Chapter 48 — The Town

Zhang Qingyue stared deeply at this middle-aged scholar who called himself "Wan Ren Gui," a sense of foreboding rising in his heart. Yet at the same time, deep within him, another force seemed to compel him, and he heard himself ask, "Pray, sir, instruct me."

Wan Ren Gui looked at him with profound meaning and said slowly, "That black rod carries an exceedingly heavy aura of malevolence. Its dark radiance is smooth and restrained, but should a man come within thirty feet of it, the vital blood and qi of his whole body would be driven back into his heart by that malevolent force, and he would die."

Zhang Qingyue's heart stirred, and he could not help saying, "That's right. When I first came upon the thing, even from a distance I felt my body grow heavy and my stomach turn, as though I were about to faint."

Wan Ren Gui sighed softly and looked at him. "Quite so, quite so," he said, and then, as though knitting his brows slightly, he let out a low sigh. "That you did not die—now that is truly strange."

Zhang Qingyue had not caught his latter words and pressed him: "What?"

Wan Ren Gui smiled faintly and did not answer him, only pointed at the dark iron rod. "This black rod is by nature a thing of great inauspiciousness, called 'Soul-Stealer.' It is not, however, a possession of the demon cult. For thousands of years it has never appeared in the world; there are only a few records of it in ancient scrolls and rare editions. Young Master Zhang, your fortune is deep indeed, to have obtained two such supreme treasures of this world."

"Soul-Stealer!" Zhang Qingyue's face went wooden, and he repeated the name in a low voice.

"The very same," said Wan Ren Gui, his expression grown calm again. "There is a record in the ancient book Strange Treasures in Ten Chapters: Heaven possessed a wondrous iron that fell into the Nine Depths; the ghost-fires of the underworld burned yin spirits and fierce ghosts to temper it—a thousand years to grow red, a thousand years to take form, a thousand years to gather the qi of dark malevolence, a thousand years to gain the power to steal souls. In truth, such a thing of inauspiciousness was never meant to be held by the living. I never imagined that you, Young Master Zhang..."

"Clang—" With a sharp ring, the black iron rod slipped from Zhang Qingyue's hand and fell to the ground. His hands and feet had gone weak, and his chest felt unbearably constricted. He staggered back a few steps, staring fixedly at the dark iron rod that had accompanied him all these years, and could not speak a word.

Wan Ren Gui watched his look of horror, and a cold sneer suddenly flickered across his face. "Young Master Zhang, what troubles you?"

Zhang Qingyue shook his head hard, finding even speech agonizing, and murmured, "How—how can this be? I am a disciple of the Canglan Sect—how could I use such a cursed thing?" It came to him then that day beneath the Dead Spirit Abyss, no wonder those yin spirits had feared his dark iron rod so; most likely it was this "Soul-Stealer" at work.

From his manner, Wan Ren Gui knew that this youth had grown up within the Canglan Sect and had never seen anything of the world. Now, meeting so great a shock all at once, he was nearly at a loss. Yet his own expression showed no comfort; he merely said mildly, "Cursed thing? And what, pray, do you take a cursed thing to be?"

Zhang Qingyue seemed somewhat beside himself. Pointing blankly at the dark iron rod on the ground, he said, "This—this thing has killed who knows how many living souls. Is it not a cursed thing?"

Wan Ren Gui sneered. "Kill many people, and it is a cursed thing?"

Zhang Qingyue answered almost without thinking: "Yes."

Mockery showed on Wan Ren Gui's face, and the air of authority and menace in his brow gradually emerged, so that he seemed altogether another man. But Zhang Qingyue's mind was in turmoil, and he did not notice. Wan Ren Gui said, "Tell me, sir—boars and sows, black pigs and white pigs, are they not all pigs?"

Zhang Qingyue had not expected such a remark to come from him. He started, then said, "Naturally."

Wan Ren Gui went on: "Then lions and goats, fierce tigers and rabbits—they slaughter one another. Are they not all living beings? Is there a division of orthodox and evil among them?"

Zhang Qingyue dimly sensed what he was driving at, but still did not quite understand, and could only say, "Yes."

Wan Ren Gui gave a cold hum. "Then tell me again, sir—those you call the orthodox way and the evil way, are they not all men?"

Zhang Qingyue was struck dumb. He wanted to retort, but at his lips found he had nothing to say, and could only answer again, "Yes."

Wan Ren Gui's face was solemn, and he looked at him deeply, until Zhang Qingyue's heart began to quail, before he said slowly, "Young Master Zhang, your Canglan Mountain possesses a wonder of the world, a treasure that shakes the ages and guards the mountain—the ancient sword Immortal-Slayer. Do you know of it?"

By now Zhang Qingyue's feelings were almost entirely in the grip of this Wan Ren Gui whom he had met for the first time, and he nodded unconsciously. "Yes."

Wan Ren Gui's face suddenly darkened, and he said sternly, "Then do you also know how many living souls that Immortal-Slayer sword slaughtered in the great war between orthodoxy and evil a thousand years ago? How many lives it destroyed? If one reckons the treasures of the world today, the one that has truly killed the most and carries the heaviest aura of malevolence is surely that ancient Immortal-Slayer sword you worship as a god!"

A great roar filled Zhang Qingyue's head, and he staggered back a step unbidden, as though struck full in the face by a fist. At the same time, he seemed to feel something deep in his heart—some place sacred and inviolable since childhood—give a faint, clear echo, and for the first time a small crack appeared in it.

The sunlight was brilliant, pouring down from the crown of the great tree, filtering through the dense leaves into tiny scattered flecks of gold that fell upon the ground and, as the leaves swayed ceaselessly, danced gently like mischievous children.

Now and then a few flecks of light fell upon the youth.

Zhang Qingyue crouched on the ground, and before him lay the dark iron rod, resting quietly, ugly and misshapen in the shadow. What Wan Ren Gui had said was in truth not so very different in meaning from what Bili had told him that day in the Kongsang Mountains, but coming from his lips it struck Zhang Qingyue quite otherwise. Deep in his heart, a figure seemed to laugh softly and coldly: He is right. He is right.

Wan Ren Gui sat calmly to one side, drinking tea that had long gone cold. In the distance, the aged tea-stall keeper glanced this way, then turned his eyes away again, wholly unaware that the youth here was like a raging sea in his heart!

How long passed, none could say, but at last Zhang Qingyue's face slowly subsided from its anxiety, struggle, and pain. He reached out slowly, took up the dark iron rod from the ground, and rose to his feet. Facing Wan Ren Gui, he said coldly, "Who are you, really?"

Wan Ren Gui had now returned to his easy manner, all the menace gone from his brow, and said with a faint smile, "I? I am Wan Ren Gui—nothing but an ordinary man who wanders the world."

Zhang Qingyue stared at him, his grip slowly tightening on the dark iron rod. "How would an ordinary man know so much? Are you a fiend of the demon cult?"

Wan Ren Gui showed no particular reaction, only looked at him and said mildly, "Does the division of orthodox and evil truly matter so much to you?"

Zhang Qingyue drew a deep breath and said heavily, "Yes!"

Wan Ren Gui suddenly sneered. "If so, why do you still carry that cursed thing of the demon cult in your hand?"