Chapter Eight: The Mysterious Xiao Yang (Part One)

Recalling all that had happened in the past, Wu Jue withdrew from his thoughts and returned to reality. With the monstrous strength of the zombie, he successfully pushed aside the car, finally unveiling a large patch of cement floor beneath. Stepping onto it, he pressed down with his foot and, relying on memory, mapped out where the secret chamber’s hidden door might be. He said to Xiao Han, “Go search around for something heavy—a sledgehammer or the like.”

Snapping back to his senses, Xiao Han joined him as the two began searching the parking lot. Eventually, they retrieved a wrench and a hammer from among the cars—good enough for now—and each took one, preparing to work.

Wu Jue swung the hammer with all his strength, channeling the power of his martial arts and the essence of the Demon-Subduing Staff technique. With a few thunderous blows, he smashed open a large hole in the ground. Through the emerging gap, they could faintly see an ancient stone door below—this was the place.

Exchanging glances, both men felt a surge of excitement and redoubled their efforts, wielding their tools to carve out a larger opening. At last, they broke through enough for a person to pass. Wu Jue tapped the stone door with his hammer—solid still—so he gripped the iron ring above, twisted it gently, and activated a concealed mechanism. The stone door opened on its own.

A yawning darkness stretched before them. Wu Jue said to Xiao Han, “Let me go first. Don’t come in until I give the signal.”

He rummaged through a pile of trash, found a working flashlight, and illuminated his descent into the tunnel.

Guided by old memories, Wu Jue stepped down each stone stair. The layout was still vaguely familiar, but a strange, unfamiliar aura lingered in the air.

As a warrior monk, Wu Jue’s senses were keener than most. He could faintly detect the presence of the living here.

Could someone have already discovered the treasury and been hiding below in secret?

Wu Jue advanced warily. As he ventured deeper, he realized the treasure chamber was no longer as it had been—the arrangement inside was different.

The weapons and provisions once stored here had vanished without a trace. He even caught a glimmer of light and heard the hum of strange machinery.

Suddenly, a sound came from behind. Wu Jue sensed someone approaching, quickly shifted his stance, and pointed his wrench in the direction of the intruder, demanding, “Who’s there?”

The other replied with the same question: “Who are you, and how did you find this place?”

From the shadows appeared a man clad head to toe in armor, seated in a wheelchair, staring at Wu Jue and holding a black pistol.

Wu Jue did not recognize the weapon, but Huron’s memories warned him it was dangerous—a killer.

Clearly, the stranger was on guard. Wu Jue calmly raised his flashlight, tossed the wrench to the ground, and said, “Don’t be nervous. I’m just a refugee looking for shelter. This was supposed to be a storage room—no outsiders should know of it. Why are you here?”

“You know what this place was used for?” the man asked, surprised, though his weapon remained trained on Wu Jue. “I see you’re a shaven-headed monk, with incense scars. Don’t tell me you’re a monk.”

Wu Jue pressed his palms together in greeting. “You are correct. I am a warrior monk from Great Forest Temple, who arrived in this world by chance. You may not believe it, but this was once a secret stronghold against the evil cult—no outsiders should have known. Benefactor, perhaps you should tell me who you are.”

As he spoke, Wu Jue listened closely to the man’s breathing. Judging from its rhythm, the man was young, but physically disabled—hence the wheelchair. More importantly, the man’s movements seemed limited; only the weapon in his hand was a threat. If Wu Jue could evade the first shot, he might seize an opening.

The young man sneered, about to speak, when Wu Jue suddenly moved, circling around and lunging at him.

The youth reacted swiftly, spinning his wheelchair and firing his gun. A flash burst in the darkness, followed by a thunderous crash as Wu Jue tackled both the man and his wheelchair to the ground.

With one hand, Wu Jue pinned the weapon; with the other, he held the young man down, feeling a sting on his arm where a bullet had grazed him. Nevertheless, he pressed his elbow firmly into the man’s throat—he could easily choke him to death with a bit more force. But Wu Jue was curious as to why the young man was here—he needed answers.

After subduing him thoroughly, Wu Jue seized the pistol, then landed two hard punches to the youth’s face, knocking him out.

Only then did Wu Jue catch his breath and rise, storing the pistol away. “So, this is a human weapon. Indeed, a deadly device—its speed surpasses even my light-footed skills.”

He touched the wound on his shoulder, found a nearby pressure point, and staunched the bleeding, secretly lamenting that even his external martial arts could not fully withstand such weapons.

Be it the humans of this era or the terrifying Celestial Executioners, their technology was fearsome.

As these thoughts crossed his mind, the young man beneath him began to stir. His first instinct was to grope for the gun, but disappointment quickly set in.

Lying on the ground, he stared into the darkness where Wu Jue stood and asked, “Why didn’t you kill me? You’re stronger—you could have killed me and claimed this underground room.”

Wu Jue shook his head. “Benefactor, you are mistaken. We monks do not kill lightly. Besides, I bear you no grudge, and there are many questions only you can answer. Tell me—what has happened here? Why are you here?”

The young man scoffed, “This was mine to begin with. I bought it. Now you barge in and claim mercy? Monk, you call that the compassion of your order?”

Though confronted with such retorts, Wu Jue realized this young man was sharp-tongued and clear-headed. He pulled him up and patted the armor, saying, “Are you afraid? You’ve armored yourself so thoroughly and hide in this gloomy place. You must know what’s happening outside, yet you stay here, indifferent. I suspect you struggle with deep-seated inferiority.”

“You…” The young man was struck where it hurt most. Unlike Wu Jue, who had weathered death and countless tribulations, this youth’s eyes had not yet seen through the world.

At last, the young man sighed and admitted, “You’re right. I am inferior—Heaven was unfair. I was born with a brilliant mind, yet cursed to be crippled from birth. I have never known the pain of walking like everyone else…”

He poured out his heart, venting long-held grievances, while Wu Jue quietly pieced together his background.

His name was Xiao Yang, born into wealth. His father was a renowned tycoon in Tianhai City, a man of considerable standing, but Xiao Yang had been crippled since birth. Though he enjoyed privilege, he could never live as others did.