Chapter 135 — Strange Arts

Ming Li could not help quietly clenching his fists. On this occasion he had not brought Little Gray along. Gazing at the great shaman's aged figure and at Biluo's face amid the pale white vapor, he whose will had long been steel found his own body beginning to tremble faintly.

Ten years—ten years of longing, the nightmare that had coiled about his heart without cease, and now that hope lay before his eyes.

The great shaman's body swayed slightly; the crowd behind him stirred, and Ming Li could not keep from stepping forward. Even the Nether King, ever the most composed, felt the corner of his eye twitch.

The great shaman turned his head, smiled at them all to show there was nothing seriously wrong, and only then did they set their hearts at ease.

Yet after a night's rest, the great shaman's complexion today seemed no better than yesterday's—rather, there was a tendency toward further decline. Every wrinkle on his aged face was carved deep, as though squeezing out the last of his life.

In the stone chamber, there was only the sound of the great shaman's breathing, growing gradually heavier.

The Nether King exchanged a glance with Ming Li beside him, and each saw in the other's eyes a faint, unspoken anxiety.

Suddenly the great shaman reached out a trembling hand, pointing toward the "Bell of Union" that Biluo held in both hands.

The golden bell stood upright between her fair hands, glimmering with soft light; upon its body the reflection of that withered hand drew slowly nearer.

The next instant, the shriveled hand touched the Bell of Union, and everyone in the Cold Ice Stone Chamber held their breath.

From the great shaman's fingertips a faint blue light began to glow, slowly brightening—yet as the light flickered on without cease, the great shaman's face grew more and more lifeless, ashen as death itself.

As though hearing some call, suddenly the Bell of Union, silent these ten years, burst forth with a clear chime that rippled softly outward.

The faces of King Ming and Ming Li instantly showed excitement, and the two men could not help but step forward at the same time. Only after a moment did they both come to their senses and control themselves, but their eyes were already fixed dead on the shaman's finger.

After that crisp chime rang out, a layer of golden light slowly rose upon the body of the Harmony Bell. Though it was not bright, almost at the very moment this golden glow appeared, the shaman's face suddenly showed signs of strain, and within moments the chill in the ice-stone chamber suddenly grew intense.

Everyone present changed color almost at once. Anyone who could stand here was a great master of Daoist cultivation, and almost instinctively King Ming, Ming Li, and Xiao Bai all rose and floated forward.

But just as the cold air expanded in an instant, the originally gentle golden light on the Harmony Bell turned blazing in the blink of an eye, almost like tangible fire, and with a "boom" it spread swiftly in all directions through the stone chamber.

The shaman bore the brunt of it, and his body was frail to begin with; at once his whole body was struck into midair by this blazing light, and a mouthful of fresh blood was violently spat out.

King Ming's figure was almost ghostlike, appearing instantly beside the shaman and catching his body. Ming Li appeared before him at the same time, the Soul-Devouring Demon Staff appearing in midair, and a ring of dark-green light flashed into being, blocking the golden bell's blazing radiance that came surging like mountains and seas. And Xiao Bai's white figure appeared beside the cold ice-stone platform; raising her hand, a white light descended slowly, shrouding the Harmony Bell within it.

In a moment the trembling Harmony Bell slowly calmed, that expanse of golden blaze gradually faded, and the temperature in the stone chamber returned to normal.

Everyone looked toward the shaman whom King Ming was supporting. Under that blow, blood seeped from all seven orifices of the shaman's face, and anyone could see that this old man had truly reached the verge of death, with only a trace of strength left in him.

In the dead silence, everyone looked at one another, struck dumb and unable to speak.

Until a gasping moan broke that deathlike stillness. The shaman slowly opened his eyes and勉强 straightened his body with effort.

King Ming was moved, and reached out to support him, but the shaman slowly shook his head. King Ming nodded silently, a trace of admiration passing through his eyes, and slowly withdrew his hand.

The shaman panted for a moment, raised his sleeve, and slowly wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth. When he spoke, his voice was incredibly hoarse: "One of the young lady's remnant souls is indeed within this Harmony Bell."

No one made a sound.

The shaman drew a deep breath and said, "Only, this Harmony Bell is a rare treasure; the spiritual power it contains is itself like a sturdy formation. That is what has protected the young lady's soul, but for an outsider to draw it out, the Harmony Bell must be broken."

He had just said this when his body suddenly swayed, and from the mouth that had just wiped away blood seeped another mouthful of fresh blood. Ming Li rushed forward a few steps and took the old man into his arms; his lips moved, and at last he could not help saying, "Senior, you had better rest a while first."

The shaman glanced at the young man, smiled faintly, and suddenly lowered his voice: "Do not forget what you promised me that day in the Seven-Li Cave."

Ming Li started, then nodded: "Rest assured, Senior!"

The shaman let out a long breath, slowly pushed Ming Li away, and turned to King Ming and the others: "As things stand, to break the Harmony Bell's spiritual power without harming the young lady's soul, I can only set up the 'Soul-Summoning Guide' formation of the southern frontier's shamanic arts, and see whether I can draw the young lady's soul out from the bell. Cough, cough..."

A violent fit of coughing cut him off. The others exchanged silent looks; all could see that this old man's lamp was running dry, and to speak of setting up this "Soul-Summoning Guide" — who knew whether he could last that long.

King Ming gritted his teeth, stepped forward, and clasped his hands to the shaman: "Master, you have striven so for my daughter; my gratitude knows no bounds. You need not worry about anything else — simply set the formation with peace of mind. Whatever the outcome, the Ming King Sect will surely not disappoint you."

The shaman nodded slowly, comfort in his eyes. After panting a moment, he said in a low voice: "The Soul-Summoning Guide is a ghostly art; too many living people should not be present. I ask only that Young Master Ming Li and the Sect Master stay to help, and that the rest of you withdraw for now."

Ming Li and King Ming nodded at once, and the others, without waiting for further words, filed out one after another. Moments later, only the shaman, King Ming, and Ming Li remained in the ice-stone chamber.

The shaman's face was haggard, his body slowly trembling, and he could no longer stand; his body went limp and he slowly sat down on the ground.