Chapter 86 — King's Village

White hairs sprout at the temples; the years flow by like water!

The Ghost King drew his gaze from the mirror-still surface of the water, gave a faint sigh, turned his head and smiled. "It has been a long while since I last looked in a mirror. Seeing it today, I find a good many more white hairs than before."

Behind him, Ming Li stood expressionless and said flatly, "You worry too much."

At that moment, beside a small lake in the Fox Cinnabar Mountains, a stone pavilion stood at the center of the water, joined to the shore by a single ancient wooden bridge. The Ghost King and Ming Li were standing in that pavilion on the lake.

With his hands clasped behind his back, the Ghost King said easily, "I hear that on this expedition to Mount Kongsang, though you brought the Blood Refining Hall to heel, the one remaining holdout, the Wild Wolf Daoist, was spared at your hand. Is this true?"

Ming Li glanced at the Ghost King, but saw only a placid countenance and could not tell what lay behind it. At length he nodded slowly. "It is."

The Ghost King smiled, turned and gazed at the lake surface, green as jade, and said mildly, "In the past, when you led men to war, you left nothing but slaughter in your wake. Why today did you show this man mercy?"

Ming Li was silent for a moment. "The Blood Refining Hall may be in decline now, but eight hundred years ago it was, after all, a sect that led its age. It is no ordinary small school."

The Ghost King stood there, showing no particular reaction, and it was impossible to tell whether he was satisfied with this explanation or not. After a long pause he said suddenly, "Speaking of which, the Blood-Devouring Pearl on your magic weapon was originally the relic of Old Man Blackheart. By that reckoning, you and the Blood Refining Hall may share a trace of the same incense and fire."

Ming Li slowly raised his eyes toward the Ghost King, and the Ghost King happened at that moment to turn, so that he too was looking at him.

Their gazes collided in midair. Ming Li's eyes were cold and shadowed; the Ghost King's were deep and calm.

The Ghost King smiled suddenly. "There is lately a tale that some rare treasure has appeared in the Deathmoor to the west. Have you heard of it?"

Ming Li nodded. "Yes. I have heard."

The Ghost King said unhurriedly, "I hear that not only are the righteous swarming there, but masters of the Ten Thousand Poison Sect and the Soul-Bewitching Faction mean to meddle as well. And as for the Longevity Hall, whose main hall sits hard by the Deathmoor—they will hardly yield the field." He paused, then said to Ming Li, "What do you make of it?"

Ming Li did not answer at once. After a long silence—and the Ghost King seemed to have particular patience with him, showing no impatience whatsoever—Ming Li said slowly, "This time, in subduing the Blood Refining Hall, the last of the factions of any real strength within our sect, apart from the four great houses, has been carved up and divided."

A faint smile rose at the corner of the Ghost King's mouth. He nodded. "True."

Ming Li said, "Within the demon cult, the mountains have always stood against one another, and the four great houses all dream of swallowing each other whole. In the past we were forced by the strength of the righteous to stand together against outside enemies. Today is naturally not what it was. As things stand, the powers within the sect are gradually settling into place, and the next step will be open war among the four great houses. The only question is who will strike first."

The Ghost King clapped his hands and smiled. "Good, good! Well said."

Ming Li looked at him and said flatly, "These ten years, you have not only passed me the two volumes of the Heavenly Book, but have handed down to me all you have learned in your life—strategy, judgment, decision—one by one. If I could not see even this, I would be betraying your pains."

The Ghost King smiled at the young man before him, as though looking at a flawless and precious object fashioned by his own hands, and in that joy there lingered a faint note of pride. "Not entirely," he said. "What I passed to you still depended on your own comprehension. Your progress these years has been far beyond what I expected. I thought that with your gifts you would need at least thirty years of cultivation, yet in only ten you have achieved mastery. Rare, rare indeed!"

Praised thus by the Ghost King, Ming Li seemed to show no smile, as though this were nothing worth rejoicing over.

The Ghost King did not mind. Over these years the man before him had changed from the Zhang Qingyue of old into the Ming Li of today, and his temper had been turned utterly upside down; apart from his face, scarcely a shadow of the youth remained. He paused, then said, "So in your view, since the four great houses of our holy sect cannot avoid a bloody struggle, would you have us strike first, or wait quietly?"

This time Ming Li did not hesitate in the least. "Strike first!"

The Ghost King fixed him with a stare. "Good! Then which house would you deal with first?"

Ming Li said, "The Longevity Hall!"

The Ghost King knit his brows, but there was already approval in his eyes. "Why?"

Ming Li said, "At present the Ghost King Faction and the Ten Thousand Poison Sect are strongest; the Soul-Bewitching Faction and the Longevity Hall are somewhat below them. The Soul-Bewitching Faction has always kept a low profile, but the Longevity Hall's master, Yu Yangzi, is a man of high cultivation yet eaten up with arrogance. He has always styled himself the presiding figure of the great war between righteous and demon at Mount Canglan, and believes that among the demon cult he alone stands supreme. Such a fool—who else should we choose?"

The Ghost King smiled faintly. "True, well said. And if you were to direct it, how would you proceed?"

Ming Li considered briefly, then said, "Now is the perfect chance. A rare treasure has appeared in the Deathmoor, and Yu Yangzi will surely regard it as already in his pocket, and will never suffer an outsider to touch it. But the righteous are pouring in. We can wait until the Longevity Hall and the righteous forces burn each other, and when both are broken, secretly join with the Ten Thousand Poison Sect and the Soul-Bewitching Faction and strike together. To drop stones on a man already down the well—they will never refuse. One battle, and we are certain to succeed."

The Ghost King looked at him and said nothing.

Ming Li slowly raised his head and looked at the Ghost King. "What is it?" he said flatly.

The Ghost King seemed to have been staring at him somewhat absently; after a moment he came to himself and slowly drew back his gaze, as though sighing somewhere deep within. "Nothing," he said mildly. "What you have said is almost exactly what I had thought."

Ming Li said no more.

The Ghost King smiled faintly. "Rest two more days, then go to the Deathmoor." With that he drew from his breast a sealed envelope and handed it to Ming Li. "The specific arrangements I have written out clearly in this letter. Once you reach the great marsh, every man of the Ghost King Faction is under your command."

Ming Li slowly took the letter and put it away in his breast. After a moment's silence he nodded to the Ghost King and turned to go. But he had taken only a few steps when he heard the Ghost King's voice behind him: "There is one more thing..."

Ming Li stopped.

The Ghost King's voice drifted to him. "When you speak with me, why do you still call our holy sect the 'demon cult,' every time?"

Ming Li was silent a long while. Then he said coldly, "I have been in this sect ten years. Here it is war and bloodshed every day, deceit and scheming at every hour. How does it deserve the word holy?"

The Ghost King laughed aloud, then said, "Oh? And the righteous path you came from—how is it there?"