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Translated By Arcane Translations
Translator: Teottry
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A cool breeze brushed against his neck.
He had sensed something was off when the man had appeared so abruptly, but he hadn’t expected such a direct question.
If he answered truthfully, “Yes! I’m the disciple of a wanted criminal!!”, he would almost certainly be killed.
‘Master, I’m sorry. I’ll repay your kindness in the next life.’
He was about to deny any connection to his master, like Peter denying Jesus three times before the rooster crowed, despite having shared the Last Supper together, when…
“It’s fine. Don’t worry. I was his disciple too.”
“Excuse me?”
“I came to see Xiaoshao’s benefactor, and… it seems we have a mutual acquaintance.”
“What?” he asked again, dumbfounded by Zi Lu’s words.
“Why would I lie to a brat like you? I don’t like wasting time. Relax.”
Zi Lu casually revealed a secret that could shake the entire martial world, then sat down on a nearby rock.
“So… the founder of the Wudang Sect, the immortal Zhang Sanfeng, appeared in your dreams and taught you legendary martial arts techniques?”
He had brought up the famous tale, a story known even to him, someone relatively unfamiliar with the current state of the martial world.
The story of how Zhang Sanfeng had appeared in the dreams of Zi Lu, then a hot-headed young martial artist and outer disciple of the Wudang Sect, after he had been severely injured in a fight against bandits who were trying to assault a woman, teaching him martial arts and revealing the location of a cave containing secret manuals.
“Of course, that’s a lie. It wasn’t Zhang Sanfeng who appeared in my dreams, but my master, Confucius.”
Zi Lu chuckled, like a jaded adult telling a child there was no Santa Claus.
“Why would Zhang Sanfeng bother appearing in the dreams of a mere outer disciple, someone not even directly related to the Wudang Sect?”
He was speechless, stunned. While he had assumed his master had other disciples,
he hadn’t expected one of them to be the Martial Alliance leader.
While it was possible this was a trap, a ploy to make him reveal his connection to the Eight-Foot Tall Monster, there was no reason for Zi Lu, one of the Ten Great Masters, the leader of the Martial Alliance, to lie to a weakling like him, someone who could be easily dispatched with a flick of the wrist.
And judging by the fact that he knew of Confucius, the name his master used instead of his infamous title, the Eight-Foot Tall Monster,
Zi Lu was undoubtedly his master’s disciple.
Since Zi Lu had already revealed their shared connection, and since he didn’t like wasting time, Mancheon decided to be bold.
“Can I call you Senior Brother, then?”
Zi Lu raised an eyebrow, a hint of amusement in his eyes, as he studied Mancheon’s face.
“You’re a bold one, Junior Brother, despite asking me to lower my guard. Call me what you like.”
He acknowledged their relationship as senior and junior martial brothers with a surprisingly casual attitude, belying his stern appearance.
In the martial world, one’s master was like a parent, and fellow disciples like siblings.
Mancheon, alone in the martial world, had gained a senior brother.
“But how did you know I was Master’s disciple? Did you figure it out from the number of techniques I used?”
As the tension between them eased, he asked the question that had been on his mind, and Zi Lu scoffed.
“That, and… your fighting style. It’s clearly his handiwork. I bet he made you drill the basics relentlessly, chuckling, ‘Hehe~’ all the while.”
Zi Lu’s tone was mocking as he imitated their master’s characteristic chuckle, but there was no real malice in his words.
“I know his methods well. He did the same to me.”
A flicker of nostalgia, a hint of fondness for their shared master, softened the Martial Alliance leader’s hardened features.
He wouldn’t have revealed their connection if he didn’t have some affection for their master.
“Hee~ So you learned a thousand techniques from Master?”
The Martial God, a master of over a thousand techniques.
If the source of his title was their shared master, who had supposedly mastered almost every martial art in existence, it made sense.
“No, the ‘thousand techniques’ thing is a misunderstanding, an exaggeration of my usual behavior and the techniques I use. Well… since you’re a fellow disciple, I suppose it’s better to show you.”
