Sitting alone on the back cliff watching the sun set, Ma Jingguo was consumed by his certainty. He knew that the person next to Cao Wenyan was Mu Dishi, but everyone was telling him that he was wrong. He trusted his heart. His resolve hardened: He will go to the Beixing Sect to confirm it personally.
Coming from behind him was Kuo Ju. She stopped in front of Ma Jingguo and looked down at him. "Jingguo."
Ma Jingguo turned around and stood up.
Kuo Ju's tone was serious. "Now is trouble time, and our sect needs you at your best."
"Shimu, I will try my best."
"You know, other than your shifu, no one else is more capable in Jinfeng Sect right now. My two sons are helping the people up north defending the invasion of other ethnic groups." She paused, her gaze steady. "Within our sect, there is a secret manual, but your shifu will not practice it."
"What is the manual?" Ma Jingguo asked.
"Many years ago, when the two masters were creating the 'Killer String Manual,' they discovered that it was too lethal, but they didn't know that the leader of the demon clan had already created the 'Devil Fist Manual.'" She continued, revealing the profound connection. "Both masters are music lovers, and Killer Strings was originally called Soulmate."
"Soulmate...?" Kuo Ju's words were a piercing echo. Ma Jingguo suddenly remembered when he first started learning the flute melody to help Mu Dishi practice the Killer String. When he finally realized that the song Mu Dishi had taught him was actually called Soulmate, his heart ached with understanding and grief. "How did that music called soulmate become Killer String?"
Kuo Ju answered simply, "Because of its tragedy."
Ma Jingguo's eyes widened. The sudden, emotional revelation that the lethal technique was once named Soulmate felt like the only anchor he had left. If he could learn the secret truth beneath the Killer Strings, perhaps he might secretly be able to keep Mu Dishi by his side.
"Shimu, please tell me," Ma Jingguo pleaded, urgency thick in his voice.
Kuo Ju sighed, the sound heavy with the weight of decades. "It began decades ago, when Jinfeng was nearly established. At that time, the most well-known disciple of our sect was Ji Chujiu..."
The cold breeze marking the start of the season swept across the Northern atmosphere as Ji Chujiu rode his horse quickly alongside the beautiful river. He paused his mount, bending down to wash his face in the water. Closing his eyes, he listened to the river flowing and the birdsong, and then caught the sound of a soft, ethereal guzheng melody.
He was captivated by how the music blended perfectly with the natural environment. Opening his eyes, he led his horse along the riverbank until he spotted a small pavilion on the opposite side. There, he saw a well-dressed man sitting alone, so completely absorbed in playing the guzheng that he didn't even notice Ji Chujiu watching him from across the water.
The sight of the man instantly excited Ji Chujiu. He quickly secured his horse's rein to a rock, retrieved the guzheng from his back, and unwrapped it. He, too, settled down and began to pluck the guzheng strings, responding to the beautiful call across the water.
When Zan Huanming heard the second melody that perfectly blended with his own, he turned his head to look. His eyes settled on a handsome young man, sitting on the other side of the river bank, holding the guqin in his arms. Zan Huanming continued to stroke the guzheng strings, allowing the beautiful harmony to continue.
The two softly combined musical melodies touched their hearts. Both men could feel each other's heart rhythm drifting down with the river. Their music spoke a different language, one that only the two of them could truly understand.
At the end of the music, Ji Chujiu flew across the small river, landing softly in front of the small pavilion. Zan Huanming stood up and walked toward Ji Chujiu to greet him.
"Xiongtai, please come in," Zan Huanming offered warmly.
Ji Chujiu smiled, walked into the small pavilion, and sat across from Zan Huanming. He introduced himself. "I'm Ji Chujiu. Your guzheng melody is hard to express in one word. Listening to the music, I feel that I and the river are merged into one."
"Zan Huanming," the man replied, offering his name. "Thank you for your compliment."
Ji Chujiu asked, "Xiongtai, which sector or clan are you from?"
Zan Huanming smiled gently. "I'm just a person who lives among the mountains and rivers, and I happen to be able to play the guzheng."
"You are not from the martial arts world?" Ji Chujiu clarified, surprised.
"No," Zan Huanming confirmed.
"I often walk this way, but I have never seen you," Ji Chujiu noted.
Zan Huanming's smile deepened, conveying a profound truth. "People with fate, regardless of time, location, or occasion, are connected by an invisible fate."
Ji Chujiu asked, "Do you live nearby?"
"Yes," Zan Huanming replied.
The two men continued to talk, their conversation flowing easily until dusk settled over the river. Ji Chujiu then said his goodbyes to Zan Huanming and flew across the small stream back to his horse.
