Chapter 172 — Bloodthirst

Somehow, this peerless woman—the look in her eyes, the cast of her face at this moment—seemed so utterly weary, as though that one sword-thrust had drained her of all strength of heart and body. Her head was bowed faintly, her gaze blank, fixed on some nameless place; how long it was before she slowly raised her head and looked at what lay before her, none could say.

That man!

That man like a madman!

That man, silent as iron...

Such a pair of eyes, watching her in silence—no killing intent, no anger, and no tenderness or love either.

Lu Xueling's body gave a sudden, secret tremor, so slight that even she nearly took it for her own fancy—but what followed was a pain in her chest that nearly bent her double to the ground, as though the sharpest steel needle in the world had run her through from the depths of her heart.

Her face, pale as snow, suddenly flushed; her body swayed faintly. At the moment her brows knit slightly, at the moment when she seemed about to grit her teeth and endure, she suddenly closed her eyes and bent at the waist.

The Celestial Dipper gave a soft ringing cry, "hiss," and stood thrust into the ground. Lu Xueling, supporting herself on the hilt, spat out a small mouthful of blood that spattered back across the autumn-water blade.

The blood slowly gathered into beads, clinging to the Celestial Dipper's smooth blade, trembling faintly—and then, quietly, it slid down.

A wind from some unknown quarter drifted across the open ground before the Phantom Moon Cave, swaying and wandering by, and in the wind there came a few faint whistling notes.

The black qi scattered and thinned to nothing. Ming Li stood there, cold and indifferent, as Shihun flared with a dark cyan light and dropped from the sky. He reached up and caught it. And it was just as he turned his eyes toward Lu Xueling that Lin Jinghong, already withdrawing and turning back, flickered into being at Lu Xueling's side and put the ancient sword Shixian behind him.

Ming Li's gaze rested coldly on Lin Jinghong, then shifted to Lu Xueling's face. These two, now all but the most important people in the world to him, looked in his eyes no different from strangers.

In this mortal world, one lifetime's span—and how many people are there who can keep each other company to the end, unchanging all their lives?

He gritted his teeth, bared them, and smiled—proud and solitary, resolute and unyielding—then strode forward with all his might. The ancient sword lay just ahead. Even if it were a bottomless abyss, he would charge toward it! Ten years of time, ten years of piercing heartache—how could he cast it aside in a single morning?

Fury showed on Lin Jinghong's face, and the green light of the Dragon Slaying Sword rose again in his hand. But at that very moment, Lu Xueling suddenly straightened up. Though her face looked paler than ever, her voice seemed as clear and moving as it had been in years past:

"Stop right there!"

Ming Li's body jerked to a halt. He stopped in his tracks, then gave Lu Xueling a deep look and said sternly, "Get out of my way!"

A desolate look came over Lu Xueling's face. "Listen to me this once—go. And never come back."

Lin Jinghong frowned and glanced at Lu Xueling, about to speak and then thinking better of it. Ming Li, hearing her, showed no sign of accepting her kindness. He sneered, "Let me destroy Shixian, and I'll leave at once."

Lu Xueling shook her head wearily and said in a low voice, "I can't let you do that. The people from the front mountain will be here any moment. If you leave now, there's still time."

Ming Li and Lin Jinghong both started. They listened closely, and indeed, from somewhere far off came the faint, indistinct clamor of voices—seemingly quite a few people, arguing and shouting about something.

In fact, on reflection, this was hardly surprising. What a divine artifact the ancient sword Shixian was to the Canglan Sect, its importance beyond compare. Having searched the battlefield at the front mountain without finding it, they would naturally extend their search to the rear mountain. Never mind the rear mountain—to recover Shixian, the Canglan Sect's disciples and grand-disciples would likely have been willing to turn the whole of Canglan Mountain upside down.

The clamor in the distance gradually grew louder, ever clearer to the ear; plainly the crowd was searching its way toward this place. Ming Li's expression turned colder by degrees. Suddenly he gave a cold snort, and with a shift of his body he hurtled toward Lu Xueling and Lin Jinghong, reckless of all else.

Lu Xueling's face went bleak, but before she could move, Lin Jinghong had already sprung up. The Dragon Slaying Sword gave a whine and stabbed through the air like rending silk, its blade-light blazing as it lunged at Ming Li, rearing and clawing like a swimming dragon.

Ming Li's face was grim. His body moved like a ghost's; with a sweep of his left hand Shihun flew out anew, and utterly disregarding the might of the Dragon Slaying Sword, he struck straight at Lin Jinghong's head. Lin Jinghong was taken aback—this manner of fighting, fierce and brave, was more like his own way of old; he had not expected Ming Li to turn it back upon him. Yet faced with such a ferocious assault, the stubborn pride deep in Lin Jinghong's nature was stirred bit by bit. With a great shout, he too ignored Shihun entirely, and the Dragon Slaying Sword's momentum only increased, as though he meant to gamble with Ming Li outright—to see whose nerve was the greater!

The two had no sooner crossed hands than they were fighting for life and death. Watching from the side, Lu Xueling could not help shuddering, and as she fixed her eyes on them, a trace of worry crept unbidden into her gaze. But just as the two in the field seemed about to perish together, Ming Li's body suddenly swayed several times where he stood and scattered apart in all directions like black smoke—almost an illusion. Lin Jinghong could not check his momentum; his thrust met empty air and carried him flying forward. He knew at once that something was badly wrong, and in his alarm looked back—only to see a black figure, spectral as a phantom, appear behind him and fly toward Lu Xueling.

Such an uncanny art was certainly not among the Daoist methods of the Canglan Sect or the Brahma Sound Temple, nor had it ever been seen in the demonic sect. It was a bizarre sorcery Ming Li had slowly come to comprehend after reading the three volumes of the celestial tome, a thing never meant for the eyes of the world. He had tried it today, and it had succeeded beyond expectation—even a man like Lin Jinghong had been fooled. Even in Lu Xueling's eyes there was a flicker of astonishment and doubt.

Yet somehow, having used the celestial tome's strange art, Ming Li now seemed wholly different from moments before. It was not, as one might imagine, that he was wreathed in sinister demonic qi and ghostly black mist; rather, green, gold, red, and crimson qi rose on his face in turn, and a look of pain showed faintly there. Yet his body moved swift as wind, and his cultivation seemed somehow to have advanced a level beyond what it had been.

Lu Xueling was startled and doubtful, yet she dimly understood. Unlike Lin Jinghong, she had once, atop the divine tree in the great western marsh, within the "Heavenly Emperor's Treasure Vault," seen that mysterious third volume of the celestial tome at the same time as Ming Li. With her natural gifts—which surpassed Ming Li's, if anything—she had long since committed the celestial tome firmly to memory.