Chapter 212 — Return
The Sword Questions the Heavens · Page 1 of 6
Canglan Mountain, Lesser Zhu Peak.
The night was deep, the vault of heaven congealed like thick ink, and one could only dimly make out heavy black clouds drifting slowly across the sky; from that boundless darkness fell a silent rain. Farther off at the horizon came the faint rumble of thunder, and none could say whether a fiercer storm was about to break.
The Canglan Sect disciples who had gone to the southern borderlands had been back for several days now. Among them, Lu Xueling, after paying her respects to the sect elders, had returned to Lesser Zhu Peak and had not been seen since—so much so that she seemed not even to have noticed the undercurrents stirring within the sect over the mysterious disappearance of Dao Yan the Immortal and Tian Buhui.
The steep, graceful peak remained as calm as it had been for a thousand years past; the slender bamboos covering the slopes still murmured their rustling billows on this stormy night, gazing in silence at the people upon the mountain.
In the little hut, a green lamp, its flame like a glowworm.
The door was softly shut, but half the window still stood open, and the mountain wind and rain stole in; droplets of spray blew into the room from time to time, dampening the sill of polished bamboo, slowly beading into drops that slid quietly down, tracing line after line of water. The wind from afar rocked the window gently, and in the silent rainy night it gave out a soft creaking sound.
The candle flame on the table wavered again and again, flickering between bright and dim; several times it seemed about to be snuffed out altogether, yet ever it struggled on, holding out until the mountain wind died down, then slowly revived and burned bright once more.
In the night there was no other light; a little distance from that single flame, all was wrapped in shadow.
Lu Xueling sat beneath the lamp, silently watching the flame.
Green lamp, fair face—on such a night as this, it was as though a melancholy that could never be dispelled had been quietly engraved upon the passing of time; and who could say how much of that time was left to hold?
Outside the door, light footsteps sounded in the distance, and Lu Xueling's head stirred slightly. A gust of mountain wind blew in through the window; the candle flame swayed and shrank, and the fine hair at her temples drifted gently with the wind.
The door gave a low moan and was pushed open. Outside, the wind and rain suddenly grew loud, as though the gale had swelled in an instant and would rush into the room; but mercifully, a moment later, the newcomer had stepped inside, turned, and shut the door, cutting off the storm without and restoring a measure of quiet to the room.
Lu Xueling rose, inclined her head slightly, and said, "Senior Sister, what brings you here?"
It was Wen Pei. She glanced at Lu Xueling, walked to the table, and sighed softly. "Ever since you came back to the mountain, one seldom sees you leave this room. If I hadn't come to look in on you, I doubt I'd even know how you are faring now."
Lu Xueling raised her eyes to Wen Pei and saw the faint smile at the corner of her senior sister's mouth, the gentleness in her eyes—plainly full of concern. She laughed softly. "What could possibly be wrong with me? Thank you for your worry, Senior Sister."
Wen Pei studied her for a while; apart from a slight pallor, Lu Xueling seemed her usual self, and only then did she slowly set her mind at ease. Then she went on, "Junior Sister, it's good that you're well, but as your elder sister, seeing you as you are now truly pains my heart. And then—since you came back, you saw Master only that one day, and after that you've shut yourself away in this little room and not gone to see the old lady again. Whatever the case, you mustn't blame Master in your heart. Remember, it was she who raised us both."