Chapter 27 — Self-Respect
The Sword Questions the Heavens · Page 4 of 8
Only Zeng Shuyan, standing to one side, clearly saw the light in Zhang Qingyue's eyes and face dim all at once, until scarcely a trace of life remained in them; he could not help frowning.
The night was deep. A cold moon hung high in the sky.
Above the sea of clouds not a voice stirred. A lone shadow wandered in the cold moonlight, drifting through the faint and misty vapors, walking, walking, with no destination.
Before he knew it he had walked onto the Rainbow Bridge and come again to that bend of the emerald pool. The water lay flat as a mirror, without a ripple, mirroring the sky full of stars as though they had all fallen into it.
A fine hour, a fine scene, too beautiful for words.
But the man seemed to notice none of it. He only stood blankly at the water's edge, gazing at the surface, as if remembering something. After a long while his body suddenly gave a shudder, and his hands clenched tight; he looked to be in great pain.
Then he slowly turned his head and looked toward the patch of dark woods beside the Rainbow Bridge, and walked slowly toward it.
Moonlight fell on Zhang Qingyue's face, and there was something desolate in it.
Should he not stand forever in this dark corner, quietly watching others' happiness and tasting his own pain?
From somewhere far off came the faint sound of footsteps.
Darkness lay quietly in wait in that little wood.
"It is so late—what does the Sect Master want with us?" With the voice came six figures. Zhang Qingyue, hidden in the shadows, was greatly startled: these were the masters of the six peaks of Mount Canglan other than Jietian Peak. Tian Buhui was among them, and the one speaking was Shang Zhengliang, master of Chaoyang Peak.
Daoist Cangyan, walking at the head, said, "I hear the Sect Master tried a little of the spirit-communication art with the Spirit Lord today. I fear something has begun to show itself. He wants us to discuss it."
The Spirit Lord, the Water Qilin, was the guardian spirit-beast of the Canglan sect, and of vast consequence. Hearing this, all fell silent, their faces grave; after a moment they had walked far away.
Only after those lofty personages had been gone a long while did Zhang Qingyue dare come out of the little wood. He glanced instinctively at the emerald pool: the water was calm as ever. The Spirit Lord, it seemed, had long since gone to sleep in the water.
He lifted his head and stared blankly at the cold moon in the sky. He was about to go back when his hand slipped into his robe and drew out that black dark-iron rod. Zeng Shuyan's words that day had shaken him badly, filling him with doubt and alarm; yet at this moment no other thought was in his head at all—only the picture of Senior Sister Ling'er standing beside Qi Hao, the two of them so well matched.
In his heart it had been as if a needle pricked him, all this while; and now it had gone numb, empty and hollow, as though his three souls and seven spirits had all scattered away.
Slowly he raised the dark-iron rod. Beneath its dark blue-black surface, fine blood-red threads were clearly visible, like veins of blood, spread over the whole length of the rod; even the pearl at its tip held them.
Is this my blood?
Zhang Qingyue thought this faintly in his heart. At the moment he heard Zeng Shuyan's words, he had almost at once felt the urge to fling the rod away; but what came after—Qi Hao, Tian Lingsu—struck him harder still, so that he no longer cared at all about this so-called evil thing.
"Hmph!" He gave a low, bitter laugh. "Evil thing or not, it is a magical treasure of matchless power. And what sort of fortune do I have, to deserve such things? What keeps me company is nothing but an ugly dark-iron rod."
A cool sensation slowly rose from the rod and wandered through his body, as though consoling him.
"A treasure? A treasure?"