Seven Strike Martial Sect
After nearly two full months of absence, Zheng Xie finally made the decision to return to the Seven Strike Martial Sect.
Not because he missed it, not because he suddenly grew nostalgic or loyal—none of that sentimental nonsense. No, this visit was born purely out of necessity.
He had been gone for too long.
Disappearing from the sect for such a duration without leave or excuse could easily be seen as desertion. And desertion from a sect like Seven Strike—one renowned for its strict martial code and hierarchy—wasn't forgiven lightly.
So, here he was, standing just outside the sect's familiar gates, his robes flapping lightly in the wind. The tall mountain pines swayed gently around the stone path leading up to the entrance, as if welcoming—or warning—him.
The sect gates hadn't changed, the Seven Strike emblem still engraved proudly into the twin pillars, and stationed outside were two disciples assigned for entrance guard duty. The moment they caught sight of him, their faces lit up with recognition.
"Senior Brother Zheng!"
Both of them bowed, the elder of the two even stepping forward to greet him with cupped fists.
Zheng Xie returned the gesture with a polite nod and a faint smile, clasping his hands behind his back.
"How are things? Any chaos in my absence?" he asked, adopting a casual, conversational tone.
The younger of the guards, a bright-eyed fellow named Cao Wen, chuckled. "Nothing too major, Senior Brother. Things have been quiet… except for one matter."
"Oh?" Zheng Xie raised a brow.
The older one, Du Fan, leaned closer and said in a hushed voice, "Wu Zhu disappeared. Everyone thought he'd died or run away. But he came back not long ago."
Zheng Xie's expression didn't change outwardly, but internally he snorted.
'So he's alive and back… that's fast. Did he awaken his golden finger already? Hmph. Either someone helped him, or his luck is absurd.'
Zheng Xie refused to believe that Wu Zhu was stupid enough to come back to the sect without any backing. He looked stupid of course, but he shouldn't be that brain dead… right?
With a few more pleasantries exchanged, he strolled past the guards and into the familiar grounds of the sect.
The Seven Strike Martial Sect was vast and lively, its compound divided into tiers built along the mountain's curve, each representing different disciple ranks.
From outer disciples to inner, and then the elite core disciples at the summit. Various pavilions and stone staircases branched out like veins from the main pathway. Sect members bustled about, sparring, cultivating, exchanging goods, or gossiping in hushed tones.
And yet, what caught his eye today was the unusually long line stretching out from the Scripture Hall.
Zheng Xie blinked, slightly surprised.
'What's this? A new technique release?'
He had plenty of manuals stocked back at the estate—gifts, trades, and some… part of the family's treasure trove. But most of them were too advanced. High-grade techniques needed high-grade Qi—pure, dense, and stable. Something he, quite frankly, didn't have yet.
He might have the mind of a schemer, but his cultivation was still too lacking to make full use of higher-tier manuals. So the sect's low-to-mid-grade techniques were actually perfect for him at the moment.
He casually walked over to the end of the line and took his place quietly, folding his arms behind his back like a refined gentleman.
He stood there silently for a while, until a familiar face came sprinting out of the Scripture Hall, a manual in hand. The disciple spotted him, froze mid-step, then exploded with excitement.
"Zheng Xie?!"
Before Zheng Xie could react, the disciple—tall, lean, with long brown hair tied into a warrior's tail—ran up and threw his arms around him in a tight embrace.
"You're finally back!"
The commotion drew the attention of others. More disciples turned, eyes widening in recognition.
"Zheng Xie!"
"Senior Brother!"
"Brother Xie, when did you return?!"
They rushed toward him in a chaotic wave, surrounding him like bees around nectar. Hands patting his shoulder, voices rising in rapid succession, everyone trying to get his attention.
"You here for the new manual?"
"Will you be staying this time?"
"Or are you going to vanish again?"
Zheng Xie could only smile wryly, waving his hand in surrender as their questions bombarded him from all sides.
"Yes, yes. I'm back," he said, tone dry but good-natured. "And even if I wanted to leave again, I can't. I've already exhausted my sect leaves… unless I want to get kicked out."
That earned a round of laughs.
The tall brown-haired one—Liang Yu, one of Zheng Xie's closer acquaintances and a sparring addict—grinned and slapped his back.
"Then we finally get to spar again. You ran away before our last duel, remember?"
Zheng Xie raised a brow. "I didn't run. I left. Important difference."
A shorter boy, with shoulder-length black hair and mischievous brown eyes—Wan Ruo—crossed his arms and rolled his eyes.
"You're already talking about fighting? He just got here! Does your brain work on anything other than combat?"
Before Liang Yu could retort, another voice chimed in, deeper and mocking.
"Hmph. Says the guy who constantly brags about being surrounded by girls. Don't act like you're any better."
That came from Yun Shi, tall and imposing, with blue eyes and sharp black hair, known for being the cold-faced, serious one of the group.
Wan Ruo immediately turned red. "T-that's not true! I don't—ugh, you know what, forget it."
Zheng Xie let out a chuckle.
