劍問蒼天 - 第95章 夜談 - 翰墨軒

Lin Jinghong watched and watched, and suddenly could not suppress a bitter laugh. Zeng Shuyan heard it, and their eyes met; understanding his mind, Zeng Shuyan could not help but laugh aloud as well.

In the two thousand years since the Canglan Sect was founded, if one were to name the most meticulous, the most cautious and careful gatherer of firewood, it would surely be Zeng Shuyan of this day.

Turning back, Zeng Shuyan took a tinderbox from his robes. But the day's heavy rain had dampened the wood nearby, and it took him a long while, with much thick smoke, before he got the fire lit.

Facheng glanced around. The forest stretched away in heavy blackness. He pondered a moment, then signaled to Lin Jinghong and Zeng Shuyan to sit closer together. Then he drew a deep breath and slowly chanted an incantation, and his artifact, the Reincarnation Pearl, rose slowly from his hand. Moments later a soft golden light flickered and spread outward, forming a golden ring six chi across that enclosed the three of them.

In the night, their three faces were tinged faint gold by the Reincarnation Pearl's soft radiance. Lin Jinghong and Zeng Shuyan were both of renowned lineage and could read Facheng's art clearly. Though Lin Jinghong harbored a private grudge against him, he and Zeng Shuyan alike could not help but show astonishment and admiration.

Zeng Shuyan smiled. "Senior Brother Facheng, your cultivation is formidable. I am in awe."

Facheng smiled faintly. "There are far too many poisonous insects here. The light of this little fire would hardly be enough to keep them off. With this 'Prajna Heart Circle,' we need not worry tonight about ordinary venomous things."

Having spoken, he smiled faintly at the two of them, his gaze drifting, whether by design or not, toward Lin Jinghong. Lin Jinghong met his eyes, then slowly lowered his head and said nothing. Facheng slowly drew his gaze back to the small fire between them; the firelight was mirrored in his eyes, and who could say what he was thinking?

The mood in that place gradually quieted. None of the three spoke again. Then, in the deep night and heavy dark all around, a wind suddenly rose.

The sound of that wind was like sobbing—like a heartbroken woman of ages past weeping alone, drifting lightly through the trees, skimming the treetops, brushing past the leaves and branches.

The whole dark forest, in that pitch-black late night, suddenly seemed to have taken on life, opening its breast and letting its offspring stir and sing freely upon its boundless heart.

The night grew deeper; the wind passed over the treetops.

The firelight wavered.

Facheng sat in meditation with eyes closed. Zeng Shuyan, seemingly tired as well, lay down fully clothed beside the fire and appeared to be asleep. Only Lin Jinghong still sat on the other side of the fire, not the least bit drowsy, his gaze bright as he stared fixedly at the burning flames.

Slowly he reached out, took up a dead branch, snapped it in two with a crack, and gently fed it to the fire.

The flames slowly consumed the branch and seemed to burn a little brighter. Lin Jinghong felt something and glanced aside; Facheng had opened his eyes at some point and was watching him silently.

"Junior Brother Lin." As if mindful of the sleeping Zeng Shuyan, Facheng deliberately lowered his voice. "Why are you still not resting?"

Lin Jinghong withdrew his gaze and looked again at the fire before him. After a while he said mildly, "And you, Master—are you not also awake?"

Facheng said, "This monk has always rested in meditation; it has become a habit. But you, Junior Brother Lin, are still young, and ought to rest more."

Lin Jinghong was silent. After a long moment he said suddenly, "For these ten years, I have rarely slept."

Facheng frowned, puzzled. "Why?"