劍問蒼天 - 第81章 第九章 - 翰墨軒

This time the Fanyin Temple party had come to Canglan Mountain intent on demanding an accounting. That the Fanyin Temple's supreme, never-transmitted true dharma, the Great Brahma Prajna, should have been learned by a mere junior disciple of the Canglan Sect—how could such a thing be tolerated? Now Pukong watched Zhang Qingyue stammer and falter, and fury rose in his heart; add to that the slaughter he had already unleashed today, and an indescribable agitation, and he could not restrain himself from giving voice to the Buddha's Lion's Roar.

Zhang Qingyue, struck by that thunderous bellow, stood dazed for a moment, not yet recovered—but behind him, Uncle Wang Er, who had been standing with Lin Jinghong, giggling foolishly as he watched the water qilin, was jolted by it and turned his head to look.

A monk like a ferocious demon, covered in blood, glaring furiously at Zhang Qingyue—like a ravenous ghost about to devour him!

In the Yuheng Hall, a sudden silence fell.

"Ah—"

Suddenly a heart-rending scream rang out through the ruined Yuheng Hall.

Uncle Wang Er's face was bloodless, deathly white, and his whole body shook; with a trembling finger he pointed at Pukong and shrieked, "Ghost! Ghost! Ghost! A ghost!"

The cry was so shrill and harrowing that, though it was broad daylight, everyone in the great hall felt a simultaneous chill.

Even Pukong, furious a moment before, was startled by Uncle Wang Er in turn; his hands and feet went awry, and he stammered in haste, "What—what are you saying? How am I a ghost?"

But Uncle Wang Er seemed possessed; his whole body shook desperately, and Lin Jinghong's frantic efforts to soothe him had not the slightest effect. He slowly shrank into himself, not daring to look at Pukong again, his eyes squeezed shut in utter terror, and he could only repeat over and over, "Ghost! Ghost! He killed someone—don't kill me, don't kill me, I, I, ah! Ahhhhhhh..."

Suddenly a gloom silently settled over the place; Zhang Qingyue and Lin Jinghong's bodies went rigid at the same moment—Zhang Qingyue especially, in the depths of whose eyes a red glow seemed faintly to stir again.

Under the gaze of the whole assembly, Pukong flew into a blind fury. "I do not know this man at all! What are you all staring at?"

Lin Jinghong slowly loosened his grip on Uncle Wang's arm and walked to Zhang Qingyue's side. He did not need to look to know that Zhang Qingyue was now, like himself, straining to hold himself in check, yet the harsh rasp of their breathing already betrayed the turmoil within.

"Why... did... he... say... it... was... you?" Lin Jinghong asked slowly, one word at a time. His face was as terrible as Zhang Qingyue's, but where Zhang Qingyue's eyes held only hatred, his still kept a measure of clarity.

Pukong raged, "How should I know? The man is nothing but a lunatic!"

Zhang Qingyue and Lin Jinghong both changed color at once, and most of the Canglan Sect turned their heads and frowned. But at that very moment, a sudden cry of the Buddha's name rang out. Master Pucheng, seated behind Pukong, spoke at last, his voice low and full of anguish: "Amitabha. Sow evil karma, and evil fruit shall follow. A sin, a grievous sin!"

At these words the whole hall fell in an instant into a deathly silence. Pukong himself sat rigid as a block of wood, and only after a long while did he slowly turn to face Master Pucheng and say in a choked voice, "Senior brother, what did you say?"

Master Pucheng's face was ashen, though whether from his injuries or from the shame in his heart, none could tell. He closed his eyes and lowered his brows, and after a long silence said softly, "Facheng."

Facheng, whose face had been grim and pale ever since Uncle Wang's sudden illness, gave a start. "Your disciple is here."

Master Pucheng said slowly, "There is no need to hide it any longer. Tell them. Your uncle did a wrong thing in those years, and today we must not wrong this benefactor Zhang a second time."