Chapter 59 — Malice
劍問蒼天 · Page 5 of 8
Song Dayi was the first to step forward, blocking Zhang Qingyue's path, and at once he felt that there was not a single familiar trace left in this little junior brother he had watched grow up.
Sensing someone in his way, Zhang Qingyue slowly raised his head and glared at Song Dayi. Song Dayi saw those eyes, suddenly shot through with blood, and felt a chill at heart. He forced a smile. "Xiaofan, what's the matter with you?"
Zhang Qingyue did not answer, only said in a low, husky voice, "Get out of the way."
His tone was drawn out, low and long, as if he had spent great effort to speak at all, yet to everyone who heard it, it carried a sense of dread.
Tian Buhui's face darkened at once, and the crowd was stunned.
Then, under everyone's gaze, Zhang Qingyue saw that Song Dayi still stood before him. His right hand tightened on the Dark Iron Staff, and at once a clear, cold azure light rose from the shaft, bearing a killing intent such as it had never shown before.
This time Song Dayi was truly frightened—not by the intensity of that killing intent, nor by how far Zhang Qingyue's cultivation seemed to have advanced since he went down the mountain a month ago, but because this little junior brother who had revered and loved him since childhood now truly seemed to mean to kill him.
He saw it, and Tian Buhui saw it too. His face grim, Tian Buhui took a step forward. Though he still believed Zhang Qingyue was no match for Song Dayi, the young disciple's treasure was decidedly peculiar—it had shone brilliantly at the Seven Peaks Tournament that day—and he feared Song Dayi would not find him easy to handle.
Just then Tian Lingsu ran out, her face full of astonishment, and planted herself between Zhang Qingyue and Song Dayi. To this little junior brother she had cherished since childhood she said, aghast, "Xiaofan, what on earth is wrong with you?"
That face engraved upon his heart, those bright eyes—this woman who haunted his dreams—stood right before him now, asking with such concern, such care...
Zhang Qingyue was suddenly stupefied, utterly frozen, as if waking from a dream. The malice in his body ebbed away like the tide—but, but he felt a pain as if being torn apart, and staring blankly at his senior sister before him, he felt an urge to weep aloud!
Do you know that at the hour of life and death, the one my heart clung to most was you?
Do you know that when my dreams returned to Qingyun, all those tangled, tender feelings were only for you?
Do you know...
"Crack!" A sharp, heavy sound—Tian Buhui, who had suddenly appeared beside him, dealt Zhang Qingyue a slap across the face, and the whole man flew back without meaning to, tracing an arc through the air before landing far away on the outside.
The crowd stirred in alarm.
Zhang Qingyue lay on the ground, stars bursting before his eyes, but as his senses returned he felt an overwhelming shame. To think he had meant to strike his senior brother, who had looked after him since childhood, and had harbored murderous thoughts—truly wicked beyond redemption, guilty of the gravest sin!
He struggled to rise, but before he could straighten up his legs gave way and he fell again. Half his face was hugely swollen, and bright red blood ran from the corner of his mouth.
Yet now he seemed unable to feel the pain of his body at all. Deep within, with a dread he had never known, he roared at himself: What's wrong, what's wrong, what on earth is wrong with you—have you gone mad?
He raised his head blankly and looked at the people of his sect ahead, and it was as if everyone had suddenly become strangers. And the way they looked at him was as if they were looking at a stranger they had never seen.
What on earth had happened to everything?
Zhang Qingyue climbed painfully to his feet. No one spoke; everyone was watching him, but their expressions held far more bewilderment than fear, as if even they did not know what had happened.