Chapter 256 — The Spirit Tablet
The Sword Questions the Heavens · Page 7 of 10
But before she could relax, suddenly, from deep within the red glow, came a cry of extreme agony—it was Daoist Cangyan's voice. Jin Pingyue's whole body shook, and she immediately shrank back behind the boulder to hide. Daoist Cangyan's cry, though shrill, quickly weakened and died away, and what rose in its place was a rumbling, mad laughter—a sound full of insanity, as though all things in this world would be trampled beneath his feet. Even the mountains trembled, and the echoes rolled like thunder.
Jin Pingyue's face was pale, and her body actually began to tremble slightly. Though the voice had altered somewhat, she recognized it clearly—it was the Nether King's laughter.
A thousand li away, on the Heaven-Reaching Peak of Canglan Mountain, at the Ancestral Hall in the rear mountain.
It was as peaceful here as ever. The majestic, imposing hall stood amid the woods, exuding an air of solemnity. The dense forest was still and secluded, birdsong clear and crisp, carrying from afar; and in the dim, shadowed main hall of the Ancestral Hall, one could faintly make out the dots of burning incense.
Lin Jinghong looked up at the sky. Above him stretched a vast blue canopy, cloudless for ten thousand li; the genial sunlight fell upon him with a warm, cozy glow, and from the emerald-green Dragon-Slaying Sword at his waist reflected a beautiful, shifting light.
It looked to be fine weather today.
He gazed for a while, and the corners of his mouth slowly lifted into a smile he had not worn for a long time. Then he picked up the broom in his hand and began sweeping the stone steps and the open ground before the Ancestral Hall.
Since that mysterious old man had passed away, Canglan Mountain had undergone several changes, but amid such upheavals no one had paid much attention to this quiet corner long since removed from the world's strife. Yet Lin Jinghong seemed deeply attached to this place—perhaps out of gratitude to the old man of former days. In any case, imperceptibly, with many people's tacit consent, Lin Jinghong became the successor charged with watching over the Ancestral Hall.
Under the sweep of the broom, withered yellow leaves swirled up in crowds and were swept aside. Lin Jinghong cleaned quietly, doing what he did every day. The mountain forest was silent, a gentle breeze drifted by—who could say whether a life like this held one more measure of peace than days gone by?
Only this day seemed destined not to be peaceful.
Without a sound, just as Lin Jinghong was wholly absorbed in sweeping the fallen leaves, a pair of feet suddenly appeared before his eyes. Lin Jinghong was startled. Unless it was the season for ancestral rites, no one from the Canglan Sect would come here for months at a time; today was an ordinary day if ever there was one—so how could anyone have come?
He looked up—and the sight startled him so badly that his whole body gave a shudder. He took a step back, his face changing color, and blurted out in dismay: "Master... Uncle-Master Sect Leader!"
Standing before him was none other than Dao Yan, the True Man who was the sect master of the Canglan Sect and who had been missing for many days.
The True Man Dao Yan still wore that dark green Daoist robe, though in places it now looked somewhat tattered and worn—something that could never have been imagined happening to the sect master of the Canglan Sect, a man whose name weighed upon the whole world. As he stood there now, his face was blank of expression; he seemed thinner than he had been in memory, and yet somehow more weathered, as if he had aged into a deeper worldliness.