Chapter 24 — The Divine Sword
劍問蒼天 · Page 3 of 8
Zeng Shuyan led Zhang Qingyue straight toward the largest of the eight platforms, the Qian Platform. Zhang Qingyue followed behind him and looked out—at the foot of that platform the disciples of the Canglan Sect were a sea of people, packed so tightly not a drop could trickle through. By the look of it there were four or five hundred at least. Zhang Qingyue did a rough reckoning in his mind and guessed that more than half of the Canglan Sect members in the square must be gathered below this platform, the greater part of them young male disciples.
As the two drew near, the clamor only grew; all around them was the jubilant discussion of Qingyun disciples.
"Xiaozhu Peak has always been rich in beauties, and I hear that this time Lu Xueqi is hailed as the finest beauty in five hundred years!"
"Need you say it? I saw her that day in the Yuheng Hall—truly she could topple a kingdom and ruin a city—ai yo, who hit my head—eh, Martial Uncle?"
A white-bearded old man beside him raged: "You little whelp! You are a cultivator—your heart should be still as water. How can you be so greedy after beauty? If you were put on the platform, you'd do nothing but stare at that face, and lose before you raised a hand!"
"Yes."
"Hmph. That's why I told Brother Zuo long ago—beauty is a curse. Our Canglan Sect should never have taken in female disciples."
"Cough, cough—Martial Uncle, you are indeed, er, brilliant and divinely martial, wise and sagacious. But isn't your voice perhaps a little too loud?"
"What? Did I say something wrong?" The white-bearded old man blew out his beard and glared, his voice rising instead.
"No, no," the young disciples hurried to crowd around him; after putting on conciliatory smiles they lowered their voices: "Martial Uncle, Master Shuijing is sitting right inside."
"..." Lowering his voice, the old man said: "Hmph. If not for the sake of our common sect, I'd long since—"
The disciples all agreed in unison, praising the old gentleman's profound cultivation and broadness of mind, his refusal to stoop to quarrel with petty juniors. Zeng Shuyan and Zhang Qingyue exchanged a glance; Zeng Shuyan shrugged, and Zhang Qingyue whispered to him: "Is the person you spoke of that senior sister of Xiaozhu Peak?"
Zeng Shuyan nodded and glanced up at the platform: "It hasn't begun yet. In a moment you'll see what her fame is worth. But—ah—there are really too many people here."
As they spoke the two of them wound this way and that, yet ever circled about the outer edge of the crowd; the inner ranks had long since been packed full by layer upon layer of Qingyun disciples, not even a needle could be wedged in. Zhang Qingyue's curiosity grew and grew—this mysterious figure was indeed popular beyond measure, to draw so many Qingyun disciples here.
Zeng: "Blast it, blast it—no good seats left. If I'd known, I'd have come last night to queue up here."
Zhang Qingyue was startled, and before he could speak, Zeng Shuyan's eyes suddenly lit up: he had spotted several dozen disciples of Fenghui Peak standing ahead. Without another word he seized Zhang Qingyue and charged over. The Fenghui Peak disciples, seeing it was Zeng Shuyan, all broke into smiles, and one tall fellow laughed: "Ha ha, you're late."