Chapter 77 — Five

Tian Buhui drew a deep breath; his face was mingled with a measure of pain, and only after a long while did he say slowly, "Senior Brother Wan's grace to me was profound beyond measure; though I be ground to powder and my bones shattered, I could never repay it!"

At these words, not only the disciples of Dazhu Peak but the other branches too—even the men of the Fanyin Temple and the Fenxia Valley, who stood by astonished at Qingyun's internal strife—changed countenance. Plainly even Tian Buhui acknowledged it; clearly there was much hidden truth behind this Senior Brother Wan of whom Daoist Cangyan spoke.

Daoist Cangyan sneered coldly. "Good, good, good—at last you admit it. You have at least a scrap of conscience left. Then how did you repay him? Speak!"

Tian Buhui slowly lowered his head, his jaw clenched tight, and his body seemed to tremble faintly.

Daoist Cangyan laughed wildly. "Fine—if you will not speak, I shall speak for you. You shameless man, for all Senior Brother Wan's regard for you—after you returned to Canglan Mountain, well knowing that Senior Brother Wan at the time favored Junior Sister Su Wan of Xiaozhu Peak, you cut in and stole her love. Was it so or not?"

Tian Buhui jerked his head up, but the moment he met Daoist Cangyan's near-maddened gaze—that searing flame seeming to burn within it—he somehow felt that in the unseen there stood a white-robed figure behind Cangyan, and the words died in his throat; slowly he lowered his head again.

He said nothing, but Su Wan beside him suddenly stepped forward and cried aloud, "Brother Cangsong, if you have a grievance, bring it against me! It is true that Senior Brother Wan once held me in his heart, but from first to last I regarded him only with respect and affection. His grace to us both was as heavy as a mountain, but that I and Buhui came to care for one another was my own doing—there was no stealing of love. And in those years Senior Brother Wan himself, before us both, gave us his blessing with his own lips."

Daoist Cangyan sneered, "Senior Brother Wan was proud beyond measure. Betrayed by the two of you, how could he cling and pester like some common man? He would ever rather grieve alone than let others see it."

Here he seemed unwilling to go on; his gaze fixed upon the wounded, gasping Daoist Daoyan, and his eyes brimmed with boundless hatred. "In those years Senior Brother Wan was as a brother and a father to me; with his own hand he nurtured me, and in the wild marches he saved my life at the risk of his own. This life of mine has long been his! But—to my bitter grief—a hundred years ago, strive as I might, I could not save him. From that day I told myself that whatever it took, I would avenge him!"

The last words he screamed until his voice cracked, as though crying out to the depths of his own heart—or to those eyes in the unseen world.

Xiao Yichen's face paled, but what startled him more was that the body he was supporting suddenly thrust him aside.

The supreme leader of the Canglan Sect, for a hundred years the highest and most revered leader of the orthodox world—Daoist Daoyan, his wound still bleeding, the dark qi seeming ever thicker—by his own strength slowly came forward, one step at a time.

In an instant his presence overshadowed every soul there; his dark green robes billowed though no wind blew, and one could dimly see his hands clenched deep into fists, his nails sunk into his flesh.

He looked straight ahead, his body erect, facing Daoist Cangyan—and as though facing that formless white figure—and laughed aloud: "Good, good, good! I never thought that old case of a hundred years ago should weigh so on your heart. Then come and try—see whether I, your senior brother, am fit to hold this seat or not!"

He glanced sidelong at Cangsong, then suddenly opened his clenched hands wide; from the wound on his right hand black blood gushed and spurted, and the dark qi on his face slowly thinned. Yet his face only grew paler, though his voice turned shrill, edged with contempt: "And you think you are fit?"

Daoist Cangyan suddenly burst out laughing. "Yes—you are formidable. In those years, beneath the Canglan Sect, it was ever Senior Brother Wan and you who were the twin paragons; I was no match for you. But there is one who will deal with you."

Daoist Daoyan's face turned grave, and he said coldly, "Who?"

In the great hall every breath was held; the Canglan Sect disciples looked at one another, while the men of the Fanyin Temple and the Fenxia Valley who stood by watching this internal strife wore awkward expressions.

Daoist Cangyan's laughter would not cease; and it was at this moment that from far beyond the Jade Balance Hall a deep, resonant voice came: "Old friend Daoyan—a hundred years since we met, and I see your bearing is as of old. Joy and congratulations to you!"

The voice rolled in like thunder; in but a moment, beyond Jietian Peak the shouts of battle suddenly rose on every side, the whole mountainside thrown into chaos, and amid the confusion someone far off seemed to be crying, "The demon cult fiends are storming the mountain!"

"What?"

Every Qinglan disciple went pale. Perfected One Daoyan drew a sharp breath, pointed at Daoist Cangyan, and said, all but unable to believe it: "You—you dared betray our sect and collude with the demon cult!"

Daoist Cangyan laughed wildly. "That's right, I colluded with the demon cult—so what of it! To my mind, Qinglan is a nest of filth and rot, worse than the demon cult itself! To avenge Senior Brother Wan, I would not care if I walked into hell itself, let alone collude with the demon cult!"

Su Wan's face was ashen. "Mad," she murmured. "Mad. He's truly gone mad!"

Tian Buhui heard it all, his expression grim. He knew that in recent years Daoist Cangyan had wielded enormous power within Qinglan, that even the routine defenses had been his sole responsibility. And today the demon cult had come in full force, and they had not even been noticed until they were nearly at the Yuheng Hall—the situation could hardly be worse.

In a flash he caught sight of his youngest disciple, Zhang Qingyue, standing amid the chaos, Black Iron Staff in hand. Seizing a moment when no one was looking, he pulled the boy behind him—but in the next instant he realized that something was wrong with his young disciple as well.

Zhang Qingyue's eyes were faintly red, fixed dead upon Daoist Cangyan's figure, and his lips seemed to be moving, murmuring something over and over: "It's him, it's him, it must be him..."