劍問蒼天 - 第20章 抽籤 - 翰墨軒

A figure in dark green appeared as though out of nowhere, suddenly suspended in the air between the water qilin and the Canglan disciples — it was Perfected Dao Yan, sect leader of the Canglan Sect. Five years had not changed him at all; he still had the crane-bone, immortal bearing of a sage. But his brows were tightly knit now, and plainly he too was utterly at a loss as to why the qilin had turned violent so abruptly. Yet the situation was urgent: behind him stood several dozen of the finest young disciples of the Canglan Sect, and before him the roaring column of water rippled with light, faint shapes of monstrous beasts glimmering within it — clearly the ferocious creatures the qilin had slain in days gone by, whose souls it had drawn into itself so they could not pass on, and now drove through the water column to redouble its menace. Even a man of Perfected Dao Yan's world-shaking ability could not behold it without a chill at heart.

Seeing the column about to reach him, Dao Yan had nowhere to dodge. He drew a deep breath and intoned, "Boundless Heavenly Venerable!" He raised both hands and cradled an invisible sphere, the fingers of each hand shaped into a sword-seal. Slowly, and yet swiftly, he traced a taiji diagram in the air before him. In an instant the figure shone in empty space, white light pulsing, auspicious vapor steaming. Then Dao Yan spun about, his dark green Daoist robe billowing without wind, and it slipped suddenly from his body; the taiji diagram in the air, as though driven, rushed onto the robe and was in that instant seared into it. The dark green robe was plainly no common thing either, for at the touch of the diagram it swelled with a whoosh at the first breath of wind, growing more than ten times its size in moments and stretching across the air.

With a heavy splash, the qilin's water column smashed into the enlarged dark green robe. From within the column came endless hissing roars, as though those beast-souls were shrieking in fury. Under the blow the robe was driven back several dozen feet, and the fabric at the very point of impact bulged deeply inward — from which one could see just how enormous the force had been.

And the young Canglan disciples standing on the steps, all but stupefied, felt a sudden blast of wind come surging over them; every one of them lost his footing. A few of the more advanced cultivators barely held their ground; most went toppling left and right. All of them blanched. Had Perfected Dao Yan not stepped in to block that thunderbolt blow of the qilin's, there was no telling what might have happened.

Zhang Qingyue, face white, lost his footing and pitched sideways. Lin Jinghong caught sight of it from the corner of his eye and reached out to steady him, but his own body lurched and he went down on the other side instead, too busy saving himself to help.

Badly startled, Zhang Qingyue instinctively let go of the hand that clutched the Black Iron Rod against his chest, and flung both arms out desperately seeking something to hold. He never noticed that the instant his hand left the rod, the chill sensation vanished without a trace.

In the air, Perfected Dao Yan stood stern-faced, braced for anything. Behind him — swish, swish, swish — a dozen more figures appeared, standing in the void at his back. At their head was Perfected Cang Song; the rest were the masters of the six branches and the elders of each branch, Tian Buhui and Su Wan among them, every face grave.