Chapter 69 — The Past
劍問蒼天 · Page 4 of 6
Qinglong nodded. "Yes, in his hand. I shouted a challenge at him then, but he said not a word, only laughed long and loud, and charged straight into our ranks, cutting and slashing—nothing could stop him. Tsk, tsk... ah, what a hero!"
The Nether King nodded, admiration and surprise on his face as well. "A formidable man indeed—bold as the heavens. What happened after?"
Qinglong said, "We were all shocked and furious, but we feared that besides him more orthodox masters were about to break in, and the battle cries behind the Holy Hall were drawing nearer and nearer. We grew more panicked still, and in the confusion he actually fought his way to the main hall where the Holy Mother of the Dark and the Heavenly Slayer Ming Wang are enshrined."
The Nether King's face, ever calm and composed, suddenly changed; he cried out, "What?"
Qinglong smiled bitterly. "Even you react so—you can imagine our fury then. At that, we cared nothing for whether other masters were coming; every one of us charged at him like madmen, bringing out every treasure we had. In a matter of moments his white robes were dyed red with blood. Yet he did not turn back—he charged straight into the Holy Hall, leaped up onto the two statues of the Holy Mother of the Dark and the Heavenly Slayer Ming Wang enshrined side by side, and there on the white wall between the two holy images he carved, plain as day, three great characters: 'Wan Jiangu'!"
The Nether King was struck dumb.
Qinglong said suddenly, "Zhuque always wore a black veil over her face—you know that?"
The Nether King was slightly surprised. "Yes. What of it?"
Qinglong said, "She was the only woman among the four of us, but her devotion to the two holy ones was the most sincere. At that moment I saw her charge forward first of all, reckless of everything; seizing the instant Wan Jiangu was carving the characters, she cut down with a single blade and struck off Wan Jiangu's left hand."
The Nether King was startled again.
Qinglong sighed. "You are startled too—we were all frightened then, for Wan Jiangu's onslaught had been so fierce when he charged in that none of us thought a man facing so many of us, however formidable, could be anything but spent. Yet though his left hand was severed and his blood spurted like a fountain, beyond his face turning pale he did not change countenance at all. Instead he turned, drew close to Zhuque, reached out and lifted her veil to look, then laughed aloud: 'A beauty beyond compare, as I thought!' With that he rode the Slaying Dragon Sword aloft and fought his way out again..."
The Nether King shook his head. "He could still cut his way out, even so?"
Qinglong sighed. "First, he was too fierce; his arm was severed and blood flew through the Holy Hall, yet the power of his sword seemed greater than before. Second, those other four Canglan Sect fellows actually set fires behind the Holy Hall, sending thick smoke everywhere. We feared more orthodox fighters were coming, our hearts were in disorder, and we were desperate to fight the fires—and so he broke out."
The Nether King let out a long breath. "Who would have thought there was such a hero among the orthodox!"
Qinglong said mildly, "A pity that a hero, for all his prowess and insufferable pride, comes to no good end. That day, once we understood that only five from the Canglan Sect had charged in, we were furious beyond words. But I could see as well that those fellows in the Wandu Sect and the Changsheng Hall, though they cursed loudest, were in their hearts filled with awe and admiration for Wan Jiangu—especially my junior sister Zhuque... ah..."