SWORD OF THE DEMON WOLF

Zhang Wei

Xiao Chen suddenly remembered what had happened before he lost consciousness. He reached for the upper right side of his back—where one of the bandit gang members’ swords had pierced him.

"Why doesn’t it hurt at all?" he murmured softly.

"Because your wound has already healed," said the old man, whose mask had now slipped from his face.

"Healed?" Xiao Chen scratched his head in confusion. "But I just got that wound—how could it heal so quickly? Oh, right… was it you, Grandpa, who saved me? And what happened to those bandits?"

"You foolish boy! When you ask questions, do it one at a time, not all at once like that."

Xiao Chen gave a small, sheepish grin. His confusion had made him overly eager with his questions.

"Sorry, Grandpa. I just feel so bewildered by my situation. First, I lost both my parents in a single moment—they were murdered by four warriors from the black sect. Then I was exiled from my birthplace. And now, I almost died at the hands of a bandit gang. Is my life truly so cursed that I must endure so many blows in such quick succession?"

The old man stood up and walked toward Xiao Chen. "Come with me outside. You’ve been in this cave too long. Your body needs sunlight to regain its strength."

Xiao Chen glanced at his arm. His skin, once a warm brown, had turned pale white. He stood and followed the old man, whose name and origins he still did not know.

The two of them sat down on a mountain rock—not too large, but long enough for both to rest. This time, Xiao Chen could see his rescuer’s face clearly.

"My name is Zhang Wei. You may call me Grandpa Zhang. And you, young man—what’s your name?"

"My name is Xiao Chen, Grandpa," he replied.

"A good name. Oh yes… earlier you mentioned your parents were killed by four warriors from the black sect. Do you know who they are?"

Xiao Chen nodded slightly. "I do, Grandpa. My mother said they’re known as the Four Demon Sickles," he answered, his tone tight with restrained anger.

"Those four… they never stop spreading terror." Zhang Wei let out a long sigh, his gaze distant.

"You know them?" Xiao Chen asked curiously.

"Very well. The four of them are quite notorious in the martial world." Zhang Wei inhaled deeply, then exhaled heavily, as if burdened by an old weight. "From the way you spoke, I suspect you wish to take revenge for your parents’ deaths."

Xiao Chen looked at Zhang Wei’s smiling face, then nodded firmly. "Not only against those four, but against every black sect warrior and anyone who spreads evil in this world—if I have the power to do so."

"There’s something you need to understand, Xiao Chen. It seems you, like many others, have misunderstood the meaning of sects in the martial world. The so-called white sect, black sect, and neutral sect are just labels. Not every warrior who claims to be from the white sect behaves honorably. Likewise, not every black sect warrior is wicked or harmful. Do you understand so far?"

Xiao Chen shook his head. Knowing nothing of the martial world, he was naturally confused by the old man’s explanation.

"Whether one is black or white depends on their own actions," Zhang Wei continued. "For example, before I withdrew from the martial world, I was a respected warrior—by both friend and foe. Even though I followed the black sect’s path, never once did I harm others for my own gain or for the benefit of my group."

Xiao Chen nodded. "I think I understand, Grandpa. Even someone who’s not a warrior, if their actions are evil, could be considered black sect."

"That’s one way to see it. In truth, in the old days there were no white, black, or neutral sects. An individual, a group, or even a school—if they did evil, they were considered black sect, and vice versa. But over time, these labels became identities. Some claim to be white sect, though their deeds are far from righteous. Why? To disguise themselves and gain the sympathy of the people. That’s what’s truly dangerous."

"You’re right, Grandpa. A hypocrite is more dangerous than someone who openly shows their true nature."

Zhang Wei smiled and patted Xiao Chen’s shoulder. "If you one day become a warrior, always walk the path of righteousness. Now tell me—if you want revenge for your parents’ deaths, would you be willing to become my disciple?"

Xiao Chen’s face lit up with a wide smile. He had never expected anyone to offer to teach him martial arts. Without hesitation, he accepted Zhang Wei’s offer—especially since the old man’s words matched his mother’s dying wish.

"You may inherit all my techniques—though, truth be told, they might be considered useless."

The young man frowned. "Why would they be useless?"

"Because I only used them for myself. A skill is only truly useful when it’s used to help others—in other words, to uphold righteousness."

"I understand, Grandpa. I promise I’ll always use any martial arts I learn for the sake of justice."

"I’ll go find you something to eat. While you wait, you can bathe in that spring over there." Zhang Wei pointed toward a natural spring not far from where they sat. "Oh, by the way, I left your belongings inside the cave."

"Did you open them?" Xiao Chen asked, worried about the book stored in the iron box.

"Don’t worry, I haven’t touched your things. Now, I’ll be off." Zhang Wei smiled, stood, and within seconds, his figure vanished from sight.

"So fast!" Xiao Chen shook his head in amazement at the old man’s speed. Then he hurried into the cave to fetch his clothes and wash himself at the spring.

As Zhang Wei searched for food, his thoughts returned to the strange things about Xiao Chen when he had saved the young man from death—the reversed flow of his blood, and the rare body he possessed.

That night, Zhang Wei had been drawn outside by the sight of Xiao Chen’s blood on a tree trunk. As a highly experienced warrior, he recognized at once the traits of someone with a rare body—one that appeared only once in ten thousand years.

Some time passed. After bathing, Xiao Chen busied himself collecting firewood to pass the time until Zhang Wei returned, while also familiarizing himself with what would likely be his home for quite a while.

But as he gathered fallen branches, Xiao Chen failed to notice that a dozen pairs of eyes were watching him intently from the shadows.