Chapter 110 — Assassination
The Sword Questions the Heavens · Page 2 of 6
He had no sooner spoken than suddenly, from the direction of the valley entrance far away, a shrill shriek rang out and echoed far and wide, a sound of utter desolation. Everyone present started in alarm. Li Xun cried, "That seems to come from the entrance!"
Before they could react, in an instant the clamor of slaughter and struggle surged up once more, furious shouts and piercing shrieks filling the ear without cease. The valley, which had just fallen silent, was once again shrouded in the din of battle.
The three turned pale. The grey-robed old man gave a cold snort, flicked his sleeve, and his whole body became a streak of grey light shooting into the sky, flying swiftly toward the valley entrance. Li Xun and Yan Fei hurried after him.
Only when their figures had wholly vanished into the night did Ming Li slowly step out from beneath the Mystic Fire Altar. He pondered a moment, then turned and looked up at the altar.
The vast structure towered before him, majestic and imposing. Even a single white-jade pillar beside him looked so tall and grand in the night, to say nothing of the crimson halls and pavilions above.
Not far ahead were the steps down which the grey-robed old man, Li Xun, and Yan Fei had just come. Ming Li walked toward them and saw that all the steps too were built of the same strange crimson stone as the heights above, blending seamlessly with the surrounding balustrades and flagstones.
Treading slowly upon them, Ming Li climbed upward. The heat around him seemed to have risen greatly now, as though what he trod were not crimson stone at all but true burning flame.
The steps of the Mystic Fire Altar ran up thirty-six in number, turned a corner, and went on rising. Ming Li drew a deep breath, his face cold, and climbed slowly. The balustrades and stone walls on every side were plain and unadorned, without the least carving, all the more austere for it.
By now even the wind from the night sky had grown scorching hot. Little Grey lay on Ming Li's shoulder, its eyes rolling about, peering curiously in every direction.
At last, having climbed all one hundred and eight steps of the three flights, Ming Li stood atop the Mystic Fire Altar.
Though he had already glimpsed the scene from afar below the altar, now that he stood upon it, before the towering hall that rose at its center, gazing at the vast structure a hundred times his own height, at spires stabbing like sharp swords at the vault of heaven, Ming Li could not help but feel his own insignificance.
The same crimson stone, cut into massive blocks of equal size, each nearly half a man tall, had been piled to form a magnificent hall. Drawing near, in that scorching air, Ming Li clearly saw that the blocks were joined so tightly that the seams between them seemed too narrow for even a blade to slip through. It was truly unimaginable how the forebears of the Burning Cloud Valley had built a hall of such uncanny craftsmanship.
He nearly fell into an illusion that what stood before him was no hall at all but a vast, roaring flame—so vast that it seemed about to topple upon him and swallow his insignificant self whole.
Ming Li drew a deep breath, steadied himself, and pressed down the awe in his heart. Then he turned his head and carefully surveyed the way into the hall of the Mystic Fire Altar. It did not take him much effort to find it.
The whole altar, shaped like a pagoda, had not a single window; it was entirely enclosed by the massive crimson stones. Only at the lowest level, not far from where he stood, was there a door one zhang tall and six chi wide.
Ming Li walked over and soon discovered that though the door had been painted red, it was unlike the surrounding stone wall—it was a wooden door. And small wonder: if even the entrance had been a stone door of crushing weight, it would surely have been a great nuisance.
Ming Li stood before the door a while but did not push it open at once. Instead he turned and looked back behind him.