Chapter 147 — The Alliance
The Sword Questions the Heavens · Page 8 of 8
Fan Xiong, his face all brutish flesh and his expression savage, suddenly gave a cold snort and stepped forward toward the offering table. But the ever-watchful Cheng Wuya and Duan Rushan darted out almost simultaneously, and Duan Rushan sneered, "Eldest Senior Brother, our master's seventh-day rites are not yet over. What do you think you're doing?"
Fan Xiong's eyes bulged, a murderous glint flashing across his face. "I am the eldest senior brother," he said. "This seat is naturally mine to inherit."
Cheng Wuya spat in disgust. "Where did you ever see a rule that says this position belongs to the eldest senior brother?"
Duan Rushan sneered as well. "You mean to invoke the rule of seniority, I suppose. But if we are truly speaking of rules, our master on his deathbed passed the succession to the youngest junior brother. How could it ever fall to you?"
A vicious light flickered in Fan Xiong's eyes, and he whirled around to look at Qin Wujiu. Qin Wujiu did not raise his head; his voice still sounded weak and short of breath. He coughed once, then said in a trembling, faltering tone, "When the three of you first returned... cough, cough... I handed over the seal at once, and made clear that I had no interest in this position. You... cough... you entered the school before I did, your prestige exceeds mine, so naturally the seat should be yours. Our master was old, and I suppose he was a little muddled when he passed, which is why he spoke so wildly. As for who sits in this position, settle it among yourselves. Just leave me out of it."
His tone was low and trembling, and there seemed to be a note of guilty fear in it—nothing at all like the deep, domineering manner he once had. Fan Xiong gave a cold laugh, turned his head away in disdain, and did not look at him again. "Then what exactly do you all propose to do?"
Duan Rushan chuckled coldly. "No need for more talk. As we agreed, let our master's first seven days of mourning pass first, and once we have seen the old man off properly, tomorrow we shall decide in this very mourning hall who is to take this seat!"
Fan Xiong glared fiercely at Duan Rushan and Cheng Wuya, and the looks his two junior brothers gave him were no friendlier. After a moment, Fan Xiong turned sharply and strode out of the mourning hall, and a great crowd of followers went out after him. Cheng Wuya and Duan Rushan then led their own people out as well, and soon only Qin Wujiu remained in the mourning hall, kneeling silently on the ground and keeping vigil over the coffin.
How much time passed, he could not say. Only when the stack of paper money in his hands had burned away entirely in the bronze basin did he slowly raise his head. Beneath the white mourning cloth, his eyes were blank and devoid of light.
"Master..." His voice was so faint that only he could hear it. "Master! Do you see? These people—these are your disciples, your followers..."
Across the cold corner of Qin Wujiu's mouth, a faint sneer slowly crept upward, icy and utterly devoid of feeling.