Chapter 105 — Sword Dance

On Jietian Peak of Canglan Mountain, the Ancestral Hall.

The light in the great hall was dim as ever. The sect leader, Dao Yan Zhenren, held three sticks of fine incense, reverently paid his respects before the spirit tablets of countless ancestral masters, then stepped forward and set the sandalwood incense into the censer upon the offering table.

Beside him stood only that one down-and-out old man who tended the Ancestral Hall. The dim yellow lamplight fell upon his face, where wrinkles ran deep as though carved into the flesh.

Dao Yan turned his head; his gaze fell upon the old man's face, and he said suddenly, "You look to have aged a little more."

The old man's expression did not change. "The years drive men to age. What is there to wonder at?" he said mildly.

Dao Yan smiled, as though about to say more, when a voice came from outside the hall: "Senior, your disciple Lin Jinghong has returned, and has come to pay his respects."

Dao Yan's brows drew slightly together; he said no more. The old man took a slow step forward, but did not step out of the hall; raising his voice a little, he said, "So it's you. When did you get back?"

From outside, Lin Jinghong answered respectfully, "Your disciple returned the day before yesterday. After reporting to the sect leader, I first went back to Longji Peak to see my senior brother; the moment I had a free moment, I came to pay my respects to you, Senior."

A faint smile seemed to surface at the old man's lips. "Oh, is that so. Then wait outside a little while—I have a guest here."

Outside, Lin Jinghong seemed to pause a moment. In past days few ever came to the Ancestral Hall; he had not expected a guest here today. But he had studied under this mysterious old man for ten years, and had long revered him as a master; so he gave a sound of assent and went quietly to wait at the side.

Dao Yan Zhenren walked slowly forward a few paces and stood in the shadow of the great hall. Looking out through the door, he saw Lin Jinghong in the mild sunlight—the Slaying Dragon Sword on his back, a long robe, a jade belt at his waist, his features handsome and refined—standing respectfully to one side of the Ancestral Hall, waiting patiently.

He watched in silence a while, then said, "The boy is fine material. In natural gifts and in temperament alike, he is of the very first order."

The old man's steps seemed somewhat slow as he came to his side and glanced outward as well. "Then why did you not take him under your own door in those days?" he asked.

Dao Yan Zhenren let his gaze rest on Lin Jinghong standing outside the hall, a young man in the very flower of his vigor; from whichever angle one looked, he radiated a vigorous vitality and a sharpness that commanded notice, making him stand out from other men.

Dao Yan Zhenren suddenly laughed—a very plain, very mild kind of laugh—then turned to the old man and said, "Because he resembles a certain person too closely—his temperament, his expressions, even his natural gifts are so like that person's. If I kept him by my side, I would not be able to sleep."

The muscles in the old man's face seemed to twitch suddenly.

Dao Yan Zhenren turned back and looked at him—looked at him mildly—and after a long while he suddenly shook his head and laughed. "I was joking with you!" No sooner had the words left his mouth than his brows knitted; then he pressed a hand to his chest and coughed softly a few times.

The old man glanced at his chest, then at Dao Yan Zhenren's face, which had now grown somewhat pale. "It has been ten years," he said mildly. "Is your wound still not healed?"

Dao Yan Zhenren did not answer, but his coughing grew gradually louder, and his face Grew gradually uglier with it; only after a good while did the coughing slowly subside.

Dao Yan Zhenren let out a long breath, turned, and no longer looked at Lin Jinghong outside the door. He walked to the altar before which the spirit tablets of the countless masters of the Canglan Sect were enshrined, gazed at them awhile in silence, then said quietly, "I never imagined the backlash of the Immortal-Slaying Sword would be so terrible!"

The old man came slowly over, took up a rag, and began gently wiping the heavy offering table. "The Immortal-Slaying Sword is fearsome enough in its own right," he said as he worked, "and with the Immortal-Slaying Sword Formation besides, it is enough to defy heaven itself. Such a baleful thing runs utterly counter to the will of heaven; you should have known as much when you chose to wield the ancient Immortal-Slaying Sword."

Dao Yan Zhenren said mildly, "Of course I knew. Upon the stone stele in the Phantom Moon Grotto, from Patriarch Qingye onward, every master of every generation has left a stern command: save in the direst extremity, this sword must never be used!"

The old man wiped the table slowly, very slowly, as though he had been wiping it this way for many years, and that was why he was so intent upon it. His eyes on the table, he suddenly smiled and said, "In truth, I have thought before that if you wielded the ancient Immortal-Slaying Sword a few more times, perhaps you might die sooner than I do."

Dao Yan Zhenren gazed at the old man's stooped back, and his pupils suddenly contracted. After a moment he slowly turned and walked outward.

"You are leaving?" The old man's rather desolate voice came from behind him.

Dao Yan Zhenren halted, but did not turn back. After a moment his voice drifted slowly back to the old man: "Do you remember what I said to you when I saved your life?"

The old man stood in the dark shadow and gave no answer.

Dao Yan Zhenren did not turn back either. An eerie atmosphere seemed to drift through the Ancestral Hall; after a long pause, Dao Yan Zhenren's voice came mildly: "I saved you because I owed you—but I will not let you live longer than I do!"

The old man's body had already faded into the shadow, utterly motionless. Dao Yan Zhenren then walked out and left the Ancestral Hall.

Lin Jinghong was waiting patiently outside when he suddenly saw the sect leader himself come out of the Ancestral Hall. Startled, he made haste to pay his respects. Dao Yan Zhenren glanced at him; something strange seemed to flash in his eyes, and then he nodded and departed.

Lin Jinghong watched the sect leader go. Somehow, from the very moment Dao Yan Zhenren had emerged from the Ancestral Hall, he had felt that the sect leader's face looked strangely pale.

As he was pondering this, the old man's voice came slowly from within the hall: "Is that Jingyu? Come in."

Lin Jinghong answered at once and stepped into the Ancestral Hall.

The moment he entered, Lin Jinghong felt a chill run through him, and the surroundings darkened as well. He could not help frowning. For ten years he had followed this mysterious old man in tending the Ancestral Hall, and from the very first day he came he had found the place very strange: at all hours it gave off a dim, gloomy feeling. Yet it was not wholly dark; rather, before the spirit tablets of the ancestral masters many incense candles were lit and kept burning. But the faint glow of those dim candle flames seemed only to set off the deeper gloom of the place, and could not rid the great hall of its dark and even ghastly atmosphere.

But after all he had lived here ten years, and his admiration for the old man standing in the shadows was profound; he had long since stopped minding the hall's strangeness. So now he bowed respectfully to the old man's figure and said, "Senior, your disciple has returned."

Over these ten years Lin Jinghong had more than once wished to address the old man as Master, but without exception the mysterious old man had refused. So Lin Jinghong had always called him Senior; after all, even the sect leader sometimes regarded the old man with special attention, and he supposed the old man must once have been an elder of the Canglan Sect in former days.