Chapter 83 — Ten Years

"Bullshit!" A soft cry cut in—it came from the old man of uncommon bearing at the same table as the girl. Everyone started and looked at him. The old man said, "If Daoyan was really that formidable, then how was it that in the battle at Canglan Mountain the Canglan Sect lost so many people, even two of the Seven Peak Masters, and countless other elders and disciples besides? Do you take those demon lords of the Demonic Sect for folk who eat plain rice?"

The others were struck dumb. Beside him the girl's brows knitted deeply, and she said in a low voice, "Grandfather, I just told others not to talk too much—so why are you talking so much?"

The old man chuckled. His face, which had about it something of the crane-boned immortal, suddenly turned rather smug, and he said in a low voice, "Xiaowan, don't frighten me. I had you read my fate long ago—though I drift all my life, my luck turns in old age. I'm fated to be safe to the end, with someone to see me off. Heh heh, no matter, no matter!"

The girl had just taken a sip of tea and nearly choked on his words. She coughed twice and shot the old man a glare, but he only looked smug and paid it no mind at all.

This old man and young girl were none other than the wandering jianghu fortune-teller Zhou Yixuan and his granddaughter Xiaowan. Ten years had passed since the last great battle of righteous and demon at Canglan Mountain. Xiaowan had grown tall, blossoming into a pretty, lovely girl—only she still followed Zhou Yixuan roaming the ends of the earth.

At this moment Zhou Yixuan seemed to have had his craving stirred. Paying no mind that these were people he had only just met, he dragged his stool over and actually sat down among the merchants, launching into a lofty discourse on that Battle of Qingyun in years past. Xiaowan was beside herself with vexation, yet there was nothing she could do.

Zhou Yixuan had a fine tongue—and after all, he made his way through the world by the skill of that tongue. He told it vivid and lively, true to life, far surpassing those young men of a moment ago. After a while even Boss He could not resist coming over. The company gathered round, listening as Zhou Yixuan ranged and rambled, laughing and talking over the old days...

"Ah!"

At some thrilling, fierce passage, those young men all gasped at once. One of them could not help asking, "Sir, were you there yourself, to know it all so closely?"

Zhou Yixuan started, then lightly patted his clothes with his hand and shook his head with a sigh. "These matters of fighting and killing—I've never been willing to meddle in them. Best leave them to those juniors of the Canglan Sect!"

The company was startled, and at once filled with solemn respect. But just then there came from beside them a "pfft"—Xiaowan had sprayed out the mouthful of tea she had just drunk and was coughing without end.

Zhou Yixuan glared at her, then turned back, chuckling, smiling. Just then a young man beside them said, "Sir, that disciple of the Canglan Sect named Zhang—what became of him in the end? Did he really turn against the Canglan Sect?"

Zhou Yixuan frowned and was silent a moment, then shook his head. "That I don't know. That day the field was all confusion; it seems even that Zhang Qingyue fell unconscious, and in the end the Demonic Sect's people seized him and carried him off. After that, no trace of him."

Those around sighed. In truth, the secret of Zhang Qingyue's origins was a grave secret of the Canglan Sect and the Fanyin Temple, never to be spread abroad. But that day when the secret was laid bare, many had been present—especially those of the Demonic Sect—so as time passed, it had slowly spread through the world. Only what Zhou Yixuan said now made it sound as though he himself had been there on that day at the Yuheng Hall on Jietian Peak of Canglan Mountain, seeing it with his own eyes.

Boss He sighed. "I wonder how that young man is faring now?"

"How he's faring now..." Suddenly it was again the voice of the mysterious man in the corner, carrying a faint trace of world-weariness.

Zhou Yixuan turned his head and looked at the man sitting in the shadows. "What—do you know, brother?"

The man was silent a moment, then said slowly, "Of course I know. Only, even if some of you had once met him, by now I daresay you'd not recognize him..."

Outside, the wind and rain swept heaven and earth, and seemed to grow a shade more bitter...

Kongsang Mountain, the Ten Thousand Bats Ancient Cave.

Eight hundred years ago, the Demonic Sect elder known as the Old Man of the Black Heart had founded here the age of glory of the Blood Refining Hall lineage, commanding the Demonic Sect and overawing the world. But now the later disciples were unworthy, and the place lay desolate and decayed, very dreary.

And beside that Nether Abyss hidden deep in the underground depths of the Ten Thousand Bats Ancient Cave, the place was now occupied by countless foes who had come suddenly upon them.

Beside a great boulder carved in flourishing ancient seal script with the three characters "Nether Abyss," the last remnant of the Blood Refining Hall lineage had gathered, their backs to the stone. A few steps further back lay the fathomless, dark Nether Abyss.

And their number had dwindled to fewer than ten. Among them were Elder Nian, Liu Gao, the Daoist Wild Wolf, and others, every one of them wounded, their faces dejected and fearful. On the ground before them lay dozens of corpses, strewn every which way. Black-clad men several times their number had them surrounded, and every one of those men had a skull embroidered over his breast.

Elder Nian drew a deep breath and forced his mind to steadiness. He opened his mouth to speak, then suddenly realized his voice had gone hoarse at some point: "Friends of the Underworld King Sect—we of the Blood Refining Hall are but a small faction within the Holy Church. We have never dared offend the Underworld King Sect. I—I don't know why the Underworld King's elders would treat us so?"

"Hmph!" A cold snort came from among the countless black-clad men, and one of them stepped forward, the skull on whose breast was embroidered in gold, utterly unlike the others. He looked to be a leader. He said mildly, "Elder Nian, the situation within the Holy Church is plain enough now. The Underworld King Sect Master has written to you several times, yet you still waver like grass on a wall—today you humor us, tomorrow you bow under the gate of the Longevity Hall. Could it be you don't hold the Underworld King Sect Master in your eyes at all?"

Elder Nian's face paled with dismay. He knew that within the Holy Church the infighting among the four great factions had grown crueler by the day, and every small faction must needs attach itself to one of them; from time to time one heard of some faction wiped out by mysterious figures. Now the Underworld King Sect had come down on them in force, and the strength he had painstakingly built in the Blood Refining Hall over many years had been all but destroyed at a stroke. And the situation before his eyes was plain enough.

Sure enough, the black-clad man sneered. "Elder Nian, I'll say it once more: the Underworld King Sect Master is a man of great vision, and the unification of the Holy Church is only a matter of days. It's because he thinks highly of you that he wants to take the Blood Refining Hall under his banner. Don't be so blind as to fail to appreciate it."

By the end, his voice was thick with menace.

Elder Nian's forehead was covered in beads of sweat. The situation was clear enough—his little Blood Refining Hall could not possibly stand against the Underworld King Sect. But was the foundation handed down from the patriarchs to be destroyed in his own hands?

Such a resolve was truly hard to make!