a seven-petaled crimson flower that granted tremendous power at a terrible cost. Its consumer would gain unfathomable strength but gradually succumb to bloodlust and madness. Eventually, the user's eyes would turn crimson, their face marked with bloody veins, before their power vanished overnight, leaving them dead. Shang Luo, having consumed Di Mang, had at most two months to live.

Wu Hui had saved them partly to atone for his disciple's sins, partly from compassion. His involvement ended here - what followed was karma's domain.

"If this is true," Ji Chun said gravely, "then the martial world faces either imminent salvation...or two months of unprecedented carnage."

"Exactly." Su Ran's fists clenched. "Shang Luo knows his time is short. His final words - 'Shaolin will perish, the Demonic Cult will be destroyed' - make his intentions clear. We must return immediately."

Ji Chun recalled the countless lives lost in pursuit of Di Mang - all manipulated by Shang Luo's machinations. Though some had been greedy, none deserved such fates. The need for justice burned within him.

"Let's go. Now."

They set out immediately, emerging from the mountains hours later into a transformed Xilongzhou. Gone were the martial artists who had crowded its streets; only ordinary townsfolk remained. At an inn, a terrified waiter stammered answers to Ji Chun's questions: after the mountain collapsed, the surviving sects had dispersed. The Sha Yin Sect itself had dissolved mysteriously.

"He won't return here," Ji Chun realized. "We must hurry."

Mounting purchased horses, they rode day and night, driven by visions of their homes under attack. The gap between them and Shang Luo had grown too wide already. As hooves pounded the earth and wind whipped their faces, Ji Chun remembered Shang Luo's strange mention of Master Huikong - was that admiration a ruse? Had poison already been administered? The thought chilled him to the core.

After fifteen days of relentless travel, they paused to rest. Ji Chun realized that Lingcheng is where they'd left their newborn and it was just two stops ahead. They were returning as different men, bearing burdens heavier than any earthly treasure.

"We'll reach Lingcheng by tomorrow." Ji Chun's voice was low and hoarse from exhaustion after so much running around. Su Ran looked up at him and understood the monk's inner turmoil. The child would recognize that ensuring Ji Chun's master's safety was of utmost importance. After a moment's thought, he knew the best course of action was to return to Shaolin directly. So he said, "Let's continue our journey tomorrow. We have things to do."

Ji Chun nodded reluctantly, leaned against a tree, and closed his eyes to rest. Stubble shadowed his chin, and his short hair was prickly and uneven. He looked utterly disheveled, a far cry from the solemn and dignified monk he once was. Dark circles hung under his eyes—not just from the exhaustion of travel, but from the immense pressure weighing on him. Su Ran felt a pang in his heart at the sight. He had never been a sentimental person, but now, self-reflection crept in.

If he hadn't been so determined to obtain the Di Mang, they wouldn't have fallen into Shang Luo's trap. He and Ji Chun could have been living a peaceful life. Was his thirst for victory too strong? Were fame and fortune really that important? If he finally acquired the Di Mang, he would consume it without hesitation—then what? Would he become invincible, only to die suddenly? Was this truly what he had wanted all along?

Shang Luo had once told him, deep in that cave, that they were alike. Looking back now, he could see the truth in those words. Shang Luo's shadow loomed within him—they were equally ruthless, equally relentless in pursuit of their goals, equally condemned by the martial world. But the fundamental difference between them was Ji Chun. Ji Chun, with his sincerity and compassion, had altered Su Ran's fate. Shang Luo, on the other hand, had continued down his chosen path, step by step, unyielding.

Su Ran raised a hand and brushed the dark circles under the monk's eyes, then sighed. He would let Ji Chun do as he pleased from now on. If he wanted to be a good person, so be it. There was no harm in that.

They traveled non-stop, finally reaching the Central Plains. One day, they stopped at a teahouse to rest and quench their thirst. As they sat drinking tea, a man at the next table suddenly slammed his hand down and exclaimed, "What?! Shaolin was wiped out too?"

At those words, the teacup in Ji Chun's hand slipped and shattered on the ground with a crisp crack. His face went deathly pale. His whole body trembled, his eyes wide with disbelief. His expression, dark and terrifying, sent a chill through those around him. Just as he was about to rise and demand answers, Su Ran pressed his hand firmly against the table. Ji Chun's pupils contracted, and in that moment, the raging storm within him was forcibly contained—but when it erupted, it would be even more terrifying.

The conversation at the next table continued.

"That's right. It wasn't long ago, and the news hasn't spread yet. I just rushed back from there, so I heard it first. You wouldn't believe it—Shaolin's abbot, Huikong, was killed!"

"What?! Abbot Huikong?!" The man was stunned. "This… this really is—"

"Who could possibly have the power to kill the Shaolin abbot?"

"I don't know either. But do you remember the massacres of the Wudang Sect, the Qingkun Sect, and Ouyang Sect Leader's entire family?"

The listener quickly nodded.

Ji Chun's fury, which had found no outlet, slowly settled. If he was going to avenge his master, he had to remain calm.