“Stop!”
At the shout, Xue Cuo turned, hands on hips, sweeping his gaze over the approaching disciples before lifting his chin.
“Xiaofeng, did you call me?”
A cluster of disciples crowded in behind Xiaofeng, quickly hemming the pair in. He said: “You show no respect for your elders and speak with insolence. I, Xiaofeng, may not be some great talent, but today I’ve come especially to give you a lesson!”
“That’s right! I’ll test you as well. Meet me on the debate platform!”
“So young, yet ignorant and idle, stirring up trouble and courting attention. I’ll speak out for the Sword Immortal!”
“Those disciples died because Heaven itself could not tolerate them! Clearly they never cherished their blessings or cared for their lives, more likely they committed endless evils! Otherwise, why should no one else suffer but only him?”
“You little brat, have you even grown all your hair yet?”
Before Xue Cuo could reply, Kong Yun whipped out his Golden Feather Sword and levelled it at Xiaofeng, “Shameless! We’ve run ourselves ragged on your behalf, and yet you turn and accuse us, twisting right and wrong!”
“We? You’re just a demon. What arrogance!”
“I’d say it’s you lot who mean harm.”
The Daoist master’s fury mounted. With no lecture forthcoming, the disciples at Xiaofeng’s side drew their weapons one after another.
Wen Renyi, half-expecting this, whispered, “Shixiong, you must get away quickly.” The handful of cultivators who had dared to come today were already prepared, closing ranks around Xue Cuo.
Xiaofeng sneered, eyes narrowed. “Follow Xue Cuo if you like, but don’t drag yourselves down with him. What can he possibly give you?”
Wen Renyi only smiled. “That’s none of your concern.”
A female cultivator by his side gave a harsh laugh, hefting her blade and spitting. “Better to copy you and grovel like a dog of the Immortal Gate? Bah! I’ve no wish to cultivate the Dao any longer. I’ll make trouble if I please. What will you do about it?”
Xue Cuo was stronger than Wen Renyi, yet with his short legs and small frame, he lost sight of people once a fight broke out. He scrambled up a rockery, poking his head out only to meet eyes full of raw resentment. This was no pretence; they truly hated him.
“Pig’s nose stuck with scallions. Who are you trying to impress!”
The jeer startled Kong Yun; Xue Cuo, caught off guard, was shoved down hard onto his rump.
“Too much!” Kong Yun roared.
He was about to strike when a chubby hand tugged at him. He turned to see Xue Cuo, who pulled him back with a scowl. “See? If we hadn’t come, you’d have been bullied to death today!”
Xue Cuo sniffed, silent, but the trembling of his lashes betrayed a trace of grievance. Kong Yun’s voice grew stiff.
“You… it’s not as if I’m blaming you.”
He was only worried for his friend; since yesterday his face had been sombre, weighed down with care.
The two of them, small as tortoises blundering into a forest of long-legged giants, found themselves swallowed up by the crowd.
Xue Cuo sighed, tugged Kong Yun close, and whispered in his ear. “Xiao Yun, something’s off. He came here looking for a fight.”
Kong Yun was hot-tempered but not stupid; he had a thoughtful side of his own. He frowned. “Who do you think they belong to?”
Xue Cuo’s brows crinkled. “Could be anyone. But if this business is to be shouted far and wide, who else but me is fit to do it?”
Kong Yun was about to reply when a razor-edged sword aura slashed through the air.
Xiaofeng’s pupils contracted; he staggered back several steps.
The place fell utterly silent. You could hear a pin drop.
Then Xiaofeng turned, eyes widening. “Gu… Gu Ruhui.”
The wind rose.
Leaves rustled.
Amidst the deep green, Gu Ruhui stood poised atop a treetop, arms folded, sword at his side, ink-dark robes fluttering, long black hair tied high against his faintly cold features.
“Xiao Gu-gege!”
The corners of Gu Ruhui’s mouth lifted ever so slightly. He cast a cool glance over Xiaofeng and his lot, then leapt down lightly from the tree.
As Sword Immortal’s personal disciple, many present had seen him cross blades with Kong Yun before and knew they couldn’t best him. Worse, in such a short time, his cultivation seemed to have advanced further still.
He walked through the gathered disciples and stopped before Xue Cuo, speaking calmly.
“I’ll spar with you on behalf of my shixiong.”
Xiaofeng shivered, his mouth twisting into a rigid grimace.
All the disciples: “…”
Wen Renyi whispered, “Gu-shixiong, get those two clear of here first.”
…
Once he had escorted them out of Fei’e Palace, Gu Ruhui halted. “Shixiong, I can only bring you this far. Shifu ordered me to guard Liuyun Peak. I cannot abandon it without cause.”
