Chapter 131 — Parting

She saw that the black-robed witch-fiend, as though after long brooding or struggle, had at last come to a decision; before the woman's statue he silently bent his body and made a respectful bow.

From afar Jin Pingyue saw the witch-fiend say something low to the statue, but the distance was too great and she could not catch a single word. Then the witch-fiend's body slowly turned and drifted toward the depths of the Demon-Quelling Cave.

Jin Pingyue's brows knit tight, the riddle in her heart growing ever larger. There was plainly some great secret in that ancient cave, very likely the whereabouts of the mysterious figure Shangguan Lue and the witch-fiend had spoken of. But in this utterly desolate place of barren hills and foul waters, how could there be such a woman's statue, standing just so at the very center of the cave's mouth?

And from the witch-fiend's manner before the statue, he was plainly close to it—there must be some past between them that could not be told.

Just as Jin Pingyue saw the witch-fiend about to vanish into the ancient cave, and made ready to lean out and creep closer to look at the statue, the witch-fiend's body suddenly halted.

Jin Pingyue was startled, nearly believing she had exposed herself in her eagerness, and cursed herself inwardly. In her alarm she saw that the witch-fiend had not turned to look her way at all, and did not seem to have discovered her.

Only then did she put her heart at ease. She hastily hid herself again, then once more cautiously poked her head out and looked toward the ancient cave.

And at that look her eyes went wide and fixed.

Just before the woman's statue, at the mouth of the Demon-Quelling Cave, a mass of white vapor suddenly sprang up in midair, in sharp contrast to the black mist and sinister wind around it. And the witch-fiend too had stopped, silently watching this white vapor.

The white vapor gathered more and more, gradually taking form, shaping itself into a human figure. Seen from where Jin Pingyue lay, it was plainly a tall man, a great sword in his right hand and a great shield in his left. His body was wholly composed of white vapor, swaying unsteadily in the sinister wind, yet the movements of his body and even the expression on his face were utterly clear and distinct.

Jin Pingyue was struck dumb. After a long moment she drew in a breath of cold air and murmured low, "What a ghost!"

She was of the demon cult by origin, and so she knew a thing or two about such ghostly matters: it was said since ancient times that when a person lives out their years and dies, only the soul does not perish; when one lifetime ends, the soul leaves the body and goes to be reborn, life after life, in an endless cycle. Yet in this world there also exist vengeful spirits, who, by the three poisons of greed, wrath, and delusion, and by dread, loathing, and fear, cling to the mortal world, look back upon the life behind them, and refuse to be reborn—these are the "yin spirits."

In those days, when Ming Li was still Zhang Qingyue, a minor disciple of the Canglan Sect, he and Lu Xueling had fallen together beneath the Abyss of the Dead in the Ten-Thousand-Bat Cavern of Kongsang Mountain. There, by the shores of the Heartless Sea, they had encountered countless yin spirits from the depths of the abyss. But those yin spirits were all the souls of ordinary mortals, slain by the Blood-Refining Hall in years past and unable to pass on; though a common person who met them would surely be harmed, in the eyes of cultivators they were no fearsome demons at all, and so Zhang Qingyue and Lu Xueling, though their arts were then unperfected, had still held out a long while.

But the yin spirit that Jin Pingyue now beheld was by no means one of those common yin spirits. It was the rarest of its kind, the "fierce spirit" of legend. Such souls had, in life, mostly been figures of profound cultivation; after death, driven by some immense and fathomless resentment or obsession, they had forsaken rebirth and chosen to guard some thing, becoming desolate wild ghosts adrift in the world of the living.

A fierce spirit of this kind already possessed considerable cultivation in itself, and with the ghostly power it gained after death it grew all the more ferocious; an ordinary cultivator was no match for it at all, and it might well be called a savage ghost of one in ten thousand. Only, cultivators tended to hold rebirth in greater regard than common folk and seldom forsook it, and that was why fierce spirits were so exceedingly rare. Jin Pingyue, seeing one so suddenly, had truly been startled.

Yet from the look of it, that black-robed witch demon betrayed no surprise. Facing the fierce spirit that blocked his path, he merely raised his head slowly and looked.

The fierce spirit's body, formed of white vapor, was enormous, all but filling the mouth of the Ancient Cave of Demon Suppression. The witch demon gazed at this fierce spirit that stood like a god of war holding sword and shield, and suddenly gave a sigh.

"So you are finally willing to come out and see me?" he said, his voice faint and low.

The fierce spirit watched the witch demon coldly. Its white vapor and the witch demon's black robe and black shadow were like two extremes that would never yield to each other.

"You traitor who betrayed the Lady—what right have you to say such a thing?"

The witch demon's body seemed to tremble. He, who was ever unfathomable, was pierced by that single sentence as though his whole body were in agony.

He raised his head and looked upon that furious face. For a long while he remained utterly silent, then slowly lowered his head.