Zi Lu stood up and demonstrated a few techniques, including the one he had used earlier, adjusting his movements to match Mancheon’s level.
“…….”
Watching the display of Daoist martial arts mastery, the techniques practically spoon-fed to him, Mancheon finally understood why Zi Lu was called the Martial God.
He understood the origin of the rumor about the thousand techniques.
A martial art considered by his master, who always claimed there was no single strongest technique, to be the closest to perfect.
The One Piece of the martial world, the technique that had ushered in the era of the martial artists and had drenched the Central Plains in blood.
The culmination of the teachings of 5,481 Daoist scriptures, a compendium of martial arts techniques.
“The Nine Yin Manual.”
Zi Lu stopped his demonstration and reined in his qi as Mancheon uttered the name.
“You have a good eye for martial arts. You haven’t been wasting your time.”
And then, like a hungry dog lunging for its food bowl, Mancheon instinctively prostrated himself before Zi Lu, bowing deeply.
His body had moved before his mind could process the situation, drawn by the feast laid out before him.
“Please accept my respects, Senior Brother.”
“What… what are you doing?”
He spoke earnestly, his voice sincere, requesting guidance, so as not to repeat his earlier embarrassing display.
What was the point of having a senior brother if not to share some cool techniques?
“This humble junior seeks guidance from his esteemed senior.”
-Crash!?
Before Zi Lu could respond, the sound of shattering glass echoed through the night.
‘Who’s there?’
He rose unsteadily and turned towards the source of the sound.
A broken vial, liquid pooling on the floor, a small, delicate hand frozen in mid-air. He saw Wang Meiyang, her golden eyes wide with shock and… something else, as she stared at him, kneeling before another master, seeking guidance.
“I… I heard you were awake… so I brought you… a tonic to help restore your internal energy…”
Wang Meiyang stumbled backward, retreating from the sight she couldn’t bear to witness.
“But… you’ve found a new teacher… I see… it can’t be helped… I was incapacitated… you saw me at my weakest…”
She wanted to be angry, to accuse him of betrayal, but her throat constricted, the words wouldn’t come.
She had dreamed of reviving the Quanzhen Sect with Mancheon, her first disciple, despite his weakness, a disciple she had grown strangely fond of, and the loss of that dream hit her hard.
A strange, unfamiliar ache, a pang of something she couldn’t name, pierced her heart.
Overwhelmed by the unfamiliar emotion, Wang Meiyang turned and fled.
“Who was that? What’s wrong with her?”
Zi Lu, his face creased with confusion, asked about Wang Meiyang, who had appeared suddenly, her face pale, her eyes filled with tears, muttering incoherently, before fleeing.
“Um… she’s my Quanzhen martial arts master,” Mancheon replied casually.
Zi Lu smacked him upside the head.
“You’re just like Lu Bu!”
“Ow?!”
“You idiot! Your master isn’t dead! She’s right there! How can you, as a disciple, kneel before another master and beg for teachings?!”
While Mancheon, a reincarnator, saw nothing wrong with learning from multiple sources,
in the martial world, where the student-teacher relationship was sacred, his actions were a betrayal, a sign of disloyalty.
“Go after her and apologize! Now!!”
Realizing he had committed a social faux pas, Mancheon chased after Wang Meiyang.
Zi Lu frowned, watching him go.
‘If you desire knowledge, seek out teachers, regardless of age or gender, and humbly request their guidance.’
He remembered his master’s words.
His younger martial brother was deeply influenced by their eccentric master, for better or for worse.
“That boy… he’s going to have a difficult time…”
He should have just minded his own business, ignored him.
But he couldn’t. Perhaps it was because he was a fellow disciple, or perhaps it was the boy’s limp that reminded him of his younger self, but he couldn’t help but be drawn to this troublesome boy.
And the boy’s presence seemed to have a positive effect on Xiaoshao. She seemed… brighter, happier.
It wouldn’t hurt to keep an eye on him.
Hee-hee~ I thought it might be fun to include a short comic at the end of the episode. This is a short, wordless comic.
(well, you can find the comic in our discord channel)
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Nooo the cute master get mad
