Chapter 237 — The Strange Treasure
The Sword Questions the Heavens · Page 3 of 6
It was hard to say when it had begun, but many disciples of the Ghost King Sect had started to feel that something around them was quietly, inexplicably wrong. Strange things—things that had never happened before, that had never occurred at all—were now happening again and again in these days.
For example, this cavern in the heart of the mountain had stood firm for centuries beyond all doubt, and the stone chambers where the Ghost King Sect disciples lived were walled with rock of the hardest kind. Never mind shattering it—a man could hack at those walls with a knife till he was half dead and still not gouge a small hole, if he managed it at all. Yet in these days, uncanny cracks had begun to appear all over the stone walls of the sect's main hall, and those cracks were still steadily widening.
Or take this: the folk of the Ghost King Sect, living in their cavern in the mountain's belly, had long grown used to a quiet life. Yet from some unknown time, whenever they returned to their rooms, lay down on their beds, and hovered on the edge of sleep, many of them would hear, as though from deep beneath their own stone chambers, a faint and utterly dreadful sound. It was like the roar of some gigantic beast, or the bellowing of a demon out of legend; some even felt it was like a vast torrent of molten rock thundering along beneath them, ready at any moment to burst upward and drown them all... The sound pierced their ears like a sharp needle and jolted them awake—yet once awake, they seemed to hear nothing at all.
None of these strange things had ever happened before, but what frightened the Ghost King Sect disciples most was a certain uncanny business among their own number. A few of them—disciples who by every appearance were as usual—would suddenly fly into a madness, utterly losing their reason, and attack anyone near them like the most frenzied of beasts. Even if the one standing beside them was their own kin or their dearest friend, these crazed disciples would kill everyone in sight by the cruelest means, until they themselves were killed by others who came running at the news.
In a matter of days, such horrors had happened again and again within the Ghost King Sect. For a time everyone feared for his own life; even kin and close friends no longer dared trust one another. No one knew what was happening. Panic reigned, and the whole of Fox Ridge Mountain seemed to have fallen into a dangerous and uncanny atmosphere.
The setting sun was blood-red. At dusk, several disciples stood guard at the gate of the Ghost King Sect, their hearts ill at ease. Some silently gazed at the sun sinking toward the distant hills; others stared blankly, no one knew at what. Suddenly one of them uttered a cry of surprise. "Someone's coming," he said.
They all started and looked up. There, sure enough, at the foot of Fox Ridge Mountain, in the glow of the setting sun, a white figure came drifting from afar, heading straight for the Ghost King Sect. Not knowing whether the newcomer was friend or foe, they could not help tensing. The white figure moved swiftly, and in the blink of an eye was halfway up the mountain, nearing the entrance to the main hall. The disciples went out to meet it and saw clearly who it was; with a collective "whoosh" of breath they sighed and relaxed. The visitor was none other than Xiao Bai, honored guest of the Ghost King, the sect's master, and of Ming Li, its vice master.
Xiao Bai came to a halt, feeling faintly puzzled. The look of relief on the disciples' faces was noticeably unlike their usual manner. Perhaps they themselves did not notice, but Xiao Bai was a nine-tailed celestial fox who had cultivated for a thousand years and had seen everything there was to see. Almost by instinct she sensed that these Ghost King Sect disciples seemed weighed down by some enormous stone, like over-tightened strings that could snap at any moment.