Chapter 76 — The Fourth Chapter

Crossing the threshold, he was met at once by an air of solemn majesty. The holiest place in the Canglan Sect remained as imposing and awe-inspiring as ever, enough to strike a man dumb with wonder.

Many people stood and sat within the vast hall, yet somehow the first thing Zhang Qingyue's eyes fell upon was none of them, but the three statues of the Three Pure Ones at the farthest depths of the hall, seeming so distant there in the shadows.

Before the hall, the lit candles and incense burned in silence, sending up thread after thread of faint smoke.

At the center of the hall, upon the seat of honor, sat the revered and venerable Perfected One Daoyan, a man of crane-bone and immortal bearing; beside his seat stood a small tea table, and laid upon it was none other than Zhang Qingyue's own magic artifact, the Black Iron Staff.

In a row to his right hand were the seats of the various branches of the Canglan Sect; everyone, Tian Buhui included, was seated there. The elders and disciples of the sect's other branches sat or stood behind them. Those they knew well—Qi Hao, Lin Jinghong, and the rest—were all present too, and Lu Xueqi now stood silently behind Master Shuijing, and beside her stood Wen Pei, whom Song Dayi adored; her bright eyes rippled with feeling as she gazed at Zhang Qingyue's figure.

To the left hand of the Perfected One Daoyan were many people Zhang Qingyue had never seen before: kindly-faced monks, and old men with gloomy countenances. Zhang Qingyue's gaze swept over them and picked out only a few familiar faces; among them were Facheng and Fajing of the Fanyin Temple, both standing respectfully behind an old monk seated at the very top. It seemed this kindly-featured old monk must likewise be one of the Fanyin Temple's divine monks.

Chang Jian led Song Dayi, Zhang Qingyue, and Tian Lingsu over, and made a bow to the Perfected One Daoyan. "Master, Junior Brother Zhang of Dazhu Peak has arrived."

A stir ran through the surrounding crowd, and every gaze swept over at once; not only Zhang Qingyue but Song Dayi and Tian Lingsu too were left somewhat ill at ease.

Su Wan, seated beside Tian Buhui, frowned and said to them, "Come and stand here."

Song Dayi and the others breathed a sigh of relief, answered, and walked over—and just at that moment, Daoist Cangyan, seated above Tian Buhui, gave a sudden cough.

The muscles in Tian Buhui's face twitched, and the corner of his eye quivered faintly, but at last he said coldly, "Old Seven, you stand there. The sect leader and the various seniors have questions for you."

Zhang Qingyue's foot, just lifted, might have struck a wall; he stopped dead, and only after a long moment said in a low voice, "Yes."

Song Dayi and Tian Lingsu exchanged a glance, then looked at Zhang Qingyue, worry in both their eyes; but in the end they knew this was no time for it, and could only walk obediently over and stand behind Tian Buhui.

The Perfected One Daoyan looked down without expression, and saw a youth standing all alone between the two ranks of people, a faint nervousness and fear in his eyes, his hands clenched into tight fists.

Was this truly the orphan of ordinary talent from Liuzhu Village all those years ago?

Deep in his heart, he sighed.

"Zhang Qingyue," the Perfected One Daoyan called slowly.

Zhang Qingyue's body seemed to tremble faintly; he slowly knelt and said in a low voice, "This disciple is here."

The Perfected One Daoyan looked at him and said, "These seniors beside me are all masters of our righteous path, and they have come this time on your account as well. This is the Venerable Monk Pucheng, abbot of the Fanyin Temple; seated beside him is the Venerable Monk Pukong, likewise of the Fanyin Temple; and there is Shangguan of the Fenxia Valley..."

The Perfected One Daoyan could not neglect the proprieties, and naturally had to name all those illustrious figures one by one, but Zhang Qingyue had no heart to listen further. For a time his gaze was fixed on the two kindly-faced old monks seated at the very front, in their red cassocks sewn with gold thread, their white brows like snow, who were at that moment looking back at him.

The Venerable Monk Pucheng ranked among the Fanyin Temple's Four Great Divine Monks, and in the world at large was always counted alongside the Perfected One Daoyan of the Canglan Sect and the master of the Fenxia Valley as one of the three great masters; his station was so high none could compare. For an ordinary cultivator, even one glimpse of him was harder than hard, yet this time he had unexpectedly broken a century-old precedent, and his peerless carriage had come to Mount Canglan.

It was not only Zhang Qingyue who was astonished; the Canglan Sect itself had been startled when the news arrived. From this alone one could see how gravely the Fanyin Temple regarded the unexpected transmission of the true dharma of the "Great Brahma Prajna" to an outsider!

In the great hall, the Perfected One Daoyan's voice had fallen silent at some point, and all was still; every gaze was fixed on the figure kneeling on the ground.

Zhang Qingyue slowly lowered his head and gazed at the green brick before his knees, and deep in his heart he thought faintly: Are these monks the same kind of men as that Puzhao of those years?

In the distance, the Black Iron Staff lying quietly on the tea table beside the Perfected One Daoyan seemed to sense its master's mood as well; a faint green light flickered softly across it.

"Zhang Qingyue," the Perfected One Daoyan said slowly, "now I will ask you a few things, and you must answer honestly."

Zhang Qingyue said in a low voice, "Yes."

The Perfected One Daoyan seemed to weigh his words; after a long moment he said slowly, "On this journey to Liubo Mountain in the East Sea, a fellow cultivator of the Fanyin Temple identified the dharma you used when you fought the strange beast Kui as none other than the 'Great Brahma Prajna,' the true dharma the Fanyin Temple never transmits outside its walls. Is this so?"

Zhang Qingyue did not speak, and at once the atmosphere in the Yuheng Hall seemed to grow faintly tense. Tian Buhui turned his head uncomfortably, and found that everyone was silently staring at Zhang Qingyue.

In the air, something invisible seemed to throb softly.

After a long while, Zhang Qingyue's voice came slowly: "Yes."

"What?"

At once the great hall was in an uproar. Though they had anticipated this answer, now that it had come from Zhang Qingyue's own mouth the Fanyin Temple monks were still visibly agitated; only Pucheng and Pukong seated in front, and Facheng standing behind them, showed not the slightest change of countenance, silent and wordless.

On the Canglan Sect's side, Tian Buhui's face grew uglier still, and Tian Lingsu and the others had gone deathly pale. Amid the general astonishment, only Lu Xueqi gazed at that silent figure and said not a word.

The Perfected One Daoyan frowned, and his gaze flicked briefly toward the Venerable Monk Pucheng of the Fanyin Temple, only to see that amid his disciples' agitation, the Venerable Pucheng had slowly closed his eyes, plainly showing that for the moment he would not speak.

The Perfected One Daoyan snorted coldly in his heart, turned back to Zhang Qingyue, and raised a hand to signal the clamoring crowd to be quiet.

His station was no small thing, after all, and soon both the Canglan Sect's disciples and the figures of the other schools fell silent; then the Perfected One Daoyan said slowly, "Moreover, some say that this Black Iron Staff in your hand"—and with that he reached out and took up the black rod—"bears the Blood-devouring Bead, evil relic of the demon cult. Is this true as well?"

Another silence, and Zhang Qingyue said in a low voice, "Yes."

This time, however, the crowd unexpectedly kept silent. The Blood-devouring Bead—that word reeking of blood and evil—should appear on the person of a Canglan Sect disciple!