Chapter 69 — The Past

The Nether King was silent a moment, then said slowly, "Yes. I was not in the Holy Hall then, because I had to care for the previous Nether King, but I heard the scene was most ugly. A pity the masters of the Holy Hall had all been sent out in that great battle at Canglan Mountain and were slain or wounded beyond count; otherwise..."

Qinglong suddenly broke in: "I was in the Holy Hall then."

The Nether King's body gave a start; startled, he said, "What? Brother Long, you were in the Holy Hall then?"

Qinglong smiled bitterly. "Yes. And more than that—apart from that great lazybones Xuanwu, Baihu and Zhuque were in the Holy Hall as well."

The Nether King's expression shifted. He forced a laugh and said, "Then why did you not recognize these two just now, Brother Long?"

Qinglong smiled bitterly again. "It is a shameful thing to tell. Back then those five not only charged all the way into the wilds, they even fought their way to the Holy Hall itself. The whole wilderness was shaken, shocked beyond measure. Baihu, Zhuque, and I had always been at odds with the Changsheng Hall and the Wandu Sect who guarded the Holy Hall, but the Holy Hall was, after all, the first priority, so we joined the masters of the other branches in its defense."

The Nether King glanced at the sky. "How could these five have cultivated so highly, even a hundred years ago?"

Qinglong shook his head. "Not entirely so. Thinking it over afterward, I realized it was because we had been so badly defeated at Canglan Mountain, with so many masters slain and wounded, that everyone's hearts were in turmoil. When those five came charging wildly, for a time we all thought the whole orthodox host had come, and our hearts failed before we ever fought. Who would have guessed there were only five?"

He paused there, then went on: "Of those five, in truth I had only ever laid eyes on Wan Jiangu, so I did not know the other four. When they charged into the Holy Hall, the five split into five paths and came at us from every direction. We were caught unprepared, and our hearts were anxious and afraid; hearing battle cries on every side, front and back, left and right, our composure broke. Had we but steadied ourselves and fought, once the situation settled we would surely have won—a pity, ah, a pity that among them there was a Wan Jiangu..."

The Nether King frowned. "What of this man?"

Qinglong's eyes half closed; he was silent a moment, then let out a long breath and shook his head. "That man was a genius of heaven, brilliant beyond compare—the like of which I have seen but once in my life. Afterward, when we spoke of it privately, we all agreed that though the other four were of no low cultivation, compared with Wan Jiangu they fell far short. One might say that without this man, those Canglan Sect fellows could never have broken into our wilds, much less fought their way to our Holy Hall."

Watching his expression, one would think him lost in memory, with a faint yearning in it: "At that time, the other four charged in from the sides and rear, while we had gathered our main force at the front gate of the Holy Hall, our hearts wavering between dread and alarm—and just then, Wan Jiangu came straight in alone, sword in hand..."

The Nether King frowned. "He alone?"

Qinglong sighed. "Yes, he alone. I still remember how his white robes were like snow, his sword green as water... ah, yes, that was the Slaying Dragon Sword! A hundred years without seeing it—I nearly failed to recognize it."

The Nether King was startled; following Qinglong's left hand, he saw it pointing at the sword in Lin Jinghong's hand, still fighting on the field—that sword green as autumn water, the Slaying Dragon Sword.

"So the Slaying Dragon Sword was in Wan Jiangu's hand back then?"

Qinglong nodded. "Yes, in his hand. I shouted a challenge at him then, but he said not a word, only laughed long and loud, and charged straight into our ranks, cutting and slashing—nothing could stop him. Tsk, tsk... ah, what a hero!"

The Nether King nodded, admiration and surprise on his face as well. "A formidable man indeed—bold as the heavens. What happened after?"

Qinglong said, "We were all shocked and furious, but we feared that besides him more orthodox masters were about to break in, and the battle cries behind the Holy Hall were drawing nearer and nearer. We grew more panicked still, and in the confusion he actually fought his way to the main hall where the Holy Mother of the Dark and the Heavenly Slayer Ming Wang are enshrined."

The Nether King's face, ever calm and composed, suddenly changed; he cried out, "What?"

Qinglong smiled bitterly. "Even you react so—you can imagine our fury then. At that, we cared nothing for whether other masters were coming; every one of us charged at him like madmen, bringing out every treasure we had. In a matter of moments his white robes were dyed red with blood. Yet he did not turn back—he charged straight into the Holy Hall, leaped up onto the two statues of the Holy Mother of the Dark and the Heavenly Slayer Ming Wang enshrined side by side, and there on the white wall between the two holy images he carved, plain as day, three great characters: 'Wan Jiangu'!"

The Nether King was struck dumb.

Qinglong said suddenly, "Zhuque always wore a black veil over her face—you know that?"

The Nether King was slightly surprised. "Yes. What of it?"

Qinglong said, "She was the only woman among the four of us, but her devotion to the two holy ones was the most sincere. At that moment I saw her charge forward first of all, reckless of everything; seizing the instant Wan Jiangu was carving the characters, she cut down with a single blade and struck off Wan Jiangu's left hand."

The Nether King was startled again.

Qinglong sighed. "You are startled too—we were all frightened then, for Wan Jiangu's onslaught had been so fierce when he charged in that none of us thought a man facing so many of us, however formidable, could be anything but spent. Yet though his left hand was severed and his blood spurted like a fountain, beyond his face turning pale he did not change countenance at all. Instead he turned, drew close to Zhuque, reached out and lifted her veil to look, then laughed aloud: 'A beauty beyond compare, as I thought!' With that he rode the Slaying Dragon Sword aloft and fought his way out again..."

The Nether King shook his head. "He could still cut his way out, even so?"

Qinglong sighed. "First, he was too fierce; his arm was severed and blood flew through the Holy Hall, yet the power of his sword seemed greater than before. Second, those other four Canglan Sect fellows actually set fires behind the Holy Hall, sending thick smoke everywhere. We feared more orthodox fighters were coming, our hearts were in disorder, and we were desperate to fight the fires—and so he broke out."

The Nether King let out a long breath. "Who would have thought there was such a hero among the orthodox!"

Qinglong said mildly, "A pity that a hero, for all his prowess and insufferable pride, comes to no good end. That day, once we understood that only five from the Canglan Sect had charged in, we were furious beyond words. But I could see as well that those fellows in the Wandu Sect and the Changsheng Hall, though they cursed loudest, were in their hearts filled with awe and admiration for Wan Jiangu—especially my junior sister Zhuque... ah..."

He seemed to have thought of something and did not go on. Instead he said, "At the time we all assumed that among the Canglan Sect, this man must surely take the seat of sect leader. Yet not long after, word came that his elder brother Daoyan had taken the position, and from then on this brilliant, dazzling figure vanished without a trace—until today, when I learn that he is dead."

He sighed as he spoke, full of regret.

The Nether King smiled. "Indeed. A pity I could not test myself against such a hero—truly a regret of my life."