Chapter 35 — The Ancient Cave

With life and death at stake, none dared be negligent; each brought out his magic treasure and held it in hand. But when Li Xun, Yan Fei, and the two monks of Fanyin Temple saw Zhang Qingyue produce a swarthy dark-iron rod, they all stared a moment, their faces blank with astonishment. Zhang Qingyue flushed red with embarrassment. Fortunately, at that very moment, Lu Xueqi, beneath the blue radiance of her Tianxuan, said coldly, "Let us go." And with that she was the first to walk toward the pitch-black cave; the others hurried after her, and so the awkwardness was dispelled.

Just as they were about to enter the cave mouth, when that cold wind was blowing ever more chill, Facheng seemed, whether by design or not, to draw close to Zhang Qingyue. Zhang Qingyue noticed and smiled at him; Facheng smiled back, and said in a low voice, "Junior Brother Zhang, the way ahead is treacherous. Keep behind me."

Zhang Qingyue was taken aback, but Facheng had already stepped into the darkness. There was no time to think it over; seeing the others all enter the cave, he hurried in after them.

He had scarcely stepped inside and taken a few paces when Zhang Qingyue felt the ground soften beneath him and his whole body sink. He was badly startled, but luckily he sank only to the ankle and stopped. By now they were all in darkness, but each had raised his magic treasure, and rays of glowing light spread out on every side. Zhang Qingyue looked down at his feet, and his face fell at once: what he stood in was a deep layer of bat droppings, foul beyond words, with his feet sunk in it—there was no misery like it. He raised his eyes and looked ahead, and saw that most of the others wore the same expression, especially the two women, Lu Xueqi and Yan Fei of Fenxia Valley, who were frowning hard, their faces pale.

Zhang Qingyue shook his head and forced himself to steady his mind. Once the group had grown used to the place, they pressed on inward. Now the rustling, like the whispers of demons, grew louder as well—as if far away, and yet as if close at hand; before and behind, left and right, it was everywhere.

They went on another three or four zhang, when Qi Hao, at the very front, suddenly said in a low voice, "Stop!"

Everyone halted at once. Qi Hao's Frost Immortal Sword rose slowly, its light brightening, and when it had lit up no small part of the cave ahead, they all held their breath.

It was an immense cavern, its roof soaring high above the floor. In the white glare of the Frost Immortal Sword they saw, plainly and shockingly, that the whole ceiling was densely hung with countless black bats, so thick that the rock of the cave was scarcely visible at all. And that rustling sound was made by the low chittering and rubbing together of those creatures.

In the darkness, the bats caught in the white light seemed to feel uneasy; one by one they stirred, yet they did not take flight—they crawled over the rock on their claws, shifting away toward the dark, and some simply clutched at their fellows. Those fanged, gaping mouths, all the more dreadful in the dark, made the heart quail.

No one dared even breathe. After a pause, they all realized that, though the light stood out sharply in the surrounding blackness, the bats indeed seemed not to stir and would not attack. At this discovery they breathed somewhat easier, and Facheng said in a low voice, "Good—this little monk's judgment was not wrong. Everyone, let us go on."

They turned and walked on once more, deeper into that terrifying ancient cave, toward the deeper dark beyond. With every step the bat droppings underfoot grew thicker; and in the white light of the Frost Immortal Sword, the bats upon the roof seemed endless, ever more numerous, their sharp fangs and fine teeth, their murmuring chirps, whistling all around them. Had the eight of them not all cultivated the orthodox immortal arts and possessed firm minds, any ordinary person would have gone mad.

How long they walked, no one could say. Zhang Qingyue was in the middle of the company, and Facheng had all the while kept ahead of him. Seeing a few spots of filth now staining the young monk's moon-white robe, Zhang Qingyue suddenly thought of Puzhao.

That man, buried deep in memory—did he come from the same place as this monk before him?

From ahead, Qi Hao's faint cry suddenly came: "Ah!"

Before Zhang Qingyue could make sense of it, he felt something strange beneath his feet—as though he had stepped onto solid ground.