Chapter 110 — Assassination

Peering from the shadows, Ming Li saw that the old man had a lean, gaunt face and wore a plain grey robe. His manner was unhurried, and there was nothing at all remarkable about him. Had he been walking the streets of some ordinary town, no one would ever have taken him for a cultivator.

Yet judging by the expressions of the two who followed him—not to mention Yan Fei, even the perpetually haughty Li Xun—they seemed to hold this ordinary old man in genuine respect, daring not the slightest negligence in look or bearing.

Hearing the old man's question now, Li Xun hesitated briefly, then said, "You see clearly, Martial Uncle. It is that the chief of those fish-men savages met a violent death, and so the brutes flew into a frenzy and..."

At that moment the three of them had just descended the Mystic Fire Altar. The grey-robed old man furrowed his brow and said mildly, "How did the fish-man chief die?"

Li Xun gave a bitter laugh and shook his head. Yan Fei spoke from beside him: "To report to Martial Uncle: three days ago the fish-man chief met with Martial Uncle Lü Shun at the 'Nameless Ancient Shrine' in the Hegu Mountains to the north. Less than a li after leaving the shrine, he was suddenly struck down by a master assassin."

The grey-robed old man said, "Oh?" clearly somewhat surprised. "Who was the killer?"

Li Xun shook his head. "We have investigated for several days and still have no leads." Here he seemed to hesitate, then continued: "This matter ought long since to have been reported to you, Martial Uncle, but the Valley Master reflected that you have guarded the Mystic Fire Altar, this vital ground, for nearly a hundred years and have long since withdrawn from worldly affairs, and so he was unwilling to disturb you."

The grey-robed old man smiled. "How could I fail to understand the Valley Master's good intentions? I imagine that if these savages were not still of some use, and if I had not, in the years when I brought them to heel, earned a certain fearsome name, the Valley Master would not wish to trouble an old wreck like me either."

Li Xun gave a sheepish laugh and was about to say something, but the grey-robed old man seemed unwilling to pursue the topic further and changed the subject: "Was Lü Shun not present at the time? Less than a li away—could even he not find the killer? He could have dug three feet into the earth and turned the fellow up by now."

At this Li Xun could not help exchanging a glance with Yan Fei beside him. Yan Fei hesitated a moment, then said softly, "No doubt the killer was simply too cunning, and his cultivation too high. Having struck his blow, he fled far at once, so that even Martial Uncle Lü could not catch him."

The grey-robed old man gave a cold snort and said nothing further this time, but in his expression and voice there was a scorn that fairly leapt forth—plainly he held that Lü Shun, this Martial Uncle Lü of whom Li Xun and Yan Fei spoke, in very low esteem.

The three walked on as they talked. The open ground was barely three zhang across, and they had already covered more than half of it, drawing gradually farther from Ming Li. Ming Li slowly relaxed, though he still dared not let down his guard. Then he heard the grey-robed old man seem to ask a question from afar—they had gone too far for the words to be clear, but vaguely he made out that the old man was asking after the present situation of the rebellious fish-men savages.

Li Xun answered from behind him: "The situation is now under control. Martial Uncle Lü has led a group of disciples to block the brutes at the valley entrance and has exerted his divine powers to beat down the fish-men's ferocity. The two sides are at a standoff. The fish-men keep crying out that they will avenge their chief, and the Valley Master is unwilling to tear all ties with the southern barbarian tribes outright, and so he sent us to fetch you, Martial Uncle..."

He had no sooner spoken than suddenly, from the direction of the valley entrance far away, a shrill shriek rang out and echoed far and wide, a sound of utter desolation. Everyone present started in alarm. Li Xun cried, "That seems to come from the entrance!"

Before they could react, in an instant the clamor of slaughter and struggle surged up once more, furious shouts and piercing shrieks filling the ear without cease. The valley, which had just fallen silent, was once again shrouded in the din of battle.

The three turned pale. The grey-robed old man gave a cold snort, flicked his sleeve, and his whole body became a streak of grey light shooting into the sky, flying swiftly toward the valley entrance. Li Xun and Yan Fei hurried after him.

Only when their figures had wholly vanished into the night did Ming Li slowly step out from beneath the Mystic Fire Altar. He pondered a moment, then turned and looked up at the altar.

The vast structure towered before him, majestic and imposing. Even a single white-jade pillar beside him looked so tall and grand in the night, to say nothing of the crimson halls and pavilions above.

Not far ahead were the steps down which the grey-robed old man, Li Xun, and Yan Fei had just come. Ming Li walked toward them and saw that all the steps too were built of the same strange crimson stone as the heights above, blending seamlessly with the surrounding balustrades and flagstones.

Treading slowly upon them, Ming Li climbed upward. The heat around him seemed to have risen greatly now, as though what he trod were not crimson stone at all but true burning flame.

The steps of the Mystic Fire Altar ran up thirty-six in number, turned a corner, and went on rising. Ming Li drew a deep breath, his face cold, and climbed slowly. The balustrades and stone walls on every side were plain and unadorned, without the least carving, all the more austere for it.

By now even the wind from the night sky had grown scorching hot. Little Grey lay on Ming Li's shoulder, its eyes rolling about, peering curiously in every direction.

At last, having climbed all one hundred and eight steps of the three flights, Ming Li stood atop the Mystic Fire Altar.

Though he had already glimpsed the scene from afar below the altar, now that he stood upon it, before the towering hall that rose at its center, gazing at the vast structure a hundred times his own height, at spires stabbing like sharp swords at the vault of heaven, Ming Li could not help but feel his own insignificance.

The same crimson stone, cut into massive blocks of equal size, each nearly half a man tall, had been piled to form a magnificent hall. Drawing near, in that scorching air, Ming Li clearly saw that the blocks were joined so tightly that the seams between them seemed too narrow for even a blade to slip through. It was truly unimaginable how the forebears of the Burning Cloud Valley had built a hall of such uncanny craftsmanship.

He nearly fell into an illusion that what stood before him was no hall at all but a vast, roaring flame—so vast that it seemed about to topple upon him and swallow his insignificant self whole.

Ming Li drew a deep breath, steadied himself, and pressed down the awe in his heart. Then he turned his head and carefully surveyed the way into the hall of the Mystic Fire Altar. It did not take him much effort to find it.

The whole altar, shaped like a pagoda, had not a single window; it was entirely enclosed by the massive crimson stones. Only at the lowest level, not far from where he stood, was there a door one zhang tall and six chi wide.

Ming Li walked over and soon discovered that though the door had been painted red, it was unlike the surrounding stone wall—it was a wooden door. And small wonder: if even the entrance had been a stone door of crushing weight, it would surely have been a great nuisance.

Ming Li stood before the door a while but did not push it open at once. Instead he turned and looked back behind him.

All over the Mystic Fire Altar, save for the scorching air, there was dead silence.