Chapter 78 — Six
劍問蒼天 · Page 3 of 8
The righteous cultivators—including Pucheng and Pukong of the Fanyin Temple, who had been ambushed—were struck dumb with shock. Only after a long while did Daoist Daoyan manage to steady himself; pointing at Shangguan Lue, he said, "You—what are you doing? Has the Fenxia Valley too thrown in its lot with the Demonic Cult?"
Shangguan Lue stood beside the four Demonic Cult masters and Daoist Cangyan, exchanging glances with them all, then suddenly burst into loud laughter, his manner utterly insolent and full of smug triumph.
The Dark King laughed and said to Daoist Daoyan, "Who ever told you these were men of the Fenxia Valley?"
Daoist Daoyan opened his mouth to speak, then suddenly fell silent. Slowly he turned his head and fixed his eyes upon Daoist Cangyan; his face went ghastly pale, and he said, "Good. Very good. You have done well indeed—a fine job of pulling the wool over our eyes!"
Daoist Cangyan gave a cold, malicious chuckle, his whole face alight with triumph. "And all thanks to the Dark King's masterful scheming! No sooner had he heard that the bald donkeys of the Fanyin Temple had arrived uninvited this day to ruin our great plan than he thought at once to send masters disguised as Fenxia Valley disciples up the mountain—picking a few who seldom walk the world, introduced by me. Heh heh—and it worked like a charm!"
Daoist Daoyan's body swayed. He turned to look, and saw that in this sudden Demonic Cult assault, the blow had fallen chiefly upon the monks of the Fanyin Temple—nine out of ten struck down or gravely wounded. Master Pucheng in particular, his face like white paper, could no longer even stand; supported by his disciple Facheng, he slowly sank to the ground, and the whole of his back was a bloody, mangled ruin. The others were scarcely better off, and even among the Canglan Sect, five or six elders had been wounded.
Daoist Daoyan's heart churned, and it sank within him by degrees. With a bitter laugh he said, "Formidable, formidable. A fine waste these many years of my life—I never questioned why Brother Shangguan Lue of the Fenxia Valley, who has always stood guard at the Xuanhuo Altar and never stepped half a pace beyond the Fenxia Valley, should appear before me!"
The Dark King looked at him and shook his head with a smile. "It is not that you failed to think of that. It is that you never thought your junior brother Cangsong would betray you."
Daoist Daoyan gave another bitter laugh.
Silence fell abruptly over the Yuheng Hall. The righteous cultivators looked at one another; by now anyone could see that the Demonic Cult side held an overwhelming advantage. Though the Canglan Sect still had many elders and masters here, the Demonic Cult had only more. Of the Fanyin Temple monks, perhaps no more than half could still fight, and among those only Pukong and Facheng had escaped injury through their quick wits.
Pukong in particular seemed suddenly a different man, a golden alms bowl cupped in his hands that shot forth golden light on every side, making him well-nigh a fierce deity. Before him lay a bloody pulp—a Demonic Cult master who had tried to strike him down by stealth, only to be pounded to mincemeat by Pukong's treasure, the "Stupa Golden Bowl."
But what mattered most was this: the two great masters long honored together as the pillars of the righteous path under Heaven—Daoist Daoyan and Master Pucheng—had been gravely wounded at the same moment. Even now Master Pucheng's face was like white paper, and though Daoist Daoyan fared somewhat better, by any measure he looked like a spent arrow.
Could it truly be that the righteous path under Heaven had run out its allotted span?
That question pressed upon the hearts of the righteous like the heaviest of stones.