Chapter 79 — Seven
劍問蒼天 · Page 3 of 6
Lin Jinghong paled in shock, but before he could react, a piercing agony stabbed through his chest, a force of utter sharpness driving straight in and in an instant piercing through every protecting art of his true essence.
"Ah!"
Lin Jinghong gave a hoarse cry, and his whole body was flung flying, blood spraying from his mouth. He could not even keep hold of the Slaying Dragon Sword; the blade tumbled through the air, and at last with a swish plunged point-first into the ground—right before that sweeping old man.
The emerald light swirled and slowly dimmed.
Lin Jinghong had ever been stubborn by nature. Looking down at his chest, he saw a mass of mangled flesh and blood, yet the true wound was no bigger than a fingertip. But now a keen force surged straight into his body, rampaging like a fine needle that nothing could blunt, and the meridians within him were wracked with unbearable pain. He tried to rise and face the enemy again, but his legs gave way beneath him—he could not stand!
He gasped for breath in great gulps, while the false Shangguan Lue and the others laughed heartily, smug beyond measure.
"Little fellow, how's that? I used but half my power and beat you to this state. Will you not hurry and submit!"
The muscles of Lin Jinghong's face twitched; plainly the pain within him was extreme, but the calamity pressing upon him filled him with still greater dread. At the thought of the Ancestral Hall behind him, he knew not from where the strength came, but he struggled and slowly crawled to his feet.
The demon cultists did not stop him, only stood to one side watching the sport like monkeys at a show.
That piercing pain seemed about to surge up into his skull. Before he was steady on his feet, another wave of dizziness took him. Turning his head, he gasped hoarsely for breath and staggered toward the Slaying Dragon Sword before the sweeping old man, panting out, "Old sir, it's dangerous here—you must, must, must go quickly—"
The old man looked like one of the Canglan Sect's ordinary sweepers of the Ancestral Hall, his face gaunt and withered, the wrinkles carved as if by a knife. Strange to say, throughout Lin Jinghong's fierce battle with the demon cultists, he had stood quietly watching all along, neither fleeing nor speaking.
Now he glanced at the chest of the approaching Lin Jinghong and suddenly said, faint and flat, "The Sundering Cone! You must be Zhou Yin, assassin of the Longevity Hall of the demon cult."
The four demon cultists' laughter caught. The false Shangguan Lue's expression turned cold. "I never thought there would be an expert here. Correct—I am Zhou Yin. And who might you be, sir?"
The withered old man did not answer him, but went on of himself: "The Sundering Cone is a rare treasure of the demon cult, its power immense. But in the hands of a man of your base character it has sunk to a tool for striking from the shadows—truly a disgrace to this wondrous thing!"
Zhou Yin was furious, but for the moment he could not make out this mysterious old man's identity; and seeing that though the man looked tottering, his tone was frighteningly grand, he could not help but feel uneasy. "Who in the world are you, sir?"
The old man sighed. "Who am I? Heh heh, even I have forgotten who I am." As he spoke his face was sorrowful, his voice full of bleak desolation. Then he turned his head toward Lin Jinghong, who stood dazed to one side, and said, "Child."
Lin Jinghong started and hastily said, "Yes—senior, senior."
The old man looked him up and down a few times, and seemed to show a faint smile. "Under whose tutelage are you?"
Lin Jinghong knew not why, but before this old man he suddenly felt an indescribable awe. He said in a low voice, "This disciple is of the household of Daoist Cangyan of Dragon Peak—"
Halfway through he suddenly recalled that Daoist Cangyan had now betrayed Qingyun, and a nameless bitterness surged up in his heart. A pang seized him, and he could not go on.