Chapter Forty-Six: Debts Must Be Repaid Sooner or Later

The distance from Shuzhou’s Mount Shu to Chenzhou’s Fengling Crossing nearly spans half of the Central Plains, for one lies in the west and the other in the east. Zhang He calculated that even by the shortest route, they would traverse the territories of five prefectures—a journey likely to take no less than a month to complete.

His companions, Hua Feihong and Ma Junmei, seemed to share the same mindset. None of them hired horses or carriages; instead, they chose to hone their skills along the way. After leaving the jurisdiction of Chengdu, Zhang He’s level rose by three, now at twenty-five. He continued to allocate his attribute points to agility, which had reached sixty with no boundary, making his lightfoot technique increasingly effortless. As for slaying monsters, he left that to the two Shu Mountain experts. The second-tier Myriad Sword Technique made dispatching monsters delightfully easy; creatures perished in droves.

Though he had parted ways with Fatty and Xiao Lingling, each pursuing their own path, Zhang He found himself in excellent spirits, though he couldn’t quite say why. Since meeting Fatty and Ma Junmei, he smiled far more than he used to—perhaps he was born to be a cheerful soul.

Indeed, when one’s mood is bright, high-spirited folk songs from Yunnan are inevitable:

“You two, listen to me now, If you don’t fear death, you’ll meet the King of Hell. Don’t scorn me for being small, Though I’m short, I’m made of steel. Oh, plump lady, though I’m small, I’m made of steel, Don’t be arrogant, little fellow, I’m not afraid you’re made of steel. Today you tease this plump lady, I’ll make you taste the pine resin, Oh, my brother, I’ll make you taste the pine resin…”

Ma Junmei, once outside Shu Mountain, reverted to her wild ways, laughing recklessly at Zhang He’s song. Hua Feihong, however, floated ahead, fixing Zhang He with a cold stare.

Zhang He asked proudly, “Well? Isn’t my singing pleasant?”

Hua Feihong replied with a stern face, “That’s not singing. That’s braying like a donkey.”

No sooner had she spoken than a long, distant echo resonated above the woods—a cold laugh clearly powered by internal energy:

“To think disciples of Shu Mountain, guardians against evil, have befriended a wanted thief from Yizhou. That’s truly a rare sight.”

All three faces changed at once. Ma Junmei quietly summoned her inner strength, replying coldly, “Who lurks in the shadows, hiding like a ghost? Since you know we are Shu Mountain swordsmen, dare you still play tricks from the dark?”

The voice sounded again: “Am I the one playing tricks? You avoid the proper shortcuts and parade down the official road—Is that the style of Shu Mountain disciples?”

By now, Hua Feihong had finished her incantation. She pressed her palms together and thrust them forward. Around her, dozens of phantom swords shimmered, dense as a net, rushing toward a lush tree thirty meters ahead. This was Shu Mountain’s Myriad Sword Technique—a group attack skill. Its individual power might not be overwhelming, but evading it was nearly impossible.

The branches at the tree’s crown snapped under the barrage, leaves fluttering in chaos. From the shower of fragments, a figure descended.

Seeing this person, Zhang He’s wary expression disappeared.

Zhong Shuman was as cold and dazzling as ever. Only her attire had changed—she now wore purple, her waist armed with a pair of Red Needles instead of the old Water-Splitting Daggers. Her gear, it seemed, had undergone a transformation.

Red Needles resembled Water-Splitting Daggers in appearance, but their structure was quite different. The hilt was set at the center of the blade, and the edges branched out like triangular spikes, their vivid red hue reminiscent of fresh blood—sharp, sinister, and bloody. This weapon was rare and difficult to master.

Noticing the Chivalric Mark on Zhong Shuman’s shoulder, Hua Feihong refrained from further action, but her tone was icy: “So you are a third-tier female hero. My respects. I am Hua Feihong of Shu Mountain.”

Clearly unaware that her counterpart was no easy prey, Zhong Shuman retorted coldly, “So even disciples of the Lingyin Fairy consort with wanted criminals.”

Hua Feihong’s nature was indifferent. Hearing Zhong Shuman’s barbed words, her tone grew even colder: “Chivalric folk aren’t necessarily noble. You hide in the shadows and ambush travelers on the official road. Aren’t you afraid it will tarnish your honor and reputation?”

Zhong Shuman snorted, “Those who only dare tread the byways aren’t likely to be brave. They don’t need me to deal with them.”

At these words, a murderous gleam flashed in Hua Feihong’s eyes. Ma Junmei’s face darkened, her hand settling on her sword hilt.

Seeing the tension, Zhang He hurriedly coughed, “Perhaps there’s a misunderstanding. We’re all friends here, friends…”

Zhong Shuman replied coolly, “I haven’t misunderstood you. Do you know that Qingcheng, Tang Gate, Starfire Sect, and the Yizhou East Tomb County Prefecture have placed a bounty of fifty gold taels on your head? You’re bold indeed, showing up here.”

Zhang He frowned, “Have you come to take me in?”

Zhong Shuman said, “That’s the bailiff’s job, not mine.”

