Reborn Song Qingshu: Besieging Bright Peak at the Start

Zhang Wuji, riding his horse, shaded his eyes with his hand and looked ahead. He saw a row of old willow trees by the roadside, their branches drooping low and their green shade like a canopy, a perfect place to rest.

He wiped the sweat from his brow and turned to the others, saying, "There's a grove of willows ahead; let's rest for a bit before continuing our journey."

Everyone echoed in agreement.

Zhou Dian, one of the Five Wanderers, was already unbearably hot. He unbuttoned half of his outer robe, fanning himself while grumbling and cursing.

"This damn weather, it's so hot, if I walk for another half hour I'll turn into a dried-up corpse."

Peng Yingyu laughed and said, "You're so tough, you'd be oily even in the twelfth lunar month, what are you complaining about the weather for?"

The crowd laughed, and Zhou Dian spat, but couldn't help laughing along with them.

The donkey cart was piled high with goods—the Ming Cult was disguised as traveling merchants, and the sacks on the cart contained leather goods and medicinal herbs, while the wooden boxes concealed weapons and hidden darts.

Yin Liting lay on the last donkey cart, while Yang Buhui sat on the shaft, shading him from the sun and fanning him, occasionally whispering, "Does Sixth Hero Yin hurt?"

Yin Liting had all four limbs broken and his face was pale. Every jolt made him break out in a cold sweat, but he always shook his head and said that it didn't hurt.

Zhang Wuji rode ahead, arriving first near the willow shade.

He dismounted and was about to tell everyone to rest separately when his gaze swept over the tree and he couldn't help but pause slightly.

Two groups of people were already gathered under the tree.

One side has nine people, and the other side has only one person.

Without a closer look at that single group, it turned out to be a group of nine people, unlike ordinary people.

He was quickly drawn to one of the nine young men, or more precisely, to the long sword hanging at his waist.

He was too familiar with this sword; it was the Yitian Sword that Abbess Miejue used to massacre the Ming Cult members and that Zhou Zhiruo used to stab him, nearly killing him.

How could the Heaven-Slaying Sword, which Abbess Miejue always kept by her side, appear on this young master?

The members of the Ming Cult also recognized the sword.

Yang Xiao frowned and whispered to Zhang Wuji:

"Master, this sword..."

Wei Yixiao's gaze swept over the eight burly men like a hawk's, and he said in a deep voice, "These eight men have a steady and long aura, they are not ordinary hunters, Master, be careful."

  

Moreover, the young lady was clearly a woman disguised as a man, yet these eight people treated her with utmost respect.

A cold smile appeared on Zhou Dian's face:

"Who cares who she is, let's take her down first."

Just as Zhang Wuji was about to step forward to ask for clarification, he suddenly heard a clear and familiar voice coming from not far away. The voice was full of energy and carried undisguised surprise.

"Wuji! Junior Brother Wuji!"

Zhang Wuji was startled and looked in the direction of the sound.

A yellow horse was tied to the other end of the willow tree, and a young man dressed in a blue robe stood beside the horse.

The man was handsome, tall, and had a look of eager anticipation for a long-awaited reunion in his eyes. He strode towards him.

Who else could it be but his senior brother Song?

Zhang Wuji immediately threw all his doubts and vigilance to the winds.

He almost ran to meet him, grabbed Song Qingshu's arm, and his voice trembled slightly:

"Senior Brother Song! Is it really you?"

"it's me."

Song Qingshu looked Zhang Wuji up and down, his eyes full of concern and relief.

"Junior brother, you've lost some weight and gotten a bit tanned. But you seem to be in much better spirits than you were on Bright Peak. Are you finding your role as sect leader satisfactory?"

Zhang Wuji felt a surge of warmth in his heart.

In the month since he became the leader, everyone in the Ming Cult has treated him with utmost respect and obeyed his every word. But the more they do so, the heavier the burden on his shoulders feels.

Seeing Senior Brother Song now, the fatigue and pressure that had accumulated along the way suddenly found an outlet. I felt a lump in my throat and shook my head vigorously.

"Senior brother, I've been feeling uneasy without you here."

As they spoke, Yang Xiao, Wei Yixiao, Wu Sanren, and others had already gathered around.

