Chapter 1257 - 323: Ryukyu Lovers Compose Heartfelt Melody, Chivalrous Heroes Drunken Beneath Moonlight (Part 4)

Master Yuan Chi, at the venerable age of one hundred and nine, draped in a faded kasaya, gently caressed the cracks on the meditation mat with his emaciated fingers. Outside the window, the ginkgo leaves fluttered onto his shoulders, yet no one dared to brush them away.

"Xiao Feng, He Jia." The aged voice resonated within the vast hall, startling the swallows and sparrows between the beams into a flustered flight.

Upon hearing the call, two disciples swiftly stepped in. Ren Xiaofeng, clad in a moon-white monk robe, was surrounded by a faint golden aura, a sign of having mastered the Lesser Yang Divine Technique; He Jia carried a goose-shaped saber slung across his back, the hem of his dark outfit stained with the morning dew of Mount Song.

"Master." Both knelt in unison, their gazes drawn to the yellowed secret bulletin in Master Yuan Chi’s hands.

The ink on the bulletin was still wet, prominently bearing the words, "Heroic Sakura Association Ryukyu Sub-Branch rises, Nuerhachi’s army presses the Naiman boundary."

Master Yuan Chi’s clouded eyes suddenly shone with a sharp glimmer, akin to the ever-burning lamp under the ancient temple’s eaves, "Shi Feiyang expands territories overseas, yet is oblivious to the brewing undercurrents in the Central Plains. Nuerhachi harbors wolfish ambitions, and the Naiman Tribe stands at a precarious crossroads."

He coughed violently, causing the Buddha beads to sway on his chest, "Although Shaolin doesn’t embroil itself in Jianghu matters, the greatest of heroes works for the nation and the people. You two must quickly go to the grasslands and aid Queen Yili."

Ren Xiaofeng furrowed his brows slightly, "Master, Shaolin has the ancestral teaching of ’not meddling in military and political affairs...’ "

Before he could finish speaking, Master Yuan Chi interrupted with a piercing gaze.

The old monk’s withered palm heavily struck the meditation mat, shaking loose a ground full of yellow sand, "When the flames of war reach Shaolin’s gates, shall we then speak of ancestral teachings? Shi Feiyang holds the world in his heart, his foundation is the people’s lifeline!"

He Jia gripped the goose-shaped saber tightly, the copper ring on the scabbard emitting a faint sound, "Disciple understands! I will surely guard the grassland’s peace!"

Usually forthright, his gaze was uncharacteristically solemn at this moment, "But under Nuerhachi’s banner are numerous experts; it is said that ’Blood-handed Yama’ Batulu’s eagle-claw technique can tear tigers and leopards apart, and ’Iron-faced Judge’ Su Cha’Er’s judge’s pen can target fatal points precisely..."

"The Lesser Yang Divine Technique can break sinister toxins, the goose-shaped saber technique can counter brute force." Master Yuan Chi slowly rose, his figure stooped like an ancient pine under the kasaya, "Queen Yili’s Cloud Swordsmanship, Lan Xiaodie’s Five Poison Sect Sword, Shi Ying’s Celestial Star Swordsmanship, Liu Guihua’s Spirit Snake Whip Technique, Wu Zhong’s Six Harmonies True Scripture, Xiang Kun’s Iron Flute Creating Waves, all are ultimate martial skills in the Martial Arts world, which one is inferior to Nuerhachi’s generals?"

The sentence abruptly ended, the elderly monk shakily retrieved a bronze token inscribed with the word ’Shaolin’ from his bosom, "If you encounter a desperate situation on your journey, you can use the token to command the Shaolin Lay Disciples." The next morning at the Shaolin Temple’s mountain gate, the frost had yet to fade. Ren Xiaofeng and He Jia rode side by side, their horses’ hooves shattering a carpet of ginkgo leaves.

As they reached halfway up the mountain, they suddenly heard a clear bell sound from behind, one hundred and eight chimes, each reverberating in their hearts. He Jia reined in, turning back to look at the ancient thousand-year temple, under the morning light, Master Yuan Chi’s silhouette stood atop the mountain, akin to a silent statue.

"Master, he..." He Jia’s throat choked with emotion.

Ren Xiaofeng raised his hand to stop him, infusing the Lesser Yang Divine Technique, miraculously a cluster of golden light gathered in his palm, "Master with a hundred years of cultivation blesses us. Let us go, we must not disappoint Shaolin’s reputation."

The two swift horses were like arrows leaving the bowstring, crossing the frozen surface of the Yellow River, passing through the howling northern winds of Yanmen Pass. On the seventh day’s dusk, they finally sighted the golden summit tent of the Naiman Tribe. On the distant horizon, Nuerhachi’s military flags pressed forward like black clouds, their horses’ hooves making the earth tremble.

"Just in time!" Queen Yili clad in golden battle armor, the sapphire on her crown glowing with a blood-red hue under the sunset, "I heard you two are eminent disciples of Shaolin, do you have the courage to join me in defending this last line of the grasslands?"

Behind her, Lan Xiaodie was teasing the fiery red snake on her shoulder, Shi Ying gently caressed the bronze compass, its needle spinning madly.

Ren Xiaofeng clasped his hands together in prayer, a golden Buddha light burst forth from around him, "Amitabha Buddha, since entering Jianghu, one must think of the common people."

He Jia drew out the goose-shaped saber suddenly, its blade slicing through the dusk, startling a flock of cold crows, "Let Nuerhachi’s army taste the might of Shaolin martial arts!" At this moment, the last streak of the sunset sank into the grassland, war drums rolled like thunder, shaking heaven and earth.

The low-hanging black clouds, seeming to be battle flags soaked in blood, flapped fiercely in the strong wind.

On the walls of the Naiman Tribe’s capital, Wulang City, Queen Yili’s golden armor reflected the ominous clouds, like a War God bathed in fire.

She gripped the sapphire-embedded scepter, her knuckles pale from force, gazing at the tidal wave of Nuerhachi’s army approaching from afar, two cold flames ignited in her eyes, "Issue the command, each camp hold their position firmly! Today shall be their burial ground!"

Below the city walls, the warriors of the Heroic Sakura Association lined up like iron.

The one-armed "Iron Palm" Wu Zhong knelt beside a rust-covered Song Dynasty cannon mount, his calloused palm caressing the fuse of the thunderbolt, a ferocity gleaming in his murky eyes, "These old things, let the Tartars taste the flavor of gunpowder from a hundred years ago!"

"Mandarin Duck Saber" Xiao Lingling’s Ma Jun crossbow array glinted with a cold gleam, she lightly caressed the carved patterns on the crossbow machine, a bloodthirsty smile curled at her lips, "Seventeen thousand and three hundred crossbow arrows fired in unison, let’s see how you resist!"

The one-eyed "Divine Archer" Miao Menlong notched the feathered arrow on the bowstring, his lone eye narrowing to a slit, the arrow’s tip pointed at the sky, "Today let this rain of arrows dye the entire grassland red! This battle, shall bring a hundred years of peace!"

"Report! Nuerhachi’s Eight Vajras have reached the front line!"

The messenger staggered as he crashed into the battlements, his armor still stained with fresh blood.

Before the words even fell, four enemy generals were already galloping out on horseback.