Volume One: The Young Monk Returns to Secular Life Chapter Seventy-Five: Who Is the True Hero?

On the third night, a mass of disaster victims, shrouded in darkness, moved toward the official camp, urged on by the deliberate machinations of the ten great clans.

“Kill Old Qin! Rid the people of this scourge! Corrupt officials are unfit for office!”

“Ruining the country and harming the people! Greedy officials!”

The uproar was immense this time, with even the ten great clans joining the ranks of the disaster victims. After all, they were now following the will of the people, so even if the court tried to pursue the matter, there would be little to be done.

Meanwhile, at the gates of the ten great mansions, three furtive figures appeared. Bathed in moonlight, one among them, bald and dressed in garish robes, curled his lips into a smile. Behind them stood roughly ten carts laden with rice. The young monk gestured, calling out words incomprehensible to others: “Action!”

The other two seemed to understand, nodding and each pushing a cart to the gates of the ten great clans.

“Who are you?” A servant emerged cautiously, eyeing the pair with suspicion. The master had warned them to be vigilant tonight.

“We’re selling rice!”

The two replied.

The servant frowned, recognizing them. They had been here selling rice over the past days, and the carts seemed substantial. He waved them inside.

The dark mass of people arrived at the gates of the government office; the leaders of the ten clans stood at the front. Yet before them, there were no soldiers—only three figures.

Qin Shirong, clad in rough cloth, appeared rather ordinary without his military uniform, like a vendor selling flatbread on the street.

Li Guo, a scholar by training, wore simple clothes and carried a paper fan, resembling a poor, bookish man.

Chen Bufan, dressed in white, gripped a long sword, standing resolute at the forefront.

“Heh… Is this an empty fortress strategy?” The head of the Huang clan, Huang Long, stepped forward and spoke slowly. “Tonight, you must provide us with an explanation!”

He pointed at the crowd behind him. “Heaven is merciless; in times of famine, the people are destitute. How many disaster victims have died of hunger? My heart cannot bear it! Though my Huang family has little grain left, I’d rather eat rice bran myself than let the people starve—I cannot watch them die. Yet you covet even my meager stores! You forced me to sell! You’d even be greedy for this food—are you even human?”

Huang Long paused, then spoke deliberately, “How can you face the kin and brothers behind me?”

“My conscience is clear,” Qin Shirong answered quietly.

“Heaven and earth bear witness,” Li Guo stepped forward, his voice calm.

“Ha… Dog official!” Huang Long snorted, shouting loudly.

“Utter nonsense! It’s you who are inflating prices! Huang Long, I never knew you were such an actor! If I wanted your life, it would be a trifling matter—you know that well enough.” The swordsman in white leveled his blade, knowing further explanations would be pointless, and addressed the middle-aged man at the front of the crowd.

“You…” Huang Long instinctively stepped back, then said, “Chen Bufan, don’t be reckless! All ten clan leaders are here—you’re facing your doom!”

“Heh…” Chen Bufan sneered, surveying the scene. “Then come at me together! Today, I’ll slay ten mongrels—if I even frown, I’m not a man!”

“Hmph! Arrogant! Chen Bufan, you court death!” The head of the Lin clan snorted, his aura radiating outward.

The other nine clan leaders released their own internal energy.

A heavy pressure struck everyone’s chest, as if they’d been punched.

The weakest among them had internal strength at the twenty-fifth level.

Chen Bufan frowned, a hint of confusion in his eyes. He couldn’t find Yue Badao among the crowd.

But there was no time to dwell; he released his own internal energy—twenty-sixth level.

“Hmph…” One clan leader sensed Chen Bufan’s aura and scoffed, “So the famed Chen Bufan is just so-so. I alone am enough…”

His internal strength was twenty-ninth level—he stepped forth with confidence.

But in the next instant, a sword flashed toward his throat.

He realized, if only for a moment, what death felt like—but fortunately, another clan leader intervened, saving him.

“All together!” The ten clan leaders shouted.

Now, with righteousness on their side, even joining forces was not shameful.

At that moment, Chen Bufan’s sword swept out, a searing heat enveloping the scene.

The crowd frowned, eyes wide at the unbelievable sight—Chen Bufan’s sword was ablaze.

Chen Clan Sword Technique—Burning Life!

Instantly, Chen Bufan’s internal energy soared to twenty-seven…

Twenty-eight!

Thirty!

Thirty-five!

“Impossible…” someone gasped, “The martial arts texts say the human limit is thirty levels of internal strength… How…”

It was a complete violation of martial principles.

