Zhang Cuishan, let me guess—did you want to kill yourself because you felt guilty toward Yu Daiyan, but couldn't bring yourself to kill your wife to atone, so you chose to sacrifice yourself instead?"
Kizaru asked softly, a small smile on his lips.
Despite clearly looking younger than Zhang Cuishan, he addressed him by name without the slightest hesitation.
Strangely, no one in the room found it inappropriate. Given that this "Mr. Bo" appeared to be on equal footing with Master Zhang, if he claimed seniority, he would by extension outrank everyone present.
Zhang Sanfeng, celebrating his hundredth birthday today, held terrifying seniority in the martial world. Even monks of the "Kong" generation—who were peers to the Shaolin abbot—were junior to him.
"…May I ask what guidance Senior wishes to offer?"
Zhang Cuishan, who had failed to die and atone to the world, hesitated for a moment, but eventually cupped his fists respectfully and asked:
Previously, he had only wanted to die and be done with it. Now that he'd survived and was caught between his senior brother and beloved wife, he didn't know what to do.
"Foolish. Let me introduce someone—this is Orochimaru, a miracle-working doctor from the Land of Fire. His skills can raise the dead and regrow flesh from bone. You get what I'm saying, right?"
Kizaru clapped Orochimaru on the shoulder and gave Zhang Cuishan a painfully obvious hint.
Having lived on a deserted island for several years, Zhang Cuishan was a little slow on the uptake and didn't immediately catch on. Instead, Song Yuanqiao's eyes lit up with joy, and he bowed deeply to Orochimaru without hesitation.
"My third brother has long suffered from crippling injuries. Please, Divine Healer, save him! The Wudang Sect will be eternally grateful!"
Following Song Yuanqiao's lead, realization dawned on Zhang Cuishan. Together with his senior brothers, he bowed deeply and pleaded for Orochimaru's help.
Orochimaru, who had been silently collecting intelligence and had never once imagined he'd be roped into acting as a medical ninja, twitched at the corner of his mouth. Still, it wasn't the time to speak out. He simply nodded with a blank expression.
"Is it true… that Daiyan's injuries can really be cured?"
Zhang Sanfeng's voice trembled slightly. The greatest regret of his life was being helpless as his third disciple suffered in bed, and then losing his fifth disciple without explanation.
Now, with Zhang Cuishan's return after so many years, his only remaining sorrow was Yu Daiyan's paralysis.
"Of course! As long as he hasn't drawn his final breath, I doubt there's any injury Orochimaru can't heal!"
Kizaru boasted shamelessly, taking on full responsibility with zero hesitation—after all, Orochimaru was the one who'd have to do the work. If things didn't pan out, well, that was Orochimaru's problem.
Orochimaru, standing to the side, increasingly felt that something was wrong, but couldn't interrupt at this point. He kept up the cold, aloof front.
And given Orochimaru's naturally impressive presence—not to mention the kind of charisma that drew legions of followers—and his imperious silence, even Zhang Sanfeng found himself instinctively trusting him.
"Hold on! Reviving Yu the Third is certainly good news—but before that, shouldn't Zhang the Fifth and Wudang give us an explanation?"
Master Kongwen of Shaolin, seeing how things were going off the rails, stepped forward and spoke sternly.
"Then let's deal with these baldies first, then we heal Third Brother!"
Wudang's seventh hero, Mo Shenggu—known for his fiery temper—snapped in frustration.
They had finally found a miracle doctor who might heal their third senior brother, and now these idiots wanted to stir up trouble?
"Shenggu! Watch your words!"
Zhang Sanfeng's rebuke was firm and immediate. His teaching wasn't limited to martial arts—conduct mattered more.
"Yes, Master…"
Mo Shenggu looked a bit wronged but dared not question Zhang Sanfeng's authority.
Before the Shaolin master Kongxing could erupt in anger, Zhang Sanfeng cut him off, leaving the monk no choice but to glare hatefully at Mo Shenggu.
Kongwen attempted to mediate the situation, but just as he was about to speak, Zhang Sanfeng suddenly stood up.
"I've been sitting all day and my old bones are starting to ache. Since Master Kongzhi seems to be in the mood for some action, how could I, a humble Taoist, not join him for a friendly match?"
Zhang Sanfeng said calmly, his face unreadable.
To ensure Yu Daiyan could be treated as soon as possible, Zhang Sanfeng was actually prepared to step in himself.
