Chapter 6 — Initiation

At that moment, the people inside the hall were talking, seemingly discussing something. The young Daoist who had led Zhang Qingyue and Lin Jinghong there straightened his robe outside the door and said respectfully, "Sect Master, Senior Brothers, this disciple, Chang Jian, has been ordered to bring these two young—"

Before he could finish, a shrill and mournful cry suddenly rang out within that sacred, solemn hall, cutting him off: "Ghosts, evil ghosts! Ghosts!"

Chang Jian was startled, but Zhang Qingyue and Lin Jinghong were even more shocked. Shrill and ugly as the voice was, it was only too familiar. Zhang Qingyue thought no more of propriety and rushed straight into the hall, shouting, "Uncle Wang Er, Uncle Wang Er, is that you?"

In his agitation, his voice carried a note of anxiety, a note of tears, and all who watched felt a pang at heart. Behind the crowd, in a corner by one wall of the hall, a middle-aged man dressed as a woodcutter had his arms clasped over his head, crouched tight in the corner, his whole body shaking, and from between his fingers came still the sound: "Ghosts, ghosts."

Zhang Qingyue and Lin Jinghong, who had followed him in, recognized him at once as a woodcutter of Liumiao Village, surnamed Wang, second among his brothers—a kindhearted fellow, always grinning, who had been very good to their band of children, and who, on his days gathering firewood in the hills, would bring back wild mountain fruit to share among them.

Without a second thought, Zhang Qingyue rushed over, ran to Uncle Wang Er's side, seized him hard by the shoulders, and cried, "Uncle Wang Er, what happened? Why are all the people in the village—all dead? And my mother, my father, what about them? Tell me!"

Hearing Zhang Qingyue's barrage of questions, Uncle Wang Er seemed stirred. He stopped for the moment his talk of "ghosts, ghosts," and slowly raised his head to look at the Zhang Qingyue before him.

A stir ran through the hall; everyone fell silent, and even among those seated in chairs several could not help rising to watch.

But Uncle Wang Er's eyes were bloodshot, filled with terror and confusion. He studied Zhang Qingyue for a long while, yet said not a word, his brows knit tight, as though straining to think of something.

At this, someone among the Canglan Sect could not help stepping forward to speak, but was quietly restrained by the person beside him.

Seeing that Uncle Wang Er made no response for a long time, only staring at him lifelessly, Zhang Qingyue grew frantic and cried, "Uncle Wang Er, what's wrong with you?"

To his surprise, at the loud shout Uncle Wang Er shuddered all over, terror flooding his face, and suddenly scrambled and rolled to one side, again clasping his arms over his head and curling into a ball, wailing without cease, "Ghosts, ghosts, ghosts!"

Sighs rose on every side in the hall; disappointment showed on the faces of the Canglan Sect, and those who had just risen slumped back into their seats. Zhang Qingyue would have pressed further, but Lin Jinghong seized him by the arm.

Zhang Qingyue turned, uncomprehending, and saw tears at the corners of Lin Jinghong's eyes. "It's no use," Lin Jinghong said bitterly. "He's gone mad."

A roar went off in Zhang Qingyue's head; he stood there stunned, unable to make a sound.

Lin Jinghong, a year older, was the more meticulous of mind. He glanced around the hall and saw that all present wore the garb of the Canglan Sect—men and women, ordained and lay alike. Most carried weapons, chiefly long swords. The six seated in chairs were especially distinguished in bearing, standing apart from the rest. Of these six, three were ordained and three lay; and the one seated at the center, in a dark green Daoist robe, with the grave, ethereal look of a crane among men and warm, bright eyes, was naturally none other than the renowned Sect Master of Canglan, the Perfected One Daoyan.

Lin Jinghong wasted no more words. Pulling Zhang Qingyue along, he ran before the six and dropped to his knees before the Perfected One Daoyan, knocking his head on the floor again and again with resounding thuds.

The Perfected One Daoyan looked the two of them over carefully, gave a faint sigh, and said, "Poor children. Rise."

But Lin Jinghong did not rise. Looking up at this figure of immortal caliber, he said mournfully, "Perfected One, we are young and know nothing, and this great calamity has fallen on us suddenly—we truly do not know what to do. You, in your great power, know the past and the future. We beg you to stand for us!"

Zhang Qingyue, less eloquent, his head a whirl of confusion, chimed in, "Yes, Grandfather Immortal, you must stand for us!"

At this, smiles could not be helped from rising on several faces. Zhang Qingyue's words were, of course, a child's ignorance; but then all eyes came to rest on Lin Jinghong.

Young as he was, caught in such a calamity and facing a man of Daoyan's world-renowned stature, Lin Jinghong still spoke in orderly, lucid fashion, his composure far beyond that of an ordinary child—to say nothing of Zhang Qingyue, who knew nothing at all and took Daoyan for an immortal.

The Liumiao Village massacre was a thing unheard of, unprecedented in the Canglan Sect's thousand years, and it had happened at the very foot of Canglan. The whole sect was shaken. When the Perfected One Daoyan received the report he was stricken with shock and fury, and at once summoned the heads of the other six branches to council. Now, with the exception of the Venerable Master Shuijing, head of the Xiaozhu Peak branch, who had not come, the heads of the other five branches were all present.

Those fit to hold the station of the Seven Branches of Qingyun were naturally the finest figures in the Canglan Sect; and the finest in the Canglan Sect were likewise the finest among all the world's cultivators of the Dao. Every one present had a gaze like a torch, and each said in his heart: "A fine piece of jade."

The Perfected One Daoyan smiled faintly and said, "The future and the past I do not know. But since you dwell at the foot of Canglan Mountain, my sect will not stand idly by. Only, I have a few questions to ask you, and I hope you will answer them well."

Lin Jinghong nodded. "Yes. This disciple will hold nothing back. Please ask, Perfected One."

The Perfected One Daoyan nodded and said, "How did you escape this calamity?"

Lin Jinghong was taken aback. "Replying to the Perfected One: last night I remember sleeping in my bed at home, but when I woke in the morning I was lying with Xiaofan under a pine tree in the open country. I do not know what happened. Later Xiaofan woke me, and we ran back to the village together, and then we saw—saw—saw that sight, and fainted dead away."

The Perfected One Daoyan frowned slightly and looked to Zhang Qingyue. "You woke him. Then what of you?"

Zhang Qingyue thought a moment. "I don't know how I got there either. I woke up and saw Jingyu beside me, so I woke him."

The Perfected One Daoyan exchanged a look with the other branch heads, and confusion was in every eye. If some master had saved them, why save only these two children? And if not, then it made no sense at all.

The Perfected One Daoyan considered a moment, then said, "That is to say, you know nothing of what happened last night."

The two said together, "Yes."

The Perfected One Daoyan sighed and called out, "Song Dayi."

"Disciple present." A Qingyun disciple answered and stepped forth—tall and powerfully built, dressed as a layman. He had been standing behind a short, stout seated man, and appeared to be that man's disciple.

The Perfected One Daoyan said, "You were the first to discover the matter at Liumiao Village. Tell the circumstances of that day once more."