Chapter 225 — The Wound
The Sword Questions the Heavens · Page 3 of 6
The Mingwang laughed uproariously at the sky, then abruptly turned and strode to the Ghost Master, reaching out to clap him heavily on the shoulder. The Ghost Master seemed startled, a flicker of something strange passing through his eyes, but in the end he did not move, standing where he was. A moment later the Mingwang's palm landed on his shoulder—nothing untoward happened—and the Mingwang merely laughed loudly: "Good, good, good!"
He laughed heartily, overjoyed, then as though recalling something, his smile subsided somewhat, and he said to the Ghost Master with a solemn face, "My thanks to you."
The Ghost Master bowed his head slightly and said, "That this peerless formation can succeed is all thanks to the Sect Master's boundless fortune. And without this divine artifact, the Fulong Cauldron, I too would have been helpless."
The Mingwang smiled and shook his head. "The Fulong Cauldron is a treasured heirloom of my Mingwang Sect, yet for many years no one could comprehend the inscriptions on its body. You alone have lent this old man a hand in the end—surely Heaven sent you to me, that I might accomplish my grand design!"
The Ghost Master was silent a moment, then said, "The Sect Master overpraises me."
The Mingwang chuckled, then turned again, his gaze once more falling upon the Fulong Cauldron—suspended in the void, blazing with light, radiating auspicious power. Another flash of excited, ecstatic delight crossed his eyes, and he could not help but burst into laughter once more.
The Ghost Master stood quietly behind the Mingwang, watching his ever more arrogant and wild manner, and said not a word. Were anyone who knew the Mingwang to step in here now, they would surely be greatly startled: the Mingwang had always been a man of great ambition and talent, restrained and deep, and had never worn such a flaunting, overweening expression. Yet seeing it now, the Ghost Master showed not the slightest surprise.
Whether it was because he had grown used to seeing the Mingwang like this when they were alone together, or because his thoughts ran too deep for any outsider to read them, none could say.
In any case, above the vast blood pool in that hidden mountain belly, amid the thick stench of blood, the Mingwang exulted in his own satisfaction as he calculated the days to come; his gleeful laughter echoed and lingered, gradually shrouding the whole vast cavern. And behind him stood a quiet shadow, soundlessly keeping its place.
At the foot of Canglan Mountain.
The eerie black clouds in the vault of heaven had at some point begun to scatter, though the cloud layer remained thick; from the pitch-black sky the rain still poured, washing over this somewhat desolate mortal world.
Over the wilderness the wind blew hard and the rain came down in sheets, and the cold cut to the bone. The place that had been an abandoned charity morgue not so long ago had been reduced to utter ruin after a harrowing battle of spells, and even the earth underfoot had been torn open by the violent impact of tremendous force, so that the rain, washing over it, had churned it into filthy mud.
The sky was so dim that not a sliver of light remained. Out on the wilderness, in the wind and rain, only a faint thread of blue light glimmered.
Lu Xueling, who had always been fastidious about cleanliness, had her white robes soiled with mud, yet she seemed wholly unconcerned. Not far before her lay the body of Tian Buhui, quiet and still, his eyes closed, peaceful as though he had merely fallen asleep. The rain beat against his face, and in the wind was a sound of sobbing, as though something were weeping.