The Man Behind the Greatest Under Heaven - Chapter 1

Before the Deputy Sect Leader became the Deputy Sect Leader, he was merely an outer disciple on Mount Qingcheng.

He was born in the countryside. When he was eight, a great flood struck his hometown and sent his whole family fleeing. His parents died in a reeking alley in the capital, leaving him an orphan. From then on, he roamed the streets and alleys, learning to trick and swindle people.

At eleven, delighted after picking a purse, he casually saved a badly wounded man and hid him in the alley where he slept. Somehow, the man survived after several days. Before leaving, he weakly promised that he would come back for him.

He did not expect much.

But the man really did come back.

That day, he had startled an official’s horse while picking up a discarded strip of sugarcane peel and was being beaten by a mob. The man suddenly descended from the sky and shielded him with his own body. This time, the man was splendidly dressed and mounted on a spirited horse, sword in hand. Standing before him, he looked down on all beneath heaven, fearless of anything.

It turned out he was a renowned hero.

The hero took him back to Mount Qingcheng. The grime was washed from his hair and face, and he was dressed in the robes of a Qingcheng disciple. The cloth was so soft he scarcely dared touch himself. He smiled at the pretty young gentleman in the mirror, and the pretty young gentleman smiled back.

His fortunes seemed to have changed all at once.

He practiced the sword diligently on Mount Qingcheng.

Newly initiated, he used a little wooden sword. Every night before bed, he carefully polished it with the hem of his robe as though polishing an incomparable blade.

The hero became his martial uncle.

From others, he learned how extraordinary his martial uncle’s swordsmanship was, how respected he was throughout the martial world, how vicious his enemies were, and how he returned victorious every single time.

He worshiped him beyond words.

He wanted to become a hero too. Whenever someone was beaten for picking up sugarcane peel, he would step forward with sword in hand, look down on all beneath heaven, and fear nothing.

The day his martial uncle returned, he ran over clutching his little wooden sword, eager to show him the sword forms he had recently learned.

In the courtyard, his martial uncle was speaking with his master.

His martial uncle asked, “How is that child Siqi progressing?”

His master sighed. “He started too late, and his left leg was once broken. Training can strengthen his body, but hoping to accomplish anything in the martial arts is pure fantasy. Besides, his aptitude is poor. You and I both know it.”

His martial uncle said nothing.

His master continued, “I know he saved your life. You feel grateful and sorry for him, and you want to repay him. But a child’s wish is only a child’s wish. Today he wants to be a hero; tomorrow, perhaps he won’t. Here on Mount Qingcheng, he is well fed and warmly clothed. You needn’t blame yourself anymore.”

His martial uncle sighed. “I suppose that’s all we can do.”

Seeing his martial uncle dejected, his master praised the boy a little more. He learned arithmetic and letters quickly and well, never caused trouble, had a sweet tongue, got along with his peers, and was well liked by his senior brothers and sisters.

As he spoke, he remembered something. “For my birthday the other day, he found a mosquito-repelling camphor tree on the rear mountain and carved me a set of chess pieces, all because I mentioned being bitten several times while playing.” His master shook his head with a helpless smile. “Children from poor families are canny, you see. But with a mind always turning, how could he concentrate on the martial arts and inherit our legacy? Still, as long as he doesn’t stray down the wrong path, he won’t fare too badly. Stop worrying about him.”

His martial uncle quietly assented.

His master said, “Ziqi has recently reached the sixth level of the Jade Mist Sword Art.”

His martial uncle beamed. “Has he?”

His master stroked his beard and laughed heartily.

He did not listen to the rest. Hugging his wooden sword, he quietly slipped away.

Luo Ziqi was the Sect Leader’s disciple. He had seen him once. He had already heard his master and martial uncle praise him a hundred times.