Chapter 33 — Descending the Mountain
The Sword Questions the Heavens · Page 3 of 7
Six Xueqi's face was without expression; Zhang Qingyue nodded blankly; only Zeng Shuyan was all smiles—descending the mountain, it seemed, counted as a happy occasion for a fun-loving fellow like him.
From Canglan Gate to He Yin City, the four most "outstanding" disciples of Canglan Gate came riding their swords the whole way. The others took it easy and naturally, but Zhang Qingyue could not help finding it rather taxing.
He had spent a month nursing his injury, and Su Wan seemed to have anticipated all along that nothing would come of it; she had passed on to him some of Canglan Gate's secret doctrines and, along the way, the method of driving a magic artifact through the air. In truth it was simple enough: so long as one's cultivation was deep enough and the artifact not too inferior, one need only employ the Qingyun doctrines together with the power of thought to drive it. But Zhang Qingyue's cultivation was shallow, and though his artifact was certainly no poor one, it was decidedly peculiar, while the Canglan Gate doctrines he had just learned were quite unfamiliar to him—so the moment he put them to use, there was no end of trouble.
Back then Su Wan had never imagined that the moment he set foot on Jietian Peak he would be sent down the mountain again; she had meant for him first to commit the formulae to memory and, after his return to Dazhu Peak, to practice them more. Nor, of course, did the heads of the other branches know the true nature of this peculiar youngster. Judging by his showing in the Seven Branches Martial Tournament, they had taken it for granted that he must know the most basic art of sword-flight. Little did they realize that Zhang Qingyue, having stolen his way into the doctrines and muddled his way up to the "Driving Objects" realm, knew nothing at all of any sword-flying skill.
Watching the others summon their immortal swords—Qi Hao's white "Cold Ice," Six Xueqi's blue "Heaven's Jade," and Zeng Shuyan's "Xuanyuan," a blade faintly tinged with purple—Zhang Qingyue felt his heart tighten. He forced himself to summon the "Dark Iron Rod," yet somehow it felt off, lacking the effortless mastery he had known on the day of the Seven Branches Martial Tournament.
Piercing clouds and crossing mountains, a journey that should have taken half a day stretched until the sun went down before the four of them reached He Yin City. To avoid suspicion, Zhang Qingyue and the other three landed at a quiet spot outside the city, and by then every one of them was soaked through, faces pale—by the look of it, harder pressed than on the day of the tournament itself.
All the way through the sky he had lost his grip on the Dark Iron Rod several times; had Qi Hao and the others not seen something was wrong, dared not stray far from him, and lent a hand in time, he would surely have plummeted from the heights and been dashed to pieces—bringing no glory to his sect but instead stinking for ten thousand years and covering Canglan Gate in utter disgrace. Qi Hao and the rest decided to stop outside the city and walk in. There was the wish to avoid suspicion, true, but also the fear that if, in some crowded market with all eyes upon him, Zhang Qingyue should happen to tumble from the sky, the lofty prestige Canglan Gate had labored two thousand years to build here would be ruined in a single breath—alas, alas!
After a brief rest, once Zhang Qingyue had caught his breath, the four of them set off in the setting sun toward the towering city of He Yin. Zhang Qingyue walked at the rear, and he could feel Qi Hao and Six Xueqi casting puzzled glances back at him from time to time—plainly they could not understand how a man who had shone so brilliantly in the Seven Branches Martial Tournament could not even manage ordinary sword-flight. Zeng Shuyan alone kept strolling along beside Zhang Qingyue, smiling as ever, not breathing a word about what had just happened, and instead regaling him without pause with tales of He Yin City: