Chapter 8: The Cheerful Little Caretaker

When dawn broke the next day, the famished Yuanye gulped down three large bowls of thin porridge before he finally regained his strength. Over the following days, he roamed Wudang Mountain with great enthusiasm, swept along in a tide of ecstatic joy. To have traveled to the world of "The Heaven Sword and Dragon Saber"—it was a dream he had longed for in his past life.

Now that his wish had come true, Yuanye was beside himself with excitement, pondering how to become Zhang Sanfeng’s disciple. Once he possessed the strength to protect himself, he would set out for Kunlun Mountain in search of the Nine Yang Manual. He pictured himself, master of divine skills, dressed in white, sword in hand, roaming the martial world, testing his blade against all challengers—a vision so dashing that he grinned foolishly for two days straight. It was only when Song Yuanqiao and Zhang Sanfeng began to suspect that he suffered from some mental affliction that Yuanye abruptly reverted to normal.

In truth, his sudden return to sobriety was due to a moment of clarity amidst his martial dreams. He remembered his grandfather, family, and friends from the world of the Hidden Leaf. Though he had regained his memories for less than a day before crossing over, the years of recollections remained vivid and real. His grandfather’s doting care, Chizuko’s gentle attentions, even the bickering between Nichizu and Nichikan—memories he now cherished deeply. And of course, there was Minato, who had only become his little brother a day before.

“I hope Minato will look after grandfather in my stead.” Sitting on a small stool in the courtyard, Yuanye felt a wave of sorrow. Thinking of his grandfather’s despair when he discovered his sudden disappearance, Yuanye was racked with guilt and heartbreak. This was the first time he had felt the warmth of family in either of his lives, and he had sworn to protect it all.

But he hadn’t expected the damned system remnant to botch its own demise and cast him inexplicably into this world. Such a senseless crossing! Though his mind held no clues, Yuanye knew his arrival in the world of "The Heaven Sword and Dragon Saber" was somehow linked to that stubbornly persistent system.

He now recalled that the system had mentioned its energy was nearly depleted, soon to lose consciousness and only act on instinct. At the time, he hadn’t paid much attention, his thoughts wholly consumed by anticipation for a new life. He never imagined the so-called instinctive crossing would be so abrupt—without warning or hope.

Inwardly, Yuanye cursed the damned system, wishing it would run out of toilet paper or bear sons without heirs—though, of course, the system likely had no such functions. His air of tragic resentment soon drew Zhang Sanfeng’s notice.

Several years ago, Zhang Sanfeng had entrusted the affairs of the Wudang Sect to his eldest disciple, Song Yuanqiao, leaving himself quite free.

“Yuanye, why are you gazing at the sunset again?” A gentle voice called from afar.

Without turning, Yuanye knew the Grand Master had arrived. The room he’d woken in was an ordinary disciple’s quarters on Wudang Mountain; since then, Zhang Sanfeng had moved him to a small, independent courtyard beside his own residence. Yuanye suspected it was simply because the elder was bored and wanted company.

At first, Yuanye had ulterior motives: living close to Zhang Sanfeng increased his chances of becoming his disciple, so he didn’t object to the arrangements. He enjoyed himself for two days before his mood shifted to melancholy—unbeknownst to Zhang Sanfeng and Song Yuanqiao, who had no concept of Virgo sensibilities.

This little courtyard, undisturbed by outsiders, was a perfect refuge for Yuanye as he wrestled with confusion and loss of purpose.

“Grand Master, have you ever thought that you might never see Brother Zhang Cuishan again—not in ten years, nor decades, perhaps not in your lifetime?” Yuanye suddenly asked Zhang Sanfeng as the sun dipped below the horizon.

Through their exchanges these few days, Yuanye had learned that Zhang Sanfeng discovered him while returning from a futile search for his missing fifth disciple, Zhang Cuishan.

“Of course I’ve considered it. Since the day Cuishan vanished without a trace on Wangpan Mountain, my disciples and I have scoured the realm, but found no sign of him. I have long prepared myself,” Zhang Sanfeng replied, his expression tinged with melancholy, so different from his recent demeanor.

For the disciple he regarded as the future pillar of the Wudang Sect, raised at his side and cherished as his own, to disappear without a trace—dead or alive unknown—even with his broad-mindedness, Zhang Sanfeng could not help but be deeply grieved.

“Still, though I do not know where Cuishan now dwells, or whether he lives or perished, I hope he fares better, wherever he may be,” Zhang Sanfeng said after a pause.

Hearing the pure, unadulterated affection in his words, Yuanye’s dim eyes suddenly brightened.

Yes! Grandfather must feel the same. Surely he too prays for my well-being. Whether it takes ten, twenty, a hundred years, perhaps I’ll find a way to return to the Hidden Leaf world!

“Grand Master, I’m hungry. Do you think there’s still food at the foot of the mountain?” he asked.

Seeing the child who, moments ago, was drowning in despair, now transformed into a voracious little glutton, even Zhang Sanfeng, with his ninety years of cultivation, could not help but twitch at the corners of his mouth.

Carried by Zhang Sanfeng, who used lightness arts to descend to the dining hall halfway up the mountain, Yuanye once again consumed two large bowls of rice under the fiery gaze of the Fireworker Daoist.

There was no helping it—he couldn’t descend on his own, the mountain paths were treacherous, night had fallen, and as a child, one misstep could mean fatal injury.

After their meal, Zhang Sanfeng carried Yuanye back to the summit. Inside the small courtyard, Yuanye suddenly knelt before the Grand Master and solemnly declared, “Grand Master, this humble child Yuanye, of mediocre talent but sincere heart, begs you to take pity and admit me to Wudang as a humble sweeper boy.”

