Chapter 173 — The Flight
The Sword Questions the Heavens · Page 5 of 6
The crack slowly widened, creeping outward slow yet irresistible, spreading over the plain and once-sacred blade—until the Slaying Immortals sword gave voice once more:
Crack!
So light and crisp a sound; half the blade, together with the hilt, fell to the ground, while the other half still stood thrust into the earth.
In an instant all were struck dumb, all breath gone, every mind a blank...
The Slaying Immortals!
The Slaying Immortals sword!
Broken...
Under the clear bright sky, in broad daylight, of a sudden a mighty thunderclap burst across the heavens; in a twinkling the winds and clouds of the four quarters came rolling in, heaven and earth swiftly changed color, black clouds hung low and gathered over the peaks of Canglan Mountain.
A great wind rose, sand flying and stones skipping; with it wind and rain came sudden, thunder and lightning roared, heaven and earth bellowed, and the storm came down in sheets.
This vast heaven and earth seemed, too, to be weeping bitterly!
That night, heaven and earth mourned, and the divine sword died young!
********
Cold rain struck his face, stinging like a knife; the chill was deep, and his whole body seemed frozen stiff. In the woods Ming Li could not help but give a low groan.
The driving rain had poured for a full hour and more, with no sign at all of slackening; though the hour was still day, black clouds hung low across the sky and shrouded the blue, so dark it was as deep night, and a man could not see his hand before his face.
And luckily so: only by means of this sudden wild storm could Ming Li, gravely wounded, keep for a time out of Canglan Gate's pursuit. Yet that uncanny duel with the Slaying Immortals sword—especially the last blow—had sent the sword's recoiling force surging in irresistible, straight into his body, breaking fully half the ribs of his chest. Now the broken bones pierced his heart and lungs; deep as his cultivation ran, he was after all **of mortal flesh, and every step he took hurt him into a cold sweat, his breath whistling through his teeth.
At this moment Ming Li truly wished to cast everything aside and simply lie down on the ground and sleep unconscious; but the last thread of clarity in his mind kept telling him he must go on. Given his feud with Canglan Gate and his present broken body, if Canglan Gate disciples found him, there would be nothing for it but death.
And yet, after all, there was still a reason he could not die!
So he endured it, slowly struggling forward, one step at a time—the farther from Canglan Mountain, the safer by a measure.
The rain poured down, madly beating upon this mortal world, as though it would use the waters of heaven to wash away the world's ugliness. Ming Li gasped for breath; with every breath at his lips, in the dark rainy night, he breathed out faint white vapor. The chill wrapped him round; behind him, farther off, the clamor of voices drew nearer and nearer, and brought with it killing intent.
Plainly, though Ming Li strove to flee forward, his gravely wounded body was far slower than the searchers behind. Only the deep dense woods of Canglan Mountain, and the sky dark as pitch, had kept him so far undiscovered. Yet Ming Li knew in his heart that in the end it could not be avoided.
He stumbled, seeming to trip on a branch or something like a vine; his balance failed and he pitched forward. In his panic he flung out his hands and caught at a small tree beside him, and so barely steadied himself—but this flurry, this violent movement, sent agony through his chest to the very marrow, till he could scarcely draw breath, let alone stride on for his life.
The voices behind suddenly drew near; it seemed that even in this great wind and rain someone had heard something amiss, and at a command, many footsteps came searching toward Ming Li.