Although they had only spent a few days with Song Qingshu on Bright Peak, the entire Ming Cult remembered the kindness Song Qingshu showed them by protecting Zhang Wuji with his sword and strongly recommending Zhang Wuji to become the leader in the main hall.

Zhou Dian stepped forward first, patted Song Qingshu on the shoulder, and grinned:

"Young Master Song! What are you doing here? Our leader has been talking about you so many times on the way here, I'm sick of hearing it!"

Song Qingshu greeted everyone with a smile, and after exchanging pleasantries, Zhang Wuji couldn't wait to ask:

"Senior brother, what are you doing here? You said you were going back to Wudang Mountain on Bright Peak, how come it's been more than a month and you've only just arrived here?"

Song Qingshu straightened his expression, already having a draft in mind.

He lowered his voice, his tone revealing a hint of seriousness:

"Wuji, this is a long story."

After I came out of the Ming Cult's secret passage and descended from Bright Peak that day, I wanted to catch up with my father and my fellow martial uncles as fast as I could, but I couldn't contact them no matter how I tried using the Wudang Sect's communication markers.

At first, I thought it was just because the mountain path was rugged and the markers had been accidentally worn away. But after searching for three days, there was no response from any of the contact points along the way. I had a bad feeling.

He paused briefly, his gaze sweeping over everyone present, before continuing:

"I investigated along the way, which took more than half a month, and I found out something even more terrible - not only did our Wudang sect disappear, but the forces from the five sects of Shaolin, Emei, Huashan, Kongtong and Kunlun who came down to Bright Peak also disappeared without a trace."

Upon hearing this, the members of the Ming Cult all showed expressions of "I knew it."

Yang Xiao and Wei Yixiao exchanged a glance and slowly nodded.

Zhang Wuji took a deep breath and said in a deep voice, "Senior brother, what you found out matches exactly what happened to us."

He then briefly recounted the Ming Cult's experiences along the way—

First, after being more than a hundred miles away from Bright Summit, they encountered a night raid by hundreds of iron hooves on the Gobi Desert;

Later, broken swords and daggers of the Kongtong Sect were found scattered along the way;

Then they encountered several female disciples of the Emei Sect who had been waiting to meet Abbess Miejue but had gotten separated along the way. From them, they learned that the Emei Sect had lost contact with Abbess Miejue after leaving the mountain.

At this point, Zhang Wuji's voice suddenly stopped, and his face turned pale, as if something was blocking his throat.

Song Qingshu feigned ignorance and pressed further, "What else?"

Zhang Wuji remained silent for a moment before speaking with difficulty, his voice hoarse:

"We... also encountered our Sixth Martial Uncle."

Song Qingshu's expression changed drastically—acting skills.

He grabbed Zhang Wuji's wrist, his voice suddenly rising, both urgent and angry:

"Uncle Yin? Where is he? What happened to him?"

Tears welled up in Zhang Wuji's eyes, and his Adam's apple bobbed several times before he managed to squeeze out a few words:

"His limbs were broken by the Vajra Finger technique of the Shaolin School."

Song Qingshu's reaction was textbook-perfect.

He froze, his face turning deathly pale in an instant, his lips trembling as if he were processing this unbelievable news.

The next instant, a blazing light of shock and rage flashed in his eyes, his voice hoarse and violent, as if torn from the deepest part of his chest:

"Shaolin Vajra Finger? Sixth Uncle! Where is Sixth Uncle! Take me to see him! Sixth Uncle! Sixth Uncle!"

He flung Zhang Wuji's hand away and staggered toward the donkey cart, his steps hurried and disordered, as if he had been overwhelmed by grief and anger.

Zhang Wuji quickly caught up with him and helped him up, pointing to the last donkey cart: "There... Yang Zuoshi's daughter, Sister Buhui, is taking care of him."

Song Qingshu rushed to the car and yanked open the curtain.

Inside the carriage, Yin Liting lay flat on a thick mattress, his limbs clamped by wooden boards and wrapped in thick gauze.

That once handsome and dashing face was now ashen white, his cheeks sunken, his lips cracked, and only his eyes remained bright, though they had been tormented by pain and lost their sparkle.

