Chapter 17 — Object Driving
劍問蒼天 · Page 2 of 5
When disciples of the Canglan Sect reached this stage, a clear watershed invariably appeared, laying bare at a glance who was gifted and who was not: the clever broke through like a hot knife through bamboo, entering at one stroke the higher realm of "Object Driving" and from there laying a solid foundation for immortal cultivation, while the lesser disciples often stalled where they stood, and many indeed wasted their whole lives there.
Zhang Qingyue had been in the sect five years now, and had heard these things countless times in conversation with his senior brothers. But it was plain enough that every one of them had sorted him into the "lesser" category.
He walked back into the kitchen, went to the stove, filled the pot with water, then kept feeding firewood into the stove, meaning to boil some water. The bright yellow flames leapt up again, and Zhang Qingyue took his poor black "black iron rod," already two years in his service, and poked at the firewood in the stove. Once the fire burned steady, his gaze slowly settled on the rod in his hand.
This was not some revelation dawning on him; it was simply an ordinary habit—he was woolgathering.
The rod, black as iron throughout, was barely a foot long apart from the round bead at its head. Its only oddity was that beneath the black, faint veins like threads of blood ran through it, most plainly where the short rod met the round bead, so that at times it almost seemed the two had been fused together with human blood.
A sudden shudder ran through Zhang Qingyue; the thought of human blood fusing them, which had just flitted through his mind, disgusted even him. Over the years he had gradually let fade the memory of that trip into the secluded valley, but now and then, deep in the night, he would suddenly dream of that strange experience and wake drenched in sweat.
At such times he felt utterly alone, facing unknown monstrosity by himself, facing the darkness of death by himself. Every time, he could not suppress a strange agitation, and with a thread of feverish impulse, he would be seized by a feeling of slaughter. In the darkness he would even recall again, from years ago, the strange feverishness in the monk Puzhao's eyes as he looked at him beside that ruined thatched temple!
Zhang Qingyue had no idea why he should have such strange feelings, but fortunately he had one way to calm his frightened heart: the Great Brahma Prajna!
This supreme Buddhist method had the wondrous power to subdue evil spirits and cleanse the mind. He had practiced it five years, and its greatest use had been to press down the strange emotions that had arisen for no reason these past two years.
"Crack!"
Pain struck Zhang Qingyue's head; something fell to the ground—a pinecone. Fury surged in him, and he whirled about, roaring: "You damn monkey, don't let me catch you—wait, you're… ah! Sixth Brother!"
Zhang Qingyue leapt to his feet. There at the doorway stood a man of middling build with a lean, keen face and a broad smile, a small bundle on his back. Who else but the long-absent sixth brother, Du Biyan?
Du Biyan looked Zhang Qingyue up and down, clicking his tongue. "Impressive. A few years, and this kid's grown as tall as me."
Zhang Qingyue strode over and seized him hard. "Sixth Brother, why were you gone so long? We've all missed you terribly."
"Well, aren't I back now?" said Du Bi.
Zhang Qingyue pressed on: "Do Master and Mistress know you're back?"
"No. I just got in, saw smoke from the kitchen, and came over first to look. Ha, I knew this kid would be in here working. All these years—did you miss me?"
Zhang Qingyue nodded again and again, delighted. Du Biyan ruffled his hair and suddenly lowered his voice: "Come on, keep me company while I go see Master."
Zhang Qingyue blinked. "Why do you need me to come with you?"