Chapter 105 — Sword Dance
The Sword Questions the Heavens · Page 3 of 5
"Heaven and earth are not benevolent; they treat all things as straw dogs..."
In the deep of night, ancient and remote as a curse, it echoed low in the darkness.
On Jietian Peak of Canglan Mountain, the Ancestral Hall.
The light in the great hall was dim as ever. The sect leader, Dao Yan Zhenren, held three sticks of fine incense, reverently paid his respects before the spirit tablets of countless ancestral masters, then stepped forward and set the sandalwood incense into the censer upon the offering table.
Beside him stood only that one down-and-out old man who tended the Ancestral Hall. The dim yellow lamplight fell upon his face, where wrinkles ran deep as though carved into the flesh.
Dao Yan turned his head; his gaze fell upon the old man's face, and he said suddenly, "You look to have aged a little more."
The old man's expression did not change. "The years drive men to age. What is there to wonder at?" he said mildly.
Dao Yan smiled, as though about to say more, when a voice came from outside the hall: "Senior, your disciple Lin Jinghong has returned, and has come to pay his respects."
Dao Yan's brows drew slightly together; he said no more. The old man took a slow step forward, but did not step out of the hall; raising his voice a little, he said, "So it's you. When did you get back?"
From outside, Lin Jinghong answered respectfully, "Your disciple returned the day before yesterday. After reporting to the sect leader, I first went back to Longji Peak to see my senior brother; the moment I had a free moment, I came to pay my respects to you, Senior."
A faint smile seemed to surface at the old man's lips. "Oh, is that so. Then wait outside a little while—I have a guest here."
Outside, Lin Jinghong seemed to pause a moment. In past days few ever came to the Ancestral Hall; he had not expected a guest here today. But he had studied under this mysterious old man for ten years, and had long revered him as a master; so he gave a sound of assent and went quietly to wait at the side.
Dao Yan Zhenren walked slowly forward a few paces and stood in the shadow of the great hall. Looking out through the door, he saw Lin Jinghong in the mild sunlight—the Slaying Dragon Sword on his back, a long robe, a jade belt at his waist, his features handsome and refined—standing respectfully to one side of the Ancestral Hall, waiting patiently.
He watched in silence a while, then said, "The boy is fine material. In natural gifts and in temperament alike, he is of the very first order."
The old man's steps seemed somewhat slow as he came to his side and glanced outward as well. "Then why did you not take him under your own door in those days?" he asked.
Dao Yan Zhenren let his gaze rest on Lin Jinghong standing outside the hall, a young man in the very flower of his vigor; from whichever angle one looked, he radiated a vigorous vitality and a sharpness that commanded notice, making him stand out from other men.
Dao Yan Zhenren suddenly laughed—a very plain, very mild kind of laugh—then turned to the old man and said, "Because he resembles a certain person too closely—his temperament, his expressions, even his natural gifts are so like that person's. If I kept him by my side, I would not be able to sleep."
The muscles in the old man's face seemed to twitch suddenly.
Dao Yan Zhenren turned back and looked at him—looked at him mildly—and after a long while he suddenly shook his head and laughed. "I was joking with you!" No sooner had the words left his mouth than his brows knitted; then he pressed a hand to his chest and coughed softly a few times.
The old man glanced at his chest, then at Dao Yan Zhenren's face, which had now grown somewhat pale. "It has been ten years," he said mildly. "Is your wound still not healed?"
Dao Yan Zhenren did not answer, but his coughing grew gradually louder, and his face Grew gradually uglier with it; only after a good while did the coughing slowly subside.