Chapter 142 — Calamity
The Sword Questions the Heavens · Page 3 of 6
The old man glanced at him and shook his head. "What would a young man like you know? Tian Buhui may look unimpressive, but in cultivation he has a talent all his own, and his nature is firm and persistent beyond what most men can match—which matters all the more once one's cultivation deepens. In his early years after entering the sect he was thoroughly unremarkable, but once he received guidance and his understanding opened, his cultivation advanced a thousand li a day, and his achievements came to surpass those of the senior brothers and sisters who had once leaped about and looked down on him."
He gave another cold snort and said, "In this world, nine in ten are mediocrities—like that pack of trash in the old days, Tianyun, Shang Zhengliang, and the rest. What would they know?"
Lin Jinghong fell silent. But seeing the old man's haughty expression, and hearing him speak of Daoist Tianyun and those other former chiefs of Qingyun, once famed throughout the world, as so much trash—were this to spread abroad, it would be a scandal to shock the age. Yet somehow, as Lin Jinghong heard it now, he did not doubt it in the least.
The old man turned his head and looked at Lin Jinghong. "Though you can now unleash this 'Beheading of Ghosts and Gods,' this true-art sword formula is fierce and utterly yang; its power is great, but it also greatly consumes one's own vital essence. Your gifts are extraordinary, and young as you are you have already mastered this art, but you must still cultivate ceaselessly before you can wield it freely. Unless at a moment of crisis, it is best not to use this true-art sword formula."
Lin Jinghong knelt before him and said respectfully, "Yes, disciple understands."
The old man raised him up, looked him over a few times, and a trace of pride crossed his face. "In the world today, within and without the Canglan Sect, all say that the 'True Formula of the Divine Sword That Commands Thunder' is our sect's supreme true art. In truth, what a figure was Patriarch Qingye of our sect in his day! He compiled the arts handed down by the patriarchs before him, and with what he himself had comprehended from the nameless ancient scroll, he passed down four true-art sword formulas in all—and which of them is not a supreme true art of peerless power?"
"What?" Lin Jinghong was startled. "There is such a thing? My master—he never once spoke of it to me."
The old man shook his head slightly. "Your master does not know either."
Lin Jinghong's shock at this was even greater. In his day, Daoist Cangyan's standing in the Canglan Sect had been such that he stood below one man and above ten thousand—yet this old man said even he did not know. And in truth, Daoist Cangyan had indeed never told him.
As for this old man's identity and origins, Lin Jinghong could not help but grow all the more curious.
The old man's eyes, steeped in the experience of many vicissitudes, merely swept across his face, and he knew at once what was in the young man's heart. Yet he did not speak of it; instead his brows suddenly knitted, as though he had caught some sound or movement, and his gaze flicked toward the distance.
After a moment he withdrew his gaze, a strange expression on his face, and then said lightly, "It grows late. You had best go back first."
Lin Jinghong was truly reluctant to leave, but he had always revered this old man as a god and dared not disobey him, so he knelt squarely once more and knocked his head three times, and only then turned and departed.
Soon only the old man remained in the field. He stood silent for a long while, his body once more settling into its stooped posture, then shuffled over to one side. His broom swept to and fro, raising dust; as he swept up the stones and dirt, the mysterious talismans hidden in the recesses were lifted as though weightless and drifted into the swirling dust.