Chapter 96 — Old Sentiments

That blue light rose into the midair and hung there a moment; then, all at once, heedless of the crowd in the forest, it rushed into the darkness on the other side with a force like rolling thunder and a speed like lightning. Someone there gave a humph, and a dark-green radiance lit up; but there was no will to fight—he turned and fled at once. The blue light would not be shaken off, and gave chase straightway.

What manner of cultivation were those two? In a flash they left only trailing streaks of fading light, and a moment more, not even a shadow remained.

Down below, Facheng and the others gave a shout and rose together into the air, clear of the ground. The giant ants, finding no foe, and having lost many companions to no purpose, were doubtless furious, and screamed ceaselessly at the empty sky.

Facheng and the others had no mind to bother with the beasts below, and hurriedly cast their eyes about in search. But in that short while the forest had fallen black again, and of those two streaks of light, one green and one blue, there was no trace. They could only stare at one another.

After a long while, Zeng Shuyan suddenly said in a low voice: "Is it him?"

Facheng was silent a moment. A complicated look crossed his eyes, but at last he gave a sigh. "It should be him."

The two exchanged a glance, then both turned to look at Lin Jinghong. The young man stood there in the void; the night wind blew past, flapping his clothes so they cracked and snapped. On his handsome face there was no expression at all, but his eyes were fixed unblinking upon the forest in the darkness, staring lost in a trance.

The night was deep.

The ancient forest lay in utter stillness, as though even the insect-song from the depths of the dark had suddenly vanished.

Even the wind that blew through the woods grew more shrill and plaintive, as if telling of the night's own sorrow.

A green light flashed past in the darkness, like a passing traveler treading lightly into the black—but the blue light behind him flared out all at once, dazzling bright, and charged into the dark, forcing the darkness wholly back, clinging close upon the heels of that green glow.

The green light now darted through the trees, now soared high, faster and faster; yet by no means could it shake off the blue light behind. Seen from the darkness below, the blue light seemed to bear on with a recklessness that would risk all, pursuing hard and refusing to give up.

Who was it that sighed softly in the dark?

Who was it that opened her heart in the night?

The darkness surged in from every quarter and ebbed again; the wind struck the face and swiftly vanished; that once-familiar figure drifted ceaselessly through the night—in whose eyes did it echo?

"Hiss!"

At a light sound, the green light suddenly halted, then dissolved, revealing the figure of Ming Li standing quietly upon the topmost tip of a great tree's highest branch.

No more than a few feet away, the blue radiance too stopped dead, halting hard at his back; that Tianya divine sword—brilliant and dazzling even in this night—was gripped in a pale hand, coldly leveled at him.

The night was deep.

The wind was mournful.

Their garments drifted lightly in the wind.

Slowly, slowly, Ming Li turned around, and faced that countenance.

She was a woman of such clear loveliness in this world that no thing could compare with her; her beauty had not suffered the least erosion from the years—it was enough to stop the breath, enough to make one drunk.

Her face was cold, her hand on the sword, pointing at him.

The blade of Tianya, frost-cold, was but a foot from him; even at his throat he seemed to feel that chill.

And, inexplicably, deep in the depths of his heart, that faint sorrow.

The wind stirred the treetops, and their bodies swayed gently in the night breeze.

No one spoke. They only gazed in silence.

Those ten years of time—all at once, from the bottom of the heart, thread by thread, slowly churned up and flooded into the mind.

Her hand, gripping the sword, pale as it had been ten years ago. When had it ever been held within his palm?

He smiled faintly, with a touch of bitterness, and said softly: "Are you well?"

Lu Xueling did not answer—not a word. Her lips were pale from being bitten hard; her figure, thronged by the night, was desolate and quietly beautiful.

Ming Li—no, Zhang Qingyue—on this moonless, pitch-black night, before this woman, suddenly seemed to have returned to ten years ago; his body too, as if in the shadows, trembled faintly, unseen by any.

"Why do you not kill me?" the beautiful woman said quietly, the frost-cold Tianya still in her hand, pointed at him.

He looked into her eyes. They were so bright there, like a soundless flame.

He bowed his head slightly. After a long while, looking at his own shadow, at her who swayed gently before that shadow, he said calmly: "Ten years ago, in the Hall of Yuheng, why did you defend me at all costs, and speak for me?"

Lu Xueling did not speak. Only the corner of her mouth moved slightly; the hand gripping the sword was so very tight—as if afraid of something.

In those bright eyes, whose figure was it that flickered?

Zhang Qingyue!

So it had not changed after all? In these ten years, had nothing truly changed?

She stared, transfixed, and bit her lip, keeping herself still cold, willing her gaze never to blur.

But whose heart was this, beating so, beating fiercely within a heart long grown icy? That faint tenderness, silent so long, wandering unseen through countless deep nights, now sudden as flame, blazing hot, burning upon her breast!

At the corner of her lips there came, all at once, a faint bitterness, a trace of moisture.

The hand that held her sword slowly fell away.

She lifted her head and looked to the sky.

The wind stirred her soft, lovely hair and brushed across her pale cheeks.

So it was that the sky had begun to rain again?