Chapter 227 — Kin
The Sword Questions the Heavens · Page 2 of 8
Everything on Dazhu Peak was as quiet as in memory. Beyond the room all was still; who knew where the others had gone.
Song Dayi looked silently at the man before him. There had been a time when this was the little junior brother he had loved best, the most unpromising of the seven disciples under Master Tian Buhui of Dazhu Peak. And now times had shifted, things had changed, the place was the same but the people were not.
Ten years—and this was their first meeting.
"These years—have you been well?" Song Dayi asked, sitting opposite Ming Li.
Ming Li did not answer. He only kept silent. Ten years—and looking back, those years had flowed away like water; unknowingly he had come this far along the road. And yet how could he speak of a single "well"!
Song Dayi studied him. The youth of former days, Zhang Qingyue, still showed something of that first outline in his face now, only the features had at last taken on a flavor of hardship and age; and at some point—this man who had once been so much younger than himself, and whose cultivation was now so much higher—white hairs had faintly begun to show at his temples.
Song Dayi gave a long sigh and said mildly: "How is your body now?"
Ming Li looked down at his wound. The ragged cloth that had been bound over his chest had been changed for neat, clean bandages—plainly his senior brothers of Dazhu Peak had dressed it afresh for him. And though the wound at his chest still throbbed faintly, it was much better than before he had swooned. He was silent a moment, then said: "I am in no great danger now. My thanks for your concern, Senior Brother."
As he said this, something seemed to strike him; he looked at Song Dayi and said: "I… I have already turned my back on Qingyun. Do you still acknowledge me as your junior brother?"
Song Dayi smiled, though the smile held a measure of bitterness. "Our master's wife has told us everything. Master, in his lifetime…" At the words "in his lifetime," Song Dayi's eyes reddened and his voice plainly choked; hearing it, Ming Li's body too gave a slight tremble.
Song Dayi steadied himself and went on: "In his lifetime, Master told our master's wife many times that he had never with his own mouth driven you from Dazhu Peak, and that he had never believed you did anything wrong ten years ago. So our master's wife instructed us: here and now, so long as you yourself are willing, you are still Old Seven of Dazhu Peak of Canglan Mountain… our little junior brother…"
Ming Li slowly bowed his head, his body trembling slightly. His left hand lay on the bed quilt and clenched into a tight knot; his right hand covered his face, quietly wiping away the tears that seeped from the corners of his eyes.
Silence fell in the room for a time, and a long while after, when he saw that Ming Li's feelings had slowly subsided, Song Dayi's low voice sounded again: "If there is no great danger to your body now, then come with me to the Hall of Quiet Cultivation. Our master's wife is there keeping vigil for Master… she wishes to see you."
"Yes."
Passing out through the archway, he saw the familiar ring-shaped corridor. Song Dayi walked on ahead without a word, his broad shoulders and back like a small hill.
Ming Li followed silently at his back, and could not help thinking again of his boyhood, when he had first come to Dazhu Peak—then too he had followed Song Dayi the whole way, and slowly been taken into the world of Dazhu Peak.
Looking back on it all, it was like a dream.
His gaze fell quietly on Song Dayi's waist, and only then did he notice that at some point a strip of white hemp cloth had been tied there—for mourning, of course, for the passing of their master Tian Buhui.
His face darkened, and he closed his eyes.
Once past that corridor, the Hall of Quiet Cultivation could be seen in the distance. But unlike its usual quiet purity, today smoke and incense drifted ceaselessly from within it, and faintly there came the sound of choked weeping.