Chapter 26 — Luck

For a long moment no one moved. Then the white-bearded elder was the first to recover; he leaped onto the platform in a flash and went to Chu Yuhong's side, examining him carefully. But he found the young man whole and unharmed, with no sign of poisoning—it seemed rather that he had been struck by some immortal's magical treasure, his inner organs violently shaken.

Frowning, the elder straightened and looked at Zhang Qingyue, and could not help but regard the youth with new eyes. His gaze drifted, incidentally, to the black dark-iron rod clenched tight in Zhang Qingyue's hand.

"You have won," the white-bearded elder said calmly, suppressing the doubt in his heart.

Below the platform the Chaoyang Peak disciples erupted in an uproar, but the facts lay plainly before them and they had nothing to say. Only, Chu Yuhong's defeat was too baffling, too inconceivable—victory had been firmly in his grasp, and then in an instant, with a single great shout, he had lost. It was truly hard to accept.

By now Zeng Shuyan had also been struck dumb, but when he heard the white-bearded elder speak those three words, he charged up as well, ran to Zhang Qingyue's side, and gave his shoulder a heavy clap. "Good lad!" he cried with a great laugh. "So you were hiding your light under a bushel all along!"

Zhang Qingyue whipped his head around, his face like frost, and stared at him coldly.

Those eyes—cold, and yet black!

Zeng Shuyan said: "Xiaofan, what is it?"

At his question Zhang Qingyue gave a start, as though he had remembered something. His gaze softened at once, and that strange coldness in his eyes vanished, returning to its everyday look—perhaps tinged now with a little confusion. "No—nothing," he said. "I'm fine. What's the matter?"

Zeng said: "You ask me what's the matter? Why don't you ask me why you don't know that you've won this match?"

Zhang Qingyue was startled. "What? I won? I actually won?"

Zeng Shuyan was the more frightened of the two; his face went pale, and he hastened to press a hand to Zhang Qingyue's forehead. "Misery me, don't tell me that blast of fire scorched your wits clean away!"

Zhang Qingyue scratched his head, and then noticed that some distance away several Chaoyang Peak disciples were carrying the still-unconscious Chu Yuhong down from the platform—and a few of them were glaring at him with hatred.

Watching those people recede further and further, Zhang Qingyue found the whole scene of the duel rising vividly before his mind's eye, one tableau after another. Unconsciously he lowered his head and looked at the black dark-iron rod in his hand. The ugly little cudgel lay quietly in his palm, utterly still; and yet to Zhang Qingyue's eyes this dark-iron rod, which had been his companion for two years, had never seemed so strange—as though he had returned to that secluded valley of years ago, and that terrifying nightmare had come again.

*Whack.* Zeng Shuyan, seeing him standing there dazed, rapped him on the head with the fan in his hand. "What are you woolgathering about?"

Zhang Qingyue shook his head and sighed, tucking the dark-iron rod into his robe. "Nothing. Let's go. Oh, by the way—how did you come to be watching my match?"

Zeng Shuyan glanced at the dark-iron rod disappearing into his robe. "The match hadn't started yet, and I had nothing to do, so I ran over to watch you fight. I never expected to see such a show! Hey—that three-eyed spirit monkey of yours, what is it you call him again?"

Zhang Qingyue supplied the name: "Xiaohui."

Zeng said: "Right, Xiaohui. How come I haven't seen Xiaohui today?"

Zhang Qingyue shook his head. "I haven't seen hide nor hair of him since early morning. He's probably slipped off somewhere to play with Da Huang again."

Zeng Shuyan gave a cry of "Aiya!" and put on a great show of disappointment. Watching him, Zhang Qingyue could not help but suspect that this fellow, who claimed to have come to watch his match, had really only come hoping for a glimpse of Xiaohui.

"Hua!"

From somewhere in the distance there suddenly came a great clamor, plain and clear even at this remove. Looking up, they saw that far off at the center, beneath the "Qian" platform, the Canglan Sect disciples were gathered in a dense crowd, wave upon wave of astonished exclamations rising from them.

Before Zhang Qingyue could make sense of it, Zeng Shuyan cried: "Oh no, oh no! I was so busy watching you I forgot the most important thing!" And with that he seized Zhang Qingyue and ran.

Zhang Qingyue had no idea what was going on. "What is it?" he asked as they ran.

Zeng said: "That's where Lu Xueqi is fighting!"

Zhang Qingyue could not help but smile—and at the same time felt a stir of emotion in his heart. He turned his eyes to this friend he had known only two short days. Just now, beneath that cold and lonely platform, he had seen none of this man's elders or senior brothers; only this one person had stood at his side, alone amid a crowd of Chaoyang Peak disciples.

A warmth slowly welled up in his heart.

"Senior Brother Zeng," he said, "thank you for coming over to watch me just now."

Zeng Shuyan, in mid-flight, faltered a step, slowed, and glanced back at Zhang Qingyue. Then he laughed. "Ha ha, it was nothing, nothing at all. If you're so grateful, why not just give me Xiaohui—"

"Let's hurry!"

Zeng Shuyan dodged aside, shook his head, and ran after Zhang Qingyue, who was already flying like the wind, muttering a few indistinct words under his breath as he went.

When the two drew near, they found the crowds of Qingyun disciples already dispersing, most of them visibly agitated and arguing heatedly among themselves. They looked up at the platform: it stood empty, but the wooden stage was scarred and battered—clearly the match was already over.

Zeng Shuyan's eyes darted about. He hauled Zhang Qingyue this way and that, weaving through the crowd, and within moments he had found what he was after: the cluster of Fenghui Peak disciples.

Zeng Shuyan hurried over to them, and when the Fenghui Peak disciples saw who it was, they all burst out laughing. One tall fellow, whom Zhang Qingyue vaguely remembered, grinned and said: "Junior Brother, didn't you say you absolutely had to watch Lu Xueqi? How did you vanish into thin air?"

Zeng said: "It's just that I—er—had something to take care of, that's all. Never mind that, quick, tell me how it went!"

A thick-browed man beside him said: "No need to tell—you can guess. With Tianxuan in her hand, even Senior Brother Duan Lei of the Changmen's Jietian Peak would be no match!"

Zeng said: "Even Senior Brother Duan lost to her?"

Zhang Qingyue asked Zeng quietly: "Is that Senior Brother Duan Lei very formidable?"

Zeng said: "He is. Duan Lei is one of the finest figures to come out of the Changmen in recent years. There was a great deal of talk that he would take the championship at this Seven Peaks Tournament."

The tall fellow shook his head. "What good did it do him? You didn't see it—the divine sword Tianxuan is simply too powerful. A few flickers of blue light, a few peals, and Senior Brother Duan was beaten." Here he seemed to feel he had not said enough, and sighed. "You won't believe it even if I tell you—right to the very end, Lu Xueqi never once drew Tianxuan from its sheath."

Zeng said: "Then what was the point of the match? Who is left who can stand against her?"

The tall fellow shook his head. "It's not so cut and dried as that. A divine thing like Tianxuan carries near the same power whether drawn or not. No—it's the cultivation Lu Xueqi herself has achieved that is truly extraordinary."

Zeng said: "Senior Brother Gao, how do you know all this?"

Zhang Qingyue glanced at the tall fellow and thought privately that his surname suited him perfectly. He heard Senior Brother Gao say: "I heard it from Master."

Zeng said: "My father?"