Chapter 57 — To Sea

Stretching, he stood up and strolled onto the beach, gazing into the distance. The seascape at dusk was utterly different from the day. The setting sun was like blood; along the western horizon at the edge of the sea it dyed a great expanse of cloud and water red. The clouds rose and billowed, shifting into every shape, transforming without end. The sea wind blew in from the water, and Zhang Qingyue could not help opening his arms and breathing deeply.

A feeling of ease and comfort filled his body. In a place that seemed like a hidden paradise, his whole being seemed to relax.

In that moment, he could not help thinking: if only he could live in this tranquil place, spending each day in the company of Senior Sister Ling'er, watching this beautiful sunset, his life would truly not have been lived in vain.

At the thought of Tian Lingsu, Zhang Qingyue's heart warmed again. It had been more than a month since he came down from the mountain. From the day he entered the Canglan Sect, he had never been parted from his senior sister for so long. Now, on this quiet little island, thinking that she might be on another island close by, his heart surged at once and could find no peace.

He stood there a long while, and only then did his restless mood slowly settle. Then he heard two rumbles—"gugu"—from his belly. He was hungry. Zhang Qingyue gave a bitter smile. Ever since he had been trapped in the Blood-Drip Cave on Kongsang Mountain, he seemed to grow hungry with unusual ease. Fortunately, he still had enough dry provisions, though his supply of fresh water was running low.

Zhang Qingyue looked all around, and at last his gaze fell upon the fruit of those tall, towering trees. He leaped up and plucked several.

To his surprise, the shells were extremely hard. In the end he had to smash one against a rock a dozen times or more before it cracked open, and what flowed out was a white juice. Zhang Qingyue was overjoyed and drained a whole fruit in one breath. It carried a faint astringency, he found, yet the taste was sweet—a rare delicacy indeed.

With this natural bounty, Zhang Qingyue ate his fill in contentment. Seeing the sky grow dark, he decided to set out again the next day.

By now the light was fading, and the sea breeze against his body grew colder by the moment. Zhang Qingyue frowned and walked toward the woods, but after a moment's hesitation he did not go in. He found a sheltered spot at the edge instead and lay down to rest.

The night deepened. The bright moon rose in the east, and the sky was full of stars that seemed like mischievous children, popping out one after another to blink in the night sky.

Having slept most of the afternoon, Zhang Qingyue could not fall asleep now. He tossed and turned, and his mind could not help returning to what Wan Rengui had said to him that day at the roadside tea stall on the ancient road.

He picked up the black iron staff thrust at his waist. By the faint light of the stars, he saw that the staff, originally black, now gave off a dim, deep blue-green radiance. The red threads within it, like veins, seemed at this moment to have come alive, as though fresh blood were flowing through them.

Was this, then, the essence blood Wan Rengui had spoken of—mine?

Zhang Qingyue murmured the words low in his heart, and for a moment a hundred feelings assailed him. He remembered the scene in that hidden valley with perfect clarity: the Blood-Devouring Pearl drawing a great quantity of blood from the palm of his hand...

Zhang Qingyue's body trembled. He shook his head hard, unwilling to dwell on those memories any longer.

And yet the magic artifact still lay so plainly before him, and even that singular chill still moved through his body with such familiarity, as though it were a part of him.

That day he had spoken fine, high-sounding words to Wan Rengui, but when it came to himself, it was not so easy to bear.

After all, for a young disciple raised from childhood in a great and renowned sect, to suddenly accept that his own magic artifact was a cursed thing of the demon cult—that was no easy matter.

At this thought he could not help looking at the black iron staff again. Gazing at the blood threads, now clearer than ever, he thought: how many wronged souls has this magic artifact sent to their graves?

The blood within it must harbor the resentful spirits of many people.

He could not suppress a shudder.

But then a sudden thought struck him: if Wan Rengui had spoken the truth, then what was that "Ancient Sword That Slays Immortals" in the Illusory Moon Cave of Jietian Peak on Canglan Mountain?

Were justice and evil in this world truly as his master and senior brothers had taught him—present since ancient times, unchanging and eternal?

All at once a thought such as he had never had before rose in his mind: who was it that said we of the righteous path are necessarily just?

At that thought Zhang Qingyue sprang to his feet. Without the slightest hesitation he shut his eyes, and first—crack, crack—

—struck himself a heavy slap across the face, crying aloud, "Wretch! You deserve death! How dare you harbor such treasonable thoughts!"

Note 1: "Classic of Mountains and Seas, Volume Nine—The Eastern Wasteland" records: In the Eastern Sea there is Mount Liubo, seven thousand li out into the sea. On it dwells a beast shaped like an ox, with a blue-black body and no horns, and but one leg. When it comes and goes, wind and rain must follow. Its light is like that of the sun and moon, its voice like thunder, and its name is Kui. The Yellow Emperor obtained it and made drums of its hide, with drumsticks of the bones of the Thunder Beast; the sound carried five hundred li, overawing all beneath heaven.