Chapter 197 — True Wrath
The Sword Questions the Heavens · Page 3 of 7
It would have been better had he not mentioned Tian Buhui. At those words Su Wan's expression changed on the spot, her face shifting through a succession of looks—three parts grief, three parts anxiety, and three parts anger besides, with a thread of icy killing intent.
"ROAR!"
Suddenly a low roar, like the snarling of a wild beast, rang out—from the Yuheng Hall itself, of all places. Everyone was startled, and then discovered that the strange sound came from the rather uncanny dark-green immortal sword in Su Wan's hand. Her fingers, clenched upon the hilt, were pale, the slender joints bloodless from the force of her grip; and as though the blade too had sensed something, the blazing sword light upon it, already bright, now flared greater still, and it gave forth a sound like the roaring of a savage beast.
An immortal sword of such vigorous, fierce, and unyielding spirit, held in the hand of a woman who in ordinary days seemed so gentle and compliant—yet there was not the least sense of incongruity; rather it was like a tiger given wings, the will to slay and do battle redoubled.
Xiao Yichen stepped back involuntarily, his scalp prickling, yet he could not tell just where he had misspoken. To make matters worse, this was his own elder uncle-master, and her husband Tian Buhui was the head of Dazhu Peak, a man of great power and standing within the Canglan Sect—by no means one to be lightly offended. By rights, Su Wan's forcing her way into the Yuheng Hall was already a grave offense, yet from the look of her there was not the slightest trace of fear; plainly she meant not only to make trouble, but to make very great trouble indeed.
Amid the strange, deep growling of the dark-green immortal sword, Su Wan said to Xiao Yichen, word by word, in a chilling voice, "Call Dao Yan out here. I mean to ask him to his face—what has he done to Buhui?"
Xiao Yichen's whole body shook, and he jerked his head up. In the Yuheng Hall all was instantly silent as death.
Just then a flurry of hurried footsteps came from the rear hall, and an aged voice carried from afar: "Junior Sister Su, has something happened to Junior Brother Buhui? Whatever the matter, let us talk it over calmly. We are all of the Canglan Sect—you must not do anything rash!"
With the voice, several elders came forth in file from the rear hall. Of the two in the lead, one had black hair and one white, both wearing white beards. But it was the blacker-haired elder who had spoken in that aged voice; the white-bearded elder was Elder Fan, who in years past, when Zhang Qingyue was still contesting the martial trials of the seven branches on Canglan Mountain, had served as arbiter of the bouts.
In these ten-odd years the Canglan Sect had passed through two great wars and calamities; of the elder generation, some had died and some were wounded, and few remained.
Su Wan watched the several elders approach, frowned, and gave a cold snort, yet showed no sign of relenting in the least. The white-bearded old man, Elder Fan, glanced at Su Wan, coughed once, and muttered a couple of words under his breath.
The black-haired elder beside him looked around, saw the dozen or so young disciples with bruised noses and swollen faces, and frowned. He was just about to speak to Su Wan when she said coldly to Elder Fan, "Senior Brother Fan, were you cursing me under your breath?"
Under her glare Elder Fan flushed, but at once shook his head and said, "Not at all, not at all, Junior Sister Su. You and I and Junior Brother Buhui have been friends these many years; I admire you too much to curse you—how could I?"
The black-haired elder turned to look at Elder Fan and frowned. Elder Fan gave a dry laugh, made a gesture, and said, "Senior Brother Yang, you speak, you speak—"