Chapter 225 — The Wound

The Mingwang laughed uproariously at the sky, then abruptly turned and strode to the Ghost Master, reaching out to clap him heavily on the shoulder. The Ghost Master seemed startled, a flicker of something strange passing through his eyes, but in the end he did not move, standing where he was. A moment later the Mingwang's palm landed on his shoulder—nothing untoward happened—and the Mingwang merely laughed loudly: "Good, good, good!"

He laughed heartily, overjoyed, then as though recalling something, his smile subsided somewhat, and he said to the Ghost Master with a solemn face, "My thanks to you."

The Ghost Master bowed his head slightly and said, "That this peerless formation can succeed is all thanks to the Sect Master's boundless fortune. And without this divine artifact, the Fulong Cauldron, I too would have been helpless."

The Mingwang smiled and shook his head. "The Fulong Cauldron is a treasured heirloom of my Mingwang Sect, yet for many years no one could comprehend the inscriptions on its body. You alone have lent this old man a hand in the end—surely Heaven sent you to me, that I might accomplish my grand design!"

The Ghost Master was silent a moment, then said, "The Sect Master overpraises me."

The Mingwang chuckled, then turned again, his gaze once more falling upon the Fulong Cauldron—suspended in the void, blazing with light, radiating auspicious power. Another flash of excited, ecstatic delight crossed his eyes, and he could not help but burst into laughter once more.

The Ghost Master stood quietly behind the Mingwang, watching his ever more arrogant and wild manner, and said not a word. Were anyone who knew the Mingwang to step in here now, they would surely be greatly startled: the Mingwang had always been a man of great ambition and talent, restrained and deep, and had never worn such a flaunting, overweening expression. Yet seeing it now, the Ghost Master showed not the slightest surprise.

Whether it was because he had grown used to seeing the Mingwang like this when they were alone together, or because his thoughts ran too deep for any outsider to read them, none could say.

In any case, above the vast blood pool in that hidden mountain belly, amid the thick stench of blood, the Mingwang exulted in his own satisfaction as he calculated the days to come; his gleeful laughter echoed and lingered, gradually shrouding the whole vast cavern. And behind him stood a quiet shadow, soundlessly keeping its place.

At the foot of Canglan Mountain.

The eerie black clouds in the vault of heaven had at some point begun to scatter, though the cloud layer remained thick; from the pitch-black sky the rain still poured, washing over this somewhat desolate mortal world.

Over the wilderness the wind blew hard and the rain came down in sheets, and the cold cut to the bone. The place that had been an abandoned charity morgue not so long ago had been reduced to utter ruin after a harrowing battle of spells, and even the earth underfoot had been torn open by the violent impact of tremendous force, so that the rain, washing over it, had churned it into filthy mud.

The sky was so dim that not a sliver of light remained. Out on the wilderness, in the wind and rain, only a faint thread of blue light glimmered.

Lu Xueling, who had always been fastidious about cleanliness, had her white robes soiled with mud, yet she seemed wholly unconcerned. Not far before her lay the body of Tian Buhui, quiet and still, his eyes closed, peaceful as though he had merely fallen asleep. The rain beat against his face, and in the wind was a sound of sobbing, as though something were weeping.

Ming Li had still not woken. By the pale blue glow of Tianxuan, his face could be seen to be ghastly white, like a dead man's, and his expression was one of unalloyed agony; but for the faint rise and fall of his chest, it might almost have been an illusion. At that moment he was cradled in Lu Xueling's arms, and Tianxuan gave off its light quietly, propping open a small, narrow space around the two of them, its invisible power fending off the raindrops.

And not far in front of them, the monkey Xiao Hui had lost its usual liveliness and sat quietly on the ground. The rain falling from the sky soaked its fur, and now and then drops ran down its face and body and dripped to the earth. A cold gust of wind came, and all three of Xiao Hui's eyes blinked; as though feeling the chill, it edged quietly a little closer to Ming Li's body.

Lu Xueling raised her head in silence and glanced at Xiao Hui, then reached out and gently lifted it into the halo of Tianxuan's light, letting it lie upon Ming Li's body. Xiao Hui looked at Lu Xueling and gave a soft "cheep cheep cheep cheep," then its head drooped slowly again and came to rest against Ming Li's chest. Its head turned to one side, its eyes fixed on the spot not far ahead, on the quiet body of Tian Buhui.

A dream? A vision!

It had seemed a distant, drawn-out dream, yet there was not a trace of joy in it, for when one reached the end, one found it had been a nightmare all along.

Ming Li's body stirred, and the grief on his pale face seemed to deepen a little. A moment later, with a groan of pain, he slowly came to.

There was light before his eyes, a pale blue radiance drifting and curling gently around him.

There were sounds all around, the sounds of wind and rain—wind blowing, rain beating, wind and rain sighing.

Xiao Hui, leaning against Ming Li's chest, suddenly sat up straight and looked at him.

Once more the cold wind blew past.

Ming Li trembled slightly. Then he saw Lu Xueling's gaze, that face as pale as his own—the only one keeping him company on this night of wind and rain.

The corner of Ming Li's mouth quivered faintly.

The pain in his chest had eased a great deal. Ming Li glanced down at it and saw seven or eight strips of white cloth of varying widths wrapped around his chest, plainly torn hastily from clothing. His mind was clearing by degrees now, and he soon realized that the broken bones at the wound on his chest had all been set one by one. Only, the force of that palm strike from Tian Buhui had been truly extraordinary; the meridians throughout his body had been shaken and injured, and even with Lu Xueling's ministrations afterward, he would likely need many days of convalescence before he recovered.

At that thought, he turned his eyes instinctively, and very soon he saw the master who had raised him to manhood. Ming Li did not speak; it seemed he had not even the strength to speak. In the wind and rain, Tian Buhui's face was spattered with droplets, lying silently in the filthy mud.

Who could have known it would come to this after his death?

A low, hoarse cry rose in his throat. Ming Li rolled out of Lu Xueling's arms and fell into the mud, then struggled to crawl toward Tian Buhui's body. Lu Xueling was startled and instinctively reached out to hold him back, but as her hand touched his body she heard Ming Li say softly, "Don't pull me."

Lu Xueling stood woodenly where she was and slowly drew back her outstretched hand. Her eyes rested on Ming Li and followed him without cease as he left the halo of Tianxuan's light and crawled, step by painful step, toward Tian Buhui's body. The wind and rain came on without mercy, bitter and biting, and soon soaked him through; along the way the muddy slush splashed all over his body.

The monkey Xiao Hui kept close beside Ming Li. Seeing its master in such a state, it seemed anxious; now and then it leaped to his side and stretched out both hands to pull him along, but Ming Li was far too large for Xiao Hui to be of any use, and it could not help growing fretful, letting out a few "cheep cheep cheep cheep" cries.