Chapter 257 — Summoning
The Sword Questions the Heavens · Page 8 of 11
He gave a faint smile, faced the clear wind blowing toward him, and said with a smile, "Let's go where we ought to go."
His gaze shifted, looking far into the distance at the towering Cang Lan Mountain, piercing straight into the clouds.
On Heaven-Reaching Peak of Cang Lan Mountain, all was bustle and confusion—yet near the back mountain, things seemed far more secluded, not a single soul in sight. No doubt because a powerful enemy pressed upon them and Daoist Yan Zhen, the pillar of the sect, had vanished without cause, no one would pay any attention to this.
In the afternoon, when the sunlight spilled into the quiet woods of the back mountain, Ming Li was already walking along the tranquil forest path among the hills. This was not his first visit to the back mountain of Heaven-Reaching Peak; by his reckoning he had come several times before and knew the terrain well. Yet his expression showed not the slightest caution or anxiety—his face still wore the calm smile that had been his since he awoke, and he walked slowly on.
The mountain path was rugged, flanked by ancient trees standing dense and dark; from deep within the forest came the occasional birdcall. Ming Li's gaze moved from the forest to the ground and then ahead—to the ancient path winding and stretching away, upon which who knew how many bygone events had unfolded.
The mountain woods were secluded, the wind blowing softly, seeming untouched by any worldly taint.
The familiar fork in the road from memory slowly appeared before him. Zhang Qingyue halted at the junction, and his gaze turned unbidden to the right: beyond those layered thickets, through the gaps in the dense foliage, the corner of the majestic Founder's Hall was faintly visible. He smiled slightly and turned onto that small path.
The fork was not far from the Founder's Hall, and soon the stately hall came clearly into view. But Zhang Qingyue did not step out onto the open ground; he only stood quietly behind a great tree with lush branches beside the mountain path, gazing in that direction.
The hall was still as dim as ever, and the stone steps before its door and the open ground were, as on countless days past, strewn with fallen leaves. After a while, a white figure emerged from the hall—handsome of face and extraordinary in bearing, wearing a faint, tranquil smile. In his hand was no sharp sword, but a broom woven of bamboo.
He glanced at the leaves strewn everywhere, yet a slight smile came to his face. He raised both hands and stretched, drew a deep breath of the faintly sweet mountain air, and then began quietly sweeping the fallen leaves from the ground.
The broom flew to and fro, the fallen leaves swept aside bit by bit; now and then some, like disobedient children, were caught up by the wind and stubbornly tried to return to their original places, only to be swept back again with a smile.
The wind passed through the mountain woods, and the forest surged in waves.
In the distance, behind the great tree, Zhang Qingyue quietly watched that familiar white figure, a knowing, peaceful smile on his face.
Out on the open ground, Lin Jinghong seemed suddenly to sense something; his hands paused, and he turned to look toward the mountain path leading to the outside world. But the path was utterly empty—apart from ancient trees and shrubs, where was there any trace of another figure?
He was taken aback for a moment, then shook his head slightly with a smile. Perhaps he had misheard, he thought, and picked up the broom to sweep again.
Behind the distant thicket, Zhang Qingyue walked slowly on, drawing ever farther from the Founder's Hall behind him. Soon he came once more to that fork in the road. This time he looked toward the Phantom Moon Grotto-Heaven, and without any hesitation he stepped past that forbidden boundary and walked slowly on.