Chapter 3 — The Enigma
The Sword Questions the Heavens · Page 2 of 5
From the black vapor came a hoarse voice: "And who are you, to dare meddle in my affairs?"
The old monk did not answer, but said instead: "This is the foot of Canglan Mountain. If the Canglan Sect were to learn that your honor has been running wild here, I fear your honor's days hereafter would be none too easy."
The man spat. "Pah! What is the Canglan Sect but a crowd of many? Old bald donkey, waste no more words. If you're sensible, hand the child over to me at once."
The old monk pressed his palms together and said, "Amitabha. A monk's heart is moved by compassion; I cannot stand by and watch this child fall to your poisoned hand."
The man said in a fury, "You thieving bald monk, you're courting death."
As he spoke, within the black vapor that had been circling all along, a deep crimson gleam flickered. In an instant, a fierce yin wind rose around the little thatched temple, and the aura of ghosts swelled mightily.
"The Blood-Poison Banner!" Fury suddenly appeared on the old monk's face. "Wicked wretch, you dare to cultivate such a cursed thing—utterly devoid of conscience, a scourge upon the world. Today I will not spare you."
The hoarse voice gave a cold laugh but did not reply. A whistling sound was heard, the red gleam blazed bright, and from midair a stench of blood and rot rose thick. A crimson banner, two zhang long, was slowly raised aloft. Now the wailing of ghosts grew ever more shrill, as though countless vengeful spirits wept in the night, and amid it all came faintly the clatter of bones—a sound to chill the heart.
"Thieving monk, die!" The man in the black vapor gave a sharp shout. Upon the blood-red banner there suddenly appeared a monstrous ghostly face—three horns and four eyes, sharp fangs and jagged teeth. "Crack, crack, crack, crack"—bones rattled wildly, and all four eyes on the ghostly face flew open at once. With a roar, it took on solid form and charged off the banner, trailing an unspeakable reek of blood, straight at the old monk.
Fury deepened on the old monk's face. He knew that the mightier the Blood-Poison Banner, the more innocent lives must have been slain in its making. To forge the power before his eyes, the banner must have been consecrated with the essence and blood of no fewer than three hundred souls.
This evildoer was truly beyond all conscience!
The ghostly thing was nearly upon him, yet the old monk did not set down the child Lin Jinghong beneath his arm. With his left hand alone—the hand holding the emerald prayer beads—he traced a circle in the air before him, formed the Buddha's Lion Seal with one hand, his five fingers flexing, golden light faintly glimmering at his fingertips. In a moment a golden Dharma wheel had appeared before him, blazing with golden radiance, holding the ghostly thing at bay in midair.
"A petty trick, and you dare to make a show—" Before he could finish the word "show," his whole body convulsed. He felt a sudden bite upon his wrist where his right hand held the child Lin Jinghong—a numbness and itching spread at once through half his body, his vision went black, and the Dharma wheel before him began to sway and totter.
At that very moment, the ghostly thing ahead underwent a strange change. In the center of its forehead, between the four eyes to left and right, came two cracks—"crack, crack"—and a huge blood-red eye opened there as well. A foul wind surged up, its might grew all the more terrible; with a ghostly howl and a flash of blood-red light, the thing smashed the golden Dharma wheel to pieces and struck the old monk full in the chest.
The old monk was sent flying backward, and Lin Jinghong fell from beneath his arm to the ground. Several muffled thuds along the way—his ribs, most likely, were all broken. A moment later his withered body crashed against the wall of the thatched temple with a "boom." Dust flew up, and an entire wall collapsed.
"Hahahahaha——" The man in the black vapor burst into wild, exultant laughter.