Chapter 182 — Heaven's Wrath
The Sword Questions the Heavens · Page 2 of 6
But at this moment, how could Ming Li spare a thought for any of that? In his eyes, almost by instinct, he was transfixed by those flickering, uncanny rays. The characters that rose and danced before him were laying bare, one by one, every broken passage and every point of incomprehension in the strange arts of the Heaven's Book he had once struggled through alone. It was as when a traveler, faced with countless sheer cliffs and unscalable walls ahead and finding no way forward, suddenly discovers a path down the precipice and a bridge across the torrent. What a state of bliss was this—how could he possibly spare a shred of attention for anything else?
In that one moment, the many difficult and obscure passages of his past cultivation suddenly opened out before him as though in a great clearing. It had begun ten years ago, in the Blood-Drip Cave of the Ten Thousand Bats Grotto on Mount Kongsang, when he first saw the general outline of the first scroll of the Heaven's Book. Ten years of time had since ebbed away like the tide, and this man, standing aloft amid the shifting clouds of the sky, felt for the first time that sense of drawing breath with Heaven and Earth itself, of forgetting all the myriad things of the world.
He gasped—gasped deeply!
From head to foot, every part of his body felt as though it would burst apart; countless clamorous, freakish shrieks and cries crowded round him and hemmed him in. The various breaths within him boiled like a cauldron, surging and swelling like monstrous waves. The demonic power of the Blood-Devouring Bead was icy cold; the pure yang qi of the Mystic Fire Mirror was scorching and unbearable; the Tai Ji Mystic Pure Way was calm and balanced; the Great Brahma Prajna was solemn as a mountain.
And more than that, from every part of his frame rose the true essence of the strange arts of the three scrolls of the Heaven's Book he had cultivated in days gone by—irresistible in its abundance.
Heaven and Earth shift and change; the workings of creation are dark and wondrous!
Beneath the dark clouds, the uncanny light radiating from that figure in midair blazed ever brighter against the ever-darkening vault of heaven, carrying with it a power that seemed to defy the very sky. Thunder rumbled along the horizon; lightning began to writhe within the clouds, as though the heart of Heaven itself had been roused to wrath.
Within the cloud layers a great wind arose; the curtain of clouds slowly began to turn, and there, just above Ming Li, the semblance of a vast whirlpool gradually took shape.
And Ming Li—his gaze was still caught fast upon the wordless jade wall, as though utterly oblivious to all that went on around him.
It was at that moment that the chanting from the ground swelled to a roar, and the solemn golden light shot up into the sky, enveloping Ming Li in midair in an instant. This golden light was of the utmost intensity, gathering the cultivated power of several dozen monks of Fan Yin Temple—how could it be ordinary? In a heartbeat it pressed down the uncanny demonic radiance pouring from Ming Li and wrapped him round completely.
Once the golden light rose and enveloped Ming Li, the thunder and lightning in the sky seemed checked, and at once began slowly to weaken; the strange, enormous whirlpool that had been slowly taking shape in the heavens likewise seemed to show signs of dispersing.
Pu Cheng gazed out at the vault of heaven and slowly let out a breath of relief—when suddenly the withered old monk beside him said coldly: "This man's cultivation has actually drawn down the 'Heaven's Wrath Fierce Thunder.' You may judge from that how abundant his demonic qi is—even Heaven will not suffer it. For the abbot to risk all to save him, I fear, may not be right."