Chapter 48 — The Town
劍問蒼天 · Page 1 of 9
Zhang Qingyue stared deeply at this middle-aged scholar who called himself "Wan Ren Gui," a sense of foreboding rising in his heart. Yet at the same time, deep within him, another force seemed to compel him, and he heard himself ask, "Pray, sir, instruct me."
Wan Ren Gui looked at him with profound meaning and said slowly, "That black rod carries an exceedingly heavy aura of malevolence. Its dark radiance is smooth and restrained, but should a man come within thirty feet of it, the vital blood and qi of his whole body would be driven back into his heart by that malevolent force, and he would die."
Zhang Qingyue's heart stirred, and he could not help saying, "That's right. When I first came upon the thing, even from a distance I felt my body grow heavy and my stomach turn, as though I were about to faint."
Wan Ren Gui sighed softly and looked at him. "Quite so, quite so," he said, and then, as though knitting his brows slightly, he let out a low sigh. "That you did not die—now that is truly strange."
Zhang Qingyue had not caught his latter words and pressed him: "What?"
Wan Ren Gui smiled faintly and did not answer him, only pointed at the dark iron rod. "This black rod is by nature a thing of great inauspiciousness, called 'Soul-Stealer.' It is not, however, a possession of the demon cult. For thousands of years it has never appeared in the world; there are only a few records of it in ancient scrolls and rare editions. Young Master Zhang, your fortune is deep indeed, to have obtained two such supreme treasures of this world."
"Soul-Stealer!" Zhang Qingyue's face went wooden, and he repeated the name in a low voice.
"The very same," said Wan Ren Gui, his expression grown calm again. "There is a record in the ancient book Strange Treasures in Ten Chapters: Heaven possessed a wondrous iron that fell into the Nine Depths; the ghost-fires of the underworld burned yin spirits and fierce ghosts to temper it—a thousand years to grow red, a thousand years to take form, a thousand years to gather the qi of dark malevolence, a thousand years to gain the power to steal souls. In truth, such a thing of inauspiciousness was never meant to be held by the living. I never imagined that you, Young Master Zhang..."
"Clang—" With a sharp ring, the black iron rod slipped from Zhang Qingyue's hand and fell to the ground. His hands and feet had gone weak, and his chest felt unbearably constricted. He staggered back a few steps, staring fixedly at the dark iron rod that had accompanied him all these years, and could not speak a word.
Wan Ren Gui watched his look of horror, and a cold sneer suddenly flickered across his face. "Young Master Zhang, what troubles you?"
Zhang Qingyue shook his head hard, finding even speech agonizing, and murmured, "How—how can this be? I am a disciple of the Canglan Sect—how could I use such a cursed thing?" It came to him then that day beneath the Dead Spirit Abyss, no wonder those yin spirits had feared his dark iron rod so; most likely it was this "Soul-Stealer" at work.
From his manner, Wan Ren Gui knew that this youth had grown up within the Canglan Sect and had never seen anything of the world. Now, meeting so great a shock all at once, he was nearly at a loss. Yet his own expression showed no comfort; he merely said mildly, "Cursed thing? And what, pray, do you take a cursed thing to be?"
Zhang Qingyue seemed somewhat beside himself. Pointing blankly at the dark iron rod on the ground, he said, "This—this thing has killed who knows how many living souls. Is it not a cursed thing?"
Wan Ren Gui sneered. "Kill many people, and it is a cursed thing?"
Zhang Qingyue answered almost without thinking: "Yes."