Ghost Face Asura 06

"Ugh... you stole the secret manual from the Golden Light Temple!"

"Bullshit! Those bald monks framed me to divert attention from the martial arts community. That thing requires a virginity-based foundation—why would I even want to learn it?"

"You crippled the martial arts of the Beggar Sect's elder!"

"Guilty as charged. He allowed his men to kidnap children and mutilate them. Could you tolerate that?"

"Then... then you're from the Demon Sect!"

Fang Zhiyi clapped his hands. "Bingo! I am from the Demon Sect. But what has the Demon Sect actually done? We hide in the mountains and act mysteriously, sure. But we also wipe out bandit strongholds when they run rampant. And when the so-called 'righteous sects' pick fights with us and lose, they just go back and spread rumors."

"If you put it that way... do you have any proof?"

Fang Zhiyi pointed at him. "That’s the problem with rumors—proof? I could say you, Lu Zhaoran, are a serial rapist."

Lu Zhaoran flushed red. "Nonsense!"

Fang Zhiyi spread his hands. "Where’s your proof?"

Lu Zhaoran opened his mouth but fell silent.

"So the Demon Sect isn’t necessarily evil—though sure, we have bad apples, like that Right Envoy who never pays for his meals. But are the 'righteous sects' all good?"

Unexpectedly, He Wugui spoke up. "Not necessarily. That old bastard from Mount Li Sect pretends to be humble but is actually a vile schemer."

Fang Zhiyi hadn’t expected He Wugui to have a grudge against Mount Li Sect.

But he couldn’t let the topic stray.

"That’s why I advocate for education without discrimination. These sects—whether Demon Sect or 'righteous'—hoard their secret manuals, studying them day and night. Even their own disciples might not get a glimpse, let alone ordinary people. That’s the barrier, and it’s what lets some of them act with impunity."

"What if we founded a school where anyone could learn martial arts? What then?"

The two men drifted into thought.

The conversation lasted until midnight, and the outcome left Fang Zhiyi quite satisfied.

Of course, he’d also spun grand promises—housing subsidies, retirement benefits, even the phrase 'students all over the world' slipped from his lips, leaving He Wugui spellbound.

The Youzhou Martial Arts School quietly opened its doors.

The first class had a full thirty students.

But they still needed time to build more housing and clear training grounds. Fang Zhiyi had considered using the students as free labor, but while they had talent for martial arts, their construction skills were laughable. In the end, he reluctantly hired craftsmen.

For He Wugui and the others, Fang Zhiyi devised an assembly-line teaching method. He even generously broke down his own martial arts for them to understand and teach. This move left the two men stunned, then filled with admiration—such a thing had never happened in history!

Inspired, they decided to contribute their own genuine skills.

After all, Fang Zhiyi had said that once students passed the initial assessment, they could choose their preferred mentor, and then the mentors could teach their own techniques.

At the edge of a cliff, Fang Zhiyi led the thirty students. "Before formal training begins, you’ll study here!"

"Huh?"

"A cliff? You’re not making us jump, are you?"

"I’m kind of scared."

Fang Zhiyi shrugged. "Got nothing better to do? There’s an old man down there—pretty skilled, but probably doesn’t have long to live. If you go down, you’ll inherit his legacy. Consider it a gift for being the school’s first batch of students!"

The students were skeptical.

Fang Zhiyi peered over the edge. "One problem, though—if you jump, it’s a fifty-fifty chance."

A student cupped his hands respectfully. "Headmaster, what do you mean by 'fifty-fifty'?"

"Half here, half there," Fang Zhiyi said dismissively. The protagonist’s luck would hold, anyway.

"So starting now, go buy some sturdy rope and make a rope ladder as I instruct. Understood?"

Convinced by Fang Zhiyi’s confidence, the students scattered to gather rope.

Once they had enough, Fang Zhiyi taught them how to tie knots and connect the ropes. Finally, a ladder hung straight down the cliff face.

Under Fang Zhiyi’s urging, the students descended one by one. After what felt like forever, they discovered a cave in the cliffside!

"Who are you?" A booming voice echoed. An old man with piercing eyes stared in shock—he hadn’t seen people in ages, let alone this many!

The students exchanged glances. "Elder, we’ve come to learn from you!"

"Learn from me?" Dugu Yin frowned. He did feel his time was running out and had wanted a successor, but... thirty at once? The cave was nearly overflowing! Before descending, the students had been coached by Fang Zhiyi—flattery, eagerness to help—and their efforts quickly melted Dugu Yin’s skepticism under a barrage of "Elder" and "Master."

That day, Dugu Yin took in thirty disciples.

Meanwhile, Lin Muran, a wanderer, crouched in a patch of weeds. Not far ahead was the Qingyun Sect’s training grounds. He’d sneaked here after learning that the sect’s leader personally taught disciples at this spot.

If I’ve transmigrated, of course I’m learning martial arts! Once I master it, I’ll punch the Southern Mountain Nursing Home and kick the Northern Sea Kindergarten! All the beauties in the world will be mine!

His delusions lasted until dusk, when figures finally appeared on the training grounds. An elder sat cross-legged, testing his disciples’ skills and offering pointers.

Just like in the original plot, Lin Muran, too engrossed, was discovered. He bolted without looking back. He’d read enough novels to know that stealing martial arts was a cardinal sin in the jianghu. If caught, the best outcome would be having his meridians crippled—unacceptable!

In the dark and slippery night, Lin Muran reached a cliff’s edge. He didn’t notice the hidden rope ladder nearby. Panicked by the shouts behind him, his foot slipped, and he plummeted.

But his protagonist’s luck saved him. A crosswind slammed him into Dugu Yin’s cave. Dazed, Lin Muran gaped at the crowd packed inside.

"Damn, the headmaster was right," someone muttered.

"Can the headmaster predict the future? Holy crap."

"Someone actually jumped down?"

"Scared the hell out of me! Now I don’t have to stand by the entrance!"

As Lin Muran stood frozen, someone approached and handed him a wooden token. "Newcomers have to queue for apprenticeship. Starting now, you’re a probationary disciple. When your turn comes, you’ll be promoted."

Lin Muran stared blankly at the crowd. Deep in the cave, someone seemed to be lecturing, but he couldn’t see past the bodies blocking the way.

Dugu Yin never imagined he’d take in so many disciples in his old age. His initial pride had turned to exhaustion, then irritation. Hearing yet another arrival, he scowled. "No more! Tell him to scram!"

His head disciple hurriedly intervened. "Master, please! We’re short on labor right now."