Chapter 83 — Ten Years
The Sword Questions the Heavens · Page 3 of 7
"Rubbish!" A light shout cut in—it was the old man of uncommon bearing at the same table as the girl. Everyone started and looked at him. The old man said, "If Daoyan were truly so mighty, how is it that in the battle of Canglan Mountain the Canglan Sect lost so many—even two of the Seven Veins' seats died, to say nothing of the countless elders and disciples slain and wounded? Do you take those demon fiends of the Demonic Sect for rice-begging idlers?"
The crowd was struck dumb. The girl beside him knit her brows deeply and said in a low voice, "Grandfather, I just told others to talk less—how is it you talk so much?"
The old man chuckled. His face, which had worn a certain crane-boned, immortal air, suddenly turned somewhat smug, and he said in a low voice, "Xiaowan, don't you frighten me. I had you read my fate long ago: though I wander all my life, fortune comes in old age, and I'm fated to live out my years in peace with someone to see me buried. Heh heh, no harm, no harm at all!"
The girl had just taken a sip of tea and nearly choked on his words; she coughed twice and shot the old man a glare, but he only looked smug and paid it no mind.
This old fellow and the girl were none other than the wandering jianghu fortune-teller Zhou Yixuan and his granddaughter Xiaowan. Ten years had now passed since the last great battle of righteous and demon at Canglan Mountain, and Xiaowan had grown tall, blossomed into a pretty, lovely girl—only she still followed Zhou Yixuan roaming the four corners of the world.
Just now Zhou Yixuan seemed to have had his appetite whetted; heedless that these were strangers he met for the first time, he dragged a stool over and actually sat down among the merchants, launching into a lofty discourse on that battle of Qingyun in those years. Xiaowan seethed beside him, but there was nothing she could do.
Zhou Yixuan was a gifted talker—and after all, he made his way through the world on the strength of his tongue—and he told it vividly, true to life, far surpassing those young men of a moment ago. In a little while even Boss He could not resist coming over, and the whole company gathered round, listening as Zhou Yixuan ranged freely, laughing and chatting as he recalled the past...
"Ah!"
At the thrilling, fierce passages, those young men all gasped in wonder, and one of them could not help asking, "Sir, were you there yourself, that you know it so closely?"
Zhou Yixuan started, then lightly patted his clothes with his hand, shook his head and sighed. "These matters of blows and bloodshed, I have never been willing to meddle in; let those juniors of the Canglan Sect handle them!"
The crowd was startled, and at once filled with solemn respect—when unexpectedly from beside him came a "pfft," as Xiaowan spat out the mouthful of tea she had just drunk, coughing without cease.
Zhou Yixuan glared at her, then turned back, smiling genially—when a young man beside him asked, "Sir, that last disciple of the Canglan Sect, the one surnamed Zhang, what exactly became of him? Did he really turn against the Canglan Sect?"
Zhou Yixuan frowned and fell silent for a moment, then shook his head. "That I do not know. The place was in utter chaos that day. It seems even that Zhang Qingyue lost consciousness—in the end the Demonic Sect's people snatched him away, and he has been missing ever since."
A murmur of sighs rippled through the crowd. In truth, the secret of Zhang Qingyue's origins was a grave secret of the Canglan Sect and the Fanyin Temple, one that would never be spread abroad; yet on the day it was exposed, many had been present, and the Demonic Sect's people among them besides. So as time passed, the tale had slowly spread across the world. Only, in the way Zhou Yixuan told it now, one would think he had stood in the Yuheng Hall on Jietian Peak of Canglan Mountain and seen it all with his own eyes.
Boss He sighed. "I wonder how that youth is faring now?"