Chapter 8: The Seven Disciples of Grandmaster Feng
Zhang Yuanqiao was setting the table when his two disciples arrived. The middle-aged Daoist smiled and said, "There's not much oil or meat in this temple, Yanwan. You'll have to make do."
Sun Yanwan quickly responded, "Master, I come from a poor background. I'm grateful to have food. I don't fuss over what's served."
Zhang Yuanqiao nodded with a small smile and said no more.
The dinner was simple: a pot of coarse grain steamed cakes, a jar of pickled vegetables, and a bowl of vegetable soup.
Having endured hardship for over a month since transmigrating, Sun wasn't picky. He enjoyed the pickled vegetables and finished a steamed cake and a bowl of soup with genuine appreciation.
Though Zhang Yuanqiao had heard a little about Sun from his senior disciple, he didn't know the boy well—Miao Youxiu hadn't known him long either. So he asked a few questions.
Sun didn't hide much, but he did embellish the cruelty of his elders who forced him into servitude. He even squeezed out a few tears and choked up to drive the story home.
Zhang sighed and comforted him. "Being abandoned by kin isn't the worst fate. Hardships build wisdom. Since you've entered my sect, stay here in peace. I will ensure your future."
"You've bowed as my disciple, so it's only right that I tell you of my lineage."
"My family name is Zhang, Dao name Yuanqiao. I trained under Grandmaster Feng of the Songyang Sect and was his second disciple. After our Grandmaster passed, I had differences with the new sect leader. I offered incense before the patriarch's portrait, then left with my only disciple—your senior brother Zhang Qingxi—to start a new sect."
"This temple is Taiyi Temple. It spans several acres. Once flourishing, it was ruined during the wars. A year ago, I passed by and couldn't bear to see it in ruin. So I stayed, appointed myself abbot, and founded the Taiyi Sect."
"At present, our sect only includes myself and two kittens—you and your senior brother."
He chuckled.
Starting a new sect was no small task, even for a grandmaster. Recruiting disciples was a headache. If he opened the doors freely, many would come—but they'd be unworthy. Zhang had to be selective. Without Miao's recommendation, he wouldn't have accepted Sun so easily.
Still, he was pleased. After dinner, he said, "Starting tomorrow, you'll rise early to help your senior brother sweep the temple. Then attend my lectures. Afternoon is for martial training. Don't slack off."
Sun nodded eagerly. After the meal, he helped Zhang Qingxi clean up. Though he'd only worked in an inn briefly, hardship had taught him fast. He moved with speed and knew how to read a room. Both Master and Senior Brother were quietly pleased.
Later, Zhang Qingxi brought him a blanket and some dry grass. "The temple isn't fully restored yet. It's rough, but hang in there."
Sun was puzzled. "Austere life is expected for Daoists. Why do both Master and Senior Brother keep apologizing for the temple's state? Could it be… they've never truly lived hard lives before?"
"Oh, wait. They're my Master and Senior Brother now. No more thinking like an outsider."
He quickly replied, "Senior Brother, you jest. I used to live in firewood sheds. Before that, I didn't even have bedding. If this is rough, my old life was inhuman."
Zhang Qingxi smiled, sensing Sun's occasional habits that didn't match his story. A poor upbringing wouldn't produce such subtle behavior—but he said nothing.
He helped Sun lay the straw and blanket across a few benches. "I'll wake you tomorrow so you don't oversleep."
Sun thanked him, then stopped him at the door. "Senior Brother, I feel embarrassed. I've just joined and know little of our lineage. If someone asks, I might make a fool of myself."
Zhang Qingxi smiled, "Then let me share a little."
"Our Songyang Sect is part of the Daoist Xuanhuang branch. Besides spiritual practice, we're also the top of the Ten Great Sword Sects. A century ago, Grandmaster Feng took in seven disciples and founded the sect. Since then, we've grown in strength and reputation."
"Grandmaster Feng is one of the greatest martial artists alive. Only a few in the world can match him. Our Master is his second disciple and inherited his full teachings. In his prime, he rivaled even Grandmaster Feng."
"But because Master was too outstanding, the sect leader saw him as a threat and caused trouble. Master had no choice but to leave."
"Still, when he left, he offered incense before Grandmaster Feng's portrait. He didn't sever ties—just founded a branch. When you travel, you may call yourself a disciple of Songyang Sect."
"If you meet fellow disciples, be respectful—but don't lower yourself. If they act arrogantly, just treat them like passing wind."
Sun laughed, "Wise advice, Senior Brother."
They chatted for nearly two hours. But as Master required early rest, Qingxi eventually took his leave.
Sun lay in bed, heart ablaze. "I've struck gold."
"My Master is famous, and Grandmaster Feng is a top-tier expert. Songyang is the leading sword sect."
"With this kind of teacher, if I work hard, I'll surely become a martial hero."
"I wonder what techniques the Songyang Sect has. Are they hard to learn?"
Back in his inn servant days, Sun knew little of the martial world. Even traveling with Miao, he never asked about sects or rankings. Every moment was spent begging to learn techniques—not gossip.
In truth, he'd only met a handful of martial artists: Hu Fengwei, Miao Youxiu, and now Zhang Yuanqiao. Though Zhang Qingxi's words gave him a clearer picture, the jianghu still felt vague, distant, and mysterious.