Chapter 4 — The Great Vow
劍問蒼天 · Page 1 of 5
To Zhang Qingyue, the clouds in the sky—white clouds, black clouds alike—had never come so close to the ground as these dark clouds tonight; the thunder had never been so deafening, nor the lightning so blinding that he could scarcely bear to look at it.
It was as if the sky itself were about to collapse.
He stood there dumbly, watching the man in black and the old monk inside the thatched temple glare at each other, each poised to unleash his magic.
Suddenly a thunderclap burst overhead, and as his ears rang with its blast, he saw a dazzling bolt of lightning split the heavens and strike the earth—landing upon the black-robed man's long sword.
In an instant the man's robes billowed up, his eyes wide open as if they would burst from his skull. Beneath the fierce glare of the lightning, the thatched temple was bright as day.
The lightning that bloomed on the sword's tip in the night was so beautiful that Zhang Qingyue held his breath—and in Puzhao's eyes, that strange fervor kindled once more.
"Is this the mighty power of the Daoist true arts?"
The man in black gave a great shout. Guiding with the sword formula of his left hand, he gathered all his strength and snapped his wrist. Thunder crashed; the lightning on the blade shot straight at Puzhao. Along its path, grass, trees, bricks and stones alike were blasted into the air—only the road down its center remained, seared with a deep, glowing scar.
Puzhao retreated three steps, dissolved his hand seals, and pressed his palms together. His face was solemn, a faint golden light seeping from his whole body, as he murmured low: "Compassion of my Buddha!"
With a crack, the seven remaining jade prayer beads before him shattered all at once, and in the space three feet before him they coalesced into a giant character—"Buddha"—its golden radiance so dazzling it could not be looked upon.
The next instant, the lightning and the Buddha character collided.
Zhang Qingyue suddenly felt his heart give one violent bound, as if all the blood in his body had reversed course in that instant. His limbs went weak, he could not breathe; he felt that in that one moment the wind had stopped, the thunder had ceased, the whole world had come to a halt.
Then, before he could even feel afraid, he was hurled backward through the air. He saw white light and golden brilliance, incomparably gorgeous, far surpassing the sun in the sky. The whole thatched temple burst asunder, blown outward in every direction—upward too—from the two men at its center.
His heart felt hollow and empty; he was aware only of the keen wind whistling past his ears.
He was frightened, and instinctively tried to curl himself up, but his will had no strength to command his limbs. He could only let himself drift toward some unknown place.
A thought surfaced in his mind: Am I going to die?
A violent terror rushed upon him all at once; he broke into a cold sweat and trembled slightly.
When death stands before you, how should you face it?
He fainted, and knew nothing more.
Puzhao came slowly toward them, tottering, Zhang Qingyue and Lin Jinghong tucked beneath his arms. He reached a somewhat cleaner patch of ground, set the two children gently down, and was at once seized by agony so fierce it felt as though his whole body would split apart. He could hold out no longer, and slumped down where he stood.
He looked at his chest. Through the scorched, foul-smelling monk's robe he could dimly make out a black vapor that had gradually encircled his chest, leaving only a small spot over his heart untouched.
He gave a bitter laugh and reached into his robe. His hand shook badly; after a long while he slowly drew out a red pill, about the size of a fingertip, smooth and unremarkable.
Puzhao sighed and said in a low voice: "To think the Ghost Physician was right after all. In the end I must still take his 'Three-Day Death Pill.'"
He hesitated a moment, then at last nodded and swallowed the pill.