Chapter 182 — Heaven's Wrath
The Sword Questions the Heavens · Page 3 of 6
Pu Cheng's expression changed, and he turned to look at him. The withered old monk met his gaze coldly, and for a moment Pu Cheng could find no words. In truth, with cultivation such as his, how could Pu Cheng fail to sense the waves of eerie, forbidding demonic power emanating from Ming Li—no art of the righteous path, that. Whether what he did today was right, he himself could hardly say. Yet whenever he thought of junior brother Pu Zhao, who had died with his grievance unresolved, and of the great compassion Ming Li had shown a few days before in the presence of Pu Zhao's dharma-body and relics, Pu Cheng—deeply moved—could not bring himself to abandon the man.
For the moment Pu Cheng stood silent. After a long while, just as he was about to speak, a commotion broke out beside him; many voices cried out softly, and at the same time a strange breath, as of some change, came from within the dharma array. He hurriedly looked up, and at once his face changed color.
He saw that the demonic power upon Ming Li, which had been forcibly pressed down under the suppression and protection of the great Buddhist array jointly sustained by the monks of Fan Yin Temple, had been wholly wrapped within the golden dharma array. That mysterious turmoil in the heavens, finding no target, had been slowly dispersing. But now, unexpectedly, the rays upon Ming Li—pressed down to a faint glimmer—suddenly flared bright once more, and the surging breath within them was stronger than before.
"Boom!"
A thunderclap burst with a crash across the vault of heaven.
Fierce winds howled; amid the thunder, Ming Li threw back his head and howled once more. Light flickered all about his body—blue, red, gold, crimson—flowing without cease, and at last slowly gathering and blending, until it transformed into the simplest of all things: the two qi of black and white. Yet these two qi were strange indeed—now all white, now all black, shifting beyond all fathoming—and yet the faint, mighty force within them was felt by every monk of Fan Yin Temple.
In midair, the golden dharma array, condensed from the cultivated power of several dozen monks of Fan Yin Temple, could no longer quite withstand the impact of the newborn true dharma upon Ming Li, and slowly began to weaken. At the same time the wind and clouds in the vault of heaven rolled on, and the enormous whirlpool appeared once more—and this time it took shape with still greater speed, swiftly forming there above Ming Li.
Looking up from the ground, one saw the lightning writhing madly within that whirlpool of clouds, heard the thunder rolling and a bizarre, unearthly hissing shriek—like the snarling maw of Heaven itself, poised to choose its prey and devour it.
On the ground, pain was now written on the faces of most of the monks; sustaining the golden dharma array was growing harder and harder. For now not only was Ming Li himself striking back against the golden light from within the array, but from the vault of heaven, from within that mysterious whirlpool, an irresistible force was bearing down from above, pressing hard upon the golden dharma array.
Caught front and back, the golden dharma array's light faded swiftly. Pu Cheng and all the rest were aghast—when at that very moment, with a thunderous roar from the heavens, from the depths of that endlessly turning, bottomless whirlpool a thick bolt of lightning came crashing down from the vault of heaven and struck the golden dharma array.
With a thunderous crack, Pu Cheng and every monk of Fan Yin Temple were shaken to the core; the monks of lesser cultivation flushed crimson, and some had already spat blood. The golden dharma array wavered and flickered, and at last slumped and scattered, dissolving into nothing.
Pu Cheng's heart was seized with stifling anguish; as the one who presided over the array, he had taken the brunt of the shock, but at this moment his mind was all on the sky above, and in his alarm he actually rose to his feet.