Chapter 15 — Divine Power

Tian Buhui rose to his feet and looked Lin Jinghong up and down, his face contorted with fury. "Fine skill!" he said coldly. "Fine killing intent!"

Qi Hao lowered his voice and said to Lin Jinghong, "Junior Brother, apologize at once."

Lin Jinghong was young and full of fire. His brows knitted, he stepped forward—but it was to Zhang Qingyue, standing to one side, that he spoke. "Xiaofan, I was in the wrong just now. We said we were only testing our cultivation against each other, but I struck without restraint. I'm sorry."

Zhang Qingyue was truly worried for his friend, yet all he could say was, "It's—it's nothing."

The faces of everyone from Dazhu Peak had changed. Tian Buhui's anger burned hotter still. Suddenly he stepped forward, and a flash of red qi swept across his face.

Qi Hao's expression shifted dramatically. Unlike Lin Jinghong, he had been in the Canglan Sect long enough to know that although the Dazhu Peak line was far weaker than the other six, its master Tian Buhui and his wife Su Wan possessed truly astonishing divine powers, and no line had ever dared treat them lightly. Even the lofty Daoist Cangyan, who looked down on all beneath him, had warned him before they left: Tian Buhui was narrow of temper but immensely advanced in cultivation, and his wife Su Wan was a renowned talent of the Canglan Sect as well. Even the Sect Leader, Daoist Daoyan, showed the couple a measure of respect—so unless it was absolutely unavoidable, do not provoke him.

Lin Jinghong, however, knew none of this—though from the look of him, even if he had known, he likely would not have cared. Young as he was, his pride ran deep, and it was surely Daoist Cangyan's doting indulgence that had spoiled him so.

Tian Buhui grew only angrier at the sight of him, and was about to act when a figure flickered—Su Wan had already appeared at her husband's side and caught his arm. A faint smile played at her lips as she said softly, "A man your age, quarreling with a junior of the same sect—what kind of sight is that?"

Tian Buhui started, and checked himself. Qi Hao hastily stepped in front of his junior brother and said with an ingratiating smile, "Martial Uncle Tian, in your great magnanimity, please, for the sake of our master, do not stoop to the level of us juniors."

Seeing Lin Jinghong provoke his master, Zhang Qingyue was frantic with worry. In his eyes, Lin Jinghong—orphan of Liumiao Village like himself—was like his own brother. When he saw Qi Hao plead on Lin Jinghong's behalf, his heart swelled, and he could not help running out to kneel before Tian Buhui. "Master, it was all your disciple's fault. When I saw Jingyu—no, Senior Brother Lin—arrive on his flying sword, I wanted to see his cultivation, and that's why I made a move. It was all your disciple..."

Tian Buhui was already simmering with frustration, a head of anger he could not vent, and had barely forced it down. Qi Hao was one thing—but now here was this Zhang Qingyue kneeling before him too, babbling away, looking utterly foolish. Nameless fire surged in his chest. "Shut up, you worthless thing!" he roared.

As he spoke he flicked his sleeve. Zhang Qingyue felt a fierce wind strike his face, and suddenly his body went weightless—a gale raged on every side, above and below, as though all the air around him had vanished at once, and his head swam. Then a vast force came surging like a tidal wave, and his whole body was hurled backward against his will, straight toward the wall at one side of the Shoujing Hall. With a great "bang!" he struck the wall square on and crumpled to the ground. In that instant Zhang Qingyue's head spun and his vision blurred; a sweetness rose in his throat, and with a "wa!" he spat out a mouthful of blood.

Everyone in the Shoujing Hall was struck dumb.

"Father!" Tian Lingsu cried out first, rushing forward to help Zhang Qingyue up. Lin Jinghong charged over almost in the same breath. At the sight of the blood on Zhang Qingyue's chest, his fury surged—had he himself been wounded, he might not have been so enraged, but to see Zhang Qingyue brought to such a pass for pleading on his behalf, Lin Jinghong cast all caution aside. He whirled on Tian Buhui and shouted, "You fat dwarf, what do you think you're doing?"

As he spoke, the Zhanlong Sword seemed to sense its master's turmoil, and its azure light blazed forth once more.

Tian Buhui's brows shot up—the words "fat dwarf" had likely sent smoke pouring from his seven orifices. He flicked his sleeve, and with a "swoosh" vanished from everyone's sight.

Qi Hao cried out sharply, "Junior Brother, look out!"

Lin Jinghong had long been on his guard. Seeing Tian Buhui's figure flit past like a ghost, he at once raised the Zhanlong Sword before him, wrapping himself in the azure radiance of its sword qi.

But his vision blurred—Tian Buhui's squat, round body simply ignored the piercing azure light as though it did not exist, and abruptly appeared before him. All the azure sword qi halted a full three feet from his body and could advance not a hairsbreadth further. Lin Jinghong's heart lurched. Tian Buhui's eyes glared wide, his face almost pressed to his own. Panic seized him, and he staggered back, step after step—yet even so the Zhanlong Sword did not falter, hanging crosswise in the air before him to guard its master.

Tian Buhui gave a cold laugh. His right hand shot out, thrusting bare into the sword qi. A layer of crimson brilliance rose upon his palm, pressing against the azure light—and in the blink of an eye he had seized the Zhanlong Sword in his grasp.

Qi Hao at once rushed into the fray, crying loudly, "Martial Uncle Tian, show mercy!"

Tian Buhui did not pursue. He let Qi Hao shield Lin Jinghong behind him, and merely gazed at the Zhanlong Sword in his hand.

By now nearly all the azure sword qi had dispersed, but the Zhanlong Sword seemed to possess a spirit of its own. In Tian Buhui's plump hand its blade-light flickered and it struggled without cease, dyeing half his body green—yet it could not break free.

Tian Buhui raised his eyes and looked ahead. "The Zhanlong Sword may be a divine weapon of the nine heavens," he said coldly, "but that does not make it invincible under heaven!" As the words fell, his five fingers suddenly tightened. The Zhanlong Sword, as though struck a heavy blow, went obediently still. A moment later the whole blade suddenly blazed anew with azure sword qi, dazzling and radiant—how many times brighter than it had been in Lin Jinghong's hand, one could not say. Qi Hao cried out in alarm: "Martial Uncle Tian..." Tian Buhui's face was cold as frost. He said no more. His right hand gripped the Zhanlong Sword and, from high to low, he slashed savagely through the air toward Qi Hao and Lin Jinghong. A shrill rending of the air arose, and in an instant a piercing shriek—green brilliance surged monstrously like a mountain, forming a pillar of green qi two men tall, which shot forth like a furious wave piercing the sky.

Qi Hao gritted his teeth and raised his sword incantation with both hands. With a "zheng!" a white immortal sword flew swiftly forth—none other than his famed "Cold Ice."

Quick as a blink, Tian Buhui's green sword qi came rending through the air. Qi Hao, shielding Lin Jinghong, retreated several steps, his right hand drawing sword incantations without pause. The Cold Ice Sword flashed white, its cold air surging, and in an instant it had formed seven walls of ice before the two of them.