Chapter 20 — Drawing Lots
劍問蒼天 · Page 5 of 5
Zhang Qingyue had often heard his senior brothers speak of this martial aunt. Xiaozhu Peak, they said, was the only branch of the Canglan Sect that took only female disciples, and Abbess Shuijing herself was of profound attainment, greatly famed within the sect. And the disciples of Xiaozhu Peak had from time to time distinguished themselves in past Seven Peaks tournaments.
Zhang Qingyue looked at Abbess Shuijing a few more times. She appeared to be about thirty, much the same as his martial aunt Su Wan; an oval face, fine brows and a delicate nose, a pair of almond eyes bright and piercing; she wore a moon-white Daoist robe, and looked, indeed, graceful and striking. Behind her there stood no elder of the generation above, but rather a single female disciple, robed in white like snow, extraordinarily beautiful, a long sword slung across her back. Scabbard and hilt alike were of a sky-blue hue, brilliant in color, with a faint ripple of light moving over them—plainly, at a glance, an immortal treasure.
He was staring, lost in thought, when the young woman, as though sensing his gaze, suddenly turned her head, her eyes like lightning, and gave Zhang Qingyue a cold stare. His heart jolted as though struck by a shock, and his eyes seemed to smart. Startled, he flushed slightly; the woman's face was expressionless, but there was a hint of contempt in her eyes, and he hastily lowered his head. In that awkward moment someone beside him suddenly reached over and tugged at him; Tian Lingsu's voice said, "Xiaofan, what are you staring at? It is our turn to draw."
Zhang Qingyue said hastily, "Yes, yes." He dared not look toward Abbess Shuijing again, but turned and followed Tian Lingsu toward the red-wood chest. By now only the disciples of Dazhu Peak and Xiaozhu Peak had yet to draw. Song Dayi leading the Dazhu Peak group came in order to the chest, drew their wax balls, and returned below. Then, while the others were busy examining their numbers, eight female disciples came forth from Xiaozhu Peak—Wen Pei among them—and the white-robed woman standing behind Abbess Shuijing bent and said a word to her. Abbess Shuijing nodded and said, "You go too."
The white-robed woman assented, stepped in among the women of Xiaozhu Peak, exchanged a smile with Wen Pei and the others, and together they went to the red-wood chest and drew the last nine wax balls.
Now in the hall the disciples were all examining their wax balls, and the peak lords and elders seated above could not help growing tense, their eyes fixed on the disciples of their own peaks, hoping each would draw a good lot—and if one drew the slip marked "one," why, nothing could be better.
As though answering the feelings of the masters, the young Canglan disciples below spoke up one after another:
"Ah, I am twenty-six."
"I am thirty-three. Hey, what number are you?"
"Oh, I am forty-seven. I do not know who my opponent is. Let me reckon…"
…
Yet for all the disciples talked, not one said he had drawn that precious slip numbered one.
Cangyan Daoren frowned, coughed twice, and called out: "Who has drawn the lot numbered one?"
His voice was loud and carried, hushing every other sound at once. A hush fell over the hall. For a long while, from the midst of the crowd, a small voice came at last—with a note of surprise and diffidence, in a tone as though the speaker himself could not believe it: "Re—reporting to Uncle Cangsong, it—it is here with me."
Everyone turned to look, and could not help but stare. There stood Zhang Qingyue amid the crowd, a slip of paper in his hand, rooted to the spot, his eyes stealing toward Tian Buhui as he spoke in that timid voice.