Chapter 174 — The Man in Black

He had not felt such a thing in a long while. The last time, he recalled, seemed already a hundred years ago—when he and Tian Buhui and a few others had followed Senior Brother Wan Jiangu of the Eldest Branch as they charged into the wildlands and struck at the Demonic Cult's very den. Time drifts on; in the blink of an eye, so long had passed…

He wondered whether Senior Brother Wan, who had died so young, had yet been reborn.

Such a strange thought popped suddenly into his head, and even he was a little surprised, and amused at himself. He drew a deep breath and rallied his spirits. Somehow, today truly was unlike other days!

"Boom!"

Another thunderclap burst forth, and the majesty of heaven and earth shook the world for a moment; it seemed even the ground beneath their feet trembled a few times. Almost at that same instant, a bolt of lightning tore the vault of heaven, broke through the clouds, and descended upon the mortal realm.

Like the blade of heaven, cleaving down upon the world!

The crowd was struck with horror. Among the disciples, some were so shaken in spirit that they could not contain themselves; one, staring up at the sky, tripped over his own feet and fell flat. In his vexation he nearly cursed aloud—but when he turned to look back, he saw, stark in the lightning's glare, that what lay before him was a mud-caked body, sprawled motionless on the ground.

"Ah!…" A shrill cry suddenly rang out. "It—it's here…"

"Gah!" A dull thud, and the disciple's cry broke off short—but in that brief instant he had already roused everyone, and in a flash they all spun and rushed toward him.

A dark figure leapt up from the ground, but before he could steady himself his body swayed several times and he nearly fell. In an instant a dozen or more artifacts came hurtling at him through the wind and rain.

Ming Li's heart went cold, but in the end he would not simply wait for death. Gritting his teeth, he bolted forward—only to feel a sharp agony tear through his chest after a few steps, and he could hold out no longer, pitching headlong to the ground.

Behind him, a cheer went up from the crowd. The foremost Qingyun disciples had already caught up, reaching out to seize Ming Li.

And just then, all at once, the darkness deep in the forest seemed abruptly to swell, like some monstrous beast soundlessly howling—and in the depths of that darkness, a light flashed past.

Zeng Shuchang's eyes flew wide. He lunged forward at once, crying sternly, "Fall back, all of you! Quickly!"

Before the Qingyun disciples could react, Zeng Shuchang had already plunged alone into the darkness ahead. His immortal sword had blazed bright in his hand, yet once he rushed into that mass of blackness, its light could no longer be seen at all; only angry shouts and whistling gusts came drifting out unceasingly.

As the Qingyun disciples stood at a loss, a strange figure shot out from the darkness ahead, flying toward where Ming Li had fallen—and toward the Qingyun disciples as well. By the faint glow, they saw the figure was wrapped entirely in black, only a pair of eyes showing, glittering sharp.

The Qingyun disciples shouted and cursed, drew their swords, and charged—but the man's cultivation was astonishingly high. He did not even reach for an artifact; the moment he came close, he simply reached out bare-handed for the nearest Qingyun disciple.

The disciple, though startled, kept his head, and brought his immortal sword down in a slash. The man in black said nothing, as though he did not even see it, and without changing his grasp, seized the immortal sword bare-handed before everyone's eyes. The crowd was aghast; before they could react, the man gave a sharp wrench, and the disciple he had grappled with went flying—and that immortal sword had been wrested away by him.

His cultivation was high indeed—savage and overwhelming. In the darkness ahead, Zeng Shuchang shouted in fury again and again, but seemed to be entangled by someone, unable to break away and come to the rescue. On this uncanny night, incredibly, many mysterious masters lay in ambush here.

Yet though the foe's cultivation was high, these Qingyun disciples came of a great sect, no ordinary school's students. Though shaken, not one fled; instead they all summoned their artifacts and rushed forward.

The man in black seemed somewhat anxious and impatient. He put force into his grip, and the immortal sword he had seized suddenly blazed with light, far beyond what it had shown in the young disciple's hand; then, with a flash of radiance and a shrieking gust, it came crashing down in midair, a vast ring of light cleaving straight toward the crowd. The Qingyun disciples shouted all together and fell back to meet the foe. Yet the man's display, for all its noise, was but empty bluster: one stroke forced the crowd back a few steps, and without deigning to fight further he scooped up Ming Li—limp on the ground, perhaps already unconscious—and flew off swiftly into the darkness behind.

The Qingyun folk were both shocked and furious—shocked that this mysterious figure who had sprung from nowhere possessed such cultivation, furious that Ming Li, all but captured, had been snatched away. Ming Li was a mortal peril to the Canglan Gate, and because of his long-standing ties with the sect, the whole of Canglan Gate had long been of a mind to do away with him. To have him snatched from under their noses now—how could they swallow such a thing? At once they all gave chase.

They had chased barely halfway when a whistle sounded and a bright blade-light shot out from the darkness. To each man's eyes it seemed the sword-glow flew straight at him; they hastily checked themselves to meet it. Only Zeng Shuyan sprang up and parried with a stroke of his sword—and felt his palm jolt violently, so that he stumbled back a step willy-nilly. But the incoming sword was knocked aside by his blow and shot straight up into the sky, then after a moment came tumbling back down and stuck quivering in the mud with a *pff*—it was that very immortal sword that had been seized, still humming faintly.

And in that brief delay, the man in black, ghostlike, had already carried Ming Li swiftly away into the darkness ahead; and Zeng Shuchang, locked in fierce struggle in the dark, suddenly let out a great shout. Someone in the shadows gave a stifled groan, and a spurt of blood flashed.

The crowd was aghast, unable to tell whether Zeng Shuchang had been wounded or had wounded the foe. Their master's grace lay deep upon them, and at such a moment they gave no thought to caution, all rushing forward. But they had gone only halfway when Zeng Shuchang's figure flashed out of the darkness, alighted on the ground, and barred their way. By his stance, though he moved without hindrance, his footing was still somewhat unsteady, and he was panting hard—that brief struggle seemed to have drained him utterly.

As his breathing steadied a little, he said at once in a low voice, "The foe ahead is of very high cultivation, and there are many of them. Do not be rash!"

Zeng Shuyan and the other young disciples all felt a chill at heart, never having imagined they would meet such a thing in a place like this. Zeng Shuchang stared at the mass of darkness ahead and said in a deep voice, "Who are you, sirs, and why do you meddle in the affairs of our Canglan Gate? With cultivation such as yours, you cannot be nameless folk. Why not show yourselves and talk!"

The wind raged, the rain lashed, lightning flashed and thunder rolled—and yet somehow the darkness deep in the forest was so thick, so dense, it was like ink that would not thin.

No one answered Zeng Shuchang's question; there was only the sound of wind and rain and the panting of the Qingyun disciples. Zeng Shuyan quietly stepped forward and asked in a low voice, "Father, who are they?"