Ghost Face Cultivator 05

For them, receiving guidance from the former Left Envoy of the Demon Sect was well worth ten taels of silver.

Especially after hearing how Fang Zhiyi had subdued the Gentleman Sword and the Twin-Blade Warrior in a single move, their fervor only grew—shifting from cries of "Kill the demon!" to reverence for sheer strength.

After all, if you took ten taels of silver to a righteous sect, they’d probably throw you out. But with ten taels, you could get Fang Zhiyi to teach you martial arts.

In this strength-worshipping world of jianghu, who cared if he was a demon? That just meant he was formidable!

Lu Zhaoran and He Wugui often stood by the entrance, watching Fang Zhiyi instruct these young upstarts, occasionally chiming in with pointers. Neither had ever taken disciples, always preferring to roam the jianghu freely. Now, with their martial arts sealed and forced to stay and work, they found themselves with idle time to spare.

"Three moves? You’re robbing them blind!"

"One move, tops."

"That guy’s got some reputation—what was it again? The Mad Blade of the Northwest?"

"One and a half moves."

Where there are people, there’s jianghu. And where there’s jianghu, there are bets being placed.

A newly arrived lone warrior tried to ignore the rules. Fang Zhiyi took him down in half a move. Fortunately, the man had money—after handing over the silver, he slunk away in shame.

A chorus of disappointed groans followed.

"The house wins!"

He Wugui was the first to approach Fang Zhiyi, expressing his newfound interest in taking disciples and asking him to save a few promising talents next time.

Fang Zhiyi pretended to hesitate but eventually said he’d think of a way.

The next time, Fang Zhiyi didn’t collect any silver. Instead, he stepped forward, raising his hands to quiet the crowd.

"I ask you—why do you roam the jianghu?"

"Fame!" someone shouted, raising a hand.

"Peerless martial arts!"

"To wander the jianghu!"

Then came Jiang Rou, who didn’t bother hiding it: "Money!"

The crowd burst into laughter. Fang Zhiyi frowned and waited for them to quiet down before continuing, "What’s so funny? How do you expect to roam the jianghu without money? Live off fame like a swindler? Or rob people with your martial arts? Do you think masters of the martial world don’t need to eat?"

The group fell into contemplation. It was true—every time they came to challenge Fang Zhiyi, they had to save up for ages. Those from wealthy families had it easy, but the rest had to scrimp and even take side jobs like escorting caravans.

"First, you must understand your purpose in the jianghu. Then, you need the means to achieve it. We must pursue our goals within reason, pushing the boundaries as far as we can." Fang Zhiyi turned to the girl. "What’s your name?"

"Jiang Rou."

Fang Zhiyi nodded approvingly. "Great potential."

What followed was a lecture on ideology that completely reshaped these young heroes’ worldviews—even Lu Zhaoran and He Wugui, standing behind him, were left dumbfounded.

"Why are your skills lacking? Hmm?" Fang Zhiyi scrawled the word "Education" in charcoal on a wooden board behind him. "Because you lack systematic training! I hereby announce the founding of the Youzhou Martial Academy! We will enroll a large number of students—no questions asked about background or origins. One-time fee only. My words are finished. Who agrees? Who opposes?"

Silence.

Only Jiang Rou raised her hand. "Um, does ‘student’ mean the same as ‘disciple’?"

Fang Zhiyi clicked his tongue. "No, but close enough. From now on, you’ll call me ‘Headmaster.’ And them—" He pointed at the men behind him. "‘Teachers.’"

The crowd turned to He Wugui and the others. He Wugui stared blankly at Fang Zhiyi.

Zhao Yang raised his hand. "Does this mean we’re joining the Demon Sect?" Murmurs spread instantly.

Fang Zhiyi scowled. "Nonsense! I’ve been retired for years—how is this the Demon Sect? This is a legitimate academy!"

"Then... Headmaster," another young hero ventured cautiously.

Fang Zhiyi smiled at the address. "Speak."

"Is the academy the same as a sect?"

Fang Zhiyi shook his head. "Not at all. Take you, for example." He pointed at a young man he recognized—a disciple of a minor sect. "You can still enroll here. Your identity doesn’t matter. Outside, you can still claim allegiance to your sect."

"Doesn’t that feel like betraying our masters?" someone muttered.

Fang Zhiyi smirked, then motioned for a sword. Gripping it lightly, he flicked his wrist toward a nearby bamboo grove. A gust of wind surged—then an entire row of bamboo collapsed in unison.

The crowd gasped.

"Qi Manifestation!" Lu Zhaoran’s jaw dropped, his expression bitter. Had this demon really grown so terrifying?

"The essence of this academy is to teach without discrimination. Even my techniques—if you wish to learn them, you may. I hope that in the future, you become upright individuals, people who contribute to the jianghu, people who can look back on your lives without regret in old age! Applause, if you understand!"

After a brief pause, thunderous applause erupted.

The Youzhou Martial Academy was established abruptly, but once the crowd processed it, enthusiasm surged.

That evening, Fang Zhiyi sat counting silver at the dinner table like a shrewd merchant, making Lu Zhaoran frown.

"How did the Demon Sect ever make someone like you their Left Envoy?"

The remark reminded He Wugui of something. "Hey, Fang Zhiyi—are you really going to teach them your martial arts?"

Fang Zhiyi nodded. "Of course. Why not?"

"Won’t the Demon Sect come after you?" He Wugui hesitated, then spoke the words aloud. He felt strange—knowing Fang Zhiyi was a demon, yet now oddly reluctant to see him harmed.

Fang Zhiyi grinned. "Come after me? Do you think they stand a chance?"

Remembering that earlier display, He Wugui shut his mouth.

Fang Zhiyi’s expression turned serious. "Actually, I need your help." With a wave of his hands, he unsealed the two men’s blocked meridians.

Lu Zhaoran flexed his arms, reveling in the return of his inner energy.

"You’re not seriously expecting us to teach those brats, are you?"

"Didn’t you say you wanted disciples?" Fang Zhiyi smiled.

"Yes—disciples! Not someone else’s disciples! And they’re your so-called ‘students,’ and we’re ‘teachers.’ How does that work?"

Fang Zhiyi spoke gently. "You’re mistaken. First, you must understand what’s wrong with the jianghu today."

"What’s wrong with the jianghu?" The two blinked.

"What kind of people are you two? Righteous at heart, roaming the jianghu, drawing your blades against injustice—am I wrong?"

They shifted awkwardly under his praise.

"But what about the places you don’t see? Sects bullying the weak, escort agencies hiking prices, gangs extorting protection money—are there not enough of those? Can you handle them all?"

"Then there’s me. You keep calling me a demon—tell me, what exactly have I done?"

The question left them stumped. After a long pause, Lu Zhaoran managed, "You... uh... slaughtered the Wang family—all thirteen of them!"

Fang Zhiyi stared at him. "The Wangs abused their ties to the Five Mountains Sword Sect—oppressing commoners, forcing women into prostitution, and then tried to extort me. Should I have spared them for the New Year?"