Chapter 30 — Strange Arts

He could feel no more pain. In that air of shifting moment, a thought flashed suddenly through Zhang Qingyue's mind—and then, strangely, another: After I die, will my shijie come to see me? And many years from now, when she is living her happy days, will she have forgotten me too?

He reached up and wiped the blood from the corners of his eyes—and, too, the water.

Lu Xueqi felt pain through her whole body; the qi and blood within her dashed wildly through her shuddering meridians as though they would burst from her flesh and go cheering forth into the hideous green-black demon glare ahead.

This was already the hour of life and death!

This was already the eternal instant!

This beautiful woman stood proud in the raging wind, letting the gale cut at her like a blade, refusing to yield half a step. She raised her head and looked to the heavens.

The wind stopped suddenly, frozen in midair.

Heaven and earth fell silent, halted at this moment.

"Rumble!" A low, distant roar seemed to come from the horizon, echoing through all of heaven and earth.

Lu Xueqi reversed her grip and drew forth the "Divine Sword Tianxuan."

At once the blue radiance that filled the sky dispersed and withdrew, as though a giant dragon were drinking water, all of it drawn onto the blade that shone like autumn water.

On Jietian Peak, all was still.

The Tianxuan of a thousand years of legend had come at last from its sheath!

Lu Xueqi's face was cold as frost. Holding the sword incantation, she trod the seven stars of the Dipper in the empty air, stepping seven paces upon the void; the long sword stabbed suddenly toward heaven, and in an instant not a trace of color remained on her jade-like face. She chanted:

"The nine heavens' dark host, turn to divine thunder.

By the majestic might of Heaven, let the sword draw it down!"

In a moment the clear blue sky darkened. Black clouds surged without cease at the horizon, thunder rumbling, lightning flickering along their edges as they raced across the heavens—a killing stillness, and the great wind rose.

The gale rushed at his face; Zhang Qingyue's lips parted slightly. This scene seemed to have appeared once before, in some memory from long ago. On the ground, from Dao Yan Zhenren down to the elders of every peak, every face was stricken with wonder, and all rose as one, then turned to look at Master Shuijing of Xiaozhu Peak.

After a long while, Tian Buhui said hoarsely: "A fine disciple you've taught."

Master Shuijing paid the others no heed at all. On that face, ever aloof, worry appeared for the first time as she gazed at the two in the sky.

"The Divine Sword Thunder-summoning True Art!" Dao Yan Zhenren slowly withdrew his gaze, deeply shaken within. He had never imagined that among the younger generation of the Canglan Sect there could be such a remarkable talent.

Only—looking at that young woman's face, though she had forced herself to work this peerless art, her body trembled and her face was white as paper; he feared her strength was failing her.

In the sky the thunder grew more urgent. Zhang Qingyue clearly felt that from the moment Tianxuan left its sheath, a boundless power had surged up within the black iron staff in his hand—as though this treasure, bound to him in blood and flesh, were crying out from the depths of its heart.

As though it had waited a thousand years for this moment!

The sky darkened further; the black clouds pressed down, and slowly a vast vortex appeared within their heavy depths.