Chapter 12 — The Mutation
劍問蒼天 · Page 3 of 7
Zhang Qingyue knew nothing of these tangled histories, but in his heart he had already sensed that something was wrong. In the battle at the thatched temple years before, when Puzhao and the man in black had fought, the swastika mantra had appeared many times; young as he was, it had imprinted itself deeply on his memory. Now, seeing the danger on the bead grow more desperate by the moment, he grew anxious, and steeling himself, he gripped the bead tight and set in motion the little he knew of the crude Great Brahma Prajna, pouring it into the bead.
The two were of the same origin, and the swastika mantra on the Blood-devouring Bead did indeed brighten considerably. But before Zhang Qingyue could even smile, it dimmed again in an instant, and at the same time a stream of icy cold took the opportunity to invade his body; within moments half of Zhang Qingyue's body had gone numb.
The gray monkey beside him suddenly saw Zhang Qingyue's face contort with pain, a deep blue vapor surging across it. It gave two anxious squeaks, "zhizhi," badly worried. But Zhang Qingyue had no thought to spare; he felt all the blood and essence in his body flowing backward, streaming toward that uncanny bead in his right hand. And the Great Brahma Prajna within him collapsed at a touch—no match at all for that icy cold. Now every meridian in his body cramped in agony, and his suffering was unbearable.
He could endure it no longer. He staggered back a few steps, and then his whole body convulsed again and that familiar wave of nausea rose up once more, rushing at his entrails—he had carelessly strayed into that clearing again. Only this time there was no warm current to rise up and fend it off.
The gray monkey panicked, "zhizhi zhizhi" without cease, yet it dared not set foot in the clearing, not one step, come what may.
Zhang Qingyue was terrified out of his wits, at a loss what to do, feeling his body now freeze and now burn as though ten thousand ants gnawed at him, nauseated and retching yet with nothing to bring up—truly, he would sooner have died. His senses blurred, and he stumbled forward, wholly unaware that he had taken the wrong direction, feeling only his strength ebb away bit by bit.
His whole body shook, his limbs had no strength, and his legs gave way; he slumped to the ground. By now he had reached the edge of the pool. Summoning the last scrap of his will, he roused the Supreme Clarity Way of the Taiji, barely drawing a little of the world's vital spirit into his body, where it turned into Great Brahma Prajna—and it did ease his pain a little, but only for a moment before it came to nothing. Zhang Qingyue no longer cared; he forced himself to keep at it, for whatever relief a single breath could buy. Yet that icy cold was too strong, and with that uncanny nausea it nearly turned his entrails inside out and rushed at his skull. Stars burst before his eyes, his breathing grew disordered, and suddenly a sweetness rose in his throat—"Blargh!"—a great mouthful of blood burst from him, and he nearly swooned.
Just then came a muffled sound, and in that instant it seemed the very sky darkened. Blue light blazed from the Blood-devouring Bead until the whole bead was blue, a dim golden light flickered past, and the Buddhist swastika mantra was shattered utterly. At once Zhang Qingyue's whole body was shrouded in blue vapor, like a bloodthirsty demon reborn.