Chapter 39 — The Abyss

Zhang Qingyue said this to himself inwardly. With the strong aid of those four, and with Qi Hao and Zeng Fa, they should be safe enough. And if Senior Brother Qi was unharmed, then surely Senior Sister Ling'er would not grieve?

But — but — almost in the same breath Zhang Qingyue asked himself: if I die, will Senior Sister Ling'er grieve? Perhaps she would feel some sorrow. After all, these past years he had spent day and night at her side, and he knew well that this senior sister — beautiful and proud as she was — had, in her heart, a gentle and fragile side as well.

If she heard that her junior brother Zhang Qingyue, whom she had grown up playing with, had died untimely, surely she would shed a few tears? Surely her heart would ache? Surely, finding no body, she would raise a grave for him there on Dazhu Peak?

Who knew how many times, in the years to come, she would come before that grave?

And if so — would he himself become like these yin spirits around him, clinging to her, unwilling to be reborn, lingering only about that grave, secretly hoping for the figure in his memory?

In the silent darkness, the youth sighed — low, and known to no one.

"Mm."

She gave a soft cry, and slowly woke, and opened her eyes.

Down through the ages there has been an old question: when you wake at last from a long, long sleep, who is the first person you wish to see?

No one knew whether Lu Xueqi had ever heard this seemingly pointless question; but at this moment, reflected in her eyes, there in the pale ghostly light, was Zhang Qingyue's anxious gaze.

It was the only warmth in the darkness!

Zhang Qingyue's face lit up with joy. "You're awake, Senior Sister Lu!" he said gladly.

Lu Xueqi did not answer at once. She seemed to stare blankly for a moment, but very quickly she recovered herself, and her expression shifted from its first faint bewilderment back to that somewhat cold, frosty reserve. But as she looked around her, she could not help being moved once more.

"Yin spirits!" Lu Xueqi cried out, just as Zhang Qingyue had before.

Zhang Qingyue nodded and comforted her: "Yes. But don't be afraid — they seem rather scared of my — my Black Iron Rod, so we should be safe for the moment."

Lu Xueqi now saw for herself that the countless drifting yin spirits indeed did not rush at them, but only circled at the outer edge, seeming greatly in fear of that short black rod of Zhang Qingyue's. Once her mind was settled she could not help asking, "What is this magic treasure of yours called? How is it so powerful?"

Zhang Qingyue reddened. "It's — it's — I call it... the Black Iron Rod. And I don't know myself how it comes to be so powerful."

Lu Xueqi said in wonder, "The Black Iron Rod?"

Zhang Qingyue looked at the woman before him in the pale ghostly light — skin like snow, and though somewhat pale, all the more beautiful for it — and could not keep himself from lowering his head. "Yes. I used to be in charge of the cooking on Dazhu Peak, and I used it as a fire poker."

Lu Xueqi was struck speechless. She stared blankly at that ugly short black rod hanging in midair, and after a long while said softly, "A fire poker! I received the true teachings of my master, I cultivated through bitter hardship, and I had the Heaven's Dipper Divine Sword — and I was defeated by a fire poker?"

Zhang Qingyue's heart suddenly gave a leap. He saw that Lu Xueqi's face had in that instant grown paler still, till scarcely a trace of color remained, and he could not help saying, "Senior Sister, you did win that time! And besides, I've heard that if you hadn't been so drained of vital energy from your match with me, you might not necessarily have lost to Senior Brother Qi Hao in the final..."

The more he spoke, the softer his voice grew, until at last it faded into silence — for Lu Xueqi had quietly raised her head and was looking at him coldly, and it made him unable to go on. The pale ghostly light shone on the two of them.

Lu Xueqi lowered her head again, drew a deep breath, and said, "How did we manage to escape with our lives?"

Zhang Qingyue was taken aback, and he too was rather puzzled. "I don't know." Then something occurred to him, and he pointed toward the water's edge. "But when I first came to, we were both lying there by the water. Could it be that we were lucky enough to fall into the water and so not die, and then the tide washed us ashore?"

Lu Xueqi looked where he pointed. Against the pale ghostly light of the yin spirits she could indeed see water in the distance, and faintly hear the soft "shush, shush" of the tide washing the bank. As for herself, though her clothes were mostly dry, they were still somewhat damp, clinging to her body and bitterly cold. It was easy to imagine that if Zhang Qingyue had not dragged her ashore, she would have frozen to death before ever waking.

"Thank you," Lu Xueqi said suddenly, in a low voice.

Zhang Qingyue was taken aback; he hastily waved his hand and laughed. "It's nothing, it's nothing—"

Suddenly, both of them froze.

Between the two of them, between their two hands, they were still, even now, tightly clasped.

As though flesh and blood were joined; as though it had been so for years; as though there were not the slightest awareness of it — as though it should have been so, as though both of them had forgotten!

Lu Xueqi slowly drew back her hand. Zhang Qingyue gave an embarrassed laugh, his hand swinging this way and that at his side, not knowing where to put it.

After a moment, it was Lu Xueqi who spoke. "Before you fell, you took a heavy blow from those devil-cult fiends. How do you feel now?"

Zhang Qingyue felt as though he had been granted a great pardon; hearing that this frosty woman seemed not to blame him, he said hastily, "Fine, fine."

Lu Xueqi said, "Can you still fly your sword?"

Zhang Qingyue circulated his qi a little, and at once felt a stabbing pain within him as though pierced by needles. He smiled bitterly and shook his head.

Lu Xueqi glanced at him and said, "Nor can I. Let us get up and search the surroundings, and see whether there is a way out. Otherwise, if we sit here waiting, surrounded by all these yin spirits, sooner or later they will drain us into dried husks."

Zhang Qingyue drew in a sharp breath and nodded. "Yes."

Lu Xueqi rose to her feet and examined herself all over. There were no great external wounds, but within, her channels and vital blood were somewhat disordered, and her whole body was weak — it seemed the backlash from that clash with the Mountain-and-River Fan had simply been too violent. And what concerned her most, the Heaven's Dipper Divine Sword, now hung whole and sound once more in the scabbard at her back.

She turned and glanced again at Zhang Qingyue. He had risen somewhat laboriously, his movements still not very nimble, plainly still troubled by his wounds; and she knew, too, how much spirit and strength it must have cost him just now to drag her out of the water.

"To what level have you cultivated the Supreme Ultimate Mystic Purity Way?" Lu Xueqi asked Zhang Qingyue abruptly.

Zhang Qingyue was taken aback and said nothing. Lu Xueqi, thinking he meant to keep it from her, turned her head away and said coolly, "It's no matter if you don't say. But I heard my master say that your cultivation reaches only the fourth level, and that on that day it was all the doing of that uncanny magic treasure — I did not believe it then. Today I've seen it with my own eyes. If not for your high cultivation and your firm foundation of channels, you would long since have fallen under those devil-cult fiends' hands and never risen again."