Chapter 78 — Six

The people of the righteous side—including Pucheng and Pukong of the Fanyin Temple, who had been ambushed—were all struck dumb with shock. Only after a long while did Daoist Daoyan manage to steady his mind; he pointed at Shangguan Lue and said, "You—what have you done? Has the Fenxia Valley too thrown in with the Demonic Cult?"

Shangguan Lue stood beside the Four Great Sect Masters of the Demonic Cult and Daoist Cangyan, exchanging glances with them all, and suddenly burst into loud laughter, his demeanor utterly brazen, brimming with smug triumph.

The Underworld King laughed and said to Daoist Daoyan, "Who ever told you these were men of the Fenxia Valley?"

Daoist Daoyan was about to speak, when suddenly his voice failed him. Slowly he turned his head and fixed his gaze upon Daoist Cangyan, his face ashen. "Good. Good. You have done well—truly you have pulled the wool over all our eyes!"

Daoist Cangyan gave a cold "heh heh" and, his face full of triumph, laughed, "And is this not all thanks to the Underworld King's resourcefulness? No sooner had he heard that the bald donkeys of the Fanyin Temple had arrived uninvited this day to ruin our great affair, than he at once thought to send masters disguised as disciples of the Fenxia Valley up the mountain—choosing a few who do not ordinarily walk the world, presented by me. Heh heh, and sure enough, it succeeded at a single stroke!"

Daoist Daoyan's body swayed. He looked around and saw that in this sudden assault by the Demonic Cult, the blows had for the most part been aimed at the monks of the Fanyin Temple—nine out of ten of them had been gravely wounded. Master Pucheng, the abbot, in particular, was white as paper and could no longer even stand; supported by his disciple Facheng, he slowly sank down to sit, and behind him was a smear of mangled flesh. As for the others, their condition was little better—even within the Canglan Sect, five or six elders had been wounded.

Daoist Daoyan's heart churned, and his spirit sank by degrees. With a bitter smile he said, "Formidable, formidable—I have lived all these many years for nothing, never guessing that Brother Shangguan Lue of the Fenxia Valley, who has ever guarded the Profound Fire Altar and never stepped half a pace beyond the Fenxia Valley, would be the one you never suspected!"

The Underworld King looked at him, smiled, and shook his head. "It is not that you failed to think of that—it is that you never thought your junior brother Cangsong would betray you, is it not?"

Daoist Daoyan gave another bitter laugh.

Upon the Yuheng Hall, silence fell in an instant. The righteous cultivators looked at one another, and by now any could see that the Demonic Cult held an overwhelming advantage. Though the Canglan Sect still had no few masters and elders, the Demonic Cult had only more. Of the Fanyin Temple monks, it seemed at this moment that no more than half could still fight, and among them only Pukong and Facheng had escaped injury through their alertness.

Pukong in particular now seemed a different man altogether, holding aloft a golden alms bowl that blazed with golden light, looking almost like a wrathful deity. Before him lay a pool of mangled flesh—a master of the Demonic Cult who had sought to ambush him had failed, and been pounded to pulp by Pukong's Dharma treasure, the "Stupa Golden Bowl."

But most crucial of all was this: the two great masters long hailed together as the pillars of the righteous world—Daoist Daoyan and Master Pucheng—had both been gravely wounded at the same time. Now Master Pucheng's face was white as paper, and though Daoist Daoyan was somewhat better, by any measure he too looked like an arrow at the end of its flight.

Could it be that the righteous world had truly come to the end of its allotted span?

That question pressed upon the hearts of the righteous like the heaviest of stones.

By contrast, the men of the Demonic Sect were all in high spirits. For over a hundred years the Demonic Sect had been driven out of the Central Plains and confined to the savage wilds; now that they had at last held their heads high, how could they not be elated?

Yuyangzi felt that this time he had presided over the great affair, and that the Holy Sect had defeated the two formidable giants of the orthodox path in a single stroke. Hereafter his standing within the Holy Sect would surely tower above all others; perhaps from this very day he could raise the Longevity Hall to the stature the Blood Refining Hall had known eight hundred years ago under the Black-Hearted Elder.

At this thought Yuyangzi grew even more smug, and he called out arrogantly to Daoist Daoyan: "Old thief Daoyan, hand over at once your sect's treasured heirloom, the Immortal-Slaying Ancient Sword, and then submit yourself to the Holy Sect, and I shall spare you and yours from death! Hahaha!"

The dozens of Demonic Sect masters standing behind him burst into raucous laughter together; the rancor of a hundred years seemed at last to pour out in full today.

And in the distance, from the Jietian Peak came unending cries of alarm from the Qingyun disciples locked in slaughter there, as though they too had set a wretched backdrop for the fate now befalling the Canglan Sect.

Yet upon Daoyan's ashen face there was a look of fortitude; he sneered at Yuyangzi and said coldly, "Even if the Canglan Sect should perish at your hands today, you shall never see us bend the knee and surrender."

With that he stepped back a few paces and returned to the midst of the Canglan Sect's people. The seat-elders Tian Buhui, Shang Zhengliang and the rest at once gathered around him, and his prized disciple Xiao Yichen too supported his body, whispering anxiously, "Master, your body—"

Daoyan gave a grunt and said urgently, "Calamity is upon us. Junior brother Tian, junior brother Shang, junior brother Zeng, junior brother Tianyun—you hold out here for a time. Junior sister Shuiyue, take a few of the second-generation disciples and escort the friends from the Fanyin Temple away first. They were wounded coming to the aid of our Qingyun; we must not let them suffer further harm."

Those he had charged all nodded at once in assent, and Tian Buhui went on, "Senior brother Sect Master, we shall hold them here. You are gravely wounded—go quickly too. While there is life, there is hope; another day we may—"

He broke off abruptly, but the meaning of his words was plain to all. Zeng Shuchang and several other seat-elders nodded in agreement, but Daoyan gave a bitter laugh and said, "The Patriarch's legacy—would you truly have me cast it aside? I, Daoyan, would sooner die than be a traitor for all ages!"

Tian Buhui and the others fell silent. Daoyan glanced at the men of the Demonic Sect, who were by now stirring restlessly, and suddenly, as though he had resolved upon something, he said in a low voice, "It has come to this—there is no way but to violate the Patriarch's commandments and use that final killing move!"

The others, including most of the elders, were startled.

Daoyan drew a deep breath and said, "There is little time. I shall go and bring forth the Immortal-Slaying Ancient Sword. You—" He looked around at them all, then suddenly lowered his voice: "Whatever you may think of me in your hearts, now that it has come to this, take all care!"

Tian Buhui and the others were moved, and were about to speak further when suddenly wild laughter rose on the wind, precious artifacts flashed with strange light, and the men of the Demonic Sect at last made their move.

In an instant the Yuheng Hall, so solemn and dignified before, was filled with flying artifacts and crisscrossing rays of strange light, while thunderous crashes rang unceasingly in the ear.