Heaven-relying Sword And Dragon-slaying Sabre

"I will!" Zhang Wuji replied. Noticing a great concern on Zhao Min's face, he gave her a faint smile as if he was saying, "Don't worry!"

As Zhang Wuji walked out the shed and looked up, he saw the bright moon and sparse stars in the sky. He took a deep breath and felt that his 'zhen qi' [real/genuine 'chi'] was flowing freely around his body. His spirit rose as he walked toward the Temple gate.

"I [orig. zai4xia4 – 'under'] have something I'd like to discuss with Emei Pai Zhang Men [sect leader]; would you please show me the way?" he said to the monk in charge of the reception of the visitors.

The monk on duty knew he was the Ming Cult Jiaozhu. "Yes! Yes!" he said, full of respect, "Xiao Seng [humble monk – referring to self] will show the way. Zhang Jiaozhu, this way, please."

Leading Zhang Wuji to the west, they walked for approximately a 'li' [0.5km] before he pointed toward several little huts some distance away.

The monk said, "Emei Pai stays over there. Monks and nuns are not supposed to mingle. Xiao Seng feels uncomfortable to get too close this late at night." Actually, he was afraid Zhang Wuji might fight with Zhou Zhiruo again. If two masters of the present age involved in a battle, he might get unlucky and would be hurt as an innocent bystander.

With a smile Zhang Wuji said, "If you returned and mentioned this matter, you would unavoidably alarm the others. I'd better seal your acupoint. What do you say?"

The monk hastily said, "Xiao Seng will not dare to open my mouth. Jiaozhu, don't worry." Hurriedly he turned around and left

Zhang Wuji strolled leisurely toward the huts. He stopped about a dozen of 'zhang's away from the huts. Two nuns immediately flew in. Holding their swords horizontally across their bodies they shouted, "Who's there?"

Zhang Wuji cupped his fists and said, "Ming Cult's Zhang Wuji wishes to have an audience with your precious Sect's Sect Leader, Mrs. Song."

The two nuns were very apprehensive; the more senior of the two haltingly said, "Zhang … Zhang Jiaozhu, please wait here, I … I have to report it first." Although she tried to act calm, her voice trembled. She turned around and started to walk. But only several steps later she took out a bamboo whistle and blew it.

Emei Pai was very happy and proud that day. Their Sect Leader had defeated three of the great masters of the present age in front of the world heroes. She had scared the several thousand fierce warriors so that none dared to challenge her. That was indeed an unprecedented grand occasion in the history of their Sect. However, the Emei Pai had killed two Elders of the Beggar Clan, defeated two heroes of Wudang, and injured the Cult Leader of the Ming Cult. The number of people they had offended today was truly not a few. In addition, with Zhou Zhiruo winning the 'Number One Martial Artist in the World' title, there would be many heroes who were angry or envious. Thus, that night they set up tight sentries and patrols around their camp to guard against any threat from the outside.

As the nun blew the whistle, more than twenty people rushed in immediately from all directions. Their blades flickered under the moonlight. Zhang Wuji ignored their presence. He stood still with his hands behind his back.

The nun disappeared into a small hut. She reappeared a moment later and said, "Our humble Sect's Zhang Men Ren says: Men and women are not supposed to mingle, especially this late at night. Zhang Jiaozhu, please return."

"I have a rather acceptable medical skill," Zhang Wuji said, "I only wish to treat Song Qingshu Shaoxia's [young hero] injury; nothing more."

The nun was startled. She went back into the hut to convey the message. After a long time, she returned and said, "Zhang Men Ren invites you to come in."

Zhang Wuji patted his waist to show that he did not carry any weapon before walking behind the nun to enter the hut. He saw Zhou Zhiruo sitting by a table on the side; her cheek rested on her palm. She was lost in thought so that she did not turn her head although she heard him. The nun poured a cup of green tea and set it on the table then she retreated and gently closed the door. There were no other people in the room. A flickering white candle on the table illuminated Zhou Zhiruo's plain dark green attire. The overall scene was sad and gloomy.

Zhang Wuji's heart ached. In a low voice he said, "How is Song Shige's condition? Let me take a look at him."

Without turning her head, Zhou Zhiruo coldly said, "His skull is smashed, his injury is very heavy. Most likely he won't survive. I don't even know if he would survive the night."

"You know my medical skill is not too bad," Zhang Wuji said, "I will do my best to save him."

"Why do you want to save him?" Zhou Zhiruo asked.

Zhang Wuji was startled. "I did you wrong," he said, "In my heart, I am very ashamed. Moreover, you have showed me mercy today by letting me live. Song Shige is injured; I want to make it up to you somehow."

"You showed me mercy first, do you think I did not know it?" Zhou Zhiruo replied, "If you can bring Song Dage back to life, how do you want me to repay?"

"A life for a life," Zhang Wuji replied, "I am asking you to show mercy on my Yifu."

Pointing toward the inner chamber Zhou Zhiruo indifferently said, "He is inside."

Zhang Wuji walked toward the inside chamber. But as he saw the room was pitch-black without any light, he took the candlestick and went in. Zhou Zhiruo did not move; she was still sitting motionless with her cheek on her palm.

Zhang Wuji raised the dark green mosquito net up. Under the candlelight, he saw that Song Qingshu's eyes were bulging, his facial features [orig. 'wu3guan1' – five sensory organs: nose, eyes, lips, tongue, ears] were distorted, making his countenance hideous. His breathing was very weak and he had lost consciousness long ago. Zhang Wuji held his wrist only to find his pulse was chaotic; sometimes fast, sometimes slow. His skin felt ice-cold. If he was not treated immediately, indeed he would not survive the night. Zhang Wuji lightly touched his skull and felt that four pieces of Song Qingshu's skull, the forehead and the back of his head, were disintegrated. Zhang Wuji thought about the fierceness of his Yu Er Bo's [second (older) uncle] pair of fists. This 'shuang feng guan er' stance was backed by a hundred percent internal energy. If Song Qingshu did not have a very strong foundation in internal energy cultivation, he would have died on the spot.

Zhang Wuji let down the mosquito net. He put down the candlestick on the table, sat on a bamboo chair by the table, and was deep in thought, thinking how he was going to treat the injury. Song Qingshu's injury was fatal; even with all his might, Zhang Wuji's confidence only reached 30%.

It took him about the time to cook rice to consider all options carefully; and then he stood up and went out the room. "Mrs. Song," he said, "Whether or not Song Shige's life would be saved, I find it very difficult to assert. Would you let me give it a try?"

"If you can't save him, nobody else in this world can," Zhou Zhiruo answered.

Zhang Wuji said, "Even if his life is spared, I am afraid his face, his martial art will not return to his former days. His brain was also shaken badly. I am afraid … I am afraid even speaking will not be easy for him."