劍問蒼天 - 第223章 重逢 - 清風書屋

Lu Xueling's gaze never left that dark shadow. She gave a soft sigh and said no more. Only the Tianxuan in her hand began to glow quietly, its rosy light swirling.

"Whoosh!"

With a whistle in the wind, the dark figure descended from the sky and landed within the mortuary. Catching sight of Tian Buhui and Lu Xueling standing at the door of the ruined room, it seemed to start slightly, yet showed no fear. A moment later, it instead let out a strange, clucking laugh.

Lu Xueling looked closely: the figure was wholly enveloped in a thick, churning black qi, so that neither form nor face could be made out at all. And from those few laughs alone, try as she might, she could not recognize the voice as belonging to the kindly, dignified sect-uncle she remembered.

The mysterious figure sized up Tian Buhui and Lu Xueling for a few moments, then his gaze settled on the Tianxuan in Lu Xueling's hand. Suddenly he said, "Was it she who freed you?"

Tian Buhui gave a cold snort and made no answer, only casting a few more glances at the black qi shrouding the stranger, his eyes full of fury. He could not help but take a step forward.

Lu Xueling's face was expressionless, but she too moved two steps in another direction, so that she and Tian Buhui had tacitly formed a pincer position facing the mysterious figure.

There was no need to speak of Tian Buhui's cultivation; even Lu Xueling, at her present level, could well hold her own against anyone in the world. Yet the mysterious figure seemed utterly arrogant, as though he did not regard them at all, and instead burst out laughing—a hoarse, low laughter that rang out in this dead of night, in a mortuary abandoned for years, like the wailing of ghosts and the howling of wolves.

"Tian Buhui, do you still dare to cross blows with me?"

Tian Buhui said grimly, "You have fallen deep into demonic ways. I have no choice but to fight."

The man sneered a few times. "You say I have fallen to demonism—how do you know it is not you who cannot see clearly?"

Tian Buhui raised his right hand, and at once radiance swirled—his magical artifact, Red Flame, was already in his grasp, burning in his hand like fire itself. Word by word he said, "This Xuan Yin ghost qi of yours—who knows how many innocent lives and lonely souls it has claimed. What have you to say for yourself?"

At the words "Xuan Yin ghost qi," Lu Xueling could not help but change color, a flicker of shock passing over her face. As far as she knew, this eerie and sinister art called Xuan Yin ghost qi was no demonic-sect technique, but a lost heterodox art of the ghost path, said to have vanished for many years—one that relied entirely on demonic arts to harvest the essence of the living and the ghost qi of wandering souls. Its venomous nature could well be imagined.

Yet how could such a bizarre demonic art have appeared on the man before her? It was truly inconceivable!

The black qi around the mysterious figure surged, and a few more cold laughs issued from within. He seemed about to say something, then stopped, turned slightly, and looked back at the sky behind him.

Tian Buhui and Lu Xueling sensed it too and looked over, their expressions shifting slightly.

In midair, a human figure came crashing down from on high with the force of thunder. The man had not yet arrived, but the fierce wind had, and the smaller stones on the ground were already beginning to roll slowly. Such was the might of his coming that his cultivation could well be imagined.

This night, the mortuary had become a gathering place of wind and cloud, with figures from every quarter arriving one after another.

Yet life is fuller still of twists and turns that follow upon coincidence.

"Sss!"