Chapter 82 — Ten
劍問蒼天 · Page 3 of 10
Daoyan was silent for a long while, as though even he needed great force of will to digest this inconceivable truth. After a time, he suddenly said to Facheng: "You said just now that Puzhao's vital force was spent. How did you come to know the truth of this matter?"
Facheng was silent a moment. "Uncle-Master Puzhao once befriended a remarkable man, from whom he obtained a wondrous elixir called the 'Three-Day Death Pill.' Take this pill, and however grave your injuries, within three days it will rouse all the latent potential of your body and preserve your life—but after three days, even if your wounds have healed, you will die without fail. Uncle-Master Puzhao took this wondrous pill, and within three days made his way back to Fanyin Temple, where he recounted the whole cause and consequence in detail to my master, Master Pucheng. I was attending my master at the time, and heard it all from the side. By then Uncle-Master Puzhao had come fully to his senses, and bitterly repented the monstrous sin he had sown that day—a sin ten thousand deaths could not atone for in the least—and at last, weeping bitterly, he passed away in seated meditation!"
Facheng gazed deeply at Zhang Qingyue and said slowly: "That is how it happened. All of these things are the fault of our Fanyin Temple's Uncle-Master Puzhao, and have nothing to do with Junior Brother Zhang Qingyue. I beg you, elders of the Canglan Sect, do not blame him!"
Master Daoyan gave a faint sigh and let out a long breath. He was about to speak when suddenly, in the silent great hall, there arose a low, bitter laugh.
"Blame? Who wants to blame me?"
The laugh was strange and cold, carrying endless hatred. Zhang Qingyue, who had kept his head bowed and his breath ragged, slowly, slowly raised his head.
Those eyes, wholly crimson, blood-red and chilling to the bone, fixed upon Facheng.
Facheng frowned deeply and said in a low voice: "Junior Brother Zhang, you—you must take care of yourself. Let what is past be past! The days ahead are still long..."
"You! Go! Die!"
Suddenly, Zhang Qingyue forced these three words out from between his teeth. Everyone paled. The Zhang Qingyue before them now seemed to have become another person entirely—murderous aura swirling about him, the muscles of his face contorted, hideous beyond measure.
In the distance, Uncle Wang suddenly cried out again in alarm: "A ghost! A ghost! Another ghost has come!"
And this time, his finger was pointing at Zhang Qingyue.
Everyone paled. Master Pucheng, heedless of his grave wounds, actually sprang to his feet. Zhang Qingyue's black iron staff blazed with sudden light; the Blood-devouring Bead, as though reborn, surged with green radiance shot through with the black qi of the Soul-Snatching Staff, wrapping Zhang Qingyue within it until even his face began to blur.
Facheng cried out: "Junior Brother Zhang, cast away that evil staff at once—you have already been invaded by its evil power..."
"Hahahahaha..."
Zhang Qingyue laughed bitterly at the sky, his voice shrill and mournful: "What righteous path? What justice? You have always deceived me. All my life I have struggled to hold on—even facing death, I kept his secret. But what am I..."
He spread his arms and howled at the heavens: "What am I—"
That anguished cry echoed between heaven and earth, stirring the heart, drawing forth tears.
Everyone in the hall paled. Facheng leapt forward and cried urgently: "Junior Brother Zhang, abandon this thing at once, or you will fall into the demonic path, beyond all redemption..."
Zhang Qingyue stared up at the sky as though he had not noticed Facheng charging at all. The crowd held its breath, watching as Facheng was about to seize the black iron staff—when suddenly a delicate shout rang out in midair, and a streak of white light came slashing in from the side. Facheng, caught off guard, gave a muffled grunt in midair and was sent flying backward.