Chapter 256 — The Spirit Tablet

A thousand li away, on the Heaven-Reaching Peak of Canglan Mountain, at the Ancestral Hall in the rear mountain.

It was as peaceful here as ever. The majestic, imposing hall stood amid the woods, exuding an air of solemnity. The dense forest was still and secluded, birdsong clear and crisp, carrying from afar; and in the dim, shadowed main hall of the Ancestral Hall, one could faintly make out the dots of burning incense.

Lin Jinghong looked up at the sky. Above him stretched a vast blue canopy, cloudless for ten thousand li; the genial sunlight fell upon him with a warm, cozy glow, and from the emerald-green Dragon-Slaying Sword at his waist reflected a beautiful, shifting light.

It looked to be fine weather today.

He gazed for a while, and the corners of his mouth slowly lifted into a smile he had not worn for a long time. Then he picked up the broom in his hand and began sweeping the stone steps and the open ground before the Ancestral Hall.

Since that mysterious old man had passed away, Canglan Mountain had undergone several changes, but amid such upheavals no one had paid much attention to this quiet corner long since removed from the world's strife. Yet Lin Jinghong seemed deeply attached to this place—perhaps out of gratitude to the old man of former days. In any case, imperceptibly, with many people's tacit consent, Lin Jinghong became the successor charged with watching over the Ancestral Hall.

Under the sweep of the broom, withered yellow leaves swirled up in crowds and were swept aside. Lin Jinghong cleaned quietly, doing what he did every day. The mountain forest was silent, a gentle breeze drifted by—who could say whether a life like this held one more measure of peace than days gone by?

Only this day seemed destined not to be peaceful.

Without a sound, just as Lin Jinghong was wholly absorbed in sweeping the fallen leaves, a pair of feet suddenly appeared before his eyes. Lin Jinghong was startled. Unless it was the season for ancestral rites, no one from the Canglan Sect would come here for months at a time; today was an ordinary day if ever there was one—so how could anyone have come?

He looked up—and the sight startled him so badly that his whole body gave a shudder. He took a step back, his face changing color, and blurted out in dismay: "Master... Uncle-Master Sect Leader!"

Standing before him was none other than Dao Yan, the True Man who was the sect master of the Canglan Sect and who had been missing for many days.

The True Man Dao Yan still wore that dark green Daoist robe, though in places it now looked somewhat tattered and worn—something that could never have been imagined happening to the sect master of the Canglan Sect, a man whose name weighed upon the whole world. As he stood there now, his face was blank of expression; he seemed thinner than he had been in memory, and yet somehow more weathered, as if he had aged into a deeper worldliness.

Lin Jinghong's heart was in utter turmoil. Though he was not among the core figures of the Canglan Sect and so was not privy to the inner truth as the master and disciples of Shuiyue on Xiaozhu Peak were, he had nonetheless been present on the day the True Man Dao Yan and Tian Buhui clashed in the Ancestral Hall. And afterward the two of them had vanished together; now Tian Buhui was dead, and the True Man Dao Yan had silently returned to this place. The twists and strangeness of it all sent a chill creeping through him.

Yet for all Lin Jinghong's amazement and unease, the True Man Dao Yan across from him seemed not to care in the least. His gaze rested on Lin Jinghong only a moment before it turned toward the grand Ancestral Hall.

The True Man Dao Yan gazed at that hall for a long while, then suddenly said, slowly: "Are you the only one here now?"

Lin Jinghong started, then nodded: "Yes."

The True Man Dao Yan glanced at him, and his gaze suddenly fixed—it had fallen upon the Dragon-Slaying Sword hanging at Lin Jinghong's waist. The emerald sword-light flowed gently; though its old master had gone, it still carried that singular air of pride, standing aloof from all else.

The emerald radiance was mirrored in his eyes, and the True Man Dao Yan's expression shifted with it, slowly giving way to a look of bewilderment and deep thought. Lin Jinghong's mind was in chaos—he did not know whether he ought to leave at once for the front mountain and report to the masters of Jietian Peak, or to stay here and keep watching.

But the True Man Dao Yan gave him little time to think. That strange expression quickly vanished, replaced by an indifference, and he said lightly to Lin Jinghong: "You stay here. Without my order, let no one enter." With that, not waiting for an answer, he strode off straight into the dim, shadowed hall of the Ancestral Hall.

Lin Jinghong stood frozen where he was, at a loss, able only to watch the True Man Dao Yan's figure vanish into the darkness.

Once inside the inner hall and past the first blindness of the dark, what met the True Man Dao Yan's eyes was the great offering table at the head of the hall and, behind it, countless spirit tablets. A solemn and reverent air pressed in upon him; here the successive generations of Canglan Sect patriarchs stood, watching the figure of the True Man Dao Yan coldly and in silence.

The True Man Dao Yan's body trembled faintly, as though something within him had stirred and was causing him no little pain, but he quickly mastered it. He walked slowly to the offering table, took up the sandalwood incense from it, lit it at the candle flame nearby, then went to stand directly before the table. Facing the spirit tablets of the patriarchs of past generations, he slowly knelt.

In the dim light his face too seemed to shift between bright and dark; only the small warmth of the burning incense sent up a faint thread of smoke.

"Patriarchs of the Canglan Sect, one and all, your unworthy disciple Dao Yan..." His voice was low and hoarse, and the hands that held the incense seemed to tremble faintly, as though his heart were so stirred that he broke off halfway and could say no more.

His head sank deep, and he prostrated himself before the countless spirit tablets. In the vast, grand hall, a wind arose from somewhere; the surrounding draperies began to stir gently, and even the candle flames on the offering table flickered, now bright, now dim.

Suddenly the prostrate True Man Dao Yan convulsed. By some force he brought to bear, the three sticks of sandalwood incense in his hands were in an instant silently crushed to powder by an immense pressure, and at that same moment a mass of black qi began to seep from the True Man Dao Yan's body, churning violently, spreading ever wider, until it looked about to swallow his whole form.

Outside the hall, Lin Jinghong seemed to sense something; his brows knit, and he could not help but take a step toward the hall. From deep within that shadow a strange aura had suddenly risen, heavy with demonic and depraved air—nothing that belonged by nature to this Ancestral Hall.

The memory of the True Man Dao Yan's strange expression of a moment ago flashed through his mind, and unease stirred in him; yet looking at that imposing hall, he hesitated.

The mountain forest lay hushed; around the Ancestral Hall, even the birdsong had in a twinkling died away entirely, as though the birds too had sensed some nameless peril and fallen silent, one and all.

Within the hall, the True Man Dao Yan shook ever more violently, and the black qi around him grew ever denser. In the hall that had been so still, a whirlwind had sprung up at some point, moaning low and rushing through the empty chamber. The wind grew stronger and stronger; trembling, shrouded in black qi, the True Man Dao Yan slowly rose to his feet—and at that moment the look on his face was as though he had suddenly become another man, filled with a savage, ruthless air.