Chapter Forty-Five: Gathering Storms at Monkey Valley

Chapter 45: Gathering Storms in Monkey Valley

Although Wu Hong's strength had improved greatly, he dared not act recklessly in this mysterious pocket world. He and Wu Songran could only move lightly through the forest. The endless woods made searching for a single weapon like finding a needle in a haystack. Yet, Wu Hong shared a spiritual connection with his weapon; though he couldn’t pinpoint its exact location, he had a general sense of its direction.

They crossed towering mountains and flowing streams, and as they drew closer, Wu Hong’s feeling grew stronger. Along the way, they faced frequent dangers. The strange beasts of this small world were incredibly fierce, their power rivaling that of skilled martial artists.

“Brother Hong, why are you so intent on finding your weapon? Isn’t it just a pair of short hammers? What’s so special about them?” Wu Songran asked, puzzled by Wu Hong’s determination.

“You don’t understand, Ran,” Wu Hong replied. “Over the past year, I have endured every hardship—wandering, begging, even serving as a menial. Those first weapons of mine have become an extension of myself. No matter how fine another blade or spear, none will ever suit me so well!”

His words were simple, but the bitterness behind them would make anyone shudder to imagine. For an ordinary man, such trials would be a hard life indeed. But Wu Hong had once lived as a pampered scion in the capital. To have fallen so far, from paradise to hell, was unthinkable.

Wu Songran listened silently, following Wu Hong through the woods, watching his determined back. How much pain must a man bear to come this far? If not for this extraordinary journey, she might still have misunderstood him, longing for his death.

Now, Wu Songran was certain: men like Wang Liang could not have been killed by Wu Hong’s hand. Along the way, whenever they saw injustice, Wu Hong always intervened, never abusing his power. How could such a man be evil? If he were, then none in the world could be called good. Yet he bore the reputation of a parricidal fiend, a marauder, a villain guilty of every crime. His infamy in the martial world was so great that no words but “utterly depraved” sufficed, his notoriety even exceeding that of long-renowned villains.

Yet Wu Hong paid no mind to these rumors, greeting them with a carefree smile. His open-heartedness left Wu Songran often in a daze—how could anyone possess such breadth of spirit?

Earlier, they had seized a few sets of clothes from a band of robbers. Without this, any who saw their wild and ragged appearance would surely have cried out in alarm.

The direction of Wu Hong’s weapon was also the same as that toward which the martial artists were converging. The reason was simple: though this small world was vast, filled with mountains and caves, places containing true martial secrets were rare. Only the most perilous places, guarded by mutated beasts, held such treasures.

Yet even a bone-refining master would enter these perilous lands at his peril, seldom to return. Thus, the martial artists had come to an unspoken agreement: upon finding such a place, they would form alliances to explore it together, the division of spoils left to their own abilities.

In the southern part of this small world, a place had been discovered—Monkey Valley—the very direction of Wu Hong’s search. Within gathered thousands of strange, three-eyed, four-eared monkeys with golden fur and agile bodies. Though they knew no martial arts, their strength was formidable. There were about three thousand monkeys, among them three hundred leaders, each as strong as a mid-level bone-refining expert. The monkey king himself was said to be just shy of reaching innate mastery.

When this news spread, the martial world was set ablaze. Such a powerful troop must be guarding a peerless martial secret. Despite the danger, martial artists from all quarters converged, all making their way toward Monkey Valley.

At this time, Wang Liang was not far from Monkey Valley, holed up in a cave where he discovered a secret manual. Any ordinary martial artist, upon seeing it, would have turned pale. When Wang Liang first flipped through the book, his face was grim, but upon reaching the final page and seeing a few words, his expression lit up with wild joy. “With full mastery, one may return to their original nature,” it read.

The cover bore the words “Sunflower Manual.” Wang Liang had heard of this legendary text—so profound that only those who castrated themselves could hope to master it, and yet he had never heard of returning to one’s original state upon full mastery.

Convinced he had stumbled upon a treasure, Wang Liang burst into wild laughter, nearly weeping for joy. In truth, a careful reader would have found many flaws in the manual, but Wang Liang’s mind was fixed on those words: “With full mastery, one may return to their original nature.”

The manual’s requirements were harsh. Not only must he wield the knife against himself, but he would also have to abolish his inner power and start anew. Yet in this perilous world, how could he dare to cripple himself?

“Wu Hong, just wait. When my power is complete, your death will come!” he hissed, the hatred in his voice terrifying to behold.

While tales of Monkey Valley’s treasure spread like wildfire, Wang Liang feigned indifference. All he wanted was to escape this world, return home, and perfect the art in this mysterious Sunflower Manual, hoping to achieve full mastery.

Wu Hong, meanwhile, had undergone a dramatic transformation. Gone was the thin and sallow youth; now he resembled a golden porcelain doll grown to adulthood, his skin radiant, his bearing transformed. Without his distinctive weapon, few would recognize him among the martial artists, which was certainly to his advantage—at least he no longer needed to hide from hunters at every turn.

Had Wu Songran not seen the transformation with her own eyes, she would not have believed this man was Wu Hong. Though the two wore plain clothes, their bearing set them apart as they advanced toward Monkey Valley along with a group of martial artists. The martial world was full of odd characters, so the pair attracted little attention.

Their group, including Wu Hong and Wu Songran, numbered about ten, all wary and on edge. They were but a small band among the many making for Monkey Valley.

They soon reached the valley’s border, where towering trees and man-high grasses abounded. At any moment, a beast might leap from the undergrowth to attack, keeping nerves taut to the breaking point. Wu Songran, however, remained calm, staying close to Wu Hong. She was awed by his strength—his golden hand could quell any foe. Only a master on the verge of innate mastery might match him now.

Suddenly, as they moved cautiously through the forest, a white-furred monkey burst from the grass, wielding a black staff. It had three eyes, four ears, protruding fangs, and blood-red eyes—a terrifying sight. With a howl, it smashed in the skull of a martial artist, blood spattering as his body crashed lifelessly to the ground.

“Kill it! It’s a three-eyed monkey sentry!” someone shouted.

With a flash, a sword energy ten meters long slashed toward the white monkey. The beast did not dare take it lightly, splitting the energy with its staff. Still, the shock wounded it, and with a spray of blood, it leaped dozens of meters up a tree and vanished among the branches.

The group was shaken and drew their weapons, chasing after the monkey. Reaching a valley, they stopped, their tension easing. Wu Hong and Wu Songran exchanged a look, both stunned: around the valley were nearly ten thousand martial artists of all kinds, buzzing like flies as they gossiped about the strange happenings within.

Safety in numbers gave the crowd courage, and the presence of so many eased even the most anxious. All discussion centered on the mass of monkeys in the valley below, who were building a massive altar, apparently for some important ceremony.

No one was in a hurry to attack. Instead, they speculated with friends about why the monkeys were going to such lengths. The monkeys, in turn, brought out rare fruits and clay jars filled with strange substances, filling the air with a sweet and refreshing fragrance that lifted the spirits.

These monkeys, it seemed, possessed great intelligence. Such rituals were usually the domain of humans, yet here were these uncanny apes performing them with grave ceremony.

Just as Wu Hong and Wu Songran were marveling at the sight, a familiar voice called out from the crowd, “Ran! What are you doing here? Where are Wang Liang and the others?”

Wu Hong’s face changed at the sound, while Wu Songran broke into a delighted smile. “Brother Lie, you’re here too!” she replied.