Sword Roaring in the Sky - Chapter 8

8. The Legacy of Patriarch Feng: One Path, Seven Disciples

Sword Roars Through the Heavens

Zhang Yuanqiao was arranging bowls when his disciples entered. The middle-aged Taoist smiled apologetically: “The temple lacks rich fare—eat what you can.”

Sun Yanwan bowed. “Master, I grew up poor. Any meal is a blessing.”

Dinner was humble: coarse grain buns, pickled vegetables, and a pot of vegetable soup. Having endured three months in this world, Sun Yanwan ate heartily without complaint.

Zhang Yuanqiao probed gently about his new disciple’s past. Sun Yanwan embellished his hardships—how clan elders forced him into servitude—even squeezing out tears for effect.

“Hardship reveals human nature,” Zhang Yuanqiao sighed. “Stay at Taiyi Temple. Your future begins here.”

He then unveiled his lineage:

“I am Zhang Yuanqiao, second disciple of Patriarch Feng of Songyang Sect. After his passing, conflicts with the sect leader forced me to branch out with Qingxi. We rebuilt this abandoned Taiyi Temple, founding the Taiyi Sect.”

A wry chuckle. “Currently, our ‘sect’ is just three cats—you included.”

Establishing a new school was arduous. As one of the Five Grandmasters, Zhang could have swarmed his gates with aspiring disciples. But he valued quality over quantity—hence accepting Sun Yanwan only on Miao Youxiu’s recommendation.

“Starting tomorrow,” he instructed, “you’ll clean the temple at dawn, attend my lectures, then afternoon training.”

Sun Yanwan nodded eagerly. His brief stint as an inn servant had honed his efficiency—a trait that pleased both master and senior brother.

Later, Zhang Qingxi brought straw and a quilt to Sun Yanwan’s storage-room quarters. “The temple’s still rough. Bear with it.”

Sun Yanwan found their apologetic tone curious. “Do they think I’m unused to hardship?” Aloud, he said: “Senior Brother, I once slept in firewood sheds. This is paradise.”

Zhang Qingxi smiled knowingly—he’d noticed Sun Yanwan’s occasional anachronistic mannerisms but chose not to pry.

As they parted, Sun Yanwan seized the moment: “May I ask about Songyang Sect’s legacy?”

Zhang Qingxi’s eyes lit up.

“Songyang ranks among theTen Great Sword Sects. A century ago, Patriarch Feng—peerless in his era—taught seven disciples. Our master, his second heir, mastered all his arts.”

“Jealousy forced our departure, but we remain Songyang in spirit. If fellow disciples respect you, reciprocate. If not?” A dismissive wave. “Let them be the wind.”

——

Alone in his makeshift bed, Sun Yanwan’s pulse quickened.

“I’ve struck gold! A grandmaster teacher, a top-tier sect legacy… With effort, I’ll rise as a renowned swordsman!”

Yet his knowledge of this world’s martial hierarchy remained patchy. Months with Miao Youxiu had been spent drilling skills, not gossip. Beyond Hu Fengwei and his new master, the “jianghu” was still a blur—

A canvas awaiting bold strokes.