劍問蒼天 - 第161章 暗算 - 翰墨軒

Ming Li froze. The next moment, almost against his will, he caught Wan Jiangu's body in his arms, and what he held told him plainly that this was a man so very old. And as he turned him, he saw clearly printed upon Wan Jiangu's back a black palm mark.

Ming Li carried Wan Jiangu down to the ground, and he and the gasping Wan Jiangu turned to look at the same time: the dark figure standing amid the mist that had not yet scattered was none other than Ghost Mister.

Strange light burned in Ming Li's eyes like demon fire as he said coldly, "What are you doing?"

Ghost Mister paid him no heed, but looked at Wan Jiangu. The old man, now at the point of death, was gazing at him too—only the expression in his eyes was far more complex.

The black veil over Ghost Mister's face fluttered gently; who could say whether his heart too was stirred. Only his voice remained as flat as ever: "All these years, and you are still the same—always so trusting of your friends, never on your guard at all?"

Wan Jiangu opened his mouth as if to speak, but the moment it opened he spat out a mouthful of blood. His face was paling rapidly, as though life itself were quietly slipping away from him.

Then he smiled faintly—amid the blood and the bitterness, a faint smile—and turned his head to look at Ming Li.

That gaze, somehow, held a touch of gentleness now.

Ming Li drew a deep breath, and suddenly his eyes stung. This old man, who a moment ago had been fighting him for life and death, now made him unable to meet his eyes. He silently set him down, stood up, and said in a low voice, "If you had the Dragon-slaying Sword in hand, I would never be your match."

Wan Jiangu looked at the young man, whose hands were clenched tight and whose body seemed to tremble slightly. Then Ming Li turned and fixed his eyes on Ghost Mister. Ghost Mister did not avoid his gaze; even the undisguised contempt and loathing in Ming Li's eyes seemed not to trouble him in the least.

Ming Li stared at him silently for a while, then without another word turned and walked toward the mountain path leading to the Phantom Moon Grotto, his figure vanishing from sight in moments.

In the clearing, only two men remained.

Ghost Mister walked slowly to Wan Jiangu's side. The helpless old man lay on the ground, slowly lifting his eyes to look at him, blood still welling endlessly from the corner of his mouth.

Just then, suddenly, the sound of footsteps came from afar—someone was coming up from the foot of the mountain, threading through the thin mist, and by the look of it would soon arrive here.

Ghost Mister's expression changed; his dark figure flickered and in an instant vanished into the mist.

Moments later, Lin Jinghong's figure emerged from the thin mist. He came to the center of the field and took in the whole scene.

The faint smile on his face froze in an instant, and disbelief seized his eyes: the old man who had been at his side day and night for ten years lay on the ground, drenched in blood, frail and failing.

"Ah...!"

Lin Jinghong rushed forward, a thread of despair in his haste, never noticing that behind him a dark shadow flitted past.