Chapter 172 — Bloodthirst

Strange and unfathomable as the celestial tome was, every line and word held profundities rarely seen in the world, and those who cultivate the Dao are born infatuated with such things. To say she had not studied it with care all these years would be a lie. Yet such uncanny arts could not after all be spoken of to outsiders, and she had told no one. Moreover, what she had seen was only the third volume, broken off fore and aft—and above all lacking the first volume, the general outline—which left her with no way to begin, obscure and hard to fathom. All these years she had relied merely on her own native cleverness to force some understanding from it, which helped her cultivation more or less, though not markedly. And it was for just this reason that the elders of the Canglan Sect had never noticed; otherwise, what manner of men were Daoist Immortal Daoyan, Tian Buhui, Master Shuijing, and the rest—how could they have failed to mark the strangeness in Lu Xueling's cultivation?

But at this moment, watching Ming Li's bizarre movement art, Lu Xueling frowned slightly. She saw Ming Li, having fooled Lin Jinghong, condense out of the air in mid-flight from threads of black smoke as though he were a thing without form, swiftly resuming his own shape—yet without the slightest loss of speed—and fly straight at her.

Lu Xueling set her teeth. Suddenly her body retreated three steps to the side, yielding up the ancient sword Shixian that had been close behind her and bringing it face to face with Ming Li. Both Ming Li and Lin Jinghong, some distance away, were startled by this—but differently: a flicker of delight crossed Ming Li's face, while Lin Jinghong cried angrily, "Sister Lu, what are you doing?"

Lu Xueling paid him no heed. A sharp light flashed through her eyes; she seemed to hesitate a moment, but at last gave a soft cry and thrust the divine sword Tianxuan into the wind—yet the point of her blade was aimed not at Ming Li but in the opposite direction, at the empty ground three feet to the right front of the ancient sword Shixian.

"Pfft!"

With a soft sound, the divine sword Tianxuan seemed to have stabbed at nothing—yet somehow Lu Xueling's body shook. And at the blade's edge, after a moment of silence, blood abruptly sprayed up and scattered through the air. Meanwhile Ming Li, who had been speeding toward Shixian, gave a shrill cry in midair and once more dissolved into a gust of black smoke that drifted away in all directions.

And in that startling flash, as the blood burst forth like blossoms and Lu Xueling stood pale and somewhat dazed, a roar suddenly came. Ming Li's black figure burst into being in midair with a thunderous crash. The divine sword Tianxuan was lodged in his shoulder, yet he seemed not to feel the pain at all; he lunged savagely, and the Blood-Drinking Bead at the tip of Shihun blazed blood-red as a tide of blood-devouring demonic power swept down from all sides and wrapped Lu Xueling within it.

Lu Xueling's lovely face lost all color. In an instant she felt the essence and blood throughout her body seethe and surge like scalding water, all but bursting from her flesh; her head rang and buzzed, the pain unbearable, her legs gave way, and she could hold herself up no longer—she sat down.

Ming Li gave a long, shrill cry, desolate and fierce. In the very instant the Blood-Drinking Bead shimmered before Lu Xueling's incomparably beautiful face, he wrenched it back by main force, and at the same time swept his left hand out and flung Lu Xueling away. As she flew, the divine sword Tianxuan went with her; the moment it was drawn from the wound, blood gushed from Ming Li's shoulder like a spring. And Lu Xueling, still in midair, felt the Blood-Drinking Bead's demonic power still surging and churning like a tide; a terrible pain tore through her chest, and with a retch she too spat out a mouthful of blood.

In the field, Ming Li came down to earth. There was nothing else in his eyes now—only the ancient sword Shixian. His whole body was drenched in blood, half of him swiftly dyed red, yet he seemed not to notice. A strange, gnashing agony showed on his face as he stared straight at Shixian.

The ancient, plain sword Shixian lay quietly stuck in the ground before him. Its blade—neither stone nor jade—could not even mirror his face. Only that faint, fine crack showed, as though new.

Ming Li threw back his head and laughed, wild and crazed. Ten years of days flashed past him one by one in an instant. Without another word he thrust out his left hand and seized the hilt; his right hand summoned Shihun back and gripped it tight, and with savage fury he brought it down upon the blade of Shixian—upon that fine crack.

Behind him Lin Jinghong roared at the top of his voice and came chasing with all his might, but it was already too late. Lu Xueling had only just landed, her mind still in chaos; and far off, the clamor of that crowd suddenly swelled, as though they had discovered something, and all of them came rushing toward the Phantom Moon Cave.

Only—in that brief space of time, what could anyone have done?

Just as no one can ever, in the end, hold back even a moment of time!

Shihun, glinting with dark cyan-black light, came whistling down through the air. Its master's blood now poured in streams, running down along his left hand, drip by drip onto Shixian, streaking across the sword's somewhat coarse-looking blade, slowly vanishing—yet not a drop fell to the ground.

Faintly, in that instant, something stirred in Ming Li's heart, as though some strange and familiar scene had touched him, passing through his mind like lightning.

A moment later, he understood with a shock:

It was blood!

In that instant, from the corner of his eye, he saw his own blood, as it flowed onto the blade of the ancient sword Shixian—and above all as it flowed to that crack—slowly disappear, swiftly and silently melting into the ancient sword.

Shixian! Shixian! Shixian!

Shixian, it turned out, was like the Blood-Drinking Bead—it too could devour the essence blood of living things!

He was stunned and could not contain himself; but the Shihun in his hand, already slammed downward, had long outrun the speed of his thoughts, and struck hard upon the ancient sword Shixian!