Jill Young struggled to keep her composure, forcing a dignified smile while her hand couldn't help but reach out and pat Grace Kwok on the head.
"Oh, come on! One day apart and you don't recognize your big sis?" Her smile stayed flawless, but the patting got a little heavier, leaving Grace Kwok bobbing with each smack. She even snuck in a little scratch as she patted, and a hint of Jill's wild side leaked through her perfect grin: "Haha, Little Grace, you really know how to joke around."
"Ugh..." That familiar force, that deep-down sly smile beneath the calm surface, the kind of vibe that instantly translates to "If you don't get smacked every three days, you'll tear the roof off"—yep, that's my Sister Jill. But—seriously, Sister Jill, you're acting so weird, it's scary. What's going on here?
"Freewind Sect guests, please follow me." George Kwok strode over enthusiastically and said something that surprised both Jill Young and Wu Zhenfeng: "The Freewind Sect and the Beggars' Guild have been close for generations. Tonight, let me show you true hospitality."
Close for generations? Jill Young and Wu Zhenfeng exchanged glances, both confused. Since when were the Freewind Sect and the Beggars' Guild such buddies?
Night was falling. Guests arrived right at dinnertime, and the hosts greeted them just as the food hit the table—once again, the wonders of Chinese culinary culture took center stage. This time, the entourage was trimmed down: He Qiliao, Zhang Junbao, Little Rascal, and the rest weren't invited, and Sanmiao, who'd just committed a crime, definitely couldn't show her face. Still, for such a high-profile meeting, the Freewind Sect had to bring out its big-league style, so they brought along a dozen or so girls as their entourage.
When everyone took their seats, introductions were in order. As the go-between, Grace Kwok naturally took on the task. It was a family dinner mixed with a business vibe—thus began the Night of Revelations. We'll skip the small stuff; this meeting had four major bombshells.
First up: during the greeting phase, when Helen Wong introduced the relationship between the Freewind Sect and the Beggars' Guild. As the former leader of the Beggars' Guild—and with the Freewind Sect being all ladies—it made sense for her to speak instead of her husband.
"Your sect's founder, Master Freewind, and our ancestor, Chief Qiao Feng, were sworn brothers—best friends for life. Chief Qiao Feng once asked Master Freewind to revise the Dragon Subduing Palm. Master Freewind streamlined the original twenty-eight moves, cut ten, and made it even more powerful. That's how we got today's Eighteen Dragon Subduing Palms." (Revised Edition)
Helen Wong spoke with flair, and the younger crowd listened, utterly captivated. Only now did they learn the legendary Eighteen Dragon Subduing Palms had such a backstory.
“Master Xuzhu’s martial arts are unfathomable, practically divine, and he’s also a man of his word—a true hero. After Chief John Fong met his unfortunate end, the Beggars’ Guild was left leaderless, and the Dragon Subduing Palms were lost for a time. Master Xuzhu kept the Guild stable but never tried to seize power. He picked a worthy successor for us, passed the Dragon Subduing Eighteen Palms back to the Guild, and then just vanished into the world, untouched by mortal affairs. To be honest, we’re not the number one in the world, but our influence stretches everywhere. Master Xuzhu’s integrity and selflessness truly make him a sage beyond compare.”
Jill Young shot Wu Zhenfeng a sidelong glance, her eyes practically texting: "Your master is such a spendthrift he’d use a martial arts manual to light a cigarette—like he’d care about running the Beggars’ Guild? Yeah, that totally tracks for him."
Wu Zhenfeng shot her a look back: "Can you behave for just one minute? Quit making faces—if we blow our cover, we’re toast."
No one noticed their little exchange, and even if they did, it just looked like two people sharing a glance. After Helen Wong’s lengthy introduction, she wrapped up: “Master Xuzhu is basically a half-teacher to our Beggars’ Guild. That’s why we’ve always had a rule: if someone from the Freewind Sect shows up, we treat them with utmost respect—no slacking off.”
“So that’s the story.” Wu Zhenfeng nodded. No wonder they were so polite—there’s history here. But how come I’ve never heard about it? Wu Zhenfeng, honest as ever, just shook his head slowly: “My master never mentioned this. Otherwise, we would’ve come to pay our respects much sooner.”
Yeah, if we’d known the Freewind Sect had these kinds of connections, why bother with Phoebe Kwok? We could’ve just marched straight to Kwok Manor and found George Kwok. Still, all these twists and turns brought in a lot of talent and got us tangled up in big events. I guess fate really does have a sense of humor.
“Well… I suppose Master Xuzhu just didn’t think it was a big deal,” Helen Wong said, a bit embarrassed, trying to smooth things over. What Wu Jiaoniang said wasn’t wrong, but it kinda put us in an awkward spot. Here we are, treasuring the connection, and over there, they don’t even remember it—talk about a hot face pressed against a cold butt. Makes the Beggars’ Guild look like it barely matters.