“Heh…” Chen Bufan’s eyes were red; only he knew how much this move hurt his body.

This technique would cost him thirty years of life, and thereafter his internal strength would permanently fall to twenty—he’d have to start anew.

“Come!”

His sword sizzled in the air; the white-clad hero stood alone in the wind, his clothes whipped by the breeze, his gaze venomous and unyielding upon the ten before him.

To defend his ideal of justice…

He had no regrets.

“Chen Bufan…” Qin Shirong stroked his beard, his voice trembling. Only he knew that Chen Bufan’s willingness to die for justice tore at his heart—this hero, revered for serving the country and people, now cursed and pelted with stones by disaster victims…

While those beastly men who drank blood still basked in glory under the hero’s name.

“Sigh… I have wronged you…” Qin Shirong shook his head.

The ten sect leaders advanced, weapons drawn.

Chen Bufan’s lone figure seemed frail—yet his sword tore through the wind.

A single man holds the pass; ten thousand cannot break through.

The clash of weapons, the sound of blades carving flesh.

The battle between masters lasted only an instant.

Three sect leaders, each with twenty-eight levels of internal strength, were wounded and knocked aside.

Chen Bufan stood amid the crowd, blood-soaked and grim, like a vengeful god.

“Damn… He’s too strong…” Another leader, wounded, retreated, gritting his teeth.

“But… he’s clearly gravely injured, yet he acts as if nothing is wrong…”

Under the sparse stars and bright moon, as masters besieged Chen Bufan, on the other side of the city, a group of black-clad figures began their own operation.

They moved with agility, their presence intimidating—a group of top martial artists.

Yet at this moment, they scaled the Huang mansion walls, slipped into the granary, and carried off sack after sack of rice, showing none of the airs of masters.

In less than fifteen minutes, they emptied the Huang family’s granary, then moved to the Liang family’s—only to encounter the unexpected.

Yue Badao, famed for his twin swords and single blade, sat at a table, several jars of wine arrayed before him. Behind him, a hundred guards stood, torches aloft.

“Heh…” Yue Badao smiled at the black-clad group, poured a bowl of wine, and pushed it across the table, inviting them to drink. “Everyone thinks I’m just a martial fool, swinging my blade all day, but they’re mistaken…”

The black-clad men glanced at each other, then focused on their leader.

“I do solve problems with my blade, but not because I don’t want to use my brain—it's simply the best way. Everyone forgets I am the roaming champion of the Yue clan of Hebei… If I had no brains, I’d have died countless times already.” Yue Badao spoke, pouring himself a bowl of wine. “So, as the champion of the Li clan of the Central Plains, Li Bai, do you also think I’m an idiot?”

At his words, the leader lowered his mask—it was none other than the legendary top martial artist, Li Bai.

“If the aristocrats let the famine continue, millions will die… Grain prices have increased a hundredfold… If we sell now, we could earn more than before the famine… Why keep hoarding? If this goes on, chaos will engulf the realm!”

Li Bai’s face was livid; he strode over but did not touch the wine.

“Money? Brother Li, you jest.” Yue Badao drank, then tossed his bowl aside, raised a wine jar, and drank deeply. “Do you see us aristocrats as mere merchants?”

“…You want land and people,” Li Bai smashed the wine bowl in anger.

“Exactly. Only in times of disaster, when the people can no longer survive, will they sell their land and children as servants. Land continually feeds the aristocratic foundation; servants clear the way for us to advance. That’s the guarantee of our enduring power. Brother Li, are you trying to destroy the Li clan now?”

Yue Badao set down his wine jar.

“This will only lead to more chaos… giving the northern barbarians an opportunity… Don’t you see?” Li Bai struck the table.

“Relying on the court alone can’t stop them. Only uniting the aristocrats will bring lasting peace.” Yue Badao opened a new jar, passing it over.

“Aristocrats? This scattered sand is more likely to ruin things than accomplish anything!” Li Bai took the wine and drank.

“That’s why the flock needs a lion to lead. I believe I can be that lion,” Yue Badao replied, unwavering.

“So you’re determined to stop me?” Li Bai sneered.

“You gave up the chance to be the lion,” Yue Badao shook his head.

Blade met sword; a clash of metal rang out. Both chose the same moment to strike, energy surging forth…

A battle for the ages began.

Meanwhile, in an unnoticed corner, three furtive figures slipped into the granary and out again in moments, unobserved by anyone present.

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