Chapter 19 — Meeting Again

"Why doesn't anyone fly up on their swords?" Zhang Qingyue asked suddenly.

A flicker of surprise crossed Lin Jinghong's face. "Don't you know? We of the disciple generation are not permitted to ride our swords through the air anywhere near the main hall of Jietian Peak. Senior Brother Qi Hao told me that for one thing it is out of respect for the Head Meridian—at the holy ground of Yuqing Abbey one goes up on foot; and for another, I hear that when our Canglan Sect was first founded, Patriarch Qingyun, to guard this place, laid a most terrible restriction upon the summit of Jietian Peak, called the Immortal-Slaying Sword Formation. Let anyone presume to fly through the air above Jietian Peak, and the Immortal-Slaying Sword Formation will surely put him to death."

Zhang Qingyue was startled. "No wonder—so many masters among our fellow disciples, and not one of them flying. Tell me, is that Immortal-Slaying Sword Formation really so terrible?"

Lin Jinghong turned his eyes to the peak towering ahead. "I've never seen it myself, but I'd reckon it's terrible enough. They say the Immortal-Slaying Sword Formation was handed down from Patriarch Qingyun, and that a thousand years ago Patriarch Qingyun perfected it further still, until its power was beyond all compare. Since then I've never heard of anyone daring to run wild on Mount Canglan."

Zhang Qingyue followed his gaze to that majestic, towering peak and sighed in admiration. "Formidable indeed!"

So talking as they walked, the two of them crossed the Rainbow Bridge with the rest. All the way along, Zhang Qingyue studied this elite of the Canglan Sect's younger generation, and saw that of these sixty-odd, men made up the greater part; the women numbered perhaps thirteen or fourteen, and most of those wore the dress of Xiaozhu Peak. Yet man or woman, almost every one of them had a presence beyond the common: the men spirited and commanding, the women fair and gracious—handsome men and beautiful women wherever the eye fell. Anyone seeing them would have said that the Canglan Sect had worthy successors and a bright future before it.

Past the Rainbow Bridge lay the Bishui Pool, dwelling place of the Canglan Sect's guardian spirit beast, the Water Qilin. Unlike five years before, when Zhang Qingyue and Lin Jinghong first came, this ancient monstrosity—whom the sect's disciples respectfully styled the Exalted Spirit—was not hiding in the pool, but had long since sprawled on the open ground at its edge, basking in the sun. For all that, its languid air was no different from five years ago.

The Qingyun disciples came down from the Rainbow Bridge, bowed one by one to that vast bulk, then mounted the steps beside the pool and walked up toward the high and distant main hall of Yuqing Abbey. Lin Jinghong and Zhang Qingyue followed at the back, and Lin Jinghong said softly, "Do you remember what happened to us when we first came?"

Zhang Qingyue nodded, still shaken by the memory. "I remember. We got soaked through. That was nothing, though—it was seeing a monster that size that frightened me out of my wits."

A faint smile touched the corner of Lin Jinghong's mouth. "Exactly. Back in Liumiao Village, when did we ever see the like of that? I thought the biggest animal in the world was the bear up on Mount Canglan."

Zhang Qingyue burst out laughing, and for a moment heads turned to look; startled, he cut the laughter off at once. Lin Jinghong was startled too; he cleared his throat twice, his face a little red.

The others glanced at them a few times, then turned and walked on. Only then did Zhang Qingyue breathe easy; he looked over at Lin Jinghong, their eyes met, and both smiled.

The dozens ahead soon passed by. Zhang Qingyue and Lin Jinghong came down from the Rainbow Bridge to the edge of the Bishui Pool and made a respectful bow to the Water Qilin. But from the first the beast seemed to be sleeping especially deep; it gave no response to anyone's salute, and now lay head down in heavy slumber, snoring like thunder—ten to one it never knew that these two young Qingyun juniors were bowing to it.

Zhang Qingyue and Lin Jinghong had never expected the Water Qilin to pay them any heed. Their bow made, they climbed the steps. "Jinghong," said Zhang Qingyue, "last time you came to Dazhu Peak you were in such a hurry, I never got the chance to congratulate you. Who would have thought that in a few short years you'd have reached such a height of cultivation."

Lin Jinghong smiled. "That is all thanks to my master, the Perfected Cangsong, and my senior brothers' patient teaching." Here he paused, and his voice gradually sank. "In truth, for the first few years, whenever I set myself to cultivate, I would think of that heap of bloody corpses in Liumiao Village, and my heart would hurt so badly that I hardened myself and forced my practice on, hoping that one day I might avenge my parents and the people of the village."

A pang went through Zhang Qingyue's heart, and he reached out and clapped him on the shoulder. Lin Jinghong steadied himself, gathered his spirits, and broke into a smile. "Enough—no more talk of the past. And you? How goes your cultivation?"

Zhang Qingyue shook his head. "You know I was never as clever as you, even as a boy. All these years on Dazhu Peak, my master and my senior brothers have been more than good to me, but I am too dull; my progress in cultivation has been miserably slow. I have failed my master and my eldest senior brother badly."

Lin Jinghong gave a snort. "Dull? You? I'd say it's nine parts your pint-sized master deliberately making things hard for you, refusing to pass on the true cultivation methods of the Canglan Sect."

Zhang Qingyue had not expected that after that quarrel two years ago, Lin Jinghong should still be nursing a grudge against Tian Buhui. He laughed. "He wouldn't do that. My master is not that sort of man. Never mind me—tell me, is your magic treasure still that 'Dragon-Slaying Sword' from two years back?"

Lin Jinghong nodded and smiled. "That divine sword is the supreme treasure of the Dragon Peak meridian. My master was kind enough to entrust it to me; besides its tremendous power, the sword has a spirit of its own, and it is of great help to my cultivation."

Envy rose in Zhang Qingyue and showed plainly on his face. "That is the best of all."

Lin Jinghong smiled and asked in return, "And you, Xiaofan? Have you any magic treasure of your own?"

Zhang Qingyue froze for a moment, then instinctively reached into his robes and touched the blackened "Dark Iron Rod." A thread of coolness, faint as a whisper, crept into his palm.

"No," he said quietly. "My cultivation is not deep enough. I cannot yet wield a magic artifact."

Lin Jinghong did not seem to mind; he had clearly expected as much, and consoled him: "It is nothing, Xiaofan. So long as you cultivate diligently, you will surely succeed. We are young yet—let us simply treat this trip as a chance to see the world."

The corner of Zhang Qingyue's mouth twitched. He looked at his old friend's kindly face and listened to his gentle words, yet felt not the slightest comfort.

To see the world?

Everyone thought he had come here only to see the world. At the thought, an indescribable anger suddenly surged in his heart, blazing like a fire deep within him—yet in the next instant it scattered and was gone. He lowered his head and said nothing. He did not even have it in him to blame his friend, because he himself thought the very same thing.

As though answering his thoughts, the Dark Iron Rod in his robes—still in contact with his palm—suddenly stirred. In an instant its cold qi surged, spreading from his hand straight up to his shoulder.

Zhang Qingyue was greatly startled, but then found that the sensation did him no harm at all; on the contrary, it was cool and rather pleasant. He glanced to the side, and saw that Lin Jinghong had noticed nothing.