"Yun Shi, don't bully Wan Ruo that much," Zheng Xie said, a teasing glint in his eyes. Then he paused dramatically before adding, "It's far too little. Come on, how many times has this guy gotten flattened by the ladies of our sect? I know some of you have been keeping records."
The group of disciples broke into malicious grins, turning to face poor Wan Ruo like a pack of wolves circling a wounded sheep. His eyes widened in horror, but there was no escape. The stories came pouring out with unnerving enthusiasm.
"Oh! Oh! Zheng Xie, you'll love this one," began one disciple, barely holding back his laughter. "So this one time, during a sparring session, Wan Ruo got a little too flirty with that tall inner disciple—Senior Sister Luo. You know, the one who once broke a Spirit Iron dummy in half? He was all smug, acting like some righteous young master out of a romantic novel."
Zheng Xie smirked, nodding. "That sounds like him."
"Exactly!" the disciple continued, clearly enjoying this. "And then, she planted his face in the dirt. Like, literally. His head bounced. He had mud in his ears for a week. Didn't show up in public for days."
Another voice chimed in from behind, not missing a beat. "That was still better than the time he was caught making out with Junior Sister Yan behind the alchemy pavilion—while his beloved Senior Sister Mei was walking by. She not only caught him red-handed, but she outed all his shady dealings in front of half the sect!"
Wan Ruo groaned audibly, burying his face in his hands.
"Oh! Remember when he tried to show off in front of another sect's outer disciples?" someone else said, half-choking on his own laughter. "He walked in with his chest puffed up like a heavenly prince, and they broke his ass before he even finished his first technique."
The laughter became unrestrained, echoing through the courtyard outside the Scripture Hall. Wan Ruo just sighed and accepted his fate, glaring weakly at Zheng Xie. "Why do they remember everything?"
"Because your life is a cautionary tale," Yun Shi quipped, crossing his arms with a rare smirk. "And it's hilarious."
Zheng Xie stood at the center, surrounded by a circle of disciples—inner and outer alike—his easygoing demeanor lighting the mood. There was something magnetic about him.
He listened intently, laughed when appropriate, made you feel important when speaking to you, and never made anyone feel beneath him.
He wasn't just another disciple. He was everyone's brother, confidant, sparring partner, and therapist rolled into one.
Even the core disciples respected him—despite his relatively low cultivation level. Not because of his strength, but because people unconsciously opened up to him. He had that rare quality where, without realizing it, you'd end up spilling your biggest secrets just talking to him about the weather.
If anyone asked what Zheng Xie cultivated, the answer was simple: relationships.
The Scripture Hall line had completely stopped moving, and none of them noticed.
That is, until footsteps echoed on the stairs leading down from the hall entrance. A tall figure emerged, robed in the dark gray garments of a scripture elder—stern face, sharp brows, and hands clasped behind his back.
Elder Gao Lin.
The man glanced at the unmoving line, then at the chatting group. His gaze landed instantly on Zheng Xie at the center.
His eyes narrowed.
'Ah, of course,' he thought. 'Zheng Xie is back.'
A smile almost formed on his lips—but Elder Gao was a professional. He buried it under the iron mask of sternness. Without a word, he strode down the stairs and made a beeline toward the group.
He didn't say a word. Just reached out and yanked Yun Shi's ear with one hand and Wan Ruo's with the other.
Both of them yelped like children.
"Now, what kind of sacred gathering is happening here, hmm?" the elder said, voice dry but laced with sarcasm. "A spontaneous exchange of dao insights? A grand symposium of wandering sages? Please, enlighten this old one. I'm clearly lacking in wisdom."
Everyone collectively gulped.
They had completely forgotten why they were even there—to get manuals. And now… they couldn't run either. If they left now, they'd lose their place in line. And worse, they'd lose their chance at a new technique.
Well… except for one.
Liang Yu, the devious bastard, had already received his manual and was casually backing away from the crowd the moment Elder Gao appeared.
The second the elder's gaze shifted slightly—whoosh! He was gone.
Not a puff of spiritual smoke left behind. Just an empty space where a comrade had once stood.
The rest of them weren't so lucky.
Ten minutes later, a group of miserable, upside-down disciples were lined up in handstand position at the side courtyard—legs shaking, arms trembling, faces red with effort.
"Four hours," Elder Gao said simply, holding a twisted, gnarled wooden log like a sacred staff. "Anyone drops, I swing."
It wasn't a threat. It was a promise.
Time crawled like a snail.
Each second felt like a small eternity. Sweat rolled down temples. Muscles screamed. Wan Ruo's nose was nearly buried in dirt.
To make it worse, a few female disciples from the alchemy and music halls happened to pass by. Upon seeing the sight, they giggled and exchanged jabs, pointing at Wan Ruo and Yun Shi with barely contained laughter.
"Oh my, is that Wan Ruo again?"
"Third time this month?"
"Someone should just assign him a permanent handstand post."
Fuel. To. The. Fire.
The boys were seething. Not with the elder—but with Liang Yu. They would get him back.
Still, despite the agony, not a single one of them fell. This wasn't their first time being punished like this. If anything… they had experience. A lot of it.
When the final bell chimed from the mountain's highest pagoda, Elder Gao nodded with the slow satisfaction of a man who had imparted justice.