Yang Buhui was sitting to the side, wiping the cold sweat from Song Qingshu's forehead with a damp handkerchief. She was startled when she saw Song Qingshu's expression.

"Sixth Uncle!"

Song Qingshu knelt down on the carriage shaft with a thud, his hands trembling as he grasped Yin Liting's right hand, which was wrapped in layers of gauze. Underneath the gauze, his fingers were numb.

His eyes were red-rimmed, his jaw clenched, and after a long pause, he managed to squeeze out a sentence:

"Who...who could have done such a cruel thing? Sixth Uncle, your nephew Song Qingshu swears here and now that he will hunt you down to the ends of the earth and tear the person who hurt you to pieces!"

Yin Liting turned her head with difficulty and recognized Song Qingshu. A look of relief and worry flashed across her eyes.

He tried to say something, his lips moved a few times, but he only managed to utter a few indistinct syllables.

With red eyes, Yang Buhui wiped the corner of Yin Liting's mouth and said softly, "Sixth Hero Yin, don't rush, speak slowly."

Seeing this, Song Qingshu thought to himself: It seems that Yang Buhui has already developed feelings for his sixth uncle.

He gripped Yin Liting's hand tightly and said in a deep voice, "Sixth Uncle, don't worry. I will make the person who hurt you pay tenfold."

His tearful performance perfectly captured the grief and indignation of a Wudang disciple who was "overwhelmed with sorrow upon learning of the misfortune of his loved ones."

Even Wei Yixiao, who was usually cold-blooded, couldn't help but sigh softly, feeling quite moved that Song Yuanqiao had such a son; Yang Xiao nodded slightly, feeling even more admiration for this third-generation disciple of Wudang; Zhou Dian was so moved that his eyes reddened, and he whispered, "Young Hero Song is truly a man of great loyalty and righteousness."

However, not everyone was moved by this performance.

Under the shade of willows, Zhao Min sat on a blue stone, idly waving a folding fan in her hand, but her clear black and white eyes never left Song Qingshu's direction.

She coldly observed Song Qingshu's every move from the moment he met Zhang Wuji. His surprised smile, his caring greetings, his tragic posture of kneeling and weeping in front of the donkey cart and swearing to the heavens—every frame was deeply moving and flawless.

But why does she look so strange?

She sneered inwardly: When this guy rushed over to chat her up earlier, he was clearly very composed, smiling and acting with ease. He said "the scenery is beautiful" but his eyes were staring straight at her. His skin was so thick that it could be used as a shield.

Now she's crying her eyes out again, heartbroken and devastated.

She had seen countless actors in Dadu, all of whom were excellent in singing, recitation, acting, and martial arts, but this young hero Song's acting skills probably couldn't even rank among all those actors combined.

What infuriated her most was that just as he was kneeling on the cart shaft, gritting his teeth and swearing that he would "repay tenfold," his eyes clearly glanced at her out of the corner of his eye.

Others might not notice, but Zhao Min saw it clearly.

Zhao Min gently closed her folding fan, her face remaining calm and composed, but inwardly she was cursing a thousand times:

"Pah! This guy is full of bad intentions, I wonder what kind of trick he's up to now."

All that grief and vows to avenge Uncle Liu might just be an act for his naive junior brother.

Poor Zhang Wuji, that fool, he was sold out and still helped count the money.

The more she thought about it, the more she felt that this person was despicable, but she couldn't quite put her finger on why. After all, the other person's "grief" was so convincing that if she were to point it out rashly, she would only appear petty.

After the members of the Ming Cult recounted their experiences to Song Qingshu, and through mutual corroboration, the outline of the entire incident became crystal clear:

After the six major sects descended from Bright Peak, they were all ambushed and captured. The attackers were ruthless and meticulously planned, something no ordinary force could accomplish.

So the question is, who in the world has such skill?

Who could have caused the masters of the six major sects to be wiped out before they could even send out a distress signal?

All eyes fell on the handsome young man disguised as a woman under the willow tree.

Why is Abbess Miejue's Heaven-Slaying Sword at her waist?

Zhang Wuji gathered his thoughts and glanced at Yang Xiao.

Yang Xiao nodded slightly. Just as the two were about to step forward and question the 'young master' about his origins, they suddenly heard a chaotic commotion coming from the main road to the east.