Chapter 155 — The Rite of Remembrance
The Sword Questions the Heavens · Page 3 of 6
The night wind blew past, and the flame of the eternal lamp wavered, trembling as though it gasped for breath. The old man turned slowly, walked to the lamp, and gently shielded it with his hand from the direction of the wind. Presently the flame grew calm and burned steadily once more. The old man gazed deeply at that small light; reflected in his eyes, it seemed to be burning something as well.
In the depths of the night, footsteps suddenly sounded. The old man's brows knit; he listened closely, then slowly turned, and his aged voice came unhurriedly: "I did not think that at such a late hour you would still come."
The figure of Daoyan Zhenren slowly emerged from the darkness and entered the ancestral hall.
Beneath the dim yellow lamplight, the eyes of the two old men met in midair, and for a moment both were struck still. Unbidden, each suddenly realized that the other had grown so old—and then, in the next breath, that was he not the same himself?
Daoyan Zhenren said nothing. He gazed at the old man a long while, then walked slowly to the altar table and stood beneath the spirit tablets of the successive masters of the Canglan Sect, slowly drawing himself upright. The old man came to stand behind him, equally silent.
In the darkness, an intangible majesty seemed to emanate slowly from those shadowed places, like deep traces that even the years could not erase. Daoyan Zhenren's face was without expression as he took three slender sticks of incense from the altar, carried them to the candle flame to light them, and holding them solemnly in both hands, bowed three times with the utmost reverence before the tablets. Then he stepped forward and set the incense in the censer.
Faint blue smoke curled upward from the censer and dispersed into the air, blurring the spirit tablets beyond, so that they seemed like pairs of eyes gazing coldly down upon these two old men and upon this world.
"Burning incense at midnight—is there some difficulty?" the old man asked mildly, his tone flat, as though speaking of a matter that did not concern him at all.
The Daoist Zhenren Daoyan did not turn to look at him. His eyes remained fixed on the imposing spirit tablets behind the thin wisps of incense smoke. After a moment he said slowly, "Tell me—when you and I have passed from this world, and those who come after make offerings to us, what do you suppose they will feel?"
The old man gave a snort. "For you, reverence, naturally. As for me—will anyone even remember?"
Daoyan paid no mind to the old man's faintly sardonic words, only smiling a little. Then he said quietly, "A great calamity is upon us now. The world over, living souls are drowned in misery, ravaged without end by the beast demons. When I think that the battle at Canglan Mountain cannot be avoided, and that it bears on the fate of all things under heaven, with such a weight pressing on my shoulders, I have not slept well for many days."
The old man's brows drew together. "You surely haven't come to pour out your woes to me. That isn't your way."
Daoyan regarded him for a moment, then suddenly laughed, and with a sigh said, "After several hundred years of friendship between us, it seems you alone still know my character best."
The old man shook his head. "I know your character? If that were so, I would not be here keeping watch over this ancestral hall. Enough—no more idle talk. What is it you actually mean to say?"
Daoyan seemed unusually forbearing with the old man; the other's several blunt retorts he took without offense. Only his expression grew somewhat grave as he said slowly, "I have made up my mind. This battle matters too much. For the sake of all living things under heaven, I mean to remove the Heavenly Mechanism Seals from the seven peaks of Canglan Mountain."