Yelü Qi, the current Guild Leader, looked a bit embarrassed listening in. Phoebe Kwok immediately muttered under her breath to keep up appearances: “Hmph, who even knows if they’re really from the Freewind Sect? For all we know, they could be fakes. My little sis is too gullible, and Dad’s way too kind—he believes anything people say!”
There were plenty of martial arts masters present, so Phoebe’s mutterings were overheard by quite a few. George Kwok frowned, ready to scold her, but Helen Wong’s eyes sparkled—she realized Phoebe had a point. These young women might look impressive, but how do we know they’re really from the Freewind Sect? Maybe they’re just pretending. No, better test them first.
So before George could lecture his daughter, Helen Wong jumped in and addressed Wu Zhenfeng: “May I ask, who was your master? Our Guild has had some contact with your sect—maybe I’d recognize the name.”
Alright, time to drop a name. Even though we have no idea who trained who in the Freewind Sect, there’s a difference between lying and telling the truth. George Kwok may be a bit wooden, but he’s no fool. With his level of skill, he’d spot a lie in a heartbeat.
(Web novel pagination note skipped as irrelevant to the narrative.)
Helen Wong’s eyes were practically lasers, staring right at them, while Jill Young nearly burst out laughing. ‘Some contact’? Yeah, right. Anyone who’s had ‘some contact’ with that spendthrift shut-in probably has a chamber pot that’s now a priceless antique—Helen’s totally setting us up here.
But after a moment’s thought, Wu Zhenfeng decided to just tell the truth. After all, if even the United Front’s goons can sniff out what’s happening in the Western Regions, it’s getting harder and harder to hide our identities. Sometimes, it’s better to reveal a little harmless info—like: "My master was none other than Master Xuzhu."
So, with Wu Zhenfeng’s perfectly calm expression, the second big bombshell of the night dropped.
The dozen or so people—men, women, young and old—all went silent, then their faces cycled through a whole slideshow of emotions. Wide-eyed, slack-jawed, and Phoebe Kwok looking downright contemptuous: ‘Is this girl for real? Master Xuzhu lived centuries ago! Who would buy that kind of nonsense?’
But George Kwok and Helen Wong exchanged a look, faces deadly serious. As direct disciples of Master Hong Qigong, they knew a lot more than most.
George Kwok stepped forward, cupped his fists and bowed deeply, his expression solemn: “Junior George Kwok, pays his respects to the elder.”
“No need for such formalities.” Wu Jiaoniang flicked her sleeve, her delicate hand catching George Kwok’s arms before he could finish his bow. The less skilled only felt a strange tremor in the air, while the masters—like Yelü Qi—gasped in shock.
His father-in-law, the Northern Hero George Kwok, had just poured out a mountain of inner strength into that bow—at least seventy percent of his power. Forget a dainty young woman, even a hundred burly men couldn’t budge him. But this girl, who looked barely out of her teens, caught it with a casual wave, leaving him utterly stunned.
Jill Young couldn’t help but smile—Jiaoniang really is amazing. Her level is so much higher she could see things Yelü Qi never would.
George Kwok’s bow looked humble, but it contained the true essence of ‘Regret of the Proud Dragon’—one bow, one palm. He used real skill, but his energy was hidden, defensive rather than aggressive. (Note: ‘Regret of the Proud Dragon’ is a signature move from the Dragon Subduing Eighteen Palms, representing humility and restraint.)
If Jiaoniang didn’t recognize the move or didn’t respond, no harm done. If she did, but wasn’t up to par, she could always pull her punch—no one gets hurt. But if she tried to take it head-on, she’d find that bow as heavy as a mountain; only someone with sky-high strength could lift it.
If Jill Young tried to take that move, she could handle it, but the floor beneath her would explode into splinters, leaving a crater behind. Jiaoniang, though, not only caught it, but did so with effortless grace. Her supreme skills had been restored for nearly 120 years, making her even stronger than George Kwok. With just a gentle lift and a flick of her sleeve, George couldn’t bow any further—she straightened him right up.
If Jiaoniang’s powers weren’t still recovering, the younger folks wouldn’t even have noticed the exchange.
George Kwok and Helen Wong exchanged another look—shocked, but with a hint of delight. This made sense: with skills this high, there’s no need to lie. George’s expression grew even more respectful: “May I ask your name, elder?”
Jiaoniang gathered her sleeve, her young face commanding respect: “Sect Leader of the Freewind Sect, Mistress of Spirit Eagle Palace, Child Elder of Tianshan—Wu Zhenfeng.”
And just like that, the Kwok family’s younger generation realized the little girl was actually the strongest monster in the room.
Of course, every big reveal comes with its own aftershocks.
On the bright side, the banquet suddenly got a major upgrade.
Helen Wong, who hadn’t cooked in ages, rolled up her sleeves and headed for the kitchen. Even Jill Young had heard of her reputation as a master chef, so Jill was instantly on high alert—ready for something delicious.
On the downside, when it came time to seat everyone by seniority, George Kwok found himself in a real pickle.