Chapter 220 — Convergence

Her heart was already three parts won over, and Xiao Bai being moreover the benefactor who had saved the three of them, she felt all the more warmly toward her. Now, questioned thus by Xiao Bai with a faint smile, she felt the woman's gaze soft as water, and though she herself was a woman, she could not help her heart giving a thump, its beat quickening a little, so that even her speech came out slightly nervous and stammering: "Ah, wh-what?"

Zhou Yixuan and the Wild Wolf Daoist, standing nearby, were both somewhat surprised and looked at Xiao Wan. Xiao Bai smiled and asked again. Xiao Wan steadied herself, silently cursed herself, then lowered her eyes to the ground and said, "This I know. The one who helped us—his Daoist attainment was very high. What he used was an immortal sword magic treasure, three feet long from end to end, reddish-yellow in color. When he wielded it, its power was truly beyond measure, like a ball of crimson flame."

"Crimson Flame!"

Suddenly a cry—startled, tinged with a measure of delighted surprise and tension—came from the entrance to the mortuary courtyard. All four in the yard were taken aback and turned to look, and there, unmistakably, stood a woman in white, clear and ethereal beyond the dust of the world, a pale blue immortal sword in her hand, its radiance flowing—a treasure of the highest grade at a glance. And this woman's looks seemed well-nigh a match for Xiao Bai's, another peerless beauty of the mortal world.

Who else could it be but Lu Xueling of Xiaozhu Peak on Canglan Mountain?

At the foot of Canglan Mountain, the ruins of Liumiao Village.

Beneath broken walls and shattered eaves, amid the wild grass, the fitful chirping of insects rose and fell unceasingly, adding a further desolation to this forsaken place.

The night was deep. Black clouds pressed down upon the vault of heaven, and only a few stars, faintly glimmering, still stubbornly showed their heads and let fall a little light.

In a certain corner of the village, beside a half-collapsed earthen wall, Ming Li sat silently on the ground, his back to the wall. Beside him the monkey Xiao Hui lay sprawled on the ground, its head pillowed on Ming Li's thigh, limbs splayed every which way, snoring soundly.

Ming Li did not sleep. His eyes remained open, silently fixed upon every blade of grass and every tree around him, every inch of earth, every broken wall and crumbling eave.

This was his homeland, the place where the first years of his life had been spent. But time had slipped quietly away, and all of it had in the end become memory, leaving only this stretch of ruins to draw a sigh of lament.

But what is a man alive for?

Ming Li gazed at everything around him, then slowly raised his head and looked up at the night sky.

The curtain of night hung low. Somewhere beyond the horizon, were there truly gods and immortals, demons and Buddhas, who could hear the heart's voice of the people of this world?

The monkey Xiao Hui's mouth moved a few times, giving a few "tsk tsk" sounds. It turned over, rubbed its head a few times against Ming Li's thigh, and went back to sleeping soundly.

Perhaps it was dreaming of the wild fruit it loved best to eat?

Ming Li withdrew his gaze and let it fall on Xiao Hui. He reached out and gently stroked the little monkey's head; the downy fur was soft to the touch and carried a faint warmth.

A trace of a smile appeared at the corner of his mouth, a mild and guileless smile, as though he were the boy of all those years ago, shouting and laughing aloud in this village that once was, running with all his might!

The night wind sighed; somewhere far off someone seemed to be murmuring softly. Grass and trees stirred with the wind, and the wind carried the fragrance of green grass.

He closed his eyes.

What a quiet, peaceful night it was.

Suddenly Xiao Hui gave a violent start, all three of its eyes snapping open at once. It lifted its head slightly from Ming Li's lap and raised it a little, as though listening for something. At the same moment, Ming Li's brows knitted faintly, and the last trace of that pale smile at the corner of his mouth vanished without a sound.

Silently, he opened his eyes once more, and what met his gaze was this world again.

He reached out and patted Xiao Hui lightly on the head, and the monkey immediately grew calm. It turned its head, its three eyes rolling nimbly about, but it would not sleep either; it rose softly, scratched at its head, then sprang lightly up onto Ming Li's shoulder and began peering about in every direction.

Ming Li remained seated in that secluded corner. Before him a broken wall happened to screen his body, but the gaps where it had crumbled and peeled away let him look out.

A desolate place like this drew no one even by day—could some unexpected thing really be about to happen on a night so dark and windy as this?

A strange and uncanny aura, as though born of thin air, abruptly descended upon these ruins. Ming Li's intuition caught something at once, and his brows drew tighter still.

The night wind turned cold and bleak, as though it were the chill wind said to blow through the Nine Hells of the underworld, piercing to the bone—only it was not the skin that felt the cold, but a phantom chill that seemed to seep into the very channels of the heart. Amid this uncanny, mournful wind, a dark figure dropped from the sky and landed without a sound at the center of the ruins of Liumiao Village.

In the distance, through that gap, Ming Li watched the dark figure covertly, betraying nothing, yet a deep shock ran through him. The evil power contained in this unknown newcomer was greater than any he had seen in all his life; even at a considerable distance, at the very moment the figure touched down, he still felt his blood and qi churn faintly through the meridians of his whole body.

But why would a master of such fearsome cultivation come in the dead of night to these deserted ruins of Liumiao Village?

Ming Li could make no sense of it, and could only fix his eyes upon the figure.

Soon he discovered something strange: the figure appeared black not because the man wore black clothes, but because his whole body was enveloped in a layer of uncanny black vapor that rolled and surged without cease, making it impossible to see his true face.

Ming Li grew all the more puzzled, and observed the man covertly all the more carefully. Yet after landing, the man did not move at once; oddly, he stood there in place, motionless, for a long while.

Just as Ming Li was baffled, the dark figure stirred again, then slowly walked forward. Ming Li's brows locked tightly; he watched the figure in cold silence.

As the black figure trod upon the grassy ground and slowly passed one stretch of crumbling walls after another, Ming Li's gaze rested upon him and drifted quietly along.

The black figure seemed to have no particular aim; he merely appeared to be strolling. Ming Li had grown up in Liumiao Village and knew its every turning intimately, yet even he could not tell where the man was headed. He only watched the black figure walk slowly on, looking somewhat as though he were searching for something.

After a while longer, the black figure suddenly seemed to discover something and stopped in his tracks. Ming Li's heart stirred, and he hastily looked toward where the man faced—and all at once his heart clenched. The place the black-robed man now faced was none other than the abandoned thatched temple where not a blade of grass grew.

Wrapped wholly in black vapor, the man slowly approached the ruined little temple, but did not go in; he halted just outside. Watching from his secluded corner behind the man, Ming Li saw him scrutinize the temple from top to bottom. Suddenly the man raised a hand, and a sharp shriek burst out from beneath it.