Chapter 147 — The Covenant

Not long after the Venom God's death, several of his other disciples hurried back to Viper Valley, their approach aggressive, plainly bent on contesting the seat of sect master. And though Qin Wujiu had deeply received the Venom God's true transmission and far surpassed his several senior brothers in ability, first, his seniority in the Wan Du Sect was shallow, and nearly all the sect's important masters and retained elders had this time sided with his senior brothers; second, during the last affair in the Dead Marsh, he had been ambushed by Blood Prince Mingli of the Mingwang Sect and gravely wounded. Though he had by now largely recovered, the Blood-Devouring Bead in Mingli's hand—a talisman of the utmost malevolence and evil—had truly given him bitter suffering. That blood-devouring demonic power had clung fast to the meridians within his body like a maggot in the bone, greatly diminishing his cultivation, and had given others the chance to cast covetous eyes upon the throne.

Fortunately, however, at this critical juncture Qin Wujiu had at last, relying on the eerie arts truly transmitted by the Venom God and on the combined use of five deadly poisons, including the "Seven-Tailed Centipede," forcibly driven that strange blood-devouring power from his body. And this momentous matter had occurred only a few days ago. Qin Wujiu was deep of thought and had kept the secret all along, knowing well that he was now the target of all, and so was content to endure in silence.

His patience was soon rewarded. His three senior brothers—Fan Xiong, Cheng Wuya, and Duan Rushan—who had originally joined forces in league to come back and seize the seat of sect master, discovered that this youngest junior brother, the one they had most feared, was in fact already half a wreck, hollowed out by internal injury and wracked with illness. Moreover, he had most sincerely declared that the master on his deathbed had indeed passed the seat to him, but that he himself had no desire at all to sit in it, and had there and then handed over the sect master's seal and token, placing them before the Venom God's spirit tablet and declaring that only he who became sect master could afterward obtain them. At that, the alliance of these three heirs of the Venom God swiftly began to crumble and collapse.

The masters, retained elders, and disciples of the Wan Du Sect were now likewise split into three factions. The faction led by Baiduzi stood with the eldest senior brother, Fan Xiong. The Blood-Sucking Old Demon, who in years past had harbored the grudge of a murdered disciple against Zhang Qingyue, together with his friend the Duanmu Ancestor, stood behind the second, Cheng Wuya. As for the remaining third, Duan Rushan, though his cultivation ranked last among the Venom God's four disciples, he was by nature a schemer who had long plotted in secret; at present his power was for the moment the greatest, for he had drawn over several old monsters of the Wan Du Sect who had not emerged in ages, and nearly half the sect's disciples stood on his side as well.

And now in Viper Valley it was the final day of the rites for the first seven days after the Venom God's death. Word of the Venom God's passing had already spread, and in the mourning hall white banners stood like a mountain, yet one could scarcely hear a cry or two of grief. Most of the Wan Du Sect disciples, though they wore white silk about their heads and sackcloth on their bodies, showed not the slightest sign of sorrow or pain on their faces. On the contrary, many glared angrily, squaring off against those of another faction. Had they not been mindful of the last shred of propriety due in a mourning hall, this place would long since have become a martial hall rather than a mourning one.

The Venom God's four disciples were all robed in deep mourning and knelt before the assembly, but apart from Qin Wujiu, the other three knocked their heads three times and then rose and stood to one side, and behind each of them stood a great many others likewise, facing one another, while countless eyes drifted, deliberately or not, toward the offering table before the coffin in the mourning hall, where rested a small green box inscribed with four characters—

The Wan Du Divine Seal.

It was the seal and token that since ancient times only the sect master of the Wan Du Sect might possess.

On the offering table were set out fruits and the three sacrificial beasts; before the table, on the ground, was a bronze basin with a flame burning in it. After knocking his head, Qin Wujiu, unlike his three senior brothers, silently knelt to one side, took up paper money, and placed it sheet by sheet into the bronze basin, burning it for the dead. His three senior brothers did not look at him directly; after all, whichever of them became sect master in the end, this cripple would not escape a death by poison.

Their attention was fixed, rather, upon that small box.

Fan Xiong, his face all brutal flesh and his expression fierce, suddenly gave a cold snort, stepped forward, and made for the offering table. But the ever-watchful Cheng Wuya and Duan Rushan flashed out almost at the same moment. Duan Rushan sneered, "Eldest Senior Brother, the first seven days for our master are not yet over. What do you think you are doing?"

Fan Xiong's eyes bulged, a murderous glint flashing across his face. "I am the eldest senior brother," he said. "This seat is naturally mine to inherit."

Cheng Wuya spat in disgust. "Where did you ever see a rule that says this position belongs to the eldest senior brother?"

Duan Rushan sneered as well. "You mean to invoke the rule of seniority, I suppose. But if we are truly speaking of rules, our master on his deathbed passed the succession to the youngest junior brother. How could it ever fall to you?"

A vicious light flickered in Fan Xiong's eyes, and he whirled around to look at Qin Wujiu. Qin Wujiu did not raise his head; his voice still sounded weak and short of breath. He coughed once, then said in a trembling, faltering tone, "When the three of you first returned... cough, cough... I handed over the seal at once, and made clear that I had no interest in this position. You... cough... you entered the school before I did, your prestige exceeds mine, so naturally the seat should be yours. Our master was old, and I suppose he was a little muddled when he passed, which is why he spoke so wildly. As for who sits in this position, settle it among yourselves. Just leave me out of it."

His tone was low and trembling, and there seemed to be a note of guilty fear in it—nothing at all like the deep, domineering manner he once had. Fan Xiong gave a cold laugh, turned his head away in disdain, and did not look at him again. "Then what exactly do you all propose to do?"

Duan Rushan chuckled coldly. "No need for more talk. As we agreed, let our master's first seven days of mourning pass first, and once we have seen the old man off properly, tomorrow we shall decide in this very mourning hall who is to take this seat!"

Fan Xiong glared fiercely at Duan Rushan and Cheng Wuya, and the looks his two junior brothers gave him were no friendlier. After a moment, Fan Xiong turned sharply and strode out of the mourning hall, and a great crowd of followers went out after him. Cheng Wuya and Duan Rushan then led their own people out as well, and soon only Qin Wujiu remained in the mourning hall, kneeling silently on the ground and keeping vigil over the coffin.

How much time passed, he could not say. Only when the stack of paper money in his hands had burned away entirely in the bronze basin did he slowly raise his head. Beneath the white mourning cloth, his eyes were blank and devoid of light.

"Master..." His voice was so faint that only he could hear it. "Master! Do you see? These people—these are your disciples, your followers..."