Chapter 161 — The Ambush

The fierce wind shrieked, piercing the ear; within a three-zhang circle of ground there came a thunderous *boom*, and in an instant sand and stones flew outward on every side. Only Ming Li remained, his robes whipping, his face pale, staring fixedly at the giant tree descending from the sky.

That monstrous shriek rang like thunder in the ear, and in a flash it was upon him. Ming Li set his teeth, then suddenly his hands moved, and the Taiji Diagram spun ceaselessly, soaring up above his head to meet the trunk that fell like a thunderclap.

The two mighty forces collided with a roar in midair, until even the earth and the mountain peaks around them seemed to shake; the ground beneath Ming Li's feet gave way, and his feet sank into the soil.

The forward end of the trunk, pressed by the great power of the Taiji Profound Purity Way, burst apart entirely, splinters flying, then turned to powder and scattered without a trace. But the trunk behind it drove on relentlessly, inching down through the Taiji pattern that flickered with blue light. Ming Li's face went a shade whiter; the Soul-devourer's demonic radiance blazed brighter, and the Buddhist true words appeared once more, just beneath the Taiji pattern, golden light flickering as a further layer was laid down.

The fierce wind howled, making it nearly impossible to breathe in the clearing; the gale raged unchecked as those two men fought, oblivious to all else, in the green mountain forest—and no one marked that dark shadow faintly stirring.

Wan Jiangu's face was alight with fervor; even the deep wrinkles seemed to have vanished, as if the young years of long ago had all returned to him in this moment.

Those years, once so full of fire, that laughed at the world and held it in disdain!

He raised his head and gave a long cry, like a dragon roaring at the sun; the feel of the fierce wind against his face was as if all the hot blood in his body were burning!

Laughing, he charged down, all his cultivation bursting forth through that tree trunk; the whole practice of a lifetime poured out like flame with a roar.

In an instant the Buddhist true words scattered!

Layer upon layer of crushing force bore down like mountains toppling and seas overturning. A thread of blood trickled from the corner of Ming Li's mouth; amid his pallor a flush suddenly rose, and with a jerk he spat out a mouthful of fresh blood, which fell upon the Soul-devourer.

Drop by drop the blood melted silently into it, and a cold breath echoed back from the depths of his heart.

His eyes abruptly turned blood red!

At that very moment, poised on the edge of disaster, the howling fierce wind filling the sky suddenly stopped, the killing intent that startled gods and dismayed ghosts vanished, and that figure in midair, majestic as a heavenly god, suddenly began to sway, growing weaker by degrees.

A dark shadow flitted with incomparable speed from behind Wan Jiangu, and the true art Ming Li had long been gathering, losing its suppression in an instant, burst forth at once—blue light, golden radiance, dim red demonic power, the mighty force of three great true arts fused into one, surging heavenward in an instant and striking squarely upon Wan Jiangu's chest. In that instant the sound of shattering bone rattled on like falling beads, *pi-pi-pa-pa* without cease. Wan Jiangu halted in midair and did not fly back; but his body suddenly went limp, and beginning from the chest, the muscles of his whole body seemed to desert him and began to wither beyond any recovery.

Ming Li froze. The next moment, almost against his will, he caught Wan Jiangu's body in his arms, and what he held told him plainly that this was a man so very old. And as he turned him, he saw clearly printed upon Wan Jiangu's back a black palm mark.

Ming Li carried Wan Jiangu down to the ground, and he and the gasping Wan Jiangu turned to look at the same time: the dark figure standing amid the mist that had not yet scattered was none other than Ghost Mister.

Strange light burned in Ming Li's eyes like demon fire as he said coldly, "What are you doing?"

Ghost Mister paid him no heed, but looked at Wan Jiangu. The old man, now at the point of death, was gazing at him too—only the expression in his eyes was far more complex.

The black veil over Ghost Mister's face fluttered gently; who could say whether his heart too was stirred. Only his voice remained as flat as ever: "All these years, and you are still the same—always so trusting of your friends, never on your guard at all?"

Wan Jiangu opened his mouth as if to speak, but the moment it opened he spat out a mouthful of blood. His face was paling rapidly, as though life itself were quietly slipping away from him.

Then he smiled faintly—amid the blood and the bitterness, a faint smile—and turned his head to look at Ming Li.

That gaze, somehow, held a touch of gentleness now.

Ming Li drew a deep breath, and suddenly his eyes stung. This old man, who a moment ago had been fighting him for life and death, now made him unable to meet his eyes. He silently set him down, stood up, and said in a low voice, "If you had the Dragon-slaying Sword in hand, I would never be your match."

Wan Jiangu looked at the young man, whose hands were clenched tight and whose body seemed to tremble slightly. Then Ming Li turned and fixed his eyes on Ghost Mister. Ghost Mister did not avoid his gaze; even the undisguised contempt and loathing in Ming Li's eyes seemed not to trouble him in the least.

Ming Li stared at him silently for a while, then without another word turned and walked toward the mountain path leading to the Phantom Moon Grotto, his figure vanishing from sight in moments.

In the clearing, only two men remained.

Ghost Mister walked slowly to Wan Jiangu's side. The helpless old man lay on the ground, slowly lifting his eyes to look at him, blood still welling endlessly from the corner of his mouth.

Just then, suddenly, the sound of footsteps came from afar—someone was coming up from the foot of the mountain, threading through the thin mist, and by the look of it would soon arrive here.

Ghost Mister's expression changed; his dark figure flickered and in an instant vanished into the mist.

Moments later, Lin Jinghong's figure emerged from the thin mist. He came to the center of the field and took in the whole scene.

The faint smile on his face froze in an instant, and disbelief seized his eyes: the old man who had been at his side day and night for ten years lay on the ground, drenched in blood, frail and failing.

"Ah...!"

Lin Jinghong rushed forward, a thread of despair in his haste, never noticing that behind him a dark shadow flitted past.