Zhou Chun turned pale with terror as he listened to Yan'er's words. “What a close call! Yan'er, you're far too bold,” he exclaimed, his voice trembling. “I've told you time and again—monks, Taoists, beggars, and lone women are the most dangerous people in the martial world. You must always be on guard when you see one traveling alone. Lucky for you, someone warned you, or you'd be dead by now.”

  Li Ning frowned, confusion clouding his face. “I don't understand what the letter means,” he said. “When did you ever mention feuding with a monk? Why not tell us the whole story?”

  Zhou Chun sighed heavily, his shoulders slumping. “You ask who that monk is? He's none other than Mao Tai, the Bear with Many Arms—once famous in the Jiangnan region ten years ago!”

  Li Ning's eyes widened in shock. “If it's him… we're in real trouble.”

  “It was my carelessness back then,” Zhou Chun said, regret lacing his voice. “I didn't finish him off when I had the chance, and now I'm paying for it. We just found a place to settle, and now we have to run again. How unfair is this?”

  Before Li Ning could respond, Yingqiong and Yan'er exchanged a look—both young, bold, and unwilling to back down. Yan'er hesitated to speak up, but Yingqiong's face flushed with anger.

  “Uncle Zhou, you're only discouraging us!” she snapped. “No matter how tough he is, he's just one man. There are four of us here—why should we run? We have nothing to fear!”

  Zhou Chun smiled bitterly. “Niece, you have no idea what you're up against. It's been years; even your father might not remember the details clearly. Let me tell you what happened all those years ago—it might teach you young ones a lesson about the martial world.”

  “More than ten years ago, your father, your Uncle Yang, and I were famous across the Five Northern Provinces. Your father was the best swordsman, skilled with all kinds of hidden weapons—he could throw and catch them with equal ease. The martial world gave him the nickname 'Divine-Armed Ape.' Your Uncle Yang wielded a simple broadsword and a chain dart; they called him 'Divine Swordsman Yang Da.'”

  “We three were like brothers, training together every day. When I saw your father practicing lightness skills, I had an idea: I made two wing-like pieces of white silk and tied them to my arms. With those silk wings, I could jump up even a hundred zhang (approx. 333 meters) high mountain, using the wind to carry me. I always acted with honor and integrity—even when traveling at night, I wore white. That's how I got my nickname, 'Flying Crane of the Clouds.' Together, we were known as the 'Three Heroes of Qilu.' We dedicated ourselves to upholding justice and helping the weak.”

  “That year, Zhang Xianzhong and Li Zicheng were leading their rebellions. A good friend of mine, a merchant, was traveling back to Yangzhou from Shaanxi. The roads were unsafe, so he asked me to escort him—I couldn't refuse. Along the way, I heard rumors of a lone bandit in the south, called Mao Tai, the Bear with Many Arms.”

  “There's an unspoken rule in the underworld: if a target doesn't resist, or if there's no grudge, you never kill them. Raping women is even more forbidden. But Mao Tai was ruthless—wherever he went, he robbed and killed everyone, leaving no one alive. If he saw a beautiful woman, he would rape her first, then kill her. When I heard that, I knew I had to stop him if we crossed paths.”

  “We were resting at an inn north of Nanjing when a servant brought me a name card. There was no name on it—only a drawing of a bear with eight extra arms. I knew it was Mao Tai. I had to meet him, so I got my weapons ready and invited him in, expecting trouble.”

  “When he walked in, he looked as fierce as the rumors said—but he wasn't carrying any weapons. He explained that he'd heard of my reputation and wanted to swear brotherhood with me. Even if I wasn't a great hero, how could I ally myself with a rapist? I politely declined. He didn't insist; we talked about underworld loyalty and looking out for each other before he left.”

  “I watched his steps as he walked—he was clearly skilled, but his spirit seemed weak, probably from too much wine and women. As I walked him to the door, a gust of wind blew half the inn door shut. He casually touched the door, obviously showing off. I didn't want to get tangled with him, so I pretended not to notice. He thought I really hadn't seen, and turned to the innkeeper: 'Your door is so flimsy—be careful of thieves,' he said, shaking the door. Wood shavings fell from where he'd touched it, leaving five clear finger prints.”

  “I was furious at his arrogance. As I walked him out, I looked up and saw two roof tiles hanging loosely over the eaves, about to fall. 'If those tiles blow off,' I said to him, 'someone might get hurt.' With that, I gathered my inner energy and spat at the tiles—smashing them to pieces on the ground. Only then did he look truly impressed.”

  “'The Three Heroes of Qilu are truly worthy of their fame,' he said. 'We'll meet again—don't forget what I said about loyalty.' I didn't think much of it at the time.”

  “After he left, we hired a boat to Yangzhou and loaded our luggage and family onto it. Our boat was moored next to a large riverboat chartered by a retired official. Late that night, around the third watch, I heard a woman crying.”

  The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  “The area was unsafe, so I always slept fully dressed, with my weapons nearby. I jumped out of the cabin and listened closely—the crying was coming from the neighboring boat. I knew something was wrong. Fueled by a sense of justice, I leaped over to the other boat and saw bodies lying everywhere. I peeked through the cabin window and froze.”

  “Mao Tai was holding a shiny steel knife. Inside the cabin, a beautiful woman was tied up, her upper clothes torn off, fainted from fear and exhaustion. That monster was in the middle of taking off her underclothes. I was so angry I could barely contain myself. I pulled out a golden dart and threw it at him.”

