Chapter 28 — Perseverance

"Yes!"

Thunderous applause. Beneath the platform of the "Qian" position, it was an entirely different world. Everyone was shouting at the top of their voices, utterly captivated by those two beautiful figures on the stage.

The amber-red silk radiated ten thousand beams of rosy light, the Tianxuan divine sword poured out endless blue brilliance; together they cast the place into a semblance of fairyland, uncommonly beautiful. Yet more beautiful still were the two young women flitting to and fro—this contest had begun in the morning and lasted until now, a full hour gone, and still neither side had gained the upper hand. Tian Lingsu of Dazhu Peak especially, pressing her attack and holding her defense beneath Lu Xueqi's Tianxuan divine sword for so long without showing the slightest sign of defeat, filled everyone with astonishment.

Below the stage, to say nothing of the senior masters of both factions—Tian Buhui, Su Wan, Master Shuijing, and the rest—even the sect leader, Daoyan Zhenren, sat in his chair watching the splendid contest, a smile upon his lips as he nodded again and again, deeply gratified.

Tian Buhui and Su Wan, bound by blood to their daughter, were all the more anxious; yet seeing Tian Lingsu's magic so nimble and fluent, not falling behind in the least, their hearts eased somewhat. Tian Buhui glanced at his wife beside him, saw her tense expression, and said softly: "Relax a little—Ling'er will be fine."

Su Wan turned and looked at her husband, smiled faintly, then turned her eyes back to the stage. Tian Buhui shook his head slightly—when suddenly he felt a stir among the disciples crowding behind him, and even among the disciples of the other peaks farther off.

He turned to look, and in that instant, deep as his cultivation was, he too was struck dumb.

Through a narrow corridor the crowd had opened of its own accord, Zhang Qingyue came slowly walking. Every stitch of his clothing was scorched through, and in places still gave off thin wisps of smoke; great blackened patches covered his face, his hands, his body, and a sharp stench came with him. Everyone could see how bitterly hard he struggled to walk, as though each step drained the last of his strength—yet for some reason he still pressed stubbornly onward, step by step.

Tian Buhui watched his youngest disciple come slowly toward him thus, without a word; his short, stout body rose from the seat. Su Wan sensed something, gave her husband a puzzled glance, then saw something was amiss, followed his gaze—and her face went white; at once she too stood up.

By now, more and more people were looking their way.

Zhang Qingyue came to a stop before Tian Buhui. Tian Buhui looked at this disciple he ordinarily neglected most, looked at that incomprehensible stubbornness of his, and suddenly a fury he could not restrain surged up in his heart—so fierce that though he tried hard to suppress it, everyone still heard the anger in his voice: "Old Seven, which wretch wounded you like this? Was winning not enough for them?"

Su Wan's body gave a start. She heard that her husband had flown into a genuine rage for this little disciple he had once looked down upon, and she grew worried; she tugged at Tian Buhui—but her eyes at once fell back upon Zhang Qingyue.

On either side, the disciples of Dazhu Peak stood frozen where they were, too stunned to remember to help their young junior brother.

On the stage, Lu Xueqi and Tian Lingsu fought on in full fury, their magical treasures flying back and forth through the air, a solemn immortal aura about them.

Zhang Qingyue cast one deep look at the stage, then turned to the master before him, saw the wrath upon that fat face—and, it seemed, some faint trace of concern, there and yet not there.

Exhausted, he shook his head and said in a low voice: "No, Master. I won."

With that, he felt a wave of dizziness in his head; in an instant heaven and earth went dark, and with a thud he fell to the ground and knew no more.

Zhang Qingyue lay fallen and senseless—but the words he had spoken before fainting left everyone on Dazhu Peak, from Tian Buhui down to the least disciple, dumbstruck. A moment later, Tian Buhui and the rest came to themselves and lifted Zhang Qingyue up.

Tian Buhui examined him closely: the little disciple's body was covered in wounds, almost as if it had been roasted over a great fire, but his inner organs were not seriously harmed; his fainting was most likely from sheer exhaustion. What exactly had happened in that contest, he could not tell. After a moment's thought, from the corner of his eye he saw more and more people turning to look their way, and he had no wish to stand there and be a spectacle. He gathered Zhang Qingyue into his arms and said quietly to Su Wan: "I'll take Old Seven back. You stay here and watch over Ling'er."

Su Wan's brows knitted tight, but she nodded; one glance at Zhang Qingyue's tightly shut eyes, and the anxiety on her face could no longer be hidden. The others of Dazhu Peak crowded around as well, and Du Bi said: "Master, let me go with you."

Tian Buhui shook his head. "No need."

By now even Daoyan Zhenren's attention had been drawn over. He said: "Junior Brother Tian, is this a disciple of yours? What has happened?"

Tian Buhui said flatly: "His skills are poor and he took some light wounds. I'll take him to be treated. Pray excuse me."

Daoyan Zhenren nodded, turned away, and looked again at the splendid duel upon the stage. As Tian Buhui carried Zhang Qingyue out through the crowd, the matter quickly subsided; the people were stirred once more by the two beauties on the stage. Only a few young disciples standing at the crowd's outer edge happened to notice that most of the disciples of Fenghui Peak had gone ashen, and were gathering in twos and threes and drifting off into the distance.

Had Zhang Qingyue been there, he would surely have recognized the place: it was where Zeng Shuyan had fought his match.

Beneath the Nine Hells, in the halls of Yama, great fires blazed on every side, scorching the people who wept and screamed; the stench of blood and char filled the air, enough to turn the stomach. Zhang Qingyue felt heaven and earth spinning—yet in a mere instant he was suddenly back many years before, in that peaceful little mountain village, the clear wind blowing, mild and pleasant.

Then a thunderclap pealed across the sky; dark clouds piled up like mountains, surging like the angry waves of a raging sea. In the blink of an eye, the kindly, familiar villagers became corpses heaped like mountains, and the tranquil little village became a hell on earth!

"No!"

He cried out with all his might, every muscle in his body drawn taut—and a piercing pain shot from his chest, making him gasp; his whole body shuddered, and he woke.

"Ah, he's awake—Xiaofan's awake." That voice, so familiar it seemed carved into the depths of his heart, rang out at once, carrying a note of worry and of joy. Zhang Qingyue opened his eyes and saw Tian Lingsu.

It was as if he had gone back to former days: she in her red robe, the amber-red silk still wound about her waist, her fine hair falling from her white neck, setting off her somewhat pale face—and those bright eyes, those pure pupils, in which Zhang Qingyue could even see his own reflection.

Senior Sister!—a cry from the depths of his heart.

Zhang Qingyue looked at her without so much as blinking. If only this moment could become eternity—how wonderful that would be!

In the room, the folk of Dazhu Peak had all gathered round. Tian Buhui stepped forward and took his pulse, then nodded: "Good. He's out of danger."

Only then did everyone breathe easy, and one after another they smiled in relief.

Zhang Qingyue glanced about him: the whole company of Dazhu Peak was there, and he himself lay on a bed in the room; his senior brothers stood on the floor, while Tian Buhui and Su Wan sat in chairs before the bed.

"Wh-what happened?"