The entire hall erupted in commotion. No one had expected that Zhang Zhenren, at the age of a hundred, would be willing to personally duel Master Kongzhi. Even the instigator himself—Master Kongzhi—looked uneasy.
Zhang Zhenren of Wudang had been famous for over seventy years. Those who had fought him, or even witnessed his martial arts, were mostly long gone. What remained were countless legendary tales about him—he was practically a living immortal.
No one knew how advanced Zhang Sanfeng's martial arts had become. Master Kongzhi had only dared challenge him earlier assuming that, at such an old age, Zhang would be weak and lacking stamina despite his skill.
But now, looking at Zhang Zhenren—ruddy-faced and childlike in appearance—he didn't look the least bit like a centenarian. He really might have achieved the mythical state of martial transcendence and reverse aging that the rumors spoke of.
In that moment, Master Kongzhi found himself in a dilemma. He wanted to back down, but the thought of facing someone with nearly a hundred years of cultivation chilled him.
He knew very well the strength of the three "Du"-generation monks of Shaolin—masters who had once taught him and were unmatched in their depth. Yet even they were juniors compared to Zhang Sanfeng. Back when Zhang was already shaking the martial world, those three were just novices chanting sutras in Shaolin.
"Master, you mustn't!"
"Yes, Master, let us disciples take your place!"
"It's all our fault—how can we let Master fight for our sake?"
…
Thankfully, Song Yuanqiao and the others rushed to block Zhang Sanfeng, no matter how powerful their master was. They still feared for his safety given his age.
"Everyone, I haven't finished speaking my fair piece yet!"
At that moment, Kizaru once again stepped forward.
Given his earlier display—knocking out the Giant Whale Gang leader from a distance—none of the guests dared brush him off now. They paused, curious about what he had to say.
Still, if this tall stranger was just going to defend the Wudang Sect blindly, they weren't going to stay silent.
"Please speak, Mr. Bo," Song Yuanqiao said warmly. This "Mr. Bo" held the hope of curing their third brother. Even if his words were unpleasant, as long as they didn't target their master, the Wudang Seven would endure.
"First of all, I think we can all agree—Xie Xun deserved to die, yes?"
Kizaru might've claimed he was speaking fairly, but asking him to lie and say Xie Xun's killings were somehow justified? That would be a betrayal of his decades as a marine.
Even in the world of pirates, Xie Xun was beyond redemption—slaughtering entire families, sparing not even newborn infants in his worst days.
"No objections!"
"Mr. Bo is absolutely right!"
"That villain Xie Xun should've died long ago!"
…
The guests, who had been wary of Kizaru possibly taking Wudang's side, all relaxed. Many even echoed his sentiments now.
Zhang Cuishan, still restrained after failing to take his own life, wanted to say something—but when he opened his mouth, he found himself unable to defend his sworn brother.
Had he not accidentally learned the truth—that Cheng Kun had annihilated Xie Xun's family—he too might've believed Xie Xun deserved death.
"Zhang Cuishan shielding Xie Xun is also a serious crime. I think we can all agree on that?"
Kizaru continued in a calm, deliberate voice.
At that, the Wudang Seven began to stir. Fortunately, their eldest brother Song Yuanqiao remained steady and kept the others from reacting.
Mr. Bo was someone their master respected—and hadn't their master himself refrained from interrupting?
"Well said!"
"If Zhang the Fifth insists on protecting that monster, we won't stand for it!"
"If he won't give up Xie Xun's whereabouts, then the Wudang Sect must hand him over!"
…
The crowd now looked at Kizaru with newfound admiration. This Mr. Bor was clearly on their side.
"Xie Xun has wronged many present—but there is a grudge even deeper than blood vengeance, and that is national vengeance!"
A faintly sinister smile tugged at the corner of Borsalino's mouth. Only moral coercion could defeat moral coercion. While many of the guests indeed bore grudges against Xie Xun, more of them were here for one thing—the Dragon-Slaying Saber.
Otherwise, no matter how bloodthirsty the Golden-Haired Lion King might be, he wouldn't have earned the enmity of nearly the entire martial world. Since these so-called heroes were using morality to pressure Zhang Cuishan into giving up Xie Xun, Borsalino had no qualms using an even higher form of moral pressure—to make them give up their pursuit.
Of course, that depended on whether Xie Xun was truly willing to sacrifice himself for the cause. If not, there was no way to silence those with blood grudges.
