Chapter Twelve: The Blood River Saber Technique

Baili Feihong’s heart was just as heavy. Yet, he did not share the deep bond that Sixth Senior Brother and Master Wu Sihai had. After all, he was merely an apprentice who had paid to learn martial arts, not a true disciple formally accepted into the lineage like Sixth Senior Brother Zhang Qianshan. The bodies were sent to the Demon Suppression Bureau’s crematorium. By the time Zhang Qianshan and Baili Feihong left the crematorium, it was already deep into the night.

According to the rules of the Demon Suppression Bureau, anyone killed by demons must be burned without delay to prevent corpse transformation. Anyone who dared conceal such a death would face three years in prison. Zhang Qianshan had summoned the family’s servants to assist. Each held an urn of ashes, bringing them back to the Sihai Martial Hall.

“Sixth Senior Brother, what will become of the Sihai Martial Hall in the future?” Baili Feihong voiced his concern as soon as the funeral hall was set up and there was a rare moment of calm. After all, Sixth Senior Brother was not Wu Sihai’s blood relative.

“Rest assured, junior brother. The Sihai Martial Hall has already been transferred under First Senior Brother’s name. When he was a child, Master rescued him, and later he formally became Master’s disciple and was adopted into the family. According to Master’s wishes, the martial hall’s legacy is to be passed on to him,” Zhang Qianshan explained without a trace of jealousy.

“I’ve already sent word to First Senior Brother, our senior sister, and the other brothers. The five of them will return for the funeral of Master, Mistress, and our fellow disciples.” At this, Zhang Qianshan’s face was a mask of sorrow.

Baili Feihong patted Zhang Qianshan’s shoulder to comfort him. “Senior Brother, you still have to keep vigil. Many disciples who once studied at the Sihai Martial Hall will come to pay their respects. There’s still much for you to do.”

It was Zhang Qianshan’s duty to keep vigil—he was the only inner disciple present. Apprentices like Baili Feihong, who had not formally been accepted as disciples, did not qualify. According to tradition, he wasn’t even eligible to stand vigil.

Suddenly, Zhang Qianshan looked up at Baili Feihong. “Junior Brother, you’ve changed a lot since I last saw you. If you weren’t leaving, I would have asked Master to take you as a true disciple.”

“There was no destiny between Master and me. I left Dongbin City for a while, and when I finally returned, I was met with such tragic news,” Baili Feihong replied, lying out of necessity. It wasn’t out of malice, but explaining why he hadn’t come to the martial hall was difficult.

“This attack by demons on the martial hall is odd. I fear there may be more to come, and that the Sihai Martial Hall’s legacy is in danger. That’s what worries me the most,” Zhang Qianshan said gravely.

“The Demon Suppression Bureau has already taken action. These demons surely won’t escape their fate,” Baili Feihong offered.

“No, Junior Brother. There are many who covet the Bloody River Blade Technique. May I entrust you with something?”

“Please speak. If it’s within my power, I’ll do my best,” Baili Feihong replied. He had no intention of getting involved in these troubled waters, but Zhang Qianshan was the one who had guided him into the world of martial arts—he couldn’t refuse.

“Come here,” Zhang Qianshan beckoned. As Baili Feihong approached, Zhang Qianshan took out a red cloth-wrapped, arm-thick scroll from his robe and spoke in a low voice, “This is the jade scroll of the Bloody River Blade Technique. I’m entrusting it to you for safekeeping. As just an apprentice, no one would suspect you carry it.”

Baili Feihong frowned slightly. “Sixth Senior Brother, this is the Sihai Martial Hall’s sacred inheritance. I am not a true disciple—if anything happened to it, I would worry…”

“All six of us have mastered the technique; the true legacy is already committed to memory. Giving it to you is a precaution—if something were to happen to us, the martial hall’s legacy would not perish. You’ve already mastered the Sihai Fist; with the Bloody River Blade, you could one day restore the martial hall if the worst comes to pass,” Zhang Qianshan said honestly.

Baili Feihong was stunned into silence. This trust was something he had never felt since arriving in this world.

“Sixth Senior Brother, I will not fail you,” he finally said, accepting the blood-red cloth bundle heavy with responsibility. For reasons he could not name, Baili Feihong was deeply moved.

“Come, let’s leave through the back courtyard,” Zhang Qianshan whispered. Baili Feihong rose, clasped his fists, and bowed. “Take care, Senior Brother.” Then he slipped away through the back.

