Chapter 62 — The Demonic Cult
劍問蒼天 · Page 1 of 7
"Ah!"
With a soft cry, Zhang Qingyue started awake from his dream, gasping quietly in the darkness, and felt that his whole body was soaked through with cold sweat.
These past few days, it seemed, ever since that day he had heard Facheng speak of Puzhao, Zhang Qingyue had begun to dream again of that nightmare from his childhood—that scene of the slaughtered village, engraved so deeply in his heart, surging toward him from every direction, as though it meant to swallow him whole.
The black iron staff still lay beside him, and from its shaft came the familiar faint coolness, as though everything were just as it had always been.
Only, after this, Zhang Qingyue also felt that the strange magic treasure bound to his right arm seemed to give off a warmth, the very opposite of the black iron staff, a thread of warmth that seeped into his body.
Suddenly he felt he could not breathe, and there in the darkness, where no one could see, he quietly curled himself up.
Who knew that a man with too many secrets was weary in just this way?
In the darkness the others all slept peacefully. Outside the stone cave there were always disciples keeping watch through the night, so everyone was at ease. Listening to their calm, familiar breathing, Zhang Qingyue sat staring blankly into space.
From afar came faintly that soft, delicate voice which, even in his dreams, seemed to carry her own particular gentleness. The darkness cut off his sight, and yet Zhang Qingyue felt as though he could see her clearly—that beautiful woman smiling, sleeping sweetly in the quiet depths of the night.
Only, he did not know who it was that dwelled in her dreams.
He reached out and gently took up the black iron staff, drawing it to his chest and holding it close, as though it alone could keep him company and never forsake him.
In his daze, he suddenly thought of that pair of demon foxes who had gone to their deaths so calmly.
If it were me—would I have the courage to die together with the one I love?
In the night, he thought quietly.
The sun rose in the east, and the sea wind blew in gusts. This day the sky was high and the clouds were pale—a fine, clear day.
Several disciples of the Dazhu Peak sect left the stone cave where they lodged and, riding their magic treasures, flew deep into the Liubo Mountains, searching carefully all the way, hoping to find the followers of the Demonic Cult.
Tian Lingsu led the way, her "Amber Red Silk" gleaming with red light as she flew at the forefront; Song Dayi and He Dachuan followed close behind her, while Du Biyan and Zhang Qingyue flew at the rear.
Among the disciples of their lineage, apart from Song Dayi, who wielded the immortal sword "Ten Tigers," the others used red silk, or a treasure brush, or—stranger and more comical still—dice, or a black iron staff, and the like. When nearly every disciple of the Canglan Sect used immortal swords, they stood out most conspicuously.
But this place, after all, was not Canglan Mountain. On the Liubo Mountains, to say nothing of the Demonic Cult, there were more than a dozen other Orthodox sects alone, and magic treasures of every kind were to be seen everywhere, so they were not so conspicuous after all.
Still, when the disciples of the various Orthodox brethren had nothing to do, they would gossip among themselves, and those with a taste for such sport would appraise one another's magic treasures. And so certain "authorities" declared that on the Liubo Mountains this time, of all the treasures in everyone's hands, the strangest was none other than the dice treasure of a certain disciple of Dazhu Peak of the Canglan Sect, while the crudest was, unexpectedly, also the black iron staff of a certain disciple of Dazhu Peak of the Canglan Sect. Clearly the Canglan Sect, leader of the world, truly harbored dragons and crouching tigers, and was not to be underestimated!
One wondered what Tian Buhui would think if he heard such an appraisal.