Chapter 48 — The Sunken River Dragon Soul Has Not Perished

Om—Behind Shen Mu, a halo of light revolved at the back of the Buddha's head, blazing with fierce radiance, casting beams in every direction; even the eerie mist was swept clean away by the Buddha light.

Thud after thud came to his ears without cease, and Shen Mu looked about to see dried corpses tumbling down from the air, so many that he could scarcely find a place to set foot. Besides the dried corpses, there were skeletons too—their flesh completely gone, nothing left but bones—yet wearing loose and voluminous garments that looked like official robes. The mist around him vanished, and all at once everything became clear. The singing, however, went on—only somewhat more distant now—still plaintive and melancholy, laden with boundless grief.

Shen Mu dispersed his vital energy, and the Buddha's silhouette behind him gradually faded. "How can so many corpses be hidden in this great hall?

These bodies don't look like those of ordinary people. .

.

" Shen Mu studied them, frowning slightly.

There were far too many corpses here, and none had decayed—that was plainly unnatural. After all, even the corpse of the Dragon Emperor of the Surging River outside had rotted away to a mere skeleton. How could the bodies inside this hall have been preserved all the way to the present?

"There's one possibility: these people came in after the Wasteland Ruin catastrophe. Like me and Snow Fox, they too discovered the road leading to the Raging River Dragon Palace, then entered this hall.

" The corner of Shen Mu's eye twitched.

He looked ahead—deep within the great hall, dense mist still hung in layers.

"Something in that mist killed them, turned them into this! " His scalp went numb; he gripped his staff tightly.

The Brahma-Quiet Twelve-Ring Staff truly deserved its reputation as a treasure worth an entire city—just now, merely by pouring his vital energy into it, he had unleashed terrifying power. It had been Grandmother Zhu's idea to bring the staff out this time.

Grandmother Zhu was greatly concerned for his safety; besides the staff, she had also transformed into various forms, keeping him safe in secret.

"Grandmother must be worried sick. . .

" Shen Mu felt a pang of guilt, then braced himself and swept his gaze around. "The source of the mist should be inside this hall—and so is the danger! What exactly was it that killed these warriors who came here to explore?

" Just then, the mist from the depths of the hall surged toward him, reaching his ankles, then climbing slowly higher. And the dried corpses on the ground, swallowed by the mist, slowly twisted their bodies and rose to their feet in grotesque postures.

The mist rose ever higher, gradually passing over Shen Mu's head, and within the mist those dried corpses likewise floated up little by little; as the fog thickened, the corpses vanished into it, no longer discernible.

"What cursed thing is playing tricks and stirring up storms? Ximilo! " Staff in hand, Shen Mu advanced; after some hundred-odd feet, the singing drew near once more. He raised the staff and struck the ground with violence.

Buddha light blazed forth, Buddhist tones resounded in the air, and behind him the form of a great Buddha emerged again, its universal radiance scattering the mist, sending the dried corpses thudding to the ground one by one once more.

"You little bald donkey. .

. " A voice suddenly rang through the hall, enough to raise the hackles—but it spoke only that one sentence, leaving Shen Mu and the little fox to wonder whether they had misheard.

At last, Shen Mu saw the source of the mist. At the center of this dragon palace stood an ice sculpture, and from it the mist emanated.

He approached and saw, within the ice, a young black dragon lying quietly, a broken sword thrust through its chest, the blade piercing clean through its heart. And among the hall's rows of dragon pillars, an enormous azure dragon swam slowly to and fro through the air; it seemed to lack a true body, for it passed straight through the pillars.

The singing came from the azure dragon's mouth, and its gaze never once left the ice-sealed young black dragon—from first to last, it did not shift away. Its gaze was filled with tender love and utter desolation; so was the song, as if grieving that a cherished child had been taken far away.

This was a dragon soul. The very spirit of a dragon.

She might be the Dragon Emperor of the Surging River, or she might be the Dragon Emperor's consort; she was a mother, and the young black dragon sealed in the ice must be her child.

She must have endured the catastrophe of the Wasteland Ruin—disaster looming overhead, her child meeting with calamity, struck by a fatal sword wound.

She loved her child too dearly; she sealed the child in ice, and died herself in the catastrophe, yet her soul still wandered this great hall, guarding her beloved child, still humming the lullaby of the dragon kind in the hope of waking her child. "You little bald donkey!

Look here! " Suddenly the voice came again. Shen Mu quickly turned toward it and saw that, aside from this block of dark ice, there was another block of dark ice in the hall, hidden behind the one that sealed the young black dragon—the two blocks joined together. Sealed within this other block was an old man in purple robes with white eyebrows.

His clothing appeared to be official court attire: a dark blue upper robe and a dusk-hued lower garment, embroidered with the nine-emblems pattern, gold-and-jade ornaments at his belt, a sword at his side, and a nine-tasseled jeweled crown upon his head; he was posed in the act of taking hold of something.

One hand was propped upon a Nether Soul-Devouring Banner, while his other hand reached into the neighboring block of ice, holding fast to an egg-sized azure pearl within it. And as for that azure pearl, no one knew what manner of thing it was—yet inside it coiled a tiny azure dragon. "Could it be that this pearl sealed the old gentleman in ice?

" Shen Mu blinked, stepped forward, and closely examined the old man sealed within the ice. Then he spotted something uncanny: as his own body moved, the old man's eyeballs inside the ice moved as well! "So that voice earlier was really his! " Shen Mu felt a chill.

He turned to look at the dried corpses covering the hall floor, and a possibility struck him. This old man in the ice should be the very first to have discovered the Raging River Dragon Palace.

He found this pearl within the dark ice and wanted to take it, only to be sealed in ice by the pearl instead. He must have survived in the ice for a long time; the only reason he had not died was surely because he used the Nether Soul-Devouring Banner he leaned upon to kill the warriors who entered the dragon palace, absorbing their vital essence and blood—which was why those warriors looked like dried corpses after death!

This old man had been sealed in ice from then until now; the cultivation he could bring to bear must be limited.

And Shen Mu, who had entered the dragon palace bearing the Brahma-Quiet Twelve-Ring Staff, had been sheltered by the Brahma-Quiet Twelve-Ring Staff's protection; he had not perished under the uncanny might of the Nether Soul-Devouring Banner—he had escaped that calamity. "So it was that old bald donkey of Great Thunder-Roar Temple's Ximilo.

No wonder it could repel the strange power of the mist.

" The old man in the ice could not open his lips, but his Adam's apple vibrated, producing words: "You are no monk of Great Thunder-Roar Temple—how do you come by the old bald donkey's staff?

" Shen Mu answered frankly: "I won it from his disciple in combat. " "Won it?

" The old man laughed from his throat. "How would that old bald donkey honor a losing wager? How old are you? " "I turn twelve this autumn.