Only Zhang Qianshan remained, gazing blankly at the moonlight. The letter he had sent—would First Senior Brother ever receive it? He didn’t even know which sect his senior currently trained in. As for the other brothers—even if they returned, it would be hard for them to defend the Bloody River Blade Technique. Their understanding was limited; if the secret manual was lost, others might not take things too far. But if the technique remained in his hands, Zhang Qianshan could not guarantee its safety—unless First Senior Brother came back.

“Sihai Martial Hall… in the end, it’s doomed to scatter,” he thought. The sight of a hundred disciples training each day would likely never be seen again. Tainted by demons, how many apprentices or disciples would dare attend the funeral?

Junior Brother Baili Feihong was still too young. He could only hope that, with the Bloody River Blade Technique, Baili Feihong would one day establish his own martial hall and restore the Sihai Martial Hall’s honor.

“Master, please don’t blame me,” he murmured. He truly had faith in Baili Feihong. No one else had ever managed to cultivate blood energy in less than a month—starting from scratch, he had mastered the Sihai Fist in only a few days. Such martial talent left Zhang Qianshan in awe. He was convinced that with the Bloody River Blade Technique in Baili Feihong’s hands, the martial hall’s legacy would endure.

“Young master, the mourners have arrived,” a servant announced.

Zhang Qianshan’s head snapped up, his eyes flashing coldly. To come pay respects in the dead of night—were they that impatient? The Sihai Martial Hall was not yet extinct.

“Senior Brother, why persist?” he muttered. “Perhaps letting go would not be such a bad thing for you.” Baili Feihong, already far from Changsheng Street, understood all too well what weighed on Sixth Senior Brother’s mind—and the predicament of the Sihai Martial Hall.

He hurried home and hid the jade scroll of the Bloody River Blade Technique. Donning a black cloth to mask himself, he slipped out once more.

“Brother Sihai, may you rest in peace,” the head of the Rolling Stone Martial Hall said as he bowed before the altar, sighing. “Parting means our paths will never cross again. Nephew, take good care of the Sihai Martial Hall. From your grandmaster to now, it’s stood for fifty years—fifty years of storms weathered.”

Yang Fei, the master of the Rolling Stone Martial Hall, put on a show of mournful sympathy. Yet Zhang Qianshan only sneered inwardly—everyone knew Yang Fei and Wu Sihai had never gotten along. That he was the first to pay his respects was to be expected.

“The Sihai Martial Hall has already been passed to my First Senior Brother. No need for concern, Master Yang,” Zhang Qianshan replied, his face expressionless.

Yang Fei’s brow furrowed, then smoothed as he weighed his options. The Sihai Martial Hall had produced an outstanding disciple who’d left Dongbin City to join a mysterious sect and learn true martial arts. On Changsheng Street, that was old news.

“Don’t you have any other plans, nephew?” Yang Fei asked, his tone steady.

“Not sure what you mean, Master Yang. There’s not much left to the Sihai Martial Hall. My family’s businesses are waiting for me to take over. This place is for First Senior Brother—whether he reopens it is up to him, but at least he’ll have a home when he returns,” Zhang Qianshan replied coolly.

He was not foolish—against a wolf like Yang Fei, sometimes one needed to borrow the tiger’s authority. The Zhang family were wealthy merchants, not to be bullied by the likes of the Rolling Stone Martial Hall.

“Haha, with that attitude, I’m reassured,” Yang Fei laughed as he left the hall, though his face darkened as soon as he turned away. The Sihai Martial Hall had fallen, but its people were not yet wiped out. Wu Sihai’s six disciples were not to be trifled with—especially the eldest, who was not only Wu Sihai’s adopted son but also a martial master of the Nine Bloods level. Word had it he’d joined a great martial sect, a rumor that kept many in Dongbin City at bay.

The Bloody River Blade Technique was not going to be easy to acquire. Even if one obtained it, who would dare practice it while Wu Sihai’s formidable disciple still lived, having surpassed his master?

Zhang Qianshan’s lips curled in disdain. If only his own cultivation reached the level of a Four Bloods martial master—then, even if Yang Fei made a move, he would have no fear. The Bloody River Blade Technique exchanged life for life; he would cut down any threat.

Outside the Sihai Martial Hall, Baili Feihong finally breathed easy. Only at dawn did he return home.