Joining Tiandao Company: Starting by mending a zombie world

Zhang Zhiwei raised his eyebrows: "You mean... my good-for-nothing junior brother?"

Duanmu Ying nodded, her left hand gripping Chu Sheng's clothes tightly, her knuckles turning white: "Zhang Huaiyi is my senior brother."

Duanmu Ying nodded, her left hand gripping Chu Sheng's clothes tightly, her knuckles turning white: "Zhang Huaiyi is my sworn brother."

Zhang Zhiwei glanced at Duanmu Ying, "Thirty-six thieves, and there are women among them."

Duanmu Ying smiled awkwardly. Among the Thirty-Six Thieves, she wasn't the only woman.

However, before she could explain, Yin Jiuling gritted her teeth and interrupted her conversation with Zhang Zhiwei.

"Zhang Zhiwei...when did Longhu Mountain start getting involved with the Ghost Cry Sect?"

"I didn't care before." Zhang Zhiwei scratched the back of his head, his tone as casual as if he were chatting with someone at a market. "But I'm free today, aren't I?"

Free time?

Yin Jiuling's eye twitched twice.

"Master Zhang." He suppressed his anger, his tone now tinged with apprehension. "The Ghost Cry Sect and Longhu Mountain have always kept to themselves."

"Today's events are a feud between the Ghost Cry Sect and these two individuals, and have nothing to do with Longhu Mountain."

"Oh." Zhang Zhiwei nodded, then pointed at Chu Sheng, "But this person is a disciple of my Daoist sect."

He paused, then moved his finger to Duanmu Ying: "This girl is the successor of Jishetang, which has a long history with my Longhu Mountain."

He tucked his fingers back into his sleeve, tilted his head, and looked at Yin Jiuling: "Tell me, does this have anything to do with me?"

Yin Jiuling's face alternated between pale and flushed.

None of the dozen or so Ghost Cry Sect experts behind him dared to step forward. The reputation of Dragon Tiger Mountain was too great for them to afford to offend.

"Walk!"

Yin Jiuling squeezed out the word through gritted teeth and turned to leave.

"etc."

Zhang Zhiwei called out to him.

Yin Jiuling turned around, and Chu Sheng saw him casually tap the air with his right index finger, the fluctuation of Qi was barely noticeable, but Yin Jiuling was shocked—the eerie green light in his right eye went out silently, like a broken lamp.

"I didn't say you could leave." Zhang Zhiwei withdrew his finger, took a swig of wine, and said, "You injured a Taoist disciple, so you should leave something behind as compensation."

Yin Jiuling clutched his right eye socket, the excruciating pain contorting his face like a demon, but he dared not lash out. He gritted his teeth and forced out a few words from deep within his throat:

"Thank you for your kindness, Master Zhang."

After saying that, he turned around and disappeared into the depths of the dense forest with his men.

Only three people remained in the woods.

Zhang Zhiwei turned around, his half-open eyes sweeping over Chu Sheng. "Sent by the Northern Emperor?"

Chu Sheng clasped his hands in a fist and said, "My master, Mao Xiaofang Chu Sheng, thanks Master Zhang for saving my life."

"Who saved you?" Zhang Zhiwei waved his hand. "I was just passing by and helped you out."

He paused, then suddenly extended a finger and touched the newly healed wound on Chu Sheng's chest.

The moment his fingertips touched her, Chu Sheng felt an incredibly powerful surge of true qi into his body—not for treatment, but for exploration.

"Interesting." Zhang Zhiwei withdrew his finger, a hint of amusement flashing in his eyes.

"The techniques within you are not limited to those of the Maoshan and Beidi sects."

"There are a few more things that even I have never seen before. And then there's the double-handed skill of the young lady beside you..."

He closed the gourd and gave Chu Sheng a rare serious look: "Young man, the things you're carrying are far more than you can imagine."

Chu Sheng was silent for a moment, then said frankly, "This junior understands."

"Good to know." Zhang Zhiwei tucked the wine gourd into his waistband, turned and walked down the mountain. "Let's go, it's almost dawn."

