Chapter 90 — The Mantis
The Sword Questions the Heavens · Page 2 of 6
The Wild Dog Daoist gave a start, as if facing a great enemy. "Wh—what do you want to… no, what are you saying?"
Ming Li looked him up and down, then suddenly smiled. "But today's matter has startled me once again—the first time since the Dead Spirit Abyss!"
He turned and walked slowly on, his voice gradually lowering, though the Wild Dog heard every word clearly.
"…To think that you, of all people, would play the hero saving a beauty!"
The Wild Wolf Daoist stood frozen in place, suddenly lost in thought. By the time he came to himself, Ming Li had already gone far with Xiao Hui, his figure all but swallowed by the mist ahead.
Gazing in that direction, the Wild Wolf Daoist suddenly flew into a rage, stamped his foot, and cried, "Bah! I've been a rotten bastard my whole life and never done such a thing. And besides, that little wench—who'd call her a beauty… er!"
He scratched his head, then suddenly frowned and fell still. After a long while he muttered, as if to himself, "That little wench is actually not bad-looking…"
Having said this, the Wild Wolf Daoist seemed to startle himself. He abruptly shook his head, cursed under his breath, and strode off after Ming Li, soon vanishing into the thickening evening mist.
All around was stillness. The sky grew darker and darker, and darkness came on, slowly drowning everything.
At the other end of the Dead Marsh.
Yuyang Zi, sect master of the Changsheng Hall of the Demonic Sect, stood in white robes with his hands behind his back, his head raised to the sky. The night wind over the marsh stirred his robes into a faint flutter; he cut a figure of uncommon bearing, like an immortal.
Except for his left hand—his sleeve hung empty and flat, lending him an inexplicable touch of the absurd.
That was the mark left from the battle at Canglan Mountain years ago, when he had been so unfortunate as to be wounded by the world's foremost strange sword—the Immortal-Slaying Sword.
The night wind was somewhat cool, and the air seemed still damp with the recent rain. Darkness filled all around, yet only his figure remained standing there, proud and conspicuous.
Behind him in the darkness came the faint sound of breathing—his disciples, hidden in the dark, patiently awaiting his command.
The Changsheng Hall of the Demonic Sect had risen eight hundred years ago. By Yuyang Zi's generation it was already the seventh, its lineage long and deep. Yet no one knew better than Yuyang Zi himself the crisis that lurked behind this boundless glory.
No successor!
At the battle of Qingyun ten years ago, Yuyang Zi had been jointly acclaimed by the other three great factions of the Demonic Sect as their leader—the most glorious and peak moment of the Changsheng Hall's prestige within the Demonic Sect in hundreds of years.
In those days Yuyang Zi was full of ambition and satisfaction. In his hands he held a dozen or more accomplished masters, all painstakingly cultivated by him over the past century.
At that time, Yuyang Zi truly believed that nothing in this world could stand in his way any longer. One crushing blow against the decrepit Canglan Sect, and the Changsheng Hall's name would overawe the Demonic Sect of itself; with his own strength and the aid of his masters, the Changsheng Hall would be the second Blood-Refining Hall in eight hundred years—and he would be the second Elder Blackheart!
But all those beautiful dreams had turned to bubbles on Canglan Mountain, beneath the Immortal-Slaying Sword!
He himself had lost his left hand in the Immortal-Slaying Sword Formation, his cultivation gravely diminished. And because the Changsheng Hall was the presiding faction, its masters were naturally placed in the front line of battle—and at the Heaven-Reaching Peak they had worn down half their number in a hard slog against the Canglan Sect's elders and chief disciples.