Chapter 141 — Bewilderment
劍問蒼天 · Page 4 of 6
The man suddenly lifted his head and gazed up at the vault of heaven!
That pitch-black canopy, deep and dark and unfathomably profound, held not a single gleam of light. The darkness that filled the sky came pouring down, overwhelming everything, and drowned his figure beneath it...
Where should I go...
In the darkness, a soft whisper asked, low and faint.
At the southern frontier, Qili Gorge.
An air of desolation hung over the whole valley. Countless Miao people poured in from every direction and lined both sides of the road leading up to the mid-mountain altar—old men, children, sturdy youths, women. In every eye lay boundless sorrow. Some of the women began to weep softly, and soon choking sobs rose from every part of the crowd.
Qinglong followed behind the Miao chieftain, Tu Magu, bearing solemnly in his hands the small blue-and-white urn that held the ashes of the departed Great Shaman, and walked slowly toward the altar.
Every pair of eyes was fixed on that small blue-and-white urn. The young men clenched their fists, the women wept, and the faces of the old held nothing but bleak desolation.
Chieftain Tu Magu too had remained silent, his face ashen—yet he plainly accepted the truth better than the other Miao.
Through the crowds lining the way, through the sorrowful gazes, the mountain wind blew gently, brushing over the little urn as though with a soft sound—like a song, like a quiet consolation.
This was, after all, the soil of his homeland!
Qinglong was a man who had witnessed countless great scenes, yet at this moment his face was grave and solemn. Step by step he followed behind Chieftain Tu Magu until they came to the front of the mid-mountain altar.
On the platform before the altar, a ring of shamans had already gathered. The eldest had hair streaked with white; the youngest still had raven hair—yet in their eyes shone the same reverence.
The shaman who appeared oldest stepped slowly forward, bowed deeply to Qinglong, and spoke a few words in the Miao tongue. Qinglong did not dare be remiss; he returned the salute and listened respectfully. But he did not understand the Miao language of the southern frontier, so he turned to look at Chieftain Tu Magu.
Tu Magu said in a low voice, "This is Shaman White Sheep, now the leader of the shamans at the altar. He greets you, and thanks you most sincerely for bringing the remains of the revered Great Shaman home."
Qinglong said solemnly, "The Great Shaman was a man of lofty virtue and great prestige, and he gave his all for our Hades Sect. What I have done is no more than my duty."
Tu Magu translated his words in a low voice for Shaman White Sheep, who nodded, stepped forward, came before Qinglong, and extended both hands.
Qinglong solemnly placed the blue-and-white urn in his hands.
Shaman White Sheep received it with the utmost care. At the very moment he took it, all the shamans around them suddenly broke their silence together and began to chant a strange scripture in the Miao tongue—a sound faint and ethereal, insubstantial, like the whispering of ghosts, like the chill of a cold moon.
The chanting grew gradually louder, spreading far into the distance and echoing among the mountains of Qili Gorge. From far below the mountain, from within the crowd, another wave of weeping arose.
Shaman White Sheep bowed to Qinglong and Tu Magu, then turned and carried the blue-and-white urn into the altar, the other shamans following at once. Qinglong watched it all, the distant sound of sobbing still echoing in his ears, and could not help but heave a long sigh.
Tu Magu's face was grief-stricken. He said in a low voice, "All the Miao, high and low, thank the honored envoy for bringing the Great Shaman home."