Chapter 69 — The Past

~r期:~09月21r~

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Net. Deep in the night, the forest had by now been lit up like day by the radiance of countless magical treasures; from the depths of the woods to the most fiercely contested clearing, it seemed that sharp, cold lights flew everywhere, and beneath those beautiful rays of five colors, bright red blood kept spouting upward, splattering across the faintly trembling trees.

It congealed into beads of blood, dripping down in silence.

Lu Xueling gave a clear cry and landed on the ground; in an instant, rings of blue light as clear as the heavens and as pure as water burst outward in the night from the Divine Sword of the Heavenly Dipper in her hand, like the gentle glance of a beautiful woman sweeping over this mortal world.

Countless lush branches and leaves all turned outward together with a great rustling clatter.

The black-clad demon cult followers around her howled without cease; though some fought with all their strength to block her, they were sent flying all the same. Since escaping from the Abyss of the Dead, her cultivation seemed to have advanced a great deal.

Zhang Qingyue, watching from afar, drew in a sharp breath, both startled and admiring; but then his attention returned to his own surroundings, and he saw that Song Dayi, Du Biyan, and the others were gradually being worn down. The demon cult followers besieging their Dazhu Peak were few in number, but their cultivation exceeded that of the others around them, and judging by their garb, every robe bore a skull emblem—whether that was the mark of the Nether King's sect, he could not say.

Tian Lingsu stood before Zhang Qingyue, her face slightly pale and fine beads of sweat rising on her forehead, yet she wielded the amber-red silk with every gesture, not a trace of panic in her.

Originally, among the disciples of Dazhu Peak, Tian Lingsu was the youngest save for Zhang Qingyue himself, but her aptitude far surpassed that of several elder brothers; in cultivation, none but Song Dayi ranked above her. Yet the demon cult followers around them—whether because they saw she was a woman or for some other reason—directed their main assault at her all along. By now, even Zhang Qingyue could tell that Tian Lingsu was struggling.

The night wind stole quietly through the forest that had become a battlefield; from the depths of the darkness, it seemed countless eyes were watching.

The shouts around them grew more urgent. Zhang Qingyue knitted his brows and looked outward, and saw that in this short while the situation had shifted again: the demon cult had responded, and Lu Xueling, Facheng, Qi Hao, and the others, who had been sweeping all before them, were now locked against masters of their own, entangled in place—not yet losing, but unable to break free.

Meanwhile, around the orthodox disciples of lesser cultivation, more and more demon cult followers gathered; shrieks rose without end, and the tide of battle began to turn back toward the demon cult.

Zhang Qingyue ground his teeth, drew out the Dark Iron Staff, and would not rest any longer—he must at least lend a hand to his elder brothers and Sister Ling'er. But no sooner had he moved than Tian Lingsu cried out in alarm ahead; her figure checked, as though she had stumbled over something, and in an instant three or four more streaks of treasure-light came hurtling toward her.

Song Dayi and the others were greatly alarmed but could not reach her in time. Zhang Qingyue, without a second thought, charged forward—yet even so he saw he would be a step too late.

At this critical moment, Tian Lingsu's lovely face drained of color, nearly white as paper; both hands flew, and the amber-red silk whipped "swish, swish, swish" before her to block the way—but it was too late. In the blink of an eye, two treasures, one white and one black, flying faster than sight, rushed at her face.

Zhang Qingyue's heart all but leaped from his chest; his mouth opened wide, yet no sound would come. Just then, a white shadow flashed—a figure stood before Tian Lingsu, hands sweeping, and at once sent both treasures flying back. From the distant darkness came several furious shouts and several cries of alarm.

Everyone breathed a sigh of relief and looked toward the figure: it was none other than their master's wife, Su Wan.

Su Wan turned quickly and looked Tian Lingsu up and down. "Ling'er, are you all right?"

Tian Lingsu, still shaken, nodded. "I'm fine, Mother."

Su Wan's brows were tightly knit. The demon cult followers were pressing in again, and she said urgently, "Go, all of you, quickly! This place is no place to linger! Once you break out, leave this island—we'll meet in Changhe City in the East Sea."

Song Dayi, Tian Lingsu, and the others were startled, but seeing Su Wan's stern face, they dared not argue. Tian Lingsu assented, and the Dazhu Peak group fell back.

The field was in chaos now, the fighting desperate beyond measure. Su Wan darted left and right; wherever she saw a young orthodox disciple in peril, she rushed to the rescue and sent them retreating. Her cultivation was high, far above the ordinary demon cult followers, and in the night her figure drifted and swayed with graceful poise, betraying not the slightest sign of urgency.

When a gap came, she lifted her head and gazed upward: the clouds above were heavy and dark, yet light flashed wildly through them. There in midair were Cangyan Daoren and Tian Buhui, locked in battle with the demon cult's Baidu Zi and the Elder Duanmu.

Her heart was full of worry, but seeing that Tian Buhui, though he had just fought the old blood-sucking demon, still did not fall behind against Elder Duanmu, she was somewhat comforted.

By now, after several charges and rescues by Su Wan, many of the orthodox disciples had already gone their separate ways; those left on the field were mostly Lu Xueling and others of deeper cultivation, far fewer in number. But on the demon cult's side as well, many appeared to have gone off in pursuit, so although the orthodox side was still at a disadvantage, for the moment there was no great danger.

Only, Su Wan's heart grew more and more anxious, for there ahead of her, from first to last, the demon cult's most mysterious Nether King and that Qinglong had stood there all along, smiling as they watched the play.

On the demon cult's side, the Nether King and Qinglong stood side by side, watching the orthodox disciples flee one after another. Qinglong said mildly, "Do you mean to let these people go?"

The Nether King smiled. "These young disciples are of no consequence. Besides, we did not come to Mount Liubo this time to fight the orthodox sort to the death!"

Qinglong nodded, looked up at the sky, and said, "These two—they were among those five the Canglan Sect chased into the wilds back then, were they not?"

The Nether King said, "Indeed. Cangyan Daoren, Tian Buhui, and there were Shang Zhengliang, Zeng Shuchang, and one more, Wan Jiangu—those five."

Qinglong sighed softly. "A hundred years pass in a hurry. Back then these men were no more than hot-blooded young killers; now they all stand on their own."

The Nether King smiled faintly. "Brother Long, you were away on business then. Otherwise, with you four Holy Envoys present, our Holy Cult might not have turned the defeat at Canglan Mountain, but at least we would not have lost so wretchedly!"

Qinglong shook his head. "Impossible. A hundred years ago was the height of the three great orthodox sects; those old devils who would not die all came out of seclusion, and even we could not have withstood them. But heh—heh—laughable, that after thousands of years of our Holy Cult, in the Holy Hall of the wilds, five men should have charged in and sent us crumbling at the first wind..."