Chapter 173 — The Flight

A surge of warm qi roared up, bursting from the pit of his heart—pure yang breath, spreading straight into his meridians. His whole body shuddered, his mind cleared for a moment, and with a great shout he gathered the cultivation of a lifetime and drove his strength outward. Lightning and thunder flashed through his mind; the three scrolls of the Heavenly Book passed before him in an instant; upon his face the three qi of blue, gold, and red rose together. Though not very bright, they were life renewed.

The Great Brahma Prajna spanned his heart-meridian, the true dharma of the Buddhist gate holding fast; even the Slaying Immortals sword paused a moment. Seizing that instant's respite, with the Supreme Ultimate Mystic Purity Dao as his path, Ming Li's right arm in an instant swelled to twice its thickness; a dark red radiance raced through it, flowing from the arm into the Soul-Devouring Demonic Rod—but just as he meant to strike back and flee, the devouring demonic force of the Slaying Immortals sword broke through the Great Brahma Prajna once more. In an instant Ming Li's whole body went numb, unable to move at all, and that thread of clarity in his mind dimmed once again.

To onlookers now, Ming Li's face was withered and shriveled, scarce different from a dead man's. Song Dayi and others who had once had some acquaintance with Zhang Qingyue all turned their heads away, unable to bear the sight.

Just then, when the outcome seemed settled, the Soul-Devouring Demonic Rod in Ming Li's hand suddenly lit up, its dark blue radiance slowly billowing, as though waking slowly from deep slumber. At its tip the Blood-Devouring Bead, thread upon thread of uncanny red blood-lines, shone again; and deep within the bead, as never before, beneath the dark blue radiance and the blood-lines, golden Buddhist true words arose.

The true dharmas of the three gates—Buddha, Dao, and demon—at this very moment, in Ming Li's death-struggle blow, were truly fused into one.

The Blood-Devouring Bead grew brighter and brighter, its strange yet gorgeous light flickering without cease; then the whole Soul-Devouring Demonic Rod lit up, as though crying out something. Moments later, from the junction of the Soul-Devouring Rod and the Slaying Immortals sword, another muffled report rang out.

Only then did people notice anew that besides Ming Li's left hand, the Soul-Devouring Rod in his right hand had likewise been stuck fast to the Slaying Immortals all along, and had never fallen away.

The strange light on the Blood-Devouring Bead grew brighter and brighter, the three-colored uncanny radiance wheeling; a low sound, like the murmur of ancient demons in ages long past, slowly issued forth:

"Woo... woo... woo..."

A thread of red qi, crystalline and translucent, was first wrenched forcibly out from that seam on the Slaying Immortals blade, drawn into the Soul-Devouring Demonic Rod, tumbling within the Blood-Devouring Bead as though still resisting; but soon it could be seen subdued by the strange breath within the Bead, slowly transformed to a pale red—a small part assimilated by the Soul-Devouring Rod, but the greater part passed back through the Rod into Ming Li's body.

Once this strange change began it did not stop; red qi was ceaselessly drawn from the Slaying Immortals sword, and as more and more was drawn, the strengthened Soul-Devouring Rod shone ever brighter, while Ming Li, replenished, gradually regained his color; the skin of his face slowly returned from withered to its former state, and more strangely still took on a faint, warm, moist luster.

The red radiance on the Slaying Immortals sword, from its blazing peak, now seemed helpless against the devouring demonic force of the Blood-Devouring Bead, and slowly dimmed, while the Soul-Devouring Demonic Rod shone brighter and brighter. The Canglan Gate folk around were no blind men; by now most could see something was amiss—plainly this demon Ming Li had secretly worked some sorcery or other, and the Slaying Immortals sword seemed scarcely able to withstand it.

After a stir and clamor, suddenly several voices shouted curses from the crowd, and at the same time several streaks of magic-treasure light flew at Ming Li. Ming Li was wholly bent on wrestling with the Slaying Immortals sword and had no thought for what went on around him; he gave no response at all, and moments later those several magic treasures struck him square upon the back.

Ming Li's body convulsed; his blood and qi surged; his throat went sweet and he spat out another mouthful of blood, straight onto the Slaying Immortals sword. The sword had already fallen silent, but with this sudden spurt of blood it flashed red, and even seemed to swell in strength once more. Ming Li felt it in his own body; heedless of the grave wound at his back, he sensed within himself the sword's uncanny devouring force suddenly waxing again.

Lightning and thunder flashed through his mind; he knew this was truly the thread between life and death—if the Slaying Immortals regained the upper hand, he feared he would have no chance left, and would end withered and drained. At that thought he gave a wild roar, reckless of all else, and with all the strength of his body and the cultivation of a lifetime, using the divine power of the three true dharmas fused in one that he had just grasped, struck with all his might.

The onlookers saw no movement from Ming Li; they saw only that he had taken the blows of several magic treasures full on, spat blood, and the red light on the Slaying Immortals sword wavered—and at the very moment it seemed about to blaze up, between Ming Li and the Slaying Immortals there burst a great resounding roar, mingled with several sounds of bones cracking and snapping, and Ming Li's whole body was driven out by some vast, nameless force, like an arrow loosed from the string, sailing over the heads of the crowd and falling far off into the distant woods.

The Canglan Gate folk were stunned beyond measure, and all stood rooted where they were; after a good while someone suddenly came to his senses and shouted, "After him! We must not let that demon escape!"

That word woke them all, and at once countless people went in pursuit toward where Ming Li had fallen. All present had seen plain enough that Ming Li had been gravely wounded in his struggle with the Slaying Immortals sword; now was the perfect time to hunt the man down.

As the people around leapt into the air and sped off in pursuit, only the folk of Great Zhu Peak and Little Zhu Peak stood woodenly where they were. Song Dayi and the others could neither bring themselves not to chase nor bear to; while over by Wen Pei's side came a cry of alarm—Lu Xueling had fainted.

Amid the frantic efforts of the Little Zhu Peak women to revive Lu Xueling, suddenly, through the utmost confusion of clamor, a very faint sound came forth.

Faint though it was, somehow it was keen as a fine needle, piercing into the heart of every Canglan Gate disciple present. It was like the sound of something quietly breaking—coming from the Slaying Immortals sword beside them.

The blood drained from every face, as though that soft sound were the echo of the world's last day. Slowly they turned their heads, as though the motion cost them all their strength.

Beneath the gaze of all, that legendary Slaying Immortals sword, standing quietly thrust point-down into the flagstones, from the already widened seam upon its plain ancient blade, once again gave out a thin, tiny sound of shattering.

The crack slowly widened, creeping outward slow yet irresistible, spreading over the plain and once-sacred blade—until the Slaying Immortals sword gave voice once more:

Crack!

So light and crisp a sound; half the blade, together with the hilt, fell to the ground, while the other half still stood thrust into the earth.

In an instant all were struck dumb, all breath gone, every mind a blank...

The Slaying Immortals!