Chapter 29 — The Final Four

He had taken only a few steps when Su Wan caught hold of him. Somewhat surprised, he asked: "Shiniang, what is it?"

Su Wan smiled faintly, but her face held a look of care. "Do your wounds still pain you?"

Zhang Qingyue shook his head. "Master healed them with his own hands. They're nearly all well."

Su Wan shook her head too. "Outward hurts heal easily; the inward ones are not so quick. Xiaofan, this Chang Jian you face today is no small matter—even your Eldest Senior Brother, with all his cultivation, fell to him. Though I hear from your Eldest Senior Brother that even in victory Chang Jian fared badly, I fear a half-trained thing like you still won't be his match. Don't try to be brave when you're up there. If you can't hold, concede—only don't go risking hurt again, do you hear?"

Warmth filled Zhang Qingyue's heart, but he did not nod. He only mumbled: "Master will be angry."

Su Wan smiled and shook her head. "Silly child, go on and don't worry. Your master dotes on you more than he can say."

A great clang resounded in Zhang Qingyue's head, and he turned at once to look at Tian Buhui—only to see him chatting and laughing merrily with that white-bearded old man named Fan, not casting a single glance this way.

Su Wan patted him lightly on the head. "Go on."

Zhang Qingyue slowly mounted the platform and stood there alone, yet Su Wan's words were still echoing in his head: "Your master's heart aches for you—he has no time for anything else!"

His mind was a muddle. From his childhood, from the day he first entered Qingyun, Tian Buhui had been nothing less than a god in his eyes; and though Tian Buhui had never treated him kindly, to win his master's praise had remained the greatest wish of the boy Zhang Qingyue.

And now, hearing his master's wife say such a thing, he could not for a moment believe it.

He stood on the platform lost in thought for a good while, while below it the crowd buzzed with talk. After some time even Zhang Qingyue began to feel that something was amiss: his opponent had still not appeared.

Below the platform, the disciples of the leading branch were especially restless, most of them turning to look about. Just then a disciple of that branch came running up from afar, his face frantic; heedless of the strange looks cast at him, he rushed to the white-bearded old man, bent to his ear, and spoke a few hurried words.

The old man's face changed utterly, as though he could not believe it. "Is it true?" he pressed.

The disciple cast a venomous glance at the platform and at last gave a heavy nod. In an instant the old man's face went ashen; he slumped back into his chair, utterly dejected. Tian Buhui, seeing it, was much puzzled, and asked: "Brother Fan, what has happened?"

The white-bearded old man looked at him listlessly, heaved a long sigh, gathered himself, and rose to his feet again. "Chang Jian, disciple of the leading branch, being too gravely injured in yesterday's bout to rise from his bed, withdraws from today's contest," he announced in a clear voice.

Platform and crowd alike fell dead silent.

A moment later an uproar broke out among the crowd. Though most of the Qingyun disciples were cultivators, not a few still cursed aloud; and the followers of Dazhu Peak, whose first reaction was not delight but odd, sidelong looks exchanged one with another, only after a long while began to shake their heads and smile bitterly, each sighing with a thousand feelings.

Behind them, while the faces shifted through countless expressions and the voices clamored, Tian Buhui and Su Wan rose slowly to their feet. Looking at their youngest disciple still standing stunned on the platform, Su Wan smiled faintly and murmured to her husband: "I told you—this little disciple of yours has luck that is anything but ordinary!"

Tian Buhui was left speechless, smiling wryly and helplessly.

The whole of that day Zhang Qingyue spent under the strange stares of others; nearly every Qingyun disciple who passed him had to look twice or thrice, as though he were some rare and fabulous beast. Meanwhile, by the day's end the results were out: Zhang Qingyue "had the honor" of standing among the final four alongside Qi Hao, Lu Xueqi, and Zeng Shuyan.

Qi Hao had been the favorite to take the crown all along, and Lu Xueqi's popularity had blazed high these past days; but that Zeng Shuyan and Zhang Qingyue had entered the final four was beyond what most of the Qingyun elders had expected. Until then Zeng Shuyan had been known only as the only son of Zeng Shuchang; though acknowledged among the Fenghui Peak branch as a young man of rare talent, he was not especially famous in the sect at large. This time, cutting down foe after foe with exquisite technique, he made everyone look at him with new eyes. Beside him, Zhang Qingyue, standing among the four, could only look glaringly out of place.

On the platform the four stood side by side, with Sect Leader Daoyan Zhenren and Cangyan Daoren, master of Long Peak, in front of them. The smile had not left Daoyan Zhenren's face; nothing in it betrayed the least displeasure at the leading branch's unexpected and total defeat in this great contest.

Below, nearly a thousand Qingyun disciples crowded together, the front rows filled by the masters and elders of each branch. Su Wan looked up at the platform and said softly to Tian Buhui: "The boy looks a little nervous!"

Tian Buhui grunted and said nothing. Under all those watching eyes, what his wife saw he could hardly miss. Of the four on the platform, Qi Hao stood easy and elegant, Lu Xueqi cold as frost, Zeng Shuyan smiling as he stood; only Zhang Qingyue remained where he was, eyes fixed on the ground before his feet, his hands seemingly unable to find any place to rest, thoroughly awkward.

Daoyan Zhenren glanced at the four, a flicker of amusement passing the corner of his mouth, then turned to face the crowd below. "Fellow cultivators, to this day the Seven Branches Contest has produced its final four. Gifted beyond the common run, exquisite in technique, they are the finest of our Qingyun Sect, and on their shoulders rests the task of someday exalting our Qingyun to glory—" He had got but halfway when somewhere below an involuntary "pfft" of laughter burst out; a moment later, mirth erupted through the ranks of the Qingyun disciples.

Daoyan Zhenren knit his brows and shot a glance, half by instinct, at the youngest of the four behind him, Zhang Qingyue, and shook his head slightly. By now laughter kept breaking out below; the scene, solemn at first, had turned rather comic. Cangyan Daoren, standing to one side, went cold in the face, stepped forward, and swept the crowd below with a gaze like a blade.

The laughter in the crowd at once subsided; wherever Cangyan Daoren's eyes fell, the mirth died. In no time the assembly was quiet again. Cangyan had held the office of discipline in the Qingyun Sect for many years, and the awe he commanded among the disciples surpassed even that of Sect Leader Daoyan Zhenren.

Only when the scene was wholly calm did Cangyan Daoren step back and say to Daoyan Zhenren: "Senior Brother Sect Leader, if you please."

Daoyan Zhenren said with a smile: "There is nothing left for me to say, Brother Cangyan. You take over."

Cangyan Daoren nodded, turned to the crowd, and announced in a ringing voice: "In tomorrow's bouts, Qi Hao of Long Peak will face Zeng Shuyan of Fenghui Peak; Lu Xueqi of Xiaozhu Peak will face Zhang Qingyue of Dazhu Peak."

Cangyan was still speaking, and every eye below had fixed on him. Only now did Zhang Qingyue breathe a sigh of relief; under the countless stares just now he had scarcely been able to draw breath.

"Why are you sweating so much?" Suddenly, Zeng...