Chapter 148 — Civil Strife
劍問蒼天 · Page 1 of 7
Night deepened gradually. The Valley of the Venomous Serpents, which had been steeped in an invisible tension for a whole day, seemed at last to drift into slumber. The dim lamps went out one by one—all save that cold, lonely mourning hall.
The door of the mourning hall still stood open to the outside. A bleak night wind moaned past, making the candles still burning within flicker and gutter, casting strange shadows across the floor. Somewhere beyond the door, in the stillness, there seemed to be a sound whispering low—like weeping, like soft laughter, or perhaps merely the wind stirring the trees; one could not tell clearly. It only left a chill in the heart.
By the light of those few lingering candles upon the mourning altar, spilling out into the night, the valley lay in darkness. Outside the house a faint mist drifted, like thin smoke, wandering to and fro through the dark and the shadows, shifting into ever-changing shapes.
And within the mourning hall, the one who kept vigil through the night was still only Qin Wujiu.
He knelt before the spirit tablet still, head bowed, gaze drifting vaguely as though fixed on some nameless place. The bronze basin before him was full of black ash from burnt paper money, quivering with each gust of night wind that crept in. Now and then a flake or two of ash was lifted by the breeze, floated from the basin, drifted slowly about the room, and most often settled quietly back onto the offering table before the coffin, alighting among the three sacrificial dishes.
Somewhere in the unseen, was there still a pair of eyes watching all of this?
Footsteps sounded suddenly, treading the smooth ground into the mourning hall. Qin Wujiu's body gave a start. For anyone, at such a moment, the sudden sound of footsteps behind one was hardly a pleasant thing. He turned to look, his brows knitting, his expression faintly surprised—plainly this was not a person he had expected.
What met his eyes was a tall figure, whose dress differed greatly from that of ordinary disciples of the demon cult: a Daoist robe, a square, grave face. It was none other than Daoist Cang Yan, an honored retainer of the Ten Thousand Venoms Sect of the demon cult.
Qin Wujiu looked at Cang Yan; Cang Yan looked back at Qin Wujiu. Neither spoke. Then Cang Yan walked straight to the offering table before the coffin, took up a slender stick of incense laid there, lit it from a guttering candle at the side, and bowed respectfully to the spirit tablet. Then he stepped forward and set the incense into the censer.
Qin Wujiu watched Daoist Cang Yan's every movement with patience. When Daoist Cang Yan turned around again, Qin Wujiu inclined his head slightly—a disciple returning a courtesy. Though his face showed little, his tone remained calm and courteous: "Thank you, Daoist."
Daoist Cang Yan nodded and said, "After all, the old master and I were host and guest for a time. This stick of incense may come a little late, but it is still a token of my regard."
Qin Wujiu remained kneeling, looking toward the spirit tablet. "No matter," he said faintly. "So long as the Daoist's heart is sincere, I trust my master, if his spirit lingers above, must be greatly comforted."
Daoist Cang Yan gazed at Qin Wujiu a while, then suddenly smiled. "Young Master Qin, you seem never to have liked me."
Qin Wujiu raised his eyes slightly, apparently not having expected such a remark. Somewhat puzzled, he looked at Daoist Cang Yan for a moment, then answered, still calmly: "The Daoist mistakes me. You were a guest retainer in my master's lifetime, and within the Ten Thousand Venoms Sect you are an elder of high repute. Wuyan would not dare be negligent. It is only that my master has now, to our misfortune, passed away, and my heart is heavy with grief. If I have been disrespectful or remiss in any way, I beg the elder's forbearance."