Ji Chujiu turned his head to look back at Zan Huanming. He offered a poetic farewell: "Xiongtai, goodbye is not forever, goodbye is not the end, just saying that I will miss you until I see you again." He nodded to Zan Huanming, then jumped on his horse and rode away. He smiled, embracing the wind rushing past his face, as he heard Zan Huanming's beautiful music sending him off.
For the next two months, Ji Chujiu regularly journeyed down the mountain to compose music with Zan Huanming. They worked with relentless passion; for each note they created, they assigned a corresponding fighting move. Two months later, Ji Chujiu and Zan Huanming completed their secret book, which they called 'Soulmate'.
Ji Chujiu looked at Zan Huanming, a somber note entering their partnership. "Huangming, I will not see you in the next few weeks."
"Why not?" Zan Huanming asked.
"In two months, Shaolin will have an annual competition," Ji Chujiu explained. "I will have to practice my martial arts."
"I understand. We will meet again," Zan Huanming assured him.
As soon to the day as Ji Chujiu was out of seclusion, he rode down the mountain road, walking eagerly toward the small pavilion. When he arrived at the scene, the sight was devastating there was no pavilion. The small structure had been dug up or destroyed and replaced by a large stone. Ji Chujiu sat on the rock, keeping a desperate vigil until dawn, but Zan Huanming was nowhere to be seen.
Two months later, the air inside Shaolin was fresh, and laughter from different clans and sectors circled inside the small, gathered area for the annual competition.
A disciple of the Kongdong Sector jumped into the fighting arena. He looked at Ji Chujiu and said, "I would like to get some pointers from Ji-xiong of Jinfeng Sect. I admire your swordsmanship very much."
When Ji Chujiu began fighting against the Kongdong disciple, everyone clearly saw that Ji Chujiu was at a disadvantage. It was obvious that either Ji Chujiu's skill had suffered or his mind was not in the fight, because everyone could see he was clearly not concentrating. The Kongdong disciple delivered a kick that sent Ji Chujiu sliding all the way almost to the edge of the stage.
Then, through the ringing in his ears, Ji Chujiu suddenly heard a soft melody. He looked up and saw that Zan Huanming was sitting cross-legged with the guzheng on his lap, high up on the top of a temple roof.
When the music sounded, every head in the arena snapped upward to look at Zan Huanming.
In the surrounding arena, murmurs spread among the gathered sects. "Who is that person?"
Ji Chujiu could only whisper his friend's name, a mixture of shock and profound relief. "Huangming…"
Zan Huanming smiled, the expression cold. "You may not know who I am, but I hope you haven't forgotten your so-called Sunset campaign." He grabbed a black bag from beside his guzheng and threw the bag down into the crowd below.
One of the men took the bag and opened it. He instantly screamed in shock and threw the contents—a severed head—onto the ground.
Zan Huanming laughed, the sound echoing across the temple grounds. "This person should be familiar to you. He is your hero, and your spy inside Sunset Sect."
Ning Weibang, the leader of the Kongdong Sector, demanded, "Who are you?"
Zan Huanming smiled, his face alight with cold vengeance. "Zan Huanming, heir of Sunset Sect."
A martial artist pointed at him, fear turning to rage. "You are from the demon sector. Your evilness will not win against us."
"I will show you how vicious I am," Zan Huanming declared. "I want to witness how much you like the taste of your own medicine." He then began to stroke the guzheng strings.
Ji Chujiu heard a deafening ringing in his ear. The music was the same soft melody they created together, but this time it sounded utterly different; every note hid a potent, overwhelming killing intent. His heart began to beat faster and faster until he completely lost control of his anger.
In a horrifying display, Ji Chujiu grabbed the Kongdong disciple's neck and broke his disciple's neck.
Jia Jin, the leader of Jinfeng Sector and Ji Chujiu's master, shouted, "Chujiu, what are you doing?"
Every string Zan Huanming released from his fingertips, he twitched and laughed louder.
Jia Jin quickly jumped onto the stage, trying desperately to stop his disciple. He shouted loudly, "Chujiu, stop it!"
Ji Chujiu threw a heavy punch that hit Jia Jin's abdomen, causing him to fall onto the stage. Ji Chujiu then grabbed his sword and began stabbing Jia Jin.
Other sector leaders pointed in shock and fury at the disciple. "How dare you kill your shifu?"
As the leaders lunged at Ji Chujiu, Zan Huanming flew out from the roof of the temple, emitting powerful sound waves of energy from the guzheng, slicing through the attacking leaders, cutting them into two halves. Zan Huanming swung around Ji Chujiu, and released another energy sound wave at the elder monks. His powerful 'Killer String' killed the four elder monks instantly.
Zan Huanming smiled down at the remaining martial artists who were paralyzed by terror and dared not step onto the stage. He delivered his final, chilling command: "On your knees and live or fight and die."