Zhang Zhiwei walked at the front, carrying a gourd of wine in his hand, his pace neither fast nor slow, as if he were enjoying a spring outing in the mountains. Chu Sheng supported Duanmu Ying as they followed behind, and neither of them spoke a word the entire way.

It was Zhang Zhiwei who broke the silence first.

"Young lady, does the old man at Jishetang know about your intact hands?" He didn't turn around, his voice carried away by the mountain wind.

Duanmu Ying paused, head bowed, and remained silent. Chu Sheng felt her grip on his clothes tighten even more.

Zhang Zhiwei didn't seem to need her answer, and took a swig of wine: "He doesn't know."

"If he knew, you would be locked up in the medicine shed of Jishetang right now, copying medical books, instead of being chased and hacked by the Ghost Cry Sect in the wilderness."

Duanmu Ying raised her head, looked at Zhang Zhiwei's back, her lips moved, and finally she told the truth:

"Master Zhang... I ran away from here."

"They...really didn't know."

"They snuck out." Zhang Zhiwei repeated the statement, then suddenly laughed, "You bunch of thirty-six thieves, each one of you is more capable of causing trouble than the last."

Chu Sheng knew this was a bit awkward, so he pretended his injury had flared up again and cried out, "Ouch!"

Duanmu Ying quickly asked him with concern, "Does your wound hurt?"

Chu Sheng's gaze fell on Zhang Zhiwei's back in front of him, and he shook his head. "A little bit."

Zhang Zhiwei glanced at Chu Sheng and snorted, "Let's go, the dew is heavy on the mountain, or your little lover will freeze if we stay out too long."

Zhang Zhiwei walked at the front, carrying a gourd of wine in his hand, his pace neither fast nor slow, as if he were enjoying a spring outing in the mountains. Chu Sheng supported Duanmu Ying as they followed behind, and neither of them spoke a word the entire way.

After walking for about half an hour, the mountain slopes gradually flattened out, and most of the morning mist dissipated. Ahead, through the gaps in the forest, a dirt road could be vaguely seen, leading to a small town where wisps of smoke rose from chimneys and the morning market had already opened.

"Let's stop here." Zhang Zhiwei stopped under a crooked pine tree, turned around and glanced at the two of them. "Qingshi Town is ahead. There are clinics and inns there. Find a place to rest on your own."

Chu Sheng clasped his hands in a gesture of respect and said, "Thank you, Daoist Zhang."

"Alright, stop with the nonsense." Zhang Zhiwei waved his hand, then glanced at Duanmu Ying's right arm in a sling, "You need to get your arm set right away, or it'll become a chronic problem."

He paused, then pulled a small gourd, about the size of a palm, from his sleeve and casually tossed it to Chu Sheng. Chu Sheng caught it; the gourd felt warm to the touch, and liquid sloshed inside.

"The liniment for bruises and sprains from Longhu Mountain is better than the ones sold in shops outside," Zhang Zhiwei said.

Chu Sheng felt a surge of warmth in his heart and clasped his hands in a fist salute once more.

Zhang Zhiwei had already turned around, carrying his wine gourd and walking up the mountain path. His back view was lazy and casual, and the hem of his Taoist robe was covered with grass clippings and dew.

After walking a dozen steps, he suddenly stopped without turning around, his voice somewhat scattered by the mountain wind:

"If that old man from Jishetang asks, just say Huaiyi owes me a favor—he's paid it back, so none of you owe each other anything."

Duanmu Ying paused, her lips moved, but before she could speak, Zhang Zhiwei's figure had already disappeared around the bend in the mountain path, leaving only a lazy sentence drifting in the morning mist:

"I'm leaving. Next time we meet, remember to treat me to a drink."

Duanmu Ying looked down at the small gourd in Chu Sheng's hand, her eyes reddening without her noticing.

She blinked hard, forcing back the soreness, but her voice was still a little hoarse:

"How could he be like this?"

"What?" Chu Sheng put the gourd of medicinal wine into his pocket.

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