Chapter 20 — Drawing Lots

Zhang Qingyue had often heard his senior brothers speak of this martial-aunt of theirs. Xiaozhu Peak, they said, was the only branch of the Canglan Sect that took female disciples alone, and Master Shuijing herself was deeply accomplished in the Dao and greatly renowned within the sect. And the disciples of Xiaozhu Peak had from time to time distinguished themselves at the Seven-Branch Martial Gatherings over the years.

Zhang Qingyue stole several more glances at Master Shuijing. She appeared to be about thirty or so, much the same age as his master's wife Su Wan: an oval face, fine brows, a smooth nose, and a pair of bright, piercing almond eyes. In her moon-white Daoist robes she cut a strikingly elegant figure. Behind her, however, there stood no elder of the senior generation, only a single female disciple in white as pure as snow — a girl of rare beauty, a long sword slung across her back whose scabbard and hilt were of one unbroken sky-blue, brilliant in hue, with a faint ripple of light seeming to flow across them. At a glance one knew it for an immortal's treasure.

He was staring, lost in thought, when the young woman seemed to sense his gaze and suddenly turned her head. Her eyes were like lightning, and she fixed Zhang Qingyue with a cold stare. His heart jolted as though he had taken an electric shock; his eyes stung as if pierced. Startled, his face flushed — the woman's expression was blank, yet a flicker of contempt lurked in her eyes — and he hurriedly ducked his head. In that awkward moment someone beside him plucked at his sleeve, and Tian Lingsu's voice came: "Xiaofan, what are you dazing at? It is our turn to draw."

Zhang Qingyue said hastily, "Yes, yes." He did not dare cast another glance toward Master Shuijing, but turned and followed Tian Lingsu toward the red wooden chest. By now only the Dazhu Peak and Xiaozhu Peak branches had yet to draw. The Dazhu Peak group, with Song Dayi at their head, went up to the chest in turn, drew out their wax pills, and returned to their places below the hall. Then, while the others were all examining the numbers they had drawn, eight female disciples came forward from the Xiaozhu Peak branch — Wenpei among them — and the girl in white standing behind Master Shuijing bowed her head and murmured a few words to her. Master Shuijing nodded and said, "You may go as well."

The girl in white assented, walked over to the Xiaozhu Peak women, shared a smile with Wenpei and the rest, and went with them to the red wooden chest, where they drew out the last nine wax pills.

Now throughout the hall the disciples were eagerly checking their wax pills, and even the elders of each branch seated above could not help growing tense, their eyes fixed on their own disciples, each praying his people had drawn a good lot — and if someone had drawn the slip marked "One," why, nothing could have been better.

As though answering the feelings of all those masters, the young disciples of the Canglan Sect below the hall began to cry out one after another:

"Ah, I am twenty-six."

"I am thirty-three. Hey, what did you get?"

"Oh, I am forty-seven. I wonder who my opponent is. Let me work it out..."

...

Yet after all this chatter, not one of them had announced drawing that precious slip number one.

Daoist Cangyan frowned, coughed twice, and said in a loud, clear voice: "Who drew number one?"

His voice rang out and for the moment overbore every other sound; a hush fell over the hall. After a long while, from the midst of the crowd came a small voice, tinged with surprise and caution, in a tone that seemed not even to believe itself: "Reporting—reporting to Uncle-Master Cangsong, it—it is here with me."

Everyone turned to look, and could not help but stare in astonishment: Zhang Qingyue stood among the crowd, a slip of paper in his hand, rooted to the spot, his eyes darting toward Tian Buhui as he spoke timidly.