Chapter 82 — The Tenth Chapter

A巨响 beyond all words shook the whole vault of heaven; the irresistible Immortal-Slaying Sword was hurled back, and the sword-qi filling the sky fell into disarray. And atop Jietian Peak the mountain convulsed, rubble flying everywhere, and countless enormous fissures tore open across its body as if it were being split apart—as though the end of days had come.

Dimly, a slender and sorrowful figure descended slowly from midair.

All at once heaven and earth fell utterly silent, save for a single voice, howling as though its heart were being torn apart.

"No—!"

Endless darkness shrouded the whole world; he trembled in it, not daring to move, not daring to face it, not daring to wake.

And yet, in the end, he woke.

His trembling hand slowly clenched, then slowly opened; slowly he opened his eyes, as though even this required all the courage he possessed.

An ordinary stone chamber, simply and plainly furnished. Slowly he got down from the bed, refusing to think of anything, and did not even glance again at the dark-iron staff lying close at hand; as though guided by something, he walked to the door and slowly went out.

Outside was a long corridor, where many people moved quietly about their business; but whoever it was, the moment they saw him, they at once withdrew to one side and lowered their heads.

He walked on in a daze, as though some voice were summoning him. Soon he came to a corner, where there was a large stone chamber with its door ajar; from the other side of the corner came a familiar voice, with a tone he seemed to remember belonging to someone named Qinglong.

"Mr. Ghost, you are the greatest marvel of the age. For the sake of the Holy Mother and the Radiant King, I beg you, save—"

With a sigh, a deep voice spoke from the darkness: "The Mingwang Sect has shown me kindness, and it is not that I do not try my utmost. But what Miss Bili used is the most terrible of our Holy Church's arts, the 'Fierce Blood Poison Curse'—what we have handed down since ancient times as the Curse of Infatuation. This curse forcibly wrings out every essence of a person's flesh and blood by its power, then seizes their three souls and seven spirits and melts them in its forging. Such utter recklessness is what gives it the power to defy heaven, but whoever uses this curse is doomed to have their soul scattered and vanish, never to be reborn. I truly have no way."

Qinglong said hoarsely, "Mr. Ghost, but—"

The voice cut him off: "I understand what you would say. It is true: the wondrous treasure Miss Bili bore, the 'Joyous Union Bell,' did at that very moment forcibly seize back one lingering soul from the three souls and seven spirits that had been driven from her, and kept it within the bell—and so her mortal body has been preserved from decay. But this art of recalling the soul has been lost for a thousand years. Only a thousand years ago, in the vile lands of the southern frontier, a Black Witch clan that flowered but briefly was said to possess such a wondrous art—and they too were long since exterminated. This—this is beyond my power, I fear."

Qinglong was struck dumb, and only after a long while said, "But—but the sect master has gone days without food or drink, and now he is already... Mr. Ghost, he has always held you in esteem. Talk to him, I beg you."

The voice said slowly, "The master of the Mingwang Sect grieves beyond measure. Given time, he will surely recover."

Qinglong was about to say more when suddenly his body gave a start, as though he had noticed something; he turned and looked that way, and saw the frail, pale figure walk step by step to the doorway, and then, as though summoning the greatest courage of all, at last go in.

Then there was no sound at all.

Qinglong bowed his head and fell silent; in the darkness, it seemed another, too, let out a deep sigh.

In the stone chamber, upon a platform of white jade, the beautiful woman lay quietly, as though sunk in peaceful sleep. Her father sat beside her, holding her hand, gazing at his daughter in this witless, unending stare.

Zhang Qingyue stared blankly, tears flowing without a sound; her legs gave way, and at last she could hold up no longer, and sank down beside Bili.

That gentle, tranquil face was from then on an indelible mark upon all the memories of his life.

In the silent stone chamber there was the faint sound of weeping, a soft choking voice:

"Why were you so foolish... I never told you—in that ancient well, the one I saw was you."

Canglan Mountain.

Little Zhu Peak.

The night was deep.

Lu Xueqi stood silently upon the peak, gazing into the distance, where the night was cold and the sky full of glittering stars, as though mocking the vulgar folk of the world for their struggles amid the red dust.

Footsteps sounded, and the voice of her master—familiar and revered—rose behind her: "Qi'er, why are you standing here again?"

Lu Xueqi did not speak.

Shuiyue looked at her, then suddenly sighed, came to her side, and said in a low voice, "You are thinking of that person again?"

Lu Xueqi was silent, then a look of pain crossed her face. "Master, it should not have turned out this way. It would not have come to this—it should not have."

Shuiyue seemed to fall silent as well, and only after a long while said softly, "It is fate, Qi'er. When you meet him again hereafter, you will be foes who cannot share the same sky. You must remember that clearly."

With that, she sighed, turned, and walked away.

Only Lu Xueqi remained standing there alone; the mountain wind blew, and she felt a chill over her whole body. Gazing silently into the distance, in a voice only she herself could hear, she murmured low, "When I meet him again..."

The night was cool as water, shining upon her solitary figure.