Chapter 213 — The Inner Demon
The Sword Questions the Heavens · Page 4 of 6
Little Gray flew clear, escaping with its life. But Hades, hidden deep in the red radiance, seemed to give a roar of fury, his baleful aura rising higher still; the black qi and red glare around him congealed in an instant into shape—a huge crimson palm print—and came down upon that sudden arm. And behind the red light the Fulong Cauldron slowly began to turn; within its body strange radiance flowed, eerie inscriptions flickered in and out of sight, and a killing stillness filled the air.
The blood-red glare dazzled, and in a flicker Ming Li's figure appeared, his face dark as still water—it was he who had saved Little Gray's life at the eleventh hour. At the same time, he turned to face the strange demonic power the Fulong Cauldron had begun to unleash, and, for reasons unknown, had not ceased unleashing.
The howling grew ever more shrill and desolate. Within the blood-red palm print, strange glyphs shaped like the ancient cauldron suddenly flickered into view, and it came straight at him. Ming Li's brows knit tight, yet facing this peerless demonic art he showed no thought of retreat. Both arms swept up, and before the blood-red palm print—flying swift as lightning—could arrive, he traced in the empty air before him a Taiji diagram.
Blue light flared forth, like a clear spring pouring into parched earth; the room's killing aura of blood was shaken. The Taiji diagram rippled with pure qi—it was the orthodox, unadulterated divine art of the Canglan Sect, the "Taiji Profound Purity Way."
The next instant, the blood-red print came crashing down and struck the Taiji diagram.
Beyond all expectation, there was no heaven-shaking boom or clamor; on the contrary, it was like a mud ox sinking into a muddy pool—not the slightest sound. The blood-red print was simply held at bay in midair, unable to advance a single step further—and Ming Li's face in an instant flushed crimson, as though blood would drip from it.
A sharp light flashed in Ming Li's eyes; he cast a deep look into the depths of the red glare, gave a cold snort, and shifted his feet, retreating backward. For every step he retreated, the blood-red print pressed forward a fraction; and at the same time, for every step he retreated, his hands never paused for an instant—fingers flexing and rising, mudras shifting, the Taiji diagram between his palms glowing clear and bright, not weakening in the least.
At the third step back, his hands formed the Treasure Vase mudra, and the unnatural crimson of his face had eased; the edges of the Taiji diagram had begun to shed a faint golden radiance. At the fifth step, his hands shifted to the Flower-Plucking mudra, and the Taiji diagram's gold and blue qi shone each in answer to the other. And when he had retreated the seventh step, Ming Li's back was against the stone wall, no road of retreat left—yet by then his face had returned to its wonted look, with no trace of the unnatural flush.
With a shake of both hands, Ming Li had formed the Buddhist Vajra mudra.
In an instant golden light blazed up, solemn radiance streaming on all sides, as though Buddhas and gods murmured sutras all around—low and sweet to the ear. The Taiji diagram spun rapidly, its golden glow dazzling; the blood-red print was gradually swallowed up into the diagram and vanished from sight.
Golden and blue light filled the sky, dazzling, surging straight upward—it had, in truth, pressed back Hades's blood-red glare. And from deep within the red light came a roar of fury; the man was plainly in a towering rage. The red glow wavered; with a few mournful cries, Taotie on the ground was drawn in by the red light—its enormous bulk sucked into the Fulong Cauldron in the blink of an eye and gone.