Chapter 142 — Calamity
The Sword Questions the Heavens · Page 2 of 6
At the corner of the old man's mouth, standing at the hall's doorway, something twitched, and at last a faint smile appeared. Deep in his eyes there seemed also a profound trace of satisfaction.
With a whistling sound, Lin Jinghong leaped out of the deep pit, Dragon-Slaying Sword in hand, his clothes covered in dust—even his handsome face was somewhat soiled. The moment his feet touched the ground he began gasping for breath, yet his face could not conceal its excitement and elation.
He raised his head and looked toward the old man standing at the hall's doorway.
A trace of a smile hung at the old man's lips; slowly he lifted his hand and beckoned gently to him.
His breathing somewhat settled, Lin Jinghong strode quickly to the old man's side and called out with a beaming face, "Senior, I—"
The old man nodded with a smile, his gaze resting on him full of gratification and affection, and said softly, "You did well. Truly well."
With that, he slowly raised his head to look at the sky and said unhurriedly, "Even in my day, when I mastered this true-art sword formula, 'Beheading Ghosts and Gods,' I was scarcely any faster than you."
With a sharp scrape, Lin Jinghong slid the Dragon-Slaying Sword back into its sheath, the excitement still not faded from his face, and said, "Senior, if not for your guidance, I truly don't know when I would ever have been able to learn such peerless true arts!"
The old man gave a cold snort, a hint of disdain on his face, and said mildly, "In the Canglan Sect of today, apart from Daoyan, only Tian Buhui—and your former master, Cangsong—are passable. The rest of the elders and chief disciples are a pack of good-for-nothings."
Lin Jinghong was taken aback. He had studied under this mysterious old keeper of the hall for over ten years now, and with every year his cultivation deepened, so too did his admiration and reverence for the old man grow—he truly felt that this elder had opened up a whole world he had never known. So it turned out that the Dao could be cultivated in this way as well.
Over the years, as Lin Jinghong spent long days in the old man's company, the old man had come to cherish and favor him more and more, and spoke with him increasingly often—naturally touching now and then upon appraisals of the great figures of the world. At such moments the old man's tone was unexpectedly arrogant, as though, scanning all under heaven, scarcely a handful were worthy of his regard.
At first Lin Jinghong did not dare argue, though he chafed inwardly; but as his cultivation deepened, he came more and more to feel that this old man was truly unfathomable, and further, that such arrogance must surely have its reasons. With such attainments as his, how many in all the world could truly catch his eye?
Yet he had always taken a strong dislike to that fat senior uncle of his on Dazhu Peak, Tian Buhui—in part, no doubt, because he had once seen Tian Buhui berate Zhang Qingyue. This time he could not restrain himself: "Senior, I think that Tian Buhui is really quite ordinary. What's so remarkable about him?"
The old man glanced at him and shook his head. "What does a youngster like you know? Tian Buhui may look unremarkable, but in cultivation he has a gift all his own—and his nature is firm and persistent, far beyond ordinary men. That becomes especially important as one's cultivation deepens. In his early years after entering the sect he was utterly undistinguished, but once he received guidance and his understanding opened, his progress in the Dao advanced a thousand li a day, and his achievements surpassed even those senior brothers and sisters who had once leaped about and looked down on him."
He snorted coldly again and said, "Of the people in this world, nine in ten are mediocrities—men like Tianyun and Shang Zhengliang and that pack of trash, what do they know?"