Chapter 39 — The Abyss

Legend has it that in the beginning this world was darkness; then, forty-eight thousand years later, came the giant god Pangu, who split heaven from earth and gave form to the mountains and rivers; and after another forty-eight thousand years, Nüwa fashioned humankind.

Legend has it that the first light between heaven and earth was born in the deepest darkness of all.

Zhang Qingyue felt only that his whole body was terribly cold, a chill that pierced to the marrow — a cold that seemed to reach beyond the flesh, until even his heart grew cold, the sensation of one about to die.

Yet strangely, he felt no fear, not the slightest terror — only a weariness such as he had never known, as though he no longer had the strength even to open his eyes. And strangest of all, in this state of utter exhaustion and weakness, his mind was slowly growing clear.

Something, it seemed, was wrapped around him — very gently, very carefully, yet cold as ice — slowly drawing the warmth out of his body, and with it a strange, sweet comfort that made a man want nothing more than to sink into a pleasant sleep.

Had it not been for the familiar, icy breath rising in his right hand like a guard protecting its master; had it not been that he suddenly felt, in his left hand, that he was still holding a cool, soft hand —

In his drowsiness he struggled, inch by inch, to open his eyes!

It was a shaft of light in the eternal darkness!

In the boundless, endless dark, a single point of radiance quietly kindled before Zhang Qingyue alone — a faint, ghostly white glow, drifting unsteadily through the darkness, twining about him like the gentlest of women taking hold of her beloved, entwined with him so tenderly.

It was like a wisp of light smoke, vague and ethereal, and there in midair, beside Zhang Qingyue, it gradually shaped itself into a beautiful, sorrowful face, which bent toward the youth's lips and kissed them!

On those lips was a faint fragrance, a faint stirring of the senses — and, beyond that, nothing but ice!

An ice that sank into the heart!

The Black Iron Rod leaped up with a sudden flare, its dark blue-green radiance barring the way before Zhang Qingyue, and the beautiful face wrought from that smoke-like white light seemed to fear it; it had no choice but to retreat. Zhang Qingyue's body convulsed; he rolled over and sprang up, and then, understanding, cried out in alarm: "Yin spirits!"

Since ancient times it has been said that men are born, grow old, and die, and that only the soul is not extinguished; when a life's span is done, the soul leaves the body and goes to be reborn, life after life, in an endless round of transmigration. Yet in this world there are also resentful spirits, which — because of the three poisons of greed, anger, and delusion, and because of dread, loathing, and fear — cling to the mortal world, turn back toward their former lives, and refuse to be reborn. These are called "yin spirits."

Naturally, yin spirits are creatures of the yin soul, and so they delight in dwelling in dark, damp places; in this Abyss of the Dead, dark and wet, it was hardly surprising that such ghouls should be found. But never in his life had Zhang Qingyue seen such a thing. As a child in Liumiao Village he had heard the grown-ups say that there were ghosts in this world; later, on Dazhu Peak, he had heard his senior brothers call them yin spirits, and a certain dread had taken root in his heart. Now, meeting one face to face, he truly felt the chill run from his head to his feet.

His cry carried far away into the darkness, and in all that surrounding pitch-blackness his voice sounded thin and drifting; after a long while, a faint, faint echo came drifting back. And with that cry of his, as though something had been startled awake, the darkness around him soundlessly brightened once more.

Zhang Qingyue felt his heart give a leap — and then it was as if the heart within his breast had stopped altogether. He held his breath and watched as a shaft of pale, ghostly white light, almost exactly like that of the yin spirit before, kindled in the darkness ahead.

Then a light to the left, a light to the right, a light in front, a light behind — and when he looked up, even above his head it lit up, flickering with that pale, ghostly white.

There were, it seemed, countless yin spirits, as though startled from a long slumber, sensing the warmth of a living human body for the first time in hundreds of years, gathering here.

Those waves of smoke-like white light drifted and wandered, shaping countless faces — man or woman, old or young, fair or foul — yet at this moment, in Zhang Qingyue's eyes, there was only one impression: cold.

The very thought of those countless yin spirits surging forward to hem him in made his scalp prickle. But by the greatest good fortune, after that first horror had passed, he saw that these yin spirits seemed rather afraid of the Black Iron Rod barring their way, not daring to approach the dark blue-green radiance it gave off. Yet before Zhang Qingyue could breathe easy, the yin spirits drifting and circling in midair seemed to notice something else, and one after another they flew toward his left side.

Zhang Qingyue was stunned for a moment, then his face changed. The soft hand he still held in his left was by now gradually growing cold. He gave it a sharp pull; there was a splash of water, and Lu Xueqi was drawn to his side. By the ghostly light around them Zhang Qingyue could see that her face was pale and her eyes tightly shut, but when he felt for her breath it seemed normal enough; a hasty examination showed she appeared to have no serious wounds. Only then did he set his mind at ease and look about, studying the surroundings carefully.

He and the still-unconscious Lu Xueqi were now, somehow, beside a sheet of water. In the darkness he could not tell how large it was, nor whether it was a small pool, a great lake, or one of the legendary vast seas beneath the earth. Zhang Qingyue did not know why such a thought should suddenly come to him, but there in the water he could feel that the surface was not still: wave after wave of tide swelled and rolled, like gentle hands stroking his body.

And yet this water was truly cold enough to pierce the bone!

Zhang Qingyue struggled to his feet. If they lingered here any longer, even if these yin spirits did them no harm, the two of them would likely freeze to death in the water first. The moment he straightened up, his head swam and he could not keep himself from swaying.

Back on the platform, his back had been struck at one and the same time by Elder Nian, the Wild Wolf Daoist, and Liu Gao, and his injuries were truly severe. At that same moment, the dark blue-green radiance of the Black Iron Rod dimmed, as though in response. Almost in that very instant, the ghostly lights of the countless yin spirits around them blazed up together, and on every face shaped from that light there was written an infinite craving.

Zhang Qingyue was startled and hastily steadied his mind; the light of the Black Iron Rod flared up again and overawed the yin spirits. Laboriously he dragged Lu Xueqi toward the shore — a short stretch of ground, yet it seemed to him endlessly long.

At last they reached solid ground. Zhang Qingyue dropped at once to a sitting position, gasping for breath.

All around, beyond the dark blue-green ring of light cast by the Black Iron Rod, countless yin spirits fluttered and wandered.

Zhang Qingyue stared blankly at those drifting ghost-lights, and remembered the last thing in his mind before he lost consciousness: Lu Xueqi flying toward him, catching his hand; and the boundless, bottomless dark abyss beneath them as they fell. He even vaguely remembered that before he lost awareness, a familiar invocation of the Buddha's name had rung out on that platform.

That would be Senior Brother Facheng and the other three arriving, surely.