Chapter 82 — Ten

Daoyan was silent for a long while, as though even he needed great force of will to digest this inconceivable truth. After a time, he suddenly said to Facheng: "You said just now that Puzhao's vital force was spent. How did you come to know the truth of this matter?"

Facheng was silent a moment. "Uncle-Master Puzhao once befriended a remarkable man, from whom he obtained a wondrous elixir called the 'Three-Day Death Pill.' Take this pill, and however grave your injuries, within three days it will rouse all the latent potential of your body and preserve your life—but after three days, even if your wounds have healed, you will die without fail. Uncle-Master Puzhao took this wondrous pill, and within three days made his way back to Fanyin Temple, where he recounted the whole cause and consequence in detail to my master, Master Pucheng. I was attending my master at the time, and heard it all from the side. By then Uncle-Master Puzhao had come fully to his senses, and bitterly repented the monstrous sin he had sown that day—a sin ten thousand deaths could not atone for in the least—and at last, weeping bitterly, he passed away in seated meditation!"

Facheng gazed deeply at Zhang Qingyue and said slowly: "That is how it happened. All of these things are the fault of our Fanyin Temple's Uncle-Master Puzhao, and have nothing to do with Junior Brother Zhang Qingyue. I beg you, elders of the Canglan Sect, do not blame him!"

Master Daoyan gave a faint sigh and let out a long breath. He was about to speak when suddenly, in the silent great hall, there arose a low, bitter laugh.

"Blame? Who wants to blame me?"

The laugh was strange and cold, carrying endless hatred. Zhang Qingyue, who had kept his head bowed and his breath ragged, slowly, slowly raised his head.

Those eyes, wholly crimson, blood-red and chilling to the bone, fixed upon Facheng.

Facheng frowned deeply and said in a low voice: "Junior Brother Zhang, you—you must take care of yourself. Let what is past be past! The days ahead are still long..."

"You! Go! Die!"

Suddenly, Zhang Qingyue forced these three words out from between his teeth. Everyone paled. The Zhang Qingyue before them now seemed to have become another person entirely—murderous aura swirling about him, the muscles of his face contorted, hideous beyond measure.

In the distance, Uncle Wang suddenly cried out again in alarm: "A ghost! A ghost! Another ghost has come!"

And this time, his finger was pointing at Zhang Qingyue.

Everyone paled. Master Pucheng, heedless of his grave wounds, actually sprang to his feet. Zhang Qingyue's black iron staff blazed with sudden light; the Blood-devouring Bead, as though reborn, surged with green radiance shot through with the black qi of the Soul-Snatching Staff, wrapping Zhang Qingyue within it until even his face began to blur.

Facheng cried out: "Junior Brother Zhang, cast away that evil staff at once—you have already been invaded by its evil power..."

"Hahahahaha..."

Zhang Qingyue laughed bitterly at the sky, his voice shrill and mournful: "What righteous path? What justice? You have always deceived me. All my life I have struggled to hold on—even facing death, I kept his secret. But what am I..."

He spread his arms and howled at the heavens: "What am I—"

That anguished cry echoed between heaven and earth, stirring the heart, drawing forth tears.

Everyone in the hall paled. Facheng leapt forward and cried urgently: "Junior Brother Zhang, abandon this thing at once, or you will fall into the demonic path, beyond all redemption..."

Zhang Qingyue stared up at the sky as though he had not noticed Facheng charging at all. The crowd held its breath, watching as Facheng was about to seize the black iron staff—when suddenly a delicate shout rang out in midair, and a streak of white light came slashing in from the side. Facheng, caught off guard, gave a muffled grunt in midair and was sent flying backward.

Everyone was shocked. A flash of green, and Bili appeared before Zhang Qingyue, facing the countless masters of the righteous path ahead of her without the slightest fear.

Her eyes were slightly red, clearly grieving for Zhang Qingyue. Paying no heed to anyone else, she turned, seized Zhang Qingyue's hand, and said urgently: "Xiaofan, come with me! These beasts in human form—every one of them is out to harm you!"

Zhang Qingyue answered in a daze, but this woman before him—somehow, in this moment of utter loneliness between heaven and earth, she was the one thing he truly believed in. Involuntarily he gripped that gentle hand tightly and followed her!

But how could the righteous masters filling the hall tolerate such audacity? Especially when, a moment later, many recognized Bili as the only daughter of the Nether King, sovereign of the Nether Sect of the demonic cult—and the hall exploded.

The Canglan Sect had suffered countless dead and wounded this day, all at the hands of the demonic cult, a blood feud that could end only in death. Within moments some had blocked their way, and others shouted questions, beginning to suspect whether Zhang Qingyue truly had ties to the demonic cult.

Xueqi, Qi Hao, and the others paled. Tian Lingsu and the rest did their utmost to argue that Zhang Qingyue had been fighting the demonic cultists only moments before, but their voices were so faint that in an instant they were drowned beneath the waves of fury.

Moments later, the righteous cultivators in the great hall had surrounded the two young people.

Zhang Qingyue glared with blood-red eyes, his body trembling slightly, laughing bitterly without cease. He felt only that scenes of savagery and blood churned over and over in his mind, and yet it seemed utterly blank as well—the faith and beliefs of a lifetime had been wholly shattered this day.

Bili was far calmer than he. She gripped his hand tightly, standing with him, and said in a low voice: "Xiaofan, don't be afraid. Even if we die, I will be with you!"

Zhang Qingyue gave a start; his mind seemed to clear for a moment.

But at that very moment, a great shout came: "Who dares harm my daughter?"

With a swish, the figure of the Nether King appeared in the Yuheng Hall. The crowd gaped, and in an instant there was uproar.

Moments later, Qinglong, Yousi, and other members of the Nether Sect appeared one after another, encircling Zhang Qingyue and Bili in their midst.

The Nether King glanced around. At this moment the strength of the Nether Sect alone was indeed somewhat inferior to that of the Canglan Sect and Fanyin Temple combined, yet he showed not the least fear, standing with hands clasped behind his back, gazing about with easy confidence. He turned and smiled at Bili: "Yao'er, take Xiaofan and go first."

Bili nodded and was about to move—but such a course, treating the righteous cultivators as though they did not exist, could hardly succeed. And Zhang Qingyue's identity was now so extraordinary that the Canglan Sect and Fanyin Temple could by no means allow this man to leave.

Master Daoyan said furiously: "Stop them!"

At his shout, the righteous masters who had long been unable to restrain themselves surged forward, and in an instant the ruined Yuheng Hall was once more a battlefield—though now the situation was completely reversed from a short while before, as the righteous cultivators besieged the Nether Sect.

In what seemed but a short while, the Nether Sect was already at a disadvantage. Bili still gripped Zhang Qingyue's hand tightly, looking about anxiously, while the Nether King kept a smile on his face, watching the course of the battle calmly and composedly.

The pressure from the surrounding righteous cultivators grew greater and greater, and the dozen or so members of the Nether Sect had been pressed into a small circle, the situation growing desperate—when suddenly, at that very moment, a sharp whistle rang out beyond the Yuheng Hall, strange lights flashed wildly, and in moments wails of agony filled the air.