Upon hearing Song Feng's answer, Qingmu could barely contain his delight. He repeatedly called him a good disciple and even wanted to say right away that he would hand the Wudang Sect over to him in the future.
"May I ask if Master has any other instructions?" Seeing that Qingmu was still immersed in his joy, Song Feng asked helplessly. He hoped he could leave soon and get away from his unusually strange master today, afraid that the old man might ask another bizarre question.
"Hehe! I do, and it's something very important! Sit, sit!" Seeing Song Feng standing respectfully before him the whole time, Qingmu was in an excellent mood now that his scheme had succeeded. He pointed at the grand armchair beside him and said with a smile.
"Yes!" Seeing how abnormal his master was acting, Song Feng grew even more uneasy. He nervously lowered half his butt onto the grand armchair, and despite having weathered countless storms, he felt as though he were starting to break out in a cold sweat. After all, his master had always been extremely stern and impartial in his eyes. For him to speak so kindly to Song Feng now and politely tell him to sit down was truly like a barren tree blooming—something that happened only once in a thousand years.
"Seven hundred years ago, when our founding patriarch Zhang Sanfeng established the Wudang Sect, the sect gradually developed under his leadership from an obscure little sect into one that stood shoulder to shoulder with Shaolin, a sect with several thousand years of history. It is said that our founding patriarch passed away long ago, but that is not the truth."
"What? Patriarch Zhang Sanfeng is still alive!" As an expert of the secular world, Song Feng knew a little about the cultivation world, but no matter what, he could not imagine that Patriarch Zhang Sanfeng, who was over seven hundred years old, was still alive.
"That's right. Patriarch Zhang Sanfeng reached the Nascent Soul Stage several hundred years ago and has practically achieved immortality!" Qingmu waved his hand, stopping Song Feng, who had an astonished look on his face and was about to speak. He continued with an expression of reverence and longing, "Just a few days ago, Patriarch Zhang Sanfeng shattered the void and journeyed through the immortal realm. How enviable!" To everyone who had entered the cultivation world, their greatest lifelong wish was to shatter the void and ascend, becoming as everlasting as the heavens.
"Master, could the legendary immortal realm really exist?" As the person who had absorbed the most knowledge from modern society, Song Feng could understand that cultivators were able to extend their lifespans, but he still could not understand how the legend of shattering the void and ascending in broad daylight could be real.
Looking at Song Feng's astonished and confused expression, Qingmu said with longing, "Of course. That is what I have yearned for most in this life! Mingde, tomorrow I'll take you to the Wudang Sect's immortal abode in the rear mountain—the place where the successive seniors of the Wudang Sect have devoted themselves to cultivation!"
"Ah, really?" Song Feng was instantly overjoyed. He had heard that the forbidden area in the rear mountain was where the legendary figures of the Wudang Sect cultivated, but as a disciple of the Ming generation, he had never had the chance to approach that mysterious place. Now that Qingmu said he would take him to the Wudang Sect's legendary immortal abode, how could he not be extremely excited? Even though he had weathered many storms in the mortal world, as a martial artist, what truly attracted Song Feng was still martial arts. The seniors of the sect who stayed in the immortal abode had all once been figures who dominated the world, and now they were practically immortals. If he could obtain even a little guidance from them, he would benefit from it for the rest of his life! Poor Great Hero Song had already sunk deep into a fantasy of countless martial arts secrets flying toward him!
"Ahem!" Qingmu's soft cough finally brought Song Feng back to his senses. With an embarrassed look, he said, "Thank you for cultivating me, Master!"
"Hehe, you really are lucky! Our Patriarch Zhang Sanfeng's last disciple is about to enter the mortal world to undergo training, and he wants you to introduce him to the circumstances of the secular world, as well as the ways of human relationships and social etiquette!" Qingmu even spoke with a hint of jealousy. As if cultivating you means using this method. I've simply been cut off from the outside world for too long. Otherwise, how could such a good assignment have gone to you? Fortunately, Mingde is still fairly filial, so I haven't lost out either! Qingmu thought to himself.
"What! The patriarch's disciple!" Song Feng's mouth fell open, and he could not close it for a long while. It took a full quarter of an hour before he shut his enormous mouth, and another quarter of an hour before he came back to his senses and understood what had happened. Having long since become shrewd with age, Song Feng immediately understood Qingmu's strange words and actions earlier. That was right—if he went to teach the Wudang Sect's second-generation disciple, the founder's disciple, treasures would surely come pouring in like water. Of course, Song Feng did not dare slam the table and kick the chair while saying, "Damn it, you actually conned me! Are you tired of living?" After all, the old immortal before him, who appeared ethereal and otherworldly on the surface and looked like a divine immortal in the eyes of secular people, was the master who had raised him from childhood. Song Feng merely gave his usually lofty master a deeply hidden sidelong glance and said, "This disciple obeys."
How could Qingmu, who had already reached the realm that secular people called the immortal realm, fail to notice that fleeting resentful look Song Feng gave him? And how could he fail to understand what it meant? Yet our Sect Leader Qingmu stubbornly acted as though he had seen nothing. His expression did not change in the slightest, truly reaching the level of remaining calm even when Mount Tai collapsed before him. He merely said lightly, "Mingde, go back and make your preparations. Tomorrow at noon, Uncle Qing Teng will take you there. You may withdraw now."
"Yes!" Song Feng respectfully withdrew.
Thus, Zhang Hupan began living a dual life as both teacher and student. In the mornings, Zhang Hupan taught the old Wudang Taoists about the mysteries of the Heavenly Dao and immortal techniques. In the afternoons, he listened to Song Feng explain the customs, social conventions, and ways of dealing with people in modern society. Everyone was extremely satisfied with what they had gained. Ever since the old Wudang Taoists listened to Zhang Hupan's explanations, their realms had risen straight up like rockets. They were so delighted that they grinned from ear to ear every day and clung to Zhang Hupan like sticky candy. Naturally, their skill at flattering him rose as rapidly as their cultivation. Seeing the tremendous progress of the Wudang disciples, Zhang Hupan also experienced the joy of becoming a teacher for the first time. Meanwhile, veteran of the world Song Feng's lessons opened a wondrous window onto the world for Zhang Hupan, who had never seen much of it, making him listen with relish every day like an elementary school student. Naturally, he occasionally asked some extremely childish and ignorant questions.
Only poor Song Feng suffered. He had originally thought that after entering the immortal abode in the rear mountain, even if he could not expect the patriarchs and founding patriarchs to shower him with immortal pills, they would at least offer him some guidance in martial arts secrets. Unexpectedly, those Wudang seniors had no time to pay attention to him at all, choosing only to surround Patriarch Zhang Hupan. Even more infuriatingly, this young-looking little Taoist who was supposedly a patriarch over a hundred years old was constantly asking idiotic questions. Just imagine having a great hero in his fifties, deeply respected by the world, teach a student whose emotional intelligence was only at the level of a kindergartener. Worse still, he could neither hit nor scold this student, and had to maintain an utterly respectful attitude every moment. How could Comrade Song Feng not feel as though he were living in misery? How could he not go mad? Anyone observant would have noticed that Song Feng had not only aged considerably over the past few days, but that his hair had grown much thinner as well. Of course, if he had been paid for his lessons, Song Feng might have felt somewhat more balanced. But after teaching for several days, the patriarch before him had not even mentioned a reward. Poor Song Feng still had to endure his master's brutal interrogations and a personal search every time he returned. Who could say where justice lay! (To be continued)
Before you continue