Chapter 162 — The Illusory Moon
The Sword Questions the Heavens · Page 1 of 5
"Elder, Elder, what's happened to you, what's wrong..." Lin Jinghong rushed to Wan Jiangu's side and dropped to his knees, hands trembling as he tried to lift him, but what met his touch was a soft, yielding mass, and a chill of horror rose from his heart. Lin Jinghong felt as though he had been plunged into a bottomless ice pit—wherever he touched, not a single bone in the old man's body was whole.
"Who? Who did this?" Lin Jinghong's voice went hoarse in an instant; his teeth sank deep into his lip and blood welled up at once, and even his eyes seemed to burst with fury and despair.
"Elder, Elder..." He called out in a low voice, choking, and at last he wept. He had never known that he could still cry—here, before this old man so desolate and spent, the despair of more than a decade ago seemed to shroud him once again.
Wan Jiangu looked helplessly at the young man. His grief was so raw, so absolute, that it could not possibly be feigned. Perhaps, after all, someone truly cares for me, Wan Jiangu thought.
His fingers stirred, and then—as though the gods themselves had taken pity—he tremblingly raised his palm. Lin Jinghong's whole body shook; he seized the old man's hand and said urgently, "Elder, Elder, have you something to say? Who did this to you? I—I will avenge you, I swear it. Who? Who was it?"
Wan Jiangu's face grew paler and paler, his breathing sinking ever lower, yet somehow the light in his eyes only burned brighter, and the fingers clasped in Lin Jinghong's hand stirred faintly...
Lin Jinghong froze, then looked down. In his palm, that old and strengthless finger, stained with blood, traced out crooked, hasty strokes: "Be... careful..."
Suddenly, behind Lin Jinghong, a dark figure emerged from the thin mist. Master Ghost's eyes were bright and piercing, fixed on this place. Lin Jinghong had his back to Master Ghost now, wholly absorbed in watching Wan Jiangu's finger, and sensed nothing at all—but Wan Jiangu saw. His gaze and Master Ghost's met silently in midair, as though a hundred years of time had slipped past between them.
That one measure of bygone desolation...
Wan Jiangu suddenly smiled—a bloodstained smile—toward Master Ghost. And then he shook his head.
Lin Jinghong waited a long while, but Wan Jiangu wrote no more. He looked up in bewilderment and saw only that the old man's head had lolled to one side; he had already stopped breathing. Lin Jinghong's frame convulsed; his hands shook; he stared in disbelief at that lifeless face, and after a long moment he let out a great cry: "Elder..."
A cry of anguish came from where he had flung himself upon the old man's body.
Master Ghost stood soundlessly behind him, gazing at Wan Jiangu's aged face. After a long while he quietly drew back and vanished into the thin mist, and far off on the wind came a faint, mournful sigh.
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Below Wolf Howl Mountain, sharp and savage howls rose ceaselessly, thick and close, carried on the wind from afar. Atop Canglan Mountain the peaks bristled with people; the orthodox cultivators had gathered on Jietian Peak, and at their head stood Daoist Zhenren of the Dao, the Venerable Pucheng, Yun Yifeng, and the rest—every face grim, every brow furrowed, all gazing out toward the foot of Canglan Mountain.
A faint stench of blood could be caught on the wind, unavoidably calling to mind the countless cruel and savage beast-demons at the mountain's base. No one knew what would come of this catastrophe when all was said and done.
On the great square outside Yuheng Hall, a dense crowd had gathered, yet all was silence; every face was grave. And it was in that silent moment that suddenly, far off, a long cry soared skyward—like a wolf's howl, like a ghost's wail, shrill and piercing the air, sweeping toward them from afar.