Chapter 169 — The Beast Lord

Yet this was only the beginning. With burst after low burst, every part of the Beast Sovereign's body seemed to split open, and from each new and varied mass of enormous trunk and limb was born. Nor was it long before these newborn limbs too burst apart, and from them grew yet newer and yet more enormous limbs.

The people upon Receiving-Heaven Peak turned pale with horror and looked at one another. Such monstrous sorcery had not merely never been seen—it had never been so much as heard of. Across the countless ages of the Central Plains, in all the thousands of records and texts, no one had ever set down such a soul-shaking and unheard-of art.

Even Zhenren Daoyan in that moment could not keep from drawing a sharp breath of cold air, staring aghast at that Beast Sovereign—formerly the shape of an ordinary youth—who now seemed to swell without cease; and when at last he stopped splitting, there before Zhenren Daoyan, facing the Immortal-Slaying Sword Formation, stood a monster ten zhang tall, with a thousand arms and a hundred heads.

********

At the rear mountain of Receiving-Heaven Peak, within the bounds of Phantom Moon Grotto Heaven.

At this moment the purple pillar of qi still rose from the cave dwelling as before, showing not the least sign of waning. Seen from afar, that pillar was as solid as a thing of substance, auspicious vapor steaming upward in solemn dignity.

And now in the heavens above, more than half the sky was already covered with the qi-swords of the Immortal-Slaying Sword Formation; even from this far-off place, Ming Li and Lin Jinghong could feel that surging, raging power of the ancient sword that slays immortals.

Suppressing the faint tremor of the Dragon-Slaying Sword in his hand, Lin Jinghong drew his gaze back from the sky. He was shaken in his heart by the might of the ancient sword that slays immortals, and at the same time his mood had shifted somewhat. Just moments ago, he and Ming Li had come to the very brink of a duel to the death—then of a sudden the Immortal-Slaying Sword Formation had stirred to life, a spectacle of ten thousand impressions, and it had frozen them both where they stood. The two had, without a word between them, both halted.

And when one thought on it, the man standing before him must surely be in a far more tangled state of mind. Somehow this thought flashed through Lin Jinghong's heart, and he turned to look at Ming Li.

There he was, a man who looked to have weathered all the sorrows of the world, silently gazing up at the sky—at that splendid, soul-shaking pageant of ten thousand forms.

Heaven and earth fell quietly still; somewhere far off, who knew where, the sound of wind came, and what it carried seemed to be the voice of many years gone by—and, deep within the mind, the images that had echoed there a thousand times over these ten years, each time thought of bringing a fresh pang of grief.

"Ding... ding... ling..."

Faint and remote, like the sound of a wind chime swaying softly in the breeze—whose smiling face was it that turned back amid the chiming? That pale green figure of long ago, that gentle form with its warmth; that little lingering warmth, heaven knows whether it warmed even a few of his desolate, cold nights through all these years.

The deepest chill rose coldly from the heart, flooding up into the mind, freezing the heart, chilling the flesh, from the fingertips down to the inmost soul, so that it seemed he could feel no trace of pain ever again—and then he suddenly understood: it was that time itself had turned to a blade, cutting him without cease, every hour of every day.

Yet drawing no blood.

"Bili..."

He murmured the name once, softly. His body, he knew not why, began to tremble faintly; in his eyes were mirrored the myriad brilliant sword-lights of the sky, a sight scarcely of this world. Those countless streaks of sword-light, speeding this way and that, each was so free and elegant, each so vivid before his eyes, reminding him of days gone by.

That green figure seemed to stand beside him even now, just as ten years ago—facing all comers, never retreating, never regretting!

"Huu-ah..."

Ming Li roared to the heavens, eyes glaring wide, both hands clenched into fists that gave out a low, grinding clench.

As though in answer to its master's fury, Soul-Devourer slowly rose into the air; across its pitch-black surface, faint dark-red veins, fine as blood vessels, lit one by one, mirrored in Ming Li's eyes and dyeing his pupils little by little the color of blood.

"Zheng!"

A clear sword-hum startled him; Ming Li slowly turned his head, and through blood-red eyes saw the cold, contemptuous expression on Lin Jinghong's face.

"You truly are beyond saving!" Lin Jinghong said with finality. "I should have known long ago that once you fell into the demonic path there could be no turning back—and yet I still clung to old ties and hoped you might return. So be it. Today, here on Mount Canglan, let us settle it once and for all!"

Ming Li gazed at him a long while, then of a sudden burst out laughing, and the laughter grew wilder by degrees, full of arrogance and scorn.

Lin Jinghong flew into a rage; with an angry shout he invoked the sword formula, and at once the emerald light surged up. The blade-light of the Dragon-Slaying Sword transformed as though into an azure dragon leaping into the sky. In an instant a fierce wind rose before Phantom Moon Grotto Heaven; Lin Jinghong sprang up with the divine sword in hand, white robes fluttering, handsome and elegant, truly like a dragon among men risen free of the world. Only the murderous intent blazing in his eyes now seemed to match Ming Li's own.

He was still in midair when the Dragon-Slaying Sword came down in a single stroke. Though the distance was great, the blade-light came charging on, irresistible as an azure dragon, tearing a deep furrow across the ground and driving straight at Ming Li.

The same wild, half-snarling look remained on Ming Li's face; watching the emerald radiance bear down on him, he suddenly vanished like a ghost.

The blade-light of the Dragon-Slaying Sword struck where Ming Li had stood, shattering the hard stone into flying fragments and blasting out a great crater. In the next instant Ming Li's uncanny figure appeared abruptly a zhang before Lin Jinghong; Soul-Devourer's demonic staff came crashing forth, red light blazing, shrieking as it flew, a fierce wind striking the face—he too held back nothing now.

Lin Jinghong was startled but not thrown into confusion; his form abruptly shot upward, evading that blow of overwhelming force, and turning he drove his sword and charged. Ming Li gave a long laugh and did not dodge at all but came straight on; Soul-Devourer flew back to his hand swift as lightning, and he rushed at Lin Jinghong.

And so these two companions of childhood glared at each other in fury and fought for life and death.

Like arrows loosed from the string, they clashed in midair!

In an instant a gale rose all around; with the two men in midair at its center, an invisible shockwave surged outward, and the trees nearby were torn up by the roots and sent flying. At the heart of the storm, a flash of pain crossed both their faces almost at the same moment—and over Ming Li's face there passed, moreover, a faint trace of strange golden light.

********

This duel at the rear mountain of Receiving-Heaven Peak, as the wind blew across the high ridges and peaks and carried it afar, had by then grown too faint to hear—and besides, in heaven above and on earth below, among all things in the world, who still had thought to spare for them?

In the sky there was a more important contest of sorcery still to come!