Chapter 165 — Dust of the Mortal World
The Sword Questions the Heavens · Page 4 of 5
The moon was cold and silent—but just before him, the moonlight suddenly dimmed, and there appeared the figures of a husband and wife, gazing at him with compassion and joy, as on that rainy night long ago when he had first come into the world and they had rejoiced.
His heart felt as if slashed by a blade in an instant; his whole body shook—yet he was like an arrow loosed from the string, with not the slightest thought of shrinking back. The three-colored rays, swift as lightning, in the gaze of his eyes, stabbed hard into the husband and wife and passed straight through.
It was as if blood splattered, or as if wind and rain hissed, striking his face, cold as ice. The figures vanished, and he seemed somewhat numb. Only his gaze remained resolute as he charged at that eerie moon.
Suddenly the moonlight dimmed again, and the figures of Tian Buhui and Su Wan appeared. Su Wan smiled at him, while Tian Buhui—just as in his memory—gave a humph and shot him a glare. And between the two of them stood Tian Lingsu, her smile like a flower, in red garments, just as she had looked at sixteen or seventeen, laughing and calling loudly, "Little junior brother, let's go up the mountain to cut bamboo..."
In that instant he seemed to suffocate. Those three figures were right before his eyes, vivid and alive, barring his way. What a shuddering sensation it was, like lightning coursing through his whole body; the cold rays drew ever nearer to their figures, and his heart seemed to be torn entirely apart.
At last the three-colored rays passed through—passed straight through those figures. A chill poured down from head to foot, and there in midair, his face white as paper, he suddenly opened his mouth and with a "wa" spat out a great mouthful of blood, dyeing the front of his robe red. Not a trace of color remained in his face.
Then he lifted his head once more, like an arrow loosed from the string that cannot be turned back, that will not rest until death, and charged at that eerie moon.
The moonlight was icy cold; heaven and earth suddenly dimmed, as though a bleak desolation were quietly spreading.
And in that flash of lightning and spark of flint, just as he seemed about to rush close before the moonlight, swirling mist came surging in—and suddenly, a figure faintly appeared within it.
What a figure it was—one carved deep into his heart!
He froze abruptly; all his resolve seemed about to scatter on the wind. That blurred figure whirled and tangled in the mist—now seeming a figure in green, now seeming one in white robes dancing with a sword!
In his hand he gripped the Soul-Devouring Blade, radiating a cold chill. His heart had once ached so for that figure—but now, at this very moment, how was he to advance or retreat?
In the deep night, under the cold moonlight, from the distant edge of the sky there suddenly came a heart-rending howl, like a dying beast baying long at the moon, filled with the anguish of despair.
That radiant light, flickering with three strange halos, soared into the sky, straight into the clouds, pierced through the mist, and stabbed into that blurred figure!
And then, as if something had suddenly shattered...
The wind and rain filling the sky quietly ceased. There were tears in his eyes as he gazed at that figure. Perhaps she was close enough to touch—yet still he could not make out her face. Only, somewhere in the distant, unseen depths, there seemed to be a faint sigh.
The wind faded, the rain scattered!
The moonlight fell like drifting clouds!
Heaven and earth, the vault of sky—all was like water!
His body fell from the sky, as if plunging into an abyss of ten thousand fathoms; yet in his heart there was no fear, only a measure of reluctance, as he gazed at that figure slowly fading away. The next moment he had struck the ground, and the illusions all around him vanished utterly.