“Well, old Daoist here was thinking of taking you as a disciple, but if you’re unwilling, so be it. Tomorrow, you may go sweep the Daoist Scriptures Hall,” Zhang Sanfeng replied after a moment’s thought, helping Yuanye to his feet with a mischievous smile.

Yuanye was thunderstruck: “You old rascal! I was only trying to be modest, like they do on television! How could you take it seriously?”

Having temporarily set aside thoughts of the Hidden Leaf, Yuanye certainly wished to pursue his martial dreams. His first step was to become Zhang Sanfeng’s disciple. He had no interest in apprenticing to Song Yuanqiao or the other second-generation disciples, being well-versed in the original story. Among Wudang’s third generation, aside from Song Qingshu, none stood out—they were all mere background characters. Even Song Qingshu existed only to serve as a foil for Zhang Wuji’s brilliance.

Thus, Yuanye had resolved: if he joined Wudang, he must become Zhang Sanfeng’s disciple. The Seven Heroes of Wudang were proof enough that Zhang Sanfeng was an exceptional teacher.

Even though he knew the plot and the locations of hidden manuals, he had no way to seek them out. Under Yuan Dynasty rule, Han people suffered oppression, regarded as inferiors. Though his peculiar eyes might mark him as a foreigner and grant him moderate status, the land was rife with bandits and war; even Mongols were not safe. A child venturing from Wudang might not survive a single sunset.

His hopes dashed, was he to spend his life sweeping the halls of Wudang, a mere librarian? Yuanye fell into despair.

Just then, Zhang Sanfeng said, “However, if you can faithfully serve as a sweeper in the Daoist Scriptures Hall for two years, organize all the scriptures, then perhaps I can consider accepting you as my disciple.”

The clouds parted; Yuanye was overjoyed and promised, “Master, rest assured—I will keep the Scriptures Hall spotless, not a speck of dust will fall!”

Zhang Sanfeng smiled, indulgent of Yuanye’s eager address. When Yuanye returned to his own room and calmed down, he realized Zhang Sanfeng had toyed with him: if the Grand Master had no intention of accepting him, he would not have kept Yuanye close.

But Yuanye was no ignorant child—he knew there must be purpose behind Zhang Sanfeng’s actions, more than mere amusement.

From then on, Wudang Mountain gained a peculiar little librarian, who diligently swept the Scriptures Hall, organized the books with care.

If any third-generation disciple or scholarly Daoist left the scriptures in disarray, they would find themselves chased and beaten with a stick by the little administrator. Everyone knew the boy was sent by the founder and lived beside him—who dared resist? Those who could, fled; those who couldn’t, endured the blows.

That little administrator was, of course, Yuanye. His main task was to manage the Scriptures Hall and study the Daoist texts.

He also learned classical Chinese, poetry, and song from Zhang Sanfeng, who was both scholarly and martial, well-versed in literature, military strategy, and philosophical arts.

Zhang Sanfeng was willing to teach, and Yuanye eagerly absorbed all he could—especially since he could not yet learn martial arts.

At first, Yuanye wondered whether the Scriptures Hall might hide countless martial arts manuals, like Shaolin’s Sutra Pavilion. But after a month of diligent study, he was finally resigned—these were indeed only Daoist texts. His martial foundation was not yet strong enough to glean any supreme skills from the scriptures.

Time flew like a white steed across a chasm; two years passed in a blink.

In these two years, Yuanye had not learned any advanced Wudang martial arts, only practiced simple exercises for health, such as Hua Tuo’s Five Animal Play, under Zhang Sanfeng’s guidance. But with two years of persistence, Yuanye grew robust and healthy, free of illness, transforming from a frail child into a sturdy youth.

He also spent two years studying Daoist scriptures and the Four Books and Five Classics with Zhang Sanfeng. The frivolous air of his past gradually faded; he now appeared refined and cultured, with a distinguished bearing.

The eighth day of the third month marked the anniversary of Yuanye’s entrance into the Scriptures Hall, and the day Zhang Sanfeng had promised to accept him as a disciple. The people of Wudang had prepared long in advance.

Before dawn, Yuanye rose, meticulously washed and dressed, then accompanied his master down the mountain.

The Grand Hall of True Martiality was already filled, both sides lined with guests—Daoists, monks, laymen—all renowned figures in the martial world. Representatives from the five great sects were present, along with notable organizations like the Beggar’s Sect.

They had all come to attend Zhang Sanfeng’s discipleship ceremony.

Zhang Sanfeng’s acceptance of his final disciple was a matter of great importance to Song Yuanqiao and the others. They wished to please their master and, at the same time, remind the martial world of Wudang’s enduring strength.

Recently, Wudang had suffered misfortune: second disciple Yu Daiyan had been gravely injured, left crippled for life; fifth disciple Zhang Cuishan had vanished without a trace, accused of killing a Shaolin monk. With Zhang Sanfeng nearing ninety and having lost two of his Seven Heroes, Song Yuanqiao and the others decided to hold a grand ceremony to lift their master’s spirits and to show the world that Wudang’s prestige had not faded.

Song Yuanqiao, Yu Lianzhou, Zhang Songxi, and Yin Liting mingled with the leaders of various sects, keeping an eye on the entrance. Yu Daiyan, meanwhile, remained in his room, cared for by a Daoist acolyte. Since his injury, he avoided social contact. If not for his concern over his master and brothers’ sorrow, he would long ago have ended his own life. Once a bold and carefree hero, Yu Daiyan loathed the prospect of living in limbo between life and death.

Meanwhile, the martial guests all craned their necks toward the door, eager to see what kind of extraordinary talent could move Zhang Sanfeng—who had not involved himself in worldly affairs for years, whose martial and Daoist achievements had transcended the ordinary—to personally accept a final disciple.