Zhang He let out a small sigh of relief. It seemed Zhong Shuman still remembered their shared past and had no intention of turning him in. Yet, her ability to track him here suggested that enemies from Qingcheng and Tang Gate would soon follow.

As this thought crossed his mind, the faces of Hua Feihong, Ma Junmei, and Zhong Shuman all changed. Zhang He sensed it too. A hundred meters away, someone was rushing toward them at incredible speed. Normally, he wouldn’t have noticed, but the newcomer’s heavy, urgent footsteps were impossible to miss. All four sensed the approach.

The visitor soon appeared, flipping through the air and landing steadily in their midst.

Clad in red and black, wearing Flying Cloud Boots, a Killing Staff at his waist, and a silver badge on his chest—this was none other than Silver-Badge Bailiff Cheng Jichun, with whom they had once collaborated at Qingluan Peak.

Brother Chun laughed heartily, “Brother Wu Li, we meet again.”

Zhang He felt a chill. The moment you left the lawless area of Feiyan Gorge, the bailiffs’ noses became as sharp as hounds—catching you in no time.

“Brother Chun.” Zhang He managed a steady greeting.

Brother Chun grew serious, “Brother, I was sent to arrest you, but I’m not interested in that paltry gold. You and Miss Zhong, hurry and leave. A large group is right behind. Don’t take the official road—head left to the small path through the Iron Duke’s Mausoleum. The orthodox sects rarely go there, and at least you won’t fall into my hands…”

Zhang He nodded. Once, he had given Brother Chun five of those ginger pills, and now it paid off in useful information. Such is the way of building connections.

Unfortunately, Brother Chun hadn’t counted on how quickly the pursuers would arrive. A booming, rough voice echoed overhead, “No one leaves here today.”

The owner of the voice was not yet visible, but the sound filled the area, evidence of profound internal strength—equal to any present. The five turned in shock to see a Tang Gate member descending from the sky, using the “Eight Steps to Catch the Cicada” lightfoot technique.

He landed with a loud laugh, shaking the leaves from the trees.

“You might escape on the first day, but can you hide on the fifteenth?”

Zhang He’s heart sank. He had recognized the man—Tang Gate’s Grand Elder of Alchemy, Dreaming of Water.

In the world of outlaws, retribution comes sooner or later.

Dreaming of Water swept his gaze across the group, surprised, “You’ve made enemies everywhere—Chivalry, Shu Mountain, Six Doors, Tang Gate, Qingcheng, Starfire Sect. Heaven’s misfortune is pitiable, but self-inflicted disaster is unforgivable!”

Zhang He couldn’t help but laugh, “Grand Elder, nice to see you again. You finally caught up with me.”

His words were pure provocation, mocking the elder’s previous failure. Since this fight would likely end in death, he might as well gamble. In clashes between masters, one must never lose composure.

But Dreaming of Water was not angered, only coldly said, “Force conquers all. Last time you killed more than twenty of our Tang Gate members, and I took four of your companions. Let’s call it even. But you stole my flower—that was unforgivable. Return it now, and I promise never to pursue the past.”

With his status as Tang Gate elder, such a promise was trustworthy. But how could the Blood Parrot Flower possibly be returned?

“Heh, I already swallowed the flower. Returning it would be difficult,” Zhang He replied, smiling.

“Then cough it up.” This time, Dreaming of Water truly lost his temper, leaping into the air. A green Tang Gate throwing dart gleamed in the sunlight, aimed at Zhang He’s chest.

Zhang He knew well the dart’s potent poison. He summoned his inner strength and struck it aside with his sword.

Dreaming of Water was surprised. In just ten days, Zhang He’s abilities had grown dramatically. He was about to unleash more power when Ma Junmei intervened, “Grand Elder, since you are a Tang Gate elder, for the sake of our Shu Mountain sect, could we not settle this amicably?”

“What are you? Daring to bargain with me?” Dreaming of Water, realizing the Blood Parrot Flower was lost forever, was furious. “Even Shu Mountain elders have no right to speak to me. Get lost!”

“Why don’t you drop dead?” Ma Junmei shouted back, no longer caring about her identity as a Shu Mountain player, immediately launching the Myriad Sword Technique.

“You dare use a second-tier sword technique?” Dreaming of Water sneered, but he retreated quickly, knowing he could not dodge the attack. The martial arts of Shu Mountain far surpassed those of Tang Gate.

Zhang He suddenly shouted, “Dodge! Hold your breath!”

Startled, Ma Junmei saw Dreaming of Water fling a handful of blue-green poison sand as he retreated. It was too late to step back, and a string of purple “-30” damage values appeared above her head.

“Grand Elder, I am Hua Feihong, disciple of the Lingyin Fairy of Shu Mountain. On urgent business, I beg you to show mercy and stay your hand, and hear me out.” Hua Feihong, evidently stubborn, tried to reason. Zhang He felt exasperated—Hua Feihong had spent too long cultivating on Shu Mountain, lacking any worldly experience. Did she really expect Dreaming of Water to listen to reason?