Chapter 20 — Drawing Lots
劍問蒼天 · Page 3 of 5
Its menace gone, the Water Qilin yet stood enormous where it was, still fearsome enough. It ignored the elders in midair entirely, its eyes fixed on the young disciples on the steps, sweeping back and forth, then it sniffed at the air a few times, as though catching no scent at all. After a long while, having repeated these strange motions many times over, it seemed at last to give up. It shook its huge head, turned about, waddled off to another patch of open ground, and lay down, resting its head on its forelegs and half-closing its eyes. Before long, incredibly, its snoring rose again.
The Canglan Sect members all looked at one another, dumbfounded.
Cangyan Daoren was the quickest to recover. He slipped quietly to Dao Yan's side and said in a low voice, "Headmaster, it is not well to let the disciples linger here."
Dao Yan came to himself, glanced at Cangsong, nodded, and said, "Take the disciples up first. I will go see what is the matter with the Spirit Lord." With that he folded his body and flew toward the Water Qilin.
Cangsong turned back and called out clearly, "Just now the Spirit Lord was merely playing a joke on us all; there is no need for alarm. Now, all disciples entered in the martial tournament, proceed in order to the Yuheng Hall."
The disciples answered in unison, order restored, and went up. In their hearts, though, after witnessing that earth-shaking blow from the Water Qilin, few if any would believe it had been a joke.
Following behind the others, Zhang Qingyue and Lin Jinghong entered the magnificent, spacious Yuheng Hall. Standing within that hall, Zhang Qingyue suddenly felt the memories of five years turning over one after another.
"Jingyu," Zhang Qingyue said suddenly in a low voice.
"What?" Lin Jinghong looked at him.
Zhang Qingyue lowered his voice: "Something has just occurred to me. In all these years, have you seen Uncle Wang Er?"
Lin Jinghong's face fell at once. He shook his head. "No. Today is the first time I have been back to Jietian Peak. Three years ago I asked Senior Brother Qi Hao how Uncle Wang Er was. He said the old man was still the same—mad as ever, running about Jietian Peak all day—but the senior brothers of the eldest branch look after him, so he should be all right."
Zhang Qingyue was silent a moment, then said, "When this tournament is over, I want to go see him. Will you come?"
Lin Jinghong nodded. "Yes. I would like to see him too."
Just then a green shadow flashed at the head of the hall—Dao Yan Zhenren had come in from outside. The eyes of every Canglan elder fell on him. Cangyan Daoren stepped forward and asked, "Headmaster, the Spirit Lord…"
Dao Yan raised a hand to stop him and shot him a look. Cangyan understood at once and said no more. Then Dao Yan turned as though nothing had happened, and spoke amiably to the several dozen young Canglan disciples standing in the hall: "So you are all here. Good, good."
The disciples bowed as one and said, "We pay our respects to the Headmaster."
Dao Yan smiled faintly and returned to his seat, casting a glance at Cangyan Daoren, who at once stepped forward and said in a clear voice: "Fellow disciples, you are the finest of the Canglan Sect's younger generation. From the founding of our Qingyun branch to this day is more than two thousand years—the orthodox line of the Daoist faith, the leaders of the righteous path. But the ancients said: undertakings prosper through diligence and perish through frivolity. And again: a boat against the current that does not advance falls back. Our patriarchs of every generation, to warn those who came after and to raise up the young, handed down this grand occasion, the Seven Peaks Martial Tournament—and this year makes fully the twentieth."
"Ah—" A murmur of astonishment ran through the Canglan disciples. Twenty tournaments, at one every sixty years, meant twelve hundred years.