Chapter 27 — Self-Respect
The Sword Questions the Heavens · Page 7 of 8
Below the Kan platform stood most of the Fenghui Peak disciples, and among them Zhang Qingyue spotted that senior brother surnamed Gao and his lot. Fenghui Peak was one of the great branches of the Canglan Sect, with more than two hundred disciples, second only to the Senior Branch of Jietian Peak and to Long Peak. Plainly they had heard something from Zeng Shuyan: every face was relaxed, and on seeing Zhang Qingyue they even smiled and nodded at him in friendly fashion.
For some reason Zhang Qingyue suddenly found all those kindly smiles ahead of him detestable, each one a species of contempt aimed at him. His face blank, he stepped up onto the platform. Behind him, below, everyone stood on the opposite side from him; this time even Zeng Shuyan was absent, because he had a bout of his own.
But even had he come, surely he would be cheering for his own branch's senior brothers!
A loneliness beyond words welled up suddenly in Zhang Qingyue's heart. Standing on this high platform, surveying the countless eyes that ringed him below, he had not one friend.
Why, why must it always be him alone against everyone, not a single friend in sight!
A boy of sixteen cried out silently in his heart, bit stubbornly at his lip, and lowered his head.
The mountain wind came slowly, brushing past his cheek.
"Dang!"
The bells and bronze chimes sounded almost at once, near and far, echoing over the summit of Jietian Peak and carrying far away. Zhang Qingyue's heart jumped, and his first thought was: Senior Sister Ling'er must have begun her bout as well; she must not get hurt.
Then a bitterness rose in his heart, and he thought: Whether she is hurt or not is no business of yours. Never mind that the master and mistress are both there; even Qi Hao said he would settle his opponent as fast as he could and hurry over. Heh heh, settle his opponent as fast as he could. What a show of prowess, what confidence, as though his opponent were a thing of no account at all.
Thinking thus, he quite forgot that he too stood on a platform, until the opponent facing him called out loudly for the third time: "Junior Brother Zhang!"
Zhang Qingyue started awake and looked up to find that a Fenghui Peak senior brother had at some point taken his place across from him: a tall, powerfully built man with a rather mild manner, though just now, seeing Zhang Qingyue dazed, his expression had turned involuntarily peculiar.
Zhang Qingyue's face went scarlet, and from below the platform came a burst of laughter.
Peng Chang cupped his hands with a smile. "This one is Peng Chang, disciple of Fenghui Peak. I ask Junior Brother Zhang for instruction."
Zhang Qingyue hastily returned the courtesy. "Zhang Qingyue, disciple of Dazhu Peak. I have seen Senior Brother Peng."
Greetings exchanged, Peng Chang smiled slightly and looked Zhang Qingyue up and down. Then he lowered his voice. "Junior Brother Zhang, Junior Brother Zeng has already told me of your situation. I—"
Zhang Qingyue trembled, and suddenly, beyond all restraining, it burst out of him: "Senior Brother Peng, please come at me with all you have."
Peng Chang was taken aback. He studied Zhang Qingyue carefully, and after a long moment his smile faded; he nodded, and his right hand traced an arc before him. With a ringing "zheng," an immortal sword sprang up, wreathed in red radiance, almost as though sheathed in burning flame.
"This sword is the Wu Gou, forged of thousand-year fire-copper. I ask Junior Brother Zhang for instruction." For some reason Peng Chang's whole manner had turned grave, his bearing severe, as though he spoke to a foe of equal strength.
Even at that distance Zhang Qingyue felt the scorching breath strike his face, and this heat was fierce and violent, utterly unlike the mild, upright air of Chu Yuhong's Shaoyang immortal sword of yesterday; there was a measure of tyranny in it.