Chapter 82 — Ten
劍問蒼天 · Page 9 of 10
An ordinary stone chamber, simply and plainly furnished. Slowly he rose from the bed, daring to think of nothing—he did not even glance again at the Black Iron Staff lying at hand. As though led by some guidance, he walked toward the door and slowly went out.
Outside was a long corridor, where many people moved quietly about their business; but whoever it was, the moment they saw him they at once stepped aside and bowed their heads.
He walked on in a daze, as though some voice were summoning him. Soon he came to a turning, where there was a large stone chamber with its door standing ajar; from the other side of the corner came a familiar voice—the tone, he thought, of someone called Qinglong, from his memory.
"Master Ghost, you are the greatest marvel of the world—I beg you, for the sake of the Holy Mother and the Ming King, save..."
With a sigh, a deep voice spoke from the darkness: "The Hades Sect has shown me kindness, and it is not that I would not do my utmost. But what Miss Bili used is the most tragic of our holy teaching's arts, the 'Fierce Blood Poison Curse'—what we have handed down since ancient times as the Curse of Infatuation. This curse drives every last essence of a person's flesh and blood out by incantatory force, then seizes the three souls and seven spirits themselves and melts them down in the refining—such utter recklessness is the only way to gain power to defy heaven. But whoever uses this curse must have soul and spirit scattered to the winds, never to be reborn. There is truly nothing I can do!"
Qinglong said hoarsely, "Master Ghost, but..."
The voice cut him off: "I know what you would say. Yes—Miss Bili's wondrous treasure, the Hehuan Bell, did indeed in that very moment forcibly seize back the remnant of one soul from the three souls and seven spirits driven from her, and kept it within the bell, and so her mortal body has not perished. But this art of recalling a soul has been lost for a thousand years; only in the savage lands of the southern frontier a thousand years ago did a Black Witch clan, fleeting as a flower at dusk, once possess such a marvel, and they too are long extinct. This—this is truly beyond my power!"
Qinglong was struck dumb, and only after a long while said, "But—but the sect master has gone these several days without food or drink, and now he has even... Master Ghost, he has always revered you—won't you counsel him?"
The voice said slowly, "The Hades Sect Master grieves beyond measure; give him time, and he will naturally recover..."
Qinglong was about to say more when he suddenly started, as though he had noticed something, and turned to look—there was that frail, pale figure, walking step by step to the doorway, and then, as though summoning his greatest courage, at last stepping inside.
No further sound.
Qinglong bowed his head in silence, and in the darkness someone seemed to let out a low sigh as well.
In the stone chamber, upon a white jade platform, the beautiful woman lay quietly, as though in peaceful slumber. Her father sat beside her, holding her hand, gazing at his daughter in a trance of grief.
Zhang Qingyue stared blankly, tears flowing silently down his face; his legs gave way, and at last he could hold himself up no longer, and sank down beside Bili.
That gentle, tranquil face was from then on to be an indelible mark upon all the memories of his life!
In the silent stone chamber there was a faint sound of weeping, a soft, choking murmur:
"Why were you so foolish... I never told you—in that old well, the one I saw was you..."
Canglan Mountain.
Xiaozhu Peak.
The night was deep.
Lu Xueqi stood silently on the peak, gazing into the distance, where the night was cold and the sky full of stars shone bright, as though mocking the common folk of the world as they struggled through the dust of mortal life.
Footsteps sounded, and the voice of her master—familiar and revered—rose behind her: "Qi'er, why are you standing here again?"