Chapter 225 — The Wound
The Sword Questions the Heavens · Page 2 of 6
In the same deep night, there were others who could not sleep—though perhaps their hearts were in a different state altogether.
Above the blood pool hidden in the deepest heart of the mountain, the Mingwang and the Ghost Master stood side by side. The Ghost Master was still wrapped entirely in black garments, his expression impossible to make out, while on the Mingwang's face unrestrained excitement and delight could not be concealed.
He showed not the slightest sign of fatigue from the long night; indeed, with the Mingwang's cultivation, several days without sleep would do him no harm. And now his face bore no trace of weariness—rather, a faint red glow radiated from it, his spirit full and vigorous, as he fixed his gaze intently on the blood pool at his feet.
The blood pool, soaked in countless drops of blood, had changed markedly from before. The four great spirit beasts were still imprisoned in the bloody water; even Taotie, which had struggled so fiercely earlier, now seemed drained of all strength, lying listlessly in the blood, not stirring for the longest time.
And the waters of the blood pool, so long calm, were calm no longer. Across the vast surface, bubbles rose ceaselessly from the depths, and with them came the sound of bursting—at a rate no less than several times faster than before, and in far greater numbers. The whole pool looked as though it were boiling, some invisible force slowly awakening from its depths; and the smell of blood that had always filled this space was now more than ten times as thick as before.
In midair, the Fulong Cauldron—the pivot of the Four Spirits Blood Formation—had also changed from its former state. The ancient, weighty body of the cauldron seemed already to have drawn much spiritual power and demonic force from the blood pool below and from the four spirit beasts, and now gave off a faint red glow; the great cauldron, which had looked to be made of bronze, now took on a translucent amber hue tinged with pale yellow, and seemed to bear a hidden air of solemnity.
Upon the cauldron's body, the mysterious inscriptions had all lit up completely, as though each had regained life, shimmering with eerie light. And at the very center, in that design, the patterns of the four spirit beasts—once flickering bright and dim—were now all blazing, shining brighter than the surrounding script. Only the ferocious demon-god visage within that design remained crimson as blood, greedily drinking in the spiritual power the Fulong Cauldron drew ceaselessly from below.
And in the space around the Fulong Cauldron, within this sealed mountain belly, whirlwinds of mist and cloud had appeared out of nowhere, faintly carrying the mighty force of wind and thunder, ceaselessly circling the cauldron. Even the Mingwang and the Ghost Master, standing far off, could clearly feel the terrible, dreadful magic power contained within the Fulong Cauldron itself—and that eerie power was still endlessly growing, replenishing, and strengthening.
Like the Mingwang, the Ghost Master was watching the Fulong Cauldron, but his gaze was cold and sharp; compared with the Mingwang, he lacked a measure of fervor and possessed a measure more of calm.
The Ghost Master watched the Fulong Cauldron for a long while, then said slowly, "Everything proceeds without mishap, exactly as the inscriptions on the cauldron's body describe. At this rate, once the full term of seven times seven—forty-nine—days is complete, it seems this peerless formation, the Four Spirits Blood Formation, is certain to succeed!"
The Mingwang drew a deep breath, his face glowing red, and a fervor rarely seen in him shone in his eyes. He stepped forward and could not refrain from a long, piercing cry: "Good, good, good—this old man can scarcely wait!"
The Ghost Master glanced at him and said, "Sect Master, be at ease. There is time enough ahead."