Chapter 30 — Strange Arts

On the stage, Lu Xueqi's face was stern, her hand seals firm as a mountain. Then Tianxuan, blazing in midair, suddenly wheeled about and, swift as lightning, charged at Zhang Qingyue with the force of one splitting mountains and cleaving seas.

The dark iron rod rose at once to meet it, and its blue-green radiance clashed with that blaze of blue in midair—and by the look of it, it did not fear it in the least.

The next moment, to the crowd's astonishment, Zhang Qingyue seemed to crumple at a single blow. As though gravely wounded, he was flung backward through the air, and the dark iron rod lost its luster, spinning darkly through the air back toward its master.

In an instant, everyone from Dazhu Peak was on their feet, and the hotheaded ones, Du Bi among them, cried out aloud.

Zhang Qingyue's back struck the pillar of the platform, and he fell. A sweetness rose in his throat, and he spat a mouthful of blood, which spattered onto the returning dark iron rod and flecked it with red—and then, unseen by any, Zhang Qingyue's blood seeped swiftly into it.

Such was the might of Tianxuan that all were struck dumb with shock!

Lu Xueqi's face was cold as frost, and she did not hesitate. With a flash of blue light, Tianxuan slashed down mercilessly through the air. But at that very moment, black qi suddenly billowed from the dark iron rod, and at its tip the blue-green glow blazed brighter still. Zhang Qingyue, a thread of blood at the corner of his mouth, rose slowly to his feet—his face pale, but his eyes bloodshot, his whole aspect now somewhat savage.

Quick as a blink, the black iron staff hurtled once more toward Tianxuan through the swirling black mist and blue radiance. The instant the two treasures met in midair they rebounded from each other, and where they stood behind, both Lu Xueqi and Zhang Qingyue shook violently from head to foot.

Blue light flickered and green flared across the sky, the two treasures hurtling back and forth, and wherever they passed the great timbers of the platform—harder than most stone—scattered like paper scraps. Boom after boom cracked like thunder from a clear sky, deafening all who heard. The near thousand Canglan Sect disciples watching turned pale; never since the great trial began had any bout started so fiercely, nor had any field been so magnificent. In mere moments a platform vast enough to hold a thousand men was torn apart, near seven parts of it wrecked by these two peerless treasures.

The onlookers below had drawn back a distance. Zhang Qingyue and Lu Xueqi now both floated in midair. Lu Xueqi held her sword incantation in both hands, controlling Tianxuan with all her strength, her bearing grave yet graceful. Zhang Qingyue, by contrast, seemed strange indeed: mighty as the black iron staff's power was—beyond all expectation—he did not grip any incantation as Lu Xueqi did. Instead he hung in the air flailing arms and legs like a man possessed, and the black staff obeyed his every whim, swift as lightning, clashing with Tianxuan in furious joy.

For all that, Zhang Qingyue's heart held a bitterness he could not voice. Tianxuan's power far exceeded anything he had imagined; with every collision between the staff and the sword, every meridian in his body convulsed. Had he not, since childhood, secretly practiced beyond the Taiji Xuanqing Dao the Great Brahma Prajna of the Brahma Sound Temple—strengthening his meridians and shielding his body—he would long ago have coughed up blood and fallen. And yet Lu Xueqi ahead showed not the slightest strain; under her command Tianxuan's blue light only waxed brighter and its force greater, gradually pressing down the black mist and green glare of the staff.

While Zhang Qingyue inwardly cried his misery, Lu Xueqi on the other side was no less astonished. The other's plain, unremarkable staff not only possessed spiritual power enough to contend with Tianxuan, but seemed to carry a hidden drawing force, ceaselessly tugging at the essence and blood within her. Had her foundation not been firm, she feared she could not even have suppressed the hot blood churning in her breast.

At the thought, her qi and blood surged again, and she nearly lost her balance floating in the air. Shock, fury, and dread filled her. From the way the fight had gone, she sensed at once that her opponent's cultivation in the Taiji Xuanqing Dao was in truth not high at all, far beneath her own—but for some reason, wielded through this uncanny treasure, his power was immense, so that even Tianxuan could claim only the barest upper hand.

Lu Xueqi clenched her silver teeth, a killing frost on her lovely face, her robes billowing though no wind blew. Then, after Tianxuan struck the black staff a heavy blow in midair, Zhang Qingyue's whole body convulsed and the staff slowed for a moment.

Seizing the instant, Tianxuan flew back to her. Lu Xueqi's right hand darted out and caught it. The moment her jade-like palm touched the blade, ten thousand shafts of blue light blazed forth and swallowed her form; the sword quivered and gave out a sound like a dragon's cry, soaring up and up, and Lu Xueqi seemed to become one with Tianxuan, man and sword as a single body, rushing upward into the blue heaven.

By now Zhang Qingyue had forgotten all things outside himself. He felt only the bond of blood and flesh between himself and the black staff before him in midair growing ever stronger—felt, indeed, that the staff was a living thing, wildly exultant now, as a nameless killing aura rushed straight to his mind.

Hanging in the air, he threw back his head and gave a long, keening cry.

The sound shook the four wilds; heaven and earth changed color!

Black mist and green glare shot straight to the horizon; a great gale rose, and the clouds boiled!

Then suddenly a blue light flashed, and a shrill cry came from far to near, rising from the edge of hearing to a deafening roar that drowned out all other sound. Ten thousand beams of blue light now merged into one, forming a vast pillar of radiance that smote down from overhead, with a force that seemed bent on cleaving the Canglan Mountains in two.

Zhang Qingyue's face contorted; in that instant blood streamed from his eyes, ears, nose, and mouth. Yet his expression showed not a trace of fear—his eyes burned bright—and he too reached out and seized the black staff. In a flash the black mist and green glare that filled the sky seemed gathered into his hand as he drove straight up to meet the descending pillar of blue.

Beyond the platform, the young Qingyun disciples held their breath, eyes fixed and staring; not one of them held Zhang Qingyue in contempt any longer. Among the elder seat-holders, faces too changed one after another.

This bout had become a struggle of life and death.

Yet for some reason, no one came forward to stop it.

"Boom"—like a thunderclap from the heavens, it burst upon the world, and the whole of Jietian Peak seemed to shudder. The blue light recoiled; Lu Xueqi appeared in the sky, gripping Tianxuan tight, but a thread of blood ran slowly from the corner of her mouth.

Below the platform, Master Shuijing rose abruptly to her feet.

In midair, only the howling of the wind remained in Zhang Qingyue's ears; his vision blurred, the crimson blood all but blinding him. Had he been able to hear the cries from without, he would have heard the shocked shouts of the Dazhu Peak party below him.

Su Wan's lips had lost all color. Gazing at her little disciple in the air, now nearly a man of blood, she said in a swift, low voice to Tian Buhui: "Buhui, make Xiaofan yield. Quickly, make him yield."

Tian Buhui's body gave a start. He stared fixedly into the sky and slowly shook his head.