The martial world wasn't about social niceties

Watching Ji Anning's frail figure recede into the distance and finally vanish into the dusk, Zhang Xuan irritably took off his Azure Dragon Crown and tossed it aside.

He rubbed his temples and muttered a curse. "Damn it, he's actually a girl."

A flicker of surprise crossed the Monk's eyes. "My lord, you noticed too?"

"Too?" Zhang Xuan shot the Monk a sidelong glance. "This isn't some cheap idol drama. That brat's face might have been covered in blood, but anyone who looked closely enough could spot the signs..."

"What is... an idol drama?" The Monk frowned slightly. He had never heard the term before; it sounded strange and unfamiliar.

Zhang Xuan waved a hand, sounding somewhat helpless. "I don't know either. It just slipped out." After saying it, even he found it inexplicable, as though the term had sprung from some distant memory whose source he couldn't grasp.

The Monk didn't press him. He simply picked up the Azure Dragon Crown, gently brushed off the dust, and handed it to Zhang Xuan. "My lord, you mustn't cast your crown aside so lightly. It is a symbol of your station."

Zhang Xuan accepted the Azure Dragon Crown but didn't put it back on. Holding it in his hand, he gazed into the distance and said helplessly, "How am I supposed to work that brat like a beast of burden now?"

The Monk paused, then smiled easily. "My lord, you have never done anything of the sort."

"How haven't I? Carrying firewood, hunting, and all that, while covered in injuries—wasn't I the one who told him to do it?"

"That was your compassion, my lord."

The Monk's words made Zhang Xuan laugh. "Come on, Monk. How can you call it compassion when I'm so harsh with that brat?"

"After great sorrow, people are prone to brooding. Hence the saying that deep feeling cuts life short. You merely feared that worry would damage the child's health and gave him something to do."

Zhang Xuan scoffed. "Hah. Nonsense."

Then Zhang Xuan silently raised his head. Seeing that the Monk had inexplicably come up beside him, he instinctively stepped away and gave him a puzzled look. "Wait, why are you standing so close to me?"

"My lord, it's almost time."

The cryptic remark left Zhang Xuan stunned for a moment. "What? Almost time for..."

Before he could finish, his eyes rolled back and he lost consciousness.

"The medicine to take effect, of course." As though he had anticipated this, the Monk caught Zhang Xuan before he fell, carefully lowered him, and settled him against the tree.

After snugging the scarlet cloak more tightly around Zhang Xuan, the Monk returned to the campfire. The flickering flames cast shifting light and shadow over his rugged face...

The night was thick as ink that would not dissolve, and Zhang Xuan's consciousness gradually sank into a dream.

In his daze, he seemed to stand on a mountaintop wreathed in clouds and mist. White haze surrounded him, with only a small bluestone pavilion faintly visible in the distance, like a mirage.

Inside the pavilion, a familiar figure stood with his back to him, blue Daoist robes fluttering and hair white as snow.

"Master?" Zhang Xuan's heart jolted. As though driven by an invisible force, he hurried forward. The figure slowly turned, revealing a kindly face tinged with irreverence. It was his late master—Zhang Jingzhi, the thirteenth Celestial Master of the Celestial Master's Mansion.

"My dear disciple, you're here?" The old Daoist smiled at him. A wine flask had somehow appeared in his hand, and he poured himself a cup. Its fragrance spread through the air, refreshing the heart and soul.

Zhang Xuan entered the pavilion and bowed, then sat opposite the old Daoist. He opened his mouth, a thousand words crowding his lips, yet didn't know where to begin.

After a long while, he looked up as though remembering something. "Master, something seems wrong with me lately. I feel as though I've become someone else, someone who isn't me."

The old Daoist raised his snow-white eyebrows, amusement flickering in his eyes. "Become someone else?"

Zhang Xuan nodded. Though he had lost his memory, he refused to believe he was a bloodthirsty man who loved killing.

But now...

Earlier, in Ji Anning's home, there had been a moment when, looking at all the blood covering the floor, Zhang Xuan had realized that he actually felt—exhilarated!

And when Ji Anning had asked him to take revenge on her behalf, Zhang Xuan had known how troublesome it would be. With both his qi and blood depleted, why take on that hot potato?

Yet in the end, he had agreed.

On one hand, he sympathized with Ji Anning's plight and respected how far her mother had gone for her child.

On the other, it had been for his own sake. He... wanted to kill.

Earlier, when he had cut off Zhao Dafu's head with a single stroke, the tremor that rose from his very soul had intoxicated him.

So killing felt this wonderful?

Drawing a deep breath, Zhang Xuan decided to tell the truth.

"I feel I've become increasingly violent lately. I even... grow excited at the sight of blood and rejoice at its smell." Zhang Xuan's voice was low, filled with worry he couldn't conceal.

The old Daoist sipped his wine and raised an eyebrow. "What's wrong with violence? What's wrong with loving to kill?"

Zhang Xuan frowned, sounding puzzled. "For a disciple of the Daoist Tradition, all that fighting and killing isn't good, is it?"

Rather than answer directly, the old Daoist set down his cup, his gaze turning distant.

He said slowly, "In my homeland, there was a wise man called Sage Kong, whom the world revered as the Supreme Sage. He loved winning people over with virtue, and all the people bowed before him. Do you know why?"

Zhang Xuan considered it for a moment, then answered earnestly, "If he was revered as the Supreme Sage, he must have been a great worthy possessed of benevolence, righteousness, and virtue. Naturally, the people bowed before him!"

The old Daoist shook his head, a meaningful smile curling his lips. "Wrong! Because that old fellow stood nine feet six inches tall, never went anywhere without the three-foot blade at his waist, and had countless disciples. Nobody dared tell him to his face that he lacked virtue!"

"With a big enough fist and a sharp enough sword, yours is the side of justice!"

"Throughout every dynasty, the victors wrote their glorious achievements into the history books. What, did that mean fewer souls had perished beneath their swords?"

Zhang Xuan froze, then couldn't help laughing. "Master, isn't that... twisted logic?"

The old Daoist burst into laughter, the sound echoing across the mountaintop. "Silly disciple, the martial world isn't about social niceties. It's about bloody fighting and killing. Troubled times call for harsh laws. With a big enough fist, your virtue is naturally without equal. What's wrong with violence? As long as you use it in the right place..."

"—it, too, is the righteous path."

Zhang Xuan fell silent for a moment, then asked quietly, "But I still feel that goes against the principles of the Daoist Tradition..."

The old Daoist's smile slowly faded, his gaze growing deep and solemn. He put down his cup and said gravely, "My dear disciple, remember this—the principles of the Daoist Tradition aren't meant to turn you into a wooden puppet who does nothing but chant scriptures and meditate. The Dao follows nature. And what is nature? The weak are prey to the strong. The fit survive. If you can't even protect yourself, how can you talk of saving the world and helping others?"

Zhang Xuan's heart jolted. "Master..."

The word escaped him, but for a moment he could say nothing more.

The old Daoist suddenly sighed, his voice carrying helplessness and tenderness. "Oh, silly disciple. Don't keep calling me Master this and Master that anymore. Have you forgotten? Your master... died long ago."

Before his words had faded, the old Daoist's figure began to blur, dissolving into specks of starlight that scattered into the mist. Zhang Xuan thrust out his hand, only to grasp empty air.

"Master!" he shouted, jolting awake from the dream, his forehead already covered in cold sweat.