Xue Cuo nodded, thinking how good Xiao Gu-shidi was. If only he could always stay by his side…
But it was only a thought. Sword cultivators seeking the Dao rarely slackened their studies. Already he had likely delayed Gu Ruhui’s practice.
Even so, the boy knew enough to be grateful.
He tugged at Gu Ruhui’s sleeve, pale little face weary but eyes still bright and clear. “Ruhui-gege, if ever you need my help, you must tell me.”
Gu Ruhui blinked, then nodded gently.
Time was short. Xue Cuo waved farewell; as he and Kong Yun left, Gu Ruhui overheard Kong Yun muttering, “When did this block of wood change character?”
Gu Ruhui watched them go, tugging absently at his sleeve.
Strange… only when that little shixiong held on to him did he feel that flicker of joy.
Wendao Palace had stood for countless ages, steeped in heritage.
Yet lately, rumours were rife… all because a few new disciples had died in the secret realm.
Ordinarily, with thousands of disciples in Wendao Palace, no one would bother and such things raised barely a ripple.
But in the last hundred years, too many had vanished.
Even when suspicions arose, fear of the elders and grandmasters kept tongues tied. Those who dared to pry into the truth all died silently.
Now, however, an accident had stirred things up… and Xue Cuo, fearless as ever, with only another lowly disciple at his side, was dashing about Wendao Palace demanding justice.
Minggong Yao received word and convened the elders.
One said gravely, “Too many disciples have been culled these past hundred years in preparation for the Heaven and Earth Tribulation. I fear we can no longer keep the lid on it.”
Minggong Yao replied coolly, “They are mere insects. I summoned you, fellow Daoists, to pool our efforts and inquire when the tribulation will truly descend, and how much of a chance we stand, this time, at ascension.”
“Yes, yes, that is the real matter. A few more Wendao Pills, and I shall break through to the next realm, a step closer to immortality!”
“Oh? With such wealth, Minggong-shimei, you still rally the rest of us? Which god are you planning to summon?”
“In truth, more than the date, I wonder which tribulation this will be. If we can prepare early, our chances will be near certain. Otherwise, come the next millennium, I shall long since have perished.”
Minggong Yao shot him a sidelong glance. “Even the Emperor’s own son dares not leak such matters, yet you chatter so gaily.”
The rebuked elder stroked his beard. “Alas, I only fear the quota will prove a hollow pit, and whether we struggle or not will make no difference.”
Minggong Yao said, “Unlikely. I asked Tianyan Sect long ago. There are no immortal heirs in this age. It is aimed at the cultivators of East and West alike.”
“And Xue Cuo…?”
“Let him stir up trouble. With the tribulation still undecided, our business is to smooth relations and secure the first word of news.”
“Are we truly to let that child run riot?”
“Hehe, although Jun Wuwei severed his realm and failed to become an immortal, but it’s quite definite that he will ascend sooner or later. As for Xue Zhenzhen, she holds an ancient divine sword. That is as good as a signed edict of heaven. I advise you all not to offend the pair of them too thoroughly. Otherwise, when we ascend, you may find yourselves in a most humiliating position…”
Minggong Yao nodded, her heart surging with excitement. She had swallowed too many Wendao pills, and the build-up of pill poison had caused her looks to age prematurely.
How hateful that Fang Longxi still bore the face of a youth. Hateful indeed!
Minggong Yao made a quiet resolve: she must ascend and become an immortal. Then, when her youth was restored, she would let Fang Longxi have a proper look at her!
Hidden Dragon Pool.
The sky hung cold and ink-dark. For a thousand li in all directions, life was cut off. Upon a mountain ten thousand zhang high, its peak shaped like a dragon’s head, vast clammy mists spewed forth.
On the cliffside stood a man in white robes, a flowering branch tucked at his waist. His long hair flowed freely; his brows and eyes were picturesque. The corner of his lips held a faint lift. There wasn’t any trace of arrogance or frivolity.
Before long, a woman came flying through the skies, her hair bound with a simple thornwood pin, plain robes about her, and a giant dragon’s blood sword across her back.
Jun Wuwei asked, “How goes it?”
Xue Zhenzhen’s expression remained cool. She shook her head. “Within a thousand li, not a soul remains.”
Jun Wuwei let out a soft sigh.
A sudden wailing of ghosts rang in their ears, now strong, now weak, sending a chill straight to the bone.
In the flicker of dim light, one could glimpse scattered shades wandering amidst the fog.
Some were ragged and drenched in blood; some mutilated, half-bodies drifting in misery. This was the ghost domain, a forbidden land beyond mortal reach.
