Chapter 107 — The Demon Formation
The Sword Questions the Heavens · Page 4 of 6
"However," the Ghost King said abruptly, "I have heard that when Mingli encountered those orthodox cultivators in the Dead Marsh—especially a Qingyun disciple named Lu Xueling—his conduct grew somewhat strange. Is this so?"
Yousi's body gave a jolt. The Ghost King's expression was placid, revealing nothing of his thoughts, yet some inexplicable turmoil suddenly rose in her heart. She and Qinglong had stolen into the Dead Marsh in secret, and she had seen, for the most part from the shadows, the subtle something between Mingli and Lu Xueling. But now, at the thought of it, a baffling ache seized her.
Like a sharp needle piercing her heart.
"What is it?" The Ghost King turned his head and looked at Yousi.
Yousi slowly lowered her head. With the black veil covering her face, none could see her expression. After a moment, her voice seemed somehow hoarse, yet still clear and cold as she answered the Ghost King:
"Yes. Between him and Lu Xueling of the Canglan Sect there is indeed something ambiguous. With my own eyes I saw him, outside the Vault of the Heavenly Emperor, before the Blackwater Serpent, risk his life to save that woman!"
The Ghost King said no more, but within mere moments the reeking stench of blood around them abruptly thickened tenfold, a hundredfold. The man still stood with hands clasped behind his back, but whether lit by the red glow from the depths of the cave, the crimson light in his eyes flared violently.
Yousi slowly bowed to the Ghost King, then stepped back and walked slowly out of that cave that all but stifled the breath.
But she had scarcely reached the stone door when she suddenly froze. Qinglong stood quietly beyond it, gazing at her with indifference.
Yousi met his gaze, and thus the two faced each other, saying nothing for a long while.
After a time, Qinglong walked slowly forward, brushed past her, and went deep into the cave, leaving Yousi alone, standing dumbstruck in the passage.
From first to last, he had not spoken a single word to her.
The southern wilds' hidden moon hung solitary in the western sky.
Deep in the mountains, an ancient temple; insects chirped mournfully, and the scene was one of bleak and shadowed desolation.
"Whoosh!"
With a whistle and a flash of light, Lü Shun came flying on his sword and alighted in the courtyard of the ancient temple. His eyes blazed with keen light as he scanned the great hall of the temple, inch by inch.
He had already searched the surrounding ten li by sword, finding nothing—not a single soul. Yet on reflection, he suddenly realized that this ancient temple was precisely the place he had overlooked.
The night wind blew cold. The abandoned hall no longer even had its great doors, though not long before, Lü Shun had been inside it, conversing with someone. But now it seemed abruptly sinister, and in the darkness something seemed to be watching him.
A sudden cold sweat broke out on his palms.
The monster he had just killed—fish-headed, man-bodied—was the chieftain of the Southern Barbarian Fish-Man Tribe. That the man had been assassinated at their very meeting left Lü Shun unable to escape responsibility. He knew well that the southern barbarian tribes had secret dealings with his own sect, and knew better still how fearsome and cruel those tribes were. If he failed to give the barbarians a satisfactory account this time, he feared he would suffer greatly for it.
Yet from what he knew of the southern tribes, these fish-men were no mean fighters. Though they were still inferior to a cultivator of his own deep attainment, to kill one in a single strike—the assassin's mastery of the Dao must be no less than his own.
Lü Shun drew a deep breath, then suddenly called out in a loud voice, "Which master might you be? Pray come out and speak."
"Speak... speak..."
The night wind carried the tail of his words, drifting gently through the ancient temple. Yet the great hall remained utterly silent, without a sound.