Chapter 73 — One
劍問蒼天 · Page 3 of 6
A hundred years ago, the demon cult and the orthodox sects had fought a great battle at the Canglan Mountains, killing until heaven and earth grew dim, but in the end the demon cult had still been driven off in defeat. After that the demon cult was gravely weakened; of the four great sects, three had changed masters, and it was at that time that the Nether King had succeeded to the position of sect master of the Nether King's sect.
But among all the sects, only the Ten Thousand Poisons Sect's old monster, the Poison God, had survived; only in these years he too had reversed his former swaggering, showy ways—even within the demon cult, the Ten Thousand Poisons Sect had unexpectedly kept a low profile, and ordinary followers rarely so much as laid eyes on the old monster.
At the thought, Qinglong could not help frowning slightly. The title of Poison God had resounded throughout the demon cult as early as several hundred years ago; back when he himself had still followed the previous Nether King in carving out their domain, this Poison God had already been a formidable lieutenant of the Ten Thousand Poisons Sect, and afterward, upon taking the sect master's seat, had fought fiercely with the Nether King's sect in the demon cult's internal struggles, secretly piling up grudges beyond counting.
He had never imagined that times would change, and that he would end up working with this old monster.
Qinglong had not seen the Poison God in nearly a hundred years, and was rather curious at heart—what on earth had the old monster become after all these years? By age, the old monster must be close to five hundred.
At this thought his heart stirred, and he looked at the Nether King walking half a pace ahead of him: a faint smile on his face, his manner seemingly quite relaxed, yet by no means could one guess what was in his mind.
They walked on, through the courtyard and into the inner hall; all around was silent, not a soul in sight. The dwelling of this man of high position and great power had an unexpected chill and emptiness about it.
Soon the two saw ahead, at the door of what looked like an ordinary single-story house, eight men standing dressed alike in yellow-brown; their guide led them toward that house. It seemed the Poison God must be inside.
As they drew near, the eight men bowed together to the Nether King—clearly the Nether King, as master of one of the four great factions of the demon cult, held extremely high station within it. But the Nether King showed no trace of haughtiness; he nodded slightly to them all, smiled amiably, and went in with Qinglong.
The room had windows on both the east and west sides, and with the light pouring in it was very bright—nothing at all like the worldly tales of demon cult folk forever lurking in darkness.
As for the furnishings, they were simplicity itself. In the midst of the great room stood only a table and several chairs, and beside the table a reclining chair, upon which lay an old man with hair white as snow, his eyes closed; beside him sat a young man of clean complexion, barely past twenty, arranging the tea things on the table, the fragrance of tea drifting faintly over from time to time.
By any measure it looked like a peaceful picture of grandsire and grandchild at rest—where was there the slightest trace of evil?
The Nether King smiled slightly and walked over; the old man, hearing footsteps, opened his eyes, glanced toward the Nether King, and at once his face broke into a smile. "You've come?" he said with a smile.
The Nether King laughed. "Elder, since we parted at the Holy Hall that year, it has been long since we met. How is your health?"
This old man was, of course, the Poison God, whose infamy was known throughout the world; and now he seemed to wear a bitter smile as he said, "Old, no good for anything anymore."