The sealed abominations fed on the remnants of living beings’ pain. The greater the suffering, the stronger they became. The wraiths drifting within could never find release.
Xue Zhenzhen frowned, unleashing a strike of sword qi. A dragon’s roar tore through the mist, shattering the tortured ghosts.
Yet Jun Wuwei noticed… they did not wholly disperse. A shred of true spirit lingered, alighting upon fallen leaves and dead wood, leaving behind the faintest breath of life.
Jun Wuwei gave a soft exclamation. “Swordmaster?”
Xue Zhenzhen’s gaze was icy, utterly cold. At first sight, she seemed without feeling or desire, without hatred or longing, her sword-heart limpid and clear.
To weaken the evil, one ought to annihilate every wraith. Yet, unexpectedly, Xue Zhenzhen had spared a shred of their spirit.
She heard Jun Wuwei’s question, and replied without inflection: “Xue Cuo said he wishes to live as a mortal.”
Mortal.
As his mother, she could never agree. But that child was stubborn… one thing before her face, another behind her back. So, before these ordinary, dust-like mortal ghosts, she found herself, against reason, holding her hand.
Jun Wuwei said, “The Great Dao is impartial. Life and death follow their own course. You need not be burdened.”
Xue Zhenzhen gave a short laugh. “And you imagine everyone is like you.”
“…Swordmaster.”
She gave a low humph, and the two flew on towards the seal. The ghostland was vast, the fog thick. They searched several days before they cut their way here.
At the centre of the formation, a simple purple talisman stood suspended in the air.
Encircling it was a vast ring of runes, covering the heavens above. The ground was paved with blue stone, upon which stood bronze statues to ward off evil. Their faces hideous, yet eyes gleaming bright.
Following the formation’s lines, Jun Wuwei frowned as the mist thickened. Countless massive chains glimmered with golden Dao-light, plunging deep into the fog.
The deeper they pressed, the more the bells on those chains quivered, and with each tremor spread the stench of grievance and malice.
Jun Wuwei raised his hand. “Swordmaster, seal it here.”
Xue Zhenzhen stepped forward instead of back. “No. I tried. Seal it here, and it will not hold for long.”
Jun Wuwei said, “Then I’ll take the lead. Swordmaster, you guard my back.”
She nodded. Together they pressed deeper into the mists, until they stood before a broken cliff where the wind howled like a beast.
Hoo—hoo—
Their faces changed. They looked at one another, for both had heard it: the rasping breaths from beneath the earth, enough to make one’s scalp prickle.
Xue Zhenzhen’s cold brows drew tighter, her voice edged with rare surprise. “How could it awaken so quickly?”
Jun Wuwei glanced about and gave a soft laugh. “Nothing strange, the world above has provided it with too much nourishment. The sect here concealed the truth, and so it devoured all human dwellings within a thousand li.”
Xue Zhenzhen: “We cannot delay.”
Jun Wuwei nodded, drawing the flower branch. Wielding it as a sword, he cut through the air. Petals quivered, yet from them burst a majestic intent of the sword, severing the howling wind itself.
Xue Zhenzhen dragged Dragon Might Sword and swept forth sword gales, hammering the chains—once forced out of the formation—back into place.
The ground’s quaking ceased for an instant, then violently rebelled.
Jun Wuwei smiled faintly, and with flower branch in hand, leapt into the abyss. Xue Zhenzhen’s pupils shrank, yet her sword did not halt.
“Jun Wuwei!”
No answer came. She clenched her teeth, eyes glacial, skirts whipping in the wind as she swung the giant red sword again and again.
Strike after strike.
No one knew how many days and nights passed before she finally forced the loosened chains back to their moorings. From the fissure emerged the white-robed Sword Immortal, smiling. His robe was spotless, only his hair somewhat dishevelled, and the flower branch in his hand withered.
Xue Zhenzhen let out a long breath, leaned on Dragon Might Sword, and turned away coldly, still seething at his reckless plunge into the rift.
Knowing his fault, Jun Wuwei scratched his head and walked over. “Eh, Swordmaster, Xue Cuo seems to have spoken my Dao name. Shall we go and see?”
Xue Zhenzhen’s expression shifted. She nodded. Though both wore calm faces, several days of battle had left them faintly weary.
At that very moment, disaster struck.
One of the Dao-locks they had just hammered down surged up again, coiling about Xue Zhenzhen and dragging her hard into the rift.
With a sharp crack, the earth sealed shut.
Jun Wuwei’s smiling face went cold in an instant. The flower branch slipped from his grasp, and his countenance changed utterly.
