Chapter 81 — Nine
劍問蒼天 · Page 5 of 7
Just then Master Pucheng and the others, who had been escorted to safety by Master Shuijing and his people, were brought back by Shui Yue. Master Pucheng's complexion was now much better than the deathly pallor of before—evidently, though Zhou Yin's Liren Cone was formidable, it was still far inferior to Master Pucheng's Great Brahma Prajna.
By this time Master Pucheng had for the most part forced the Liren Cone's strange piercing force out of his body. Even so, he still looked extremely weak; someone quickly brought over another chair, and with Facheng and Pukong supporting him, Master Pucheng sat down beside Daoist Daoyan.
Master Pucheng panted a few times and looked around him; seeing rivers of blood, the dead lying everywhere, and the shattered halls, he gave a long sigh, pressed his palms together, and chanted, "Amitabha!"
Daoist Daoyan gave Master Pucheng a slight nod and a bitter smile. "How are your wounds, Master?"
Master Pucheng shook his head. "This old monk will not die yet—but it is the sect master who must take great care!"
Daoist Daoyan shook his head and sighed; his gaze drifted into the distance and suddenly fell upon Zhang Qingyue, standing outside, and as though something had occurred to him, he turned to Tian Buhui and said, "Brother Tian, call your disciple Zhang Qingyue over here."
Tian Buhui's expression changed, but he dared not disobey; he could only turn and say, "Old Seven, come here. The sect master has something to say to you."
Everyone was startled, especially the disciples of Dazhu Peak. Zhang Qingyue's heart lurched, but a master's command could not be defied, and he could only steel himself and walk over.
After a moment the crowd opened a space, and Zhang Qingyue stood alone before Daoist Daoyan and said in a low voice, "Sect Master."
Daoist Daoyan looked at him for a long while, then said quietly, "Even now, you still will not reveal your secret?"
Zhang Qingyue's body jolted; he felt all eyes around him suddenly fasten upon him—some concerned, some contemptuous, but more than anything, bewildered.
Daoist Daoyan sighed and said slowly, "Zhang Qingyue, since you entered our Canglan Sect, has the Canglan Sect ever mistreated you?"
Zhang Qingyue shook his head at once. "Sect Master, no, nothing of the sort. My master and mistress treated me exceedingly well..." At these words Tian Buhui's body visibly jerked, and his face showed a most complex expression.
"But," Zhang Qingyue said, his face twisted with pain, two sets of thoughts warring endlessly in his mind, "but this disciple truly has a hardship he cannot speak of. I—I cannot..."
"Speak!"
Suddenly a great shout rang out, shaking the whole assembly like a peal of thunder and startling everyone. Zhang Qingyue involuntarily took a step back and looked toward the shouter, and his heart quailed.
The one who had shouted was no one from Qingyun, but Pukong, one of the four great divine monks of the Fanyin Temple. Among the four, Pukong ranked lowest, yet his temper was the fiercest; in his youth he had subdued demons and vanquished devils, and with the wondrous Buddhist treasure in his hand, the Golden Stupa Alms Bowl, he had slain countless evil spirits. Only as the years advanced and his understanding of the Buddha's meaning deepened did he gradually withdraw into the Fanyin Temple.
In today's bloody battle at Qingyun, Pukong had unleashed wholesale slaughter, fighting the Demon Sect with Buddhist cultivation beyond the comprehension of gods and ghosts; at this moment his monk's robe was stained with blood from top to bottom, and he looked no longer like a revered monk of the Buddha, but rather like a fiend from hell—no wonder Zhang Qingyue and the others had been startled.