Chapter 161 — The Ambush

But Wan Jiangu ahead lifted the remaining trunk high like a pillar of heaven, majestic and unassailable. The tree-shadows that filled the sky vanished in an instant; the storm ceased, the gale halted, and all things in the world seemed to hold their breath, gazing at that figure soaring in midair.

He came down from the sky, and with a great shout brought the trunk crashing down.

The gale shrieked, piercing to the ear. In a circle thirty feet across there came a thunderous crash, and in an instant sand and stone flew outward on every side, leaving only Ming Li, his robes whipping, his face pale, staring fixedly at the giant tree falling from the sky.

That uncanny shrieking came like thunder in the ears, and arrived in an instant. Ming Li clenched his jaw. Suddenly his hands moved, and the Taiji diagram spun without cease, then abruptly rose above his head, barring the way of the thunderbolt of a trunk.

Two vast forces crashed together in midair, and even the earth and peaks around them seemed to shake. The ground beneath Ming Li's feet had sunk to the ankles.

The forward end of the trunk, forced back by the great power of the Taiji Profound Pure Way, burst apart entirely, splinters flying, then in a trance turned to powder and scattered without a trace. But the trunk behind it was driven hard down, inch by inch, through the blue-glowing Taiji diagram. Ming Li's face went another shade paler; the Soul-Eater's demonic light blazed brighter, and the Buddhist true word appeared once more—just beneath the Taiji diagram, golden light flickering, another layer laid down.

The gale howled, and in the clearing one could scarcely breathe. The wild wind ran riot; the two men fought on in the green mountain woods, lost to all else, and no one marked the dark shadow flickering faintly.

Wan Jiangu's face was alight with fervor; even the deep wrinkles seemed to have vanished, as though the young years of long ago had come back to him in that moment.

Those years, once so full of ardor, when he laughed at the whole world!

He threw back his head and gave a long cry, like a dragon roaring at the sun; the gale against his face felt as though all the hot blood in his body were burning!

Laughing, he charged down, all the cultivation in his body bursting forth upon that trunk. The whole labor of a lifetime gushed out like flame.

In an instant the Buddhist true word scattered!

Layer upon layer of crushing weight bore down like a toppling mountain and overturning sea. A thread of blood trickled from the corner of Ming Li's mouth; his pale face suddenly flushed a fevered red, and with a sudden wrench he spat out a mouthful of blood, which spattered upon the Soul-Eater.

Drop by drop the blood melted silently into it, and a chill breath echoed back from the depths of his heart.

His eyes turned blood-red!

At that moment, poised on the very edge of disaster, the howling gale that filled the sky suddenly ceased; the killing intent that cowed gods and ghosts vanished; and that figure in midair, majestic as a god of heaven, suddenly began to sway, growing weaker by degrees.

A dark shadow flitted with inconceivable swiftness from behind Wan Jiangu. The true art Ming Li had long held in reserve, in an instant freed of all suppression, burst forth at once—blue light, golden radiance, the dark red demonic power, the vast force of three great true arts fused into one—and surged heavenward, striking Wan Jiangu squarely in the chest. In that instant the sound of shattering bone pattered and popped like falling beads without cease. Wan Jiangu halted in midair and did not fly back; only his body suddenly went slack, and from the chest outward all the muscle of his body seemed to vanish, beginning an irreversible withering.

Ming Li stood stunned. The next moment, he found himself, all unwitting, holding Wan Jiangu's body. In his arms, that aged frame told him anew that this was an old man, so very old. And as he turned him, he saw clearly a black palm print stamped upon Wan Jiangu's back.

Ming Li bore Wan Jiangu down to the ground. He and the gasping Wan Jiangu turned to look at the same time: the dark figure standing amid the mist that had not yet dispersed was none other than Master Ghost.

A strange light burned in Ming Li's eyes like demon-fire. Coldly he said, "What are you doing?"

Master Ghost paid him no heed, but looked at Wan Jiangu. The old man, now at the point of death, was gazing at him too—only the feeling in his eyes was far more complex.

The black veil over Master Ghost's face stirred gently; who could say whether his heart too was shaken. But his voice was still as flat as ever: "All these years, and you are still the same—always so trusting of your friends, never the least on your guard?"

Wan Jiangu opened his mouth as though to speak, but the moment it opened, a mouthful of blood gushed out. His face was paling fast, as though life itself were slipping quietly away from him.

Then he smiled—a faint smile, there amid blood and bitterness. He turned his head and looked at Ming Li.

That gaze, somehow, held a measure of gentleness now.

Ming Li drew a deep breath, and suddenly his eyes stung. This old man, locked with him in a fight to the death but a moment ago, now made him afraid to meet his eyes. He silently set him down, stood up, and said in a low voice, "If you had the Dragon-Slaying Sword in your hand, I would be no match for you at all."

Wan Jiangu looked at the young man, whose hands were clenched tight and whose body seemed to tremble slightly. Then Ming Li turned and fixed his eyes on Master Ghost. Master Ghost did not avoid his gaze; even the undisguised contempt and loathing in Ming Li's eyes seemed not to trouble him in the least.

Ming Li watched him in silence a while, then said no more, turned, and walked toward the mountain path to the Illusory Moon Grotto-Heaven. Soon his figure had vanished.

Only two men were left in the clearing.

Master Ghost walked slowly to Wan Jiangu's side. The strengthless old man lay on the ground, slowly raised his eyes, and looked at him, blood still welling ceaselessly from the corner of his mouth.

At that moment, suddenly, the sound of footsteps came from afar—someone was coming up from the foot of the mountain, threading through the thin mist, and would reach this place at any moment.

Master Ghost's expression changed. The dark shadow wavered, and in an instant he had vanished into the mist.

Moments later, Lin Jinghong's figure emerged from the thin mist. He came to the center of the field and took in the whole scene.

The faint smile on his face froze in an instant, and disbelief seized his eyes: the old man who had been at his side day and night for ten years lay on the ground, drenched in blood, frail and failing.

"Ah...!"

Lin Jinghong rushed forward, a thread of despair in his haste, never noticing that behind him a dark shadow flitted past.