The guests exchanged confused glances.
Just moments ago, this Mr. Bo had been clearly on their side. Now he was suddenly bringing up national vengeance—and the more he said, the more frightening it became.
Borsalino began by recounting the Mongol Yuan army's brutal massacres during their southern campaigns, followed by a lament on how hard life had been under their rule. Under the Yuan's caste system, the former citizens of the Southern Song were at the very bottom. The life of a Han Chinese was worth little more than a head of livestock.
And that was only in theory. Most of the time, if a Mongol soldier killed one of them, there was nowhere to even seek justice. Even among the martial world, many present felt the sting of these memories.
Then Borsalino invoked the fall of the Song at Yaishan, where a hundred thousand soldiers and civilians chose death by drowning. He spoke of the indomitable Wen Tianxiang and his poem: "Though I die a hundred deaths, never shall I yield."
By the time he finished, even the most obtuse among them could see where this was going.
Some in the crowd looked downright shaken. Though there had always been a faint undercurrent of anti-Yuan sentiment in the martial world, aside from the "demonic" Ming Cult, who would dare speak openly of rebellion?
"…Zhang Cuishan. You have two choices: either reveal Xie Xun's whereabouts—or persuade him to join the cause of overthrowing the Yuan. Let national vengeance wash away his personal sins."
Borsalino's true intent was finally laid bare.
Zhang Cuishan, having been raised under Zhang Sanfeng's teachings and harboring his own distaste for the Mongols, no longer hesitated.
"I am willing to persuade my sworn brother to repay his personal hatred with national loyalty. And I myself will join the rebellion—whatever it takes, for the sake of the people!"
His voice rang with gratitude. Borsalino's words had resolved the very dilemma that had tormented him for so long—and brought with them the miracle doctor who could heal Third Brother.
Knowing Yu Daiyan, if his years of suffering could be cured, there was a good chance he would find it in himself to forgive Yin Susu.
After all, while she was responsible for leading him into that trap, she was not the one who had struck him down.
"This… this can't be right…"
"If Xie Xun joins the rebellion, are we just supposed to let him go?"
"Xie Xun is a butcher! How can Mr. Bo guarantee he'll really oppose the Yuan court?"
…
The guests were now at a loss. Some may have been fools, but not all of them.
Borsalino's brand of moral coercion was far too powerful. Even those who hated Xie Xun most began to waver.
In the martial world, reputation was everything. Even if they had no interest in rebellion, if they went after a man fighting against the Yuan, they'd be branded lackeys of the regime.
It didn't take long for a clever voice to raise the inevitable question—what if Xie Xun only pretended to rebel, and simply continued living freely? Someone would need to bear the consequences.
"I will vouch for my sworn brother!" Zhang Cuishan said firmly, cutting off Borsalino before he could speak. "If either he or I show even the slightest betrayal of the anti-Yuan cause, I am willing to die a death of a thousand cuts!"
He couldn't think of a better way out of this. If they didn't seize this opportunity now, the situation could spiral beyond repair.
"Fifth Brother…"
Yin Susu, who had just entered the hall, burst into tears as she watched Zhang Cuishan make his solemn vow—not tears of sorrow, but of relief. Their bond as husband and wife had survived.
Clang!
A sharp metallic snap echoed through the hall. A young man with a conflicted expression stepped forward from the crowd, holding a broken sword.
The fall of the previous dynasty wasn't that long ago. Some of those present were themselves descendants of the Southern Song. And with Mongol cruelty still fresh in their minds, Borsalino's words had stirred more than a few hearts.
"Zhang Cuishan! That butcher Xie Xun wiped out my brother's entire family. I regret only that my skills are too meager to take revenge myself. But if I ever learn he breaks today's vow, I'll drag you down to the underworld with him! If I break this oath—may I be like this sword!"
He flung the broken blade at Zhang Cuishan's feet, gave him one final look, and turned to leave.
And he was only the first. One after another, others followed—snapping their weapons and tossing them at Zhang Cuishan's feet. For now, in the face of patriotic duty, they set aside their vendettas.
But should Xie Xun ever stray from the path, that hatred would fall squarely on Zhang Cuishan—and by extension, Wudang itself.
In the blink of an eye, a third of the guests had left the hall. Of those who remained, only a few still clung to their hatred. The rest were opportunists still hoping to get their hands on the Dragon-Slaying Saber.
°°°
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