  “He was skilled, though—just as the dart reached his head, he dodged, caught it in his hand, and blew out the lamp. He threw my dart back at me, then jumped out of the cabin to fight. I used all my martial arts, but we were evenly matched. I was worried about my family on our boat—what if he had accomplices? After dozens of rounds, I used my signature Liuhe Sword move, 'Pierce the Clouds to Seize the Moon,' and stabbed at him.”

  “He wasn't prepared. I cut off two of his fingers. A monster like him deserved to die, to eliminate the threat once and for all. But he knew he was defeated—he threw down his knife and said, 'Friend, have you forgotten what you said this morning? I'm no match for you—kill me if you want.'”

  “I made a mistake then—I felt sorry for his martial arts skills. I also respected his master, Deng Ming, the Golden-Eyed Lion. And he'd greeted me politely earlier that day. So I didn't kill him. I made him swear to turn over a new leaf, then let him go. Lucky for us, he hadn't killed anyone that night—he'd only knocked everyone out with acupressure. I freed them all, then went back to my boat.”

  “After that, he became a monk and studied under Master Fayuan, the Golden Body Arhat of Wutai Mountain. He learned to wield a flying sword—he can cut off someone's head from ten li (approx. 5 km) away, and he's achieved unity of body and sword. He's been talking about revenge ever since. I know I can't beat him, so I had no choice but to take my daughter Qingyun and flee to Sichuan. No matter how good our martial arts are, how can we fight a Sword Immortal?”

  As they talked, a crane's cry suddenly echoed through the sky, loud and clear. Everyone was so focused on the story that they barely noticed—except Zhou Chun. He jumped up and rushed outside, returning a moment later with a confused look.

  “Master, why did you rush out when you heard the crane?” Yan'er asked.

  “You don't understand,” Zhou Chun said. “This cave is the highest on Mount Emei, surrounded by mist most of the time. Ordinary birds can't fly this high. The crane's cry came right above us—it was strange. I went to check, but there was no sign of it. Bizarre.”

  Yingqiong leaned forward, her eyes determined. “Uncle Zhou, if Mao Tai is that powerful, is running the only thing we can do? There must be another way.”

  “He's strong with his sword, but his heart is evil—he'll never reach the highest level of cultivation,” Zhou Chun replied. “There are many Sword Immortals stronger than him. Take my daughter Qingyun's master, Master Canxia of Yellow Mountain—Mao Tai is no match for her. But Yellow Mountain is far away, and it's huge. We can't find her easily; it's just wishful thinking.”

  Li Ning nodded thoughtfully. “Brother, running forever isn't a solution. We need a plan.”

  “I know,” Zhou Chun said, sighing. “I want to talk to Yan'er's mother first. I'll ask Ma Xiang to look after her. Then I'll take Yan'er with me. Instead of waiting for Mao Tai to find us, I'll go to him and challenge him to a sword fight—a delaying tactic. During that time, we'll go to Yellow Mountain to find Master Canxia. It's humiliating to ask for help, but I have no other choice.”

  Li Ning agreed. “I'll go with you.”

  “No,” Zhou Chun said firmly. “This isn't a fight—too many people will only cause trouble. Your daughter's training is progressing well; she can't afford to stop. Leaving her alone on the mountain isn't safe, either. You stay here, brother.”

  They made their plans. Zhou Chun said goodbye to Li Ning and Yingqiong, then set off down the mountain with Yan'er. It was late autumn, early winter—the cold wind blew against their faces, and the trees were bare. The master and disciple talked as they walked, and by noon, they reached the foot of Mount Emei.

  There, lying by the road, was a Taoist priest. He wore only a thin, tattered robe, and a large red lacquered gourd of wine lay beside him. He was sound asleep, dead drunk.

  “Master, look at that Taoist,” Yan'er said, shaking his head. “He's so poor, but he's still drinking himself silly. He's a real drunkard.”

  Zhou Chun frowned. “Don't be so judgmental, boy. Our great land has been conquered by the barbarians. Many talented people refuse to serve the enemy, so they hide in the mortal world. His unruly appearance doesn't mean he's ordinary. It's so cold—if he sleeps here, he'll catch a fever and die.”

  “I'm hungry after walking so far,” he added. “Let me wake him up. We'll eat together, and I'll give him some silver—maybe it's fate that we met.” He walked over and gently called: “Daoist priest, wake up.” He pushed the priest twice, but the man snored louder, unresponsive.

  Zhou Chun studied him closely. His face was dirty, and his fingernails were caked with dust—but his arms were as white as jade. He was definitely not an ordinary man. But he was in a hurry to get to Yan'er's house, and the priest wouldn't wake up. Reluctantly, he took a half-new silk cotton robe from his bag and draped it over the priest. He pushed him once more, but there was no movement. Finally, he and Yan'er went to a nearby restaurant to eat, then hurried on their way.

  Once they left the restaurant, they unleashed their lightness skills—moving like ghosts through the twilight, their feet barely touching the ground, covering miles in moments. In less than two hours, they were close to Crow's Beak village.

  Zhou Chun knew Yan'er's mother was kind—she would go out of her way to treat him, and he hated to trouble her. Besides, it was getting late. He decided to eat first, then go to her house. He and Yan'er walked into a restaurant called “Golden Flavor Restaurant”—a new place, known for its delicious food. The restaurant was crowded with diners.

  Eager to get home, they didn't pay attention to the other customers. A waiter led them to a private room. Just as they were about to sit down, Yan'er's eyes caught something hanging behind the counter across the hall. He froze, his face turning pale with shock. He grabbed Zhou Chun's arm, his voice trembling.

  “Master! Look! That thing—it's familiar!”

  Zhou Chun followed his gaze, and his heart skipped a beat. What could it be that looked so familiar here?