"Punishment complete. Go get your manuals."
The group groaned in unison but complied. Drained, sore, and gritting their teeth, they climbed back into line—quieter now, but united in silent suffering.
Only Zheng Xie, as always, still had a faint smile on his lips.
After the punishment ended and Elder Gao Lin strode back into the Scripture Hall with his gnarled log resting across his shoulder like a war trophy, the battered group slowly trudged back into line.
Their limbs ached, their pride was dented, and their shirts clung to them with sweat. But there was one unifying truth among them all—Liang Yu was going to pay.
Wan Ruo muttered curses under his breath. "I swear… if I don't feed that bastard to the Sect's spirit geese, I'm not Wan Ruo."
Yun Shi cracked his neck, blue eyes gleaming. "Why go that far? Let's just swap out the contents of his spiritual pouch with love letters from Elder Gao's personal collection."
Zheng Xie chuckled from behind, hands behind his back as always. "You all are too vicious. At least let him return and apologize before you ruin his life."
"No," both said in unison.
They reached the hall steps again. This time, the disciples lined up without so much as a whisper. Zheng Xie found it amusing—cultivators with the potential to split mountains, brought to heel by a wooden log and the threat of social humiliation.
It was beautiful, in a way.
Eventually, their turn came. Inside the Scripture Hall, the scent of aged parchment and burning incense filled the air. Scrolls and jade slips were placed neatly along floating shelves that hovered by Qi arrays.
Golden characters floated gently around each manual, glowing faintly with tier inscriptions: Mortal, Spirit, Celestial, and even a rare Transcendent in the higher alcove—far beyond reach unless permitted.
But this time, they weren't here to choose. Each disciple was simply handed a pair of manuals—[Flowing Swift Fist], a Spirit Grade technique focused on fluid momentum and reflexes, and [Flying Crane Kick], a Celestial Grade art known for its elegant yet devastating leaping strikes.
These were the only two given out, a new trial program designed by the elders to test compatibility and improvisation.
Outside the Scripture Hall, Wan Ruo and Yun Shi stood beside Zheng Xie, their faces still twitching with residual anger from the four-hour upside-down punishment they'd endured. They weren't alone—nearly a hundred disciples around them wore the same scowls of indignation.
Their collective grudge was aimed at one man.
'Liang Yu… that bastard. He better start digging a grave,' Zheng Xie thought as he watched the bubbling fury in his peers' eyes. Frankly, even he was looking forward to the entertainment that was about to unfold.
As expected, everyone had already stashed their manuals into their spatial rings like diligent disciples—before promptly turning into a frenzied mob, each plotting in hushed tones how best to ambush the one traitor among them. Strategies flew like flying swords.
"He must've run to the Alchemy Hall," someone whispered with conviction. "He always hides there—it's quiet, and no one questions the smell of burnt hair."
"No, no, the Music Hall. It's his second favorite hideout. Remember how he flirted with that zither prodigy?"
Yun Shi's eyebrow twitched. He folded his arms, listening for a few moments before smacking the back of the speaker's head. "Oi. That's not Liang Yu you're describing. Those are Wan Ruo's usual haunts."
Several heads turned simultaneously to stare at Wan Ruo.
Zheng Xie, unable to resist, stepped forward and nudged Yun Shi with a mischievous grin. "My, my. Stone-hearted Yun Shi actually noticed where the girls usually are? Are we seeing the thawing of the eternal glacier~?"
His teasing voice was honeyed with delight.
Yun Shi's ears turned a shade of red, rare even in sunset skies. The moment was golden. Everyone turned, wide-eyed and smirking. Someone even gasped dramatically.
In full panic mode, Yun Shi shoved the blame to the nearest human shield. "It's not me! Wan Ruo did it! That damn fool fills my ears with his woman-chasing filth every single day. I'm innocent!"
The crowd paused. Then, in synchronized thought, everyone nodded.
"Yeah… that makes sense."
Zheng Xie clicked his tongue. 'Tch, lucky bastard dodged the arrow. But I know he has someone he admires. Hmph. I'll find out eventually.'
Still, they had a greater enemy today.
He clapped his hands once to gather attention. "Alright, enough gossip. Liang Yu is slippery, but predictable. I say we search every training ground—outer, inner, and even the elite disciples' quarters. No hiding hole escapes today."
The disciples' faces hardened with resolve. They were soldiers going to war—honor demanded it.
"And remember," Zheng Xie added, his voice dropping just enough to make everyone lean in, "He's a battle maniac. Even if he knows we're hunting him, he won't run. He'll fight us all, grinning like a lunatic."
That fired everyone up.
A quick formation was drawn. Three squads of twenty-five disciples each would cover one training ground. Yun Shi took the inner court. Wan Ruo claimed the outer grounds. And Zheng Xie, the only one among them 'permitted' in the elite disciple arena, would lead the final team to the core section.
As the groups set off, spirits were high and laughter echoed like war drums. They weren't just angry anymore—they were excited. The sect had been too quiet lately. This was the chaos they needed.
Zheng Xie walked with calm confidence at the front of his group, his hands tucked behind his back.