Chapter 66 — The Vampire Fiend
劍問蒼天 · Page 2 of 7
The Vampire Fiend wasted no words on him. He said only: "We are going now to the Canglan Sect to find that bastard who killed my disciple. If we find him, count yourself lucky. If we do not, I will first drain your blood dry and make an offering of it to my disciple's spirit."
These words left the Wild Dog white as death, wailing over his misfortune.
Since coming to Mount Liubo, Zhang Qingyue had caught sight of the Wild Wolf Daoist several times, but each time the Wild Wolf Daoist had either been dueling with others or fleeing through the air, and had not seen Zhang Qingyue. Counting that time in the hidden cave, Zhang Qingyue had been hiding in the darkness as well, and by the time he came out, the Wild Dog had long since rushed out with the others and was trading "bang-bang-clang-clang" blows with the orthodox disciples in fine style.
The Wild Dog thought to himself: who knows whether that little bastard has even come to Mount Liubo? If he has not, then when the Vampire Fiend flies into a rage, will I not die a wrongful death? So he begged and pleaded without cease. But the Vampire Fiend's heart was iron and stone, and he turned a deaf ear; he simply carried him off and flew stealthily to where the orthodox cultivators dwelt.
Then, in that dark forest, the Wild Wolf Daoist suddenly caught sight of Zhang Qingyue's figure, and his joy was beyond all expectation—gladder than if he had seen his own father and mother. At once he shouted aloud: "That's him! That's the one—I'd know him even if he were burned to ashes!"
The Vampire Fiend gave a cold snort, tossed him lightly from his hand, and sent the Wild Dog flying far off like so much rubbish. Only after a good while did Zhang Qingyue hear a muffled thud from the distance, followed by a cry of pain—whether the man had landed on the ground or crashed into a great tree, there was no telling.
The Vampire Fiend looked the young Canglan disciple up and down, yet did not strike at once. Instead he knitted his brows. Savage as his temper was, he was not wholly without reason. On the day he saw Jiang Laosan's corpse, which the Blood Refining Hall had sent men to carry back, amid his furious grief he had also noticed something strange. The way Jiang Laosan had died, his flesh and blood dried to husks, looked in every way like the work of the vampire art of his own sect—could it be that besides himself and Jiang Laosan, someone else in this world practiced this "rare art"?
He of course did not know that in Zhang Qingyue's hand, on that dark iron staff, was the "Blood-Devouring Bead" handed down from the demon cult's elder, the Black-Hearted Old Man. But with the experience and insight of several hundred years of cultivation, he had soon concluded that this "killer," even if he had not used the vampire art, had at least used a spell akin to it, and that his cultivation was by no means low—perhaps not even beneath his own. So now, seeing Zhang Qingyue, he had instead held his temper and first examined the man carefully: what, after all, was strange about him?
Yet look he east and look he west, his brows knit tight, and still he could see nothing to the point. From head to foot and foot to head, this youngster was still only an ordinary Canglan disciple, with not one outstanding feature, and not the slightest trace of the cruel, savage aura of the vampire art.
Zhang Qingyue stood where he was, and being stared at by this ghastly old creature, he felt his heart crawl with unease. He did not know who the man was. But seeing him with the Wild Wolf Daoist, he guessed he must be of the demon cult, and from the way the two had spoken, it seemed they had come looking for him on purpose.
The red skull floating in midair, glowing with red light, had at some point begun to rotate slowly again, and the Vampire Fiend's voice came coldly from behind that red radiance: "Little whelp of the Canglan Sect, was it you who killed my disciple Jiang Laosan?"