Chapter 148 — Civil Strife

Night deepened gradually. The Valley of the Venomous Serpents, which had been steeped in an invisible tension for a whole day, seemed at last to drift into slumber. The dim lamps went out one by one—all save that cold, lonely mourning hall.

The door of the mourning hall still stood open to the outside. A bleak night wind moaned past, making the candles still burning within flicker and gutter, casting strange shadows across the floor. Somewhere beyond the door, in the stillness, there seemed to be a sound whispering low—like weeping, like soft laughter, or perhaps merely the wind stirring the trees; one could not tell clearly. It only left a chill in the heart.

By the light of those few lingering candles upon the mourning altar, spilling out into the night, the valley lay in darkness. Outside the house a faint mist drifted, like thin smoke, wandering to and fro through the dark and the shadows, shifting into ever-changing shapes.

And within the mourning hall, the one who kept vigil through the night was still only Qin Wujiu.

He knelt before the spirit tablet still, head bowed, gaze drifting vaguely as though fixed on some nameless place. The bronze basin before him was full of black ash from burnt paper money, quivering with each gust of night wind that crept in. Now and then a flake or two of ash was lifted by the breeze, floated from the basin, drifted slowly about the room, and most often settled quietly back onto the offering table before the coffin, alighting among the three sacrificial dishes.

Somewhere in the unseen, was there still a pair of eyes watching all of this?

Footsteps sounded suddenly, treading the smooth ground into the mourning hall. Qin Wujiu's body gave a start. For anyone, at such a moment, the sudden sound of footsteps behind one was hardly a pleasant thing. He turned to look, his brows knitting, his expression faintly surprised—plainly this was not a person he had expected.

What met his eyes was a tall figure, whose dress differed greatly from that of ordinary disciples of the demon cult: a Daoist robe, a square, grave face. It was none other than Daoist Cang Yan, an honored retainer of the Ten Thousand Venoms Sect of the demon cult.

Qin Wujiu looked at Cang Yan; Cang Yan looked back at Qin Wujiu. Neither spoke. Then Cang Yan walked straight to the offering table before the coffin, took up a slender stick of incense laid there, lit it from a guttering candle at the side, and bowed respectfully to the spirit tablet. Then he stepped forward and set the incense into the censer.

Qin Wujiu watched Daoist Cang Yan's every movement with patience. When Daoist Cang Yan turned around again, Qin Wujiu inclined his head slightly—a disciple returning a courtesy. Though his face showed little, his tone remained calm and courteous: "Thank you, Daoist."

Daoist Cang Yan nodded and said, "After all, the old master and I were host and guest for a time. This stick of incense may come a little late, but it is still a token of my regard."

Qin Wujiu remained kneeling, looking toward the spirit tablet. "No matter," he said faintly. "So long as the Daoist's heart is sincere, I trust my master, if his spirit lingers above, must be greatly comforted."

Daoist Cang Yan gazed at Qin Wujiu a while, then suddenly smiled. "Young Master Qin, you seem never to have liked me."

Qin Wujiu raised his eyes slightly, apparently not having expected such a remark. Somewhat puzzled, he looked at Daoist Cang Yan for a moment, then answered, still calmly: "The Daoist mistakes me. You were a guest retainer in my master's lifetime, and within the Ten Thousand Venoms Sect you are an elder of high repute. Wuyan would not dare be negligent. It is only that my master has now, to our misfortune, passed away, and my heart is heavy with grief. If I have been disrespectful or remiss in any way, I beg the elder's forbearance."

The smile remained on Daoist Cang Yan's face, and his gaze slowly turned to the spirit tablet of the Venom God directly ahead. Before that tablet, the box containing the sect leader's seal of the Ten Thousand Venoms Sect rested quietly in its place. Daoist Cang Yan looked at it a while. Suddenly a few low, strange cries issued from his person, like the chirping of some insect. Qin Wujiu's expression shifted slightly, and Daoist Cang Yan himself gave a start, but then he laughed abruptly: "Old sect leader, ah, old sect leader, you may set your heart at ease and go. Look at what you have raised—you actually had such a remarkable disciple. Truly no simple matter!"

Qin Wujiu's face darkened. A sharp gleam flickered faintly and vanished in his eyes. "Daoist," he said in a low voice, "what do you mean?"

Daoist Cang Yan turned back, smiled slightly, and said nothing—only gently pushed up the sleeve at his wrist. Qin Wujiu's pupils contracted. On Daoist Cang Yan's arm, bound tight against the flesh, was a small box, and from it the strange sound of a moment ago now issued again, clear and distinct.

With a mysterious smile on his face, Daoist Cang Yan slowly extended that hand toward the spirit tablet ahead. But as the box bound to his wrist drew near the box that held the sect leader's seal before the tablet, the box before the tablet suddenly gave forth a low yet very clear chirping of insects—a sound that seemed exactly the same as that coming from the box on Daoist Cang Yan's wrist.

Daoist Cang Yan slowly drew back his arm, turned to look at Qin Wujiu, and said faintly, "Seven-tailed centipede?"

Qin Wujiu drew a deep breath and closed his eyes. When he opened them again, a fierce light blazed in them, and his whole person seemed in an instant to change from that silent, dispirited air to something keen and sharp. He rose slowly from the ground, eyes fixed hard upon Daoist Cang Yan, and slowly repeated: "Seven-tailed centipede!"

The mourning hall, once so dim and gloomy, seemed to grow somehow brighter the moment he rose to his feet. The cold, clear air that had filled it vanished in a twinkling, and what remained was only a piercing killing intent.

Yet Daoist Cang Yan showed no sign of fear. Rather, he seemed wholly insensible to the change around him and asked Qin Wujiu, his expression composed: "Tell me—if your master knew that his disciples, so soon after his death, were making mischief before his very spirit tablet, he would be exceedingly angry, would he not?"

Qin Wujiu gave a cold snort. "My master was wise and shrewd. He saw through these so-called rites and customs long ago. Never mind disrespect before his tablet—were we disciples to slaughter one another here, he would most likely watch the spectacle with a smile."

Daoist Cang Yan nodded slowly. Suddenly he sighed. "Indeed. In these ten years I have spent day and night with the old sect leader, and knowing his temper, I fear it would be just so." With that he looked at Qin Wujiu and smiled. "I never imagined that you, who followed him the shortest time of all, would be the one among his disciples who understood him best."

Qin Wujiu's expression did not change, but he took a step forward and said coldly, "And you, Daoist—are you not remarkable as well? Not only have you seen my master clearly, but even my every move cannot escape your eyes!"

The smile on Daoist Cang Yan's face stiffened slightly. His eyes flicked to Qin Wujiu's feet. Suddenly he said, "Your master's seventh day is now past, is it not?"

Qin Wujiu was taken aback, not knowing what Daoist Cang Yan meant by such a sudden question. But this man's manner tonight was truly strange and unfathomable—and more than that, he had seen through the trick Qin Wujiu had played on the sect leader's seal. He could not be allowed to live, most likely. Thinking thus, Qin Wujiu said mildly, "It is now the hour of the Ox; it has only just passed. Why—has the Daoist some instruction for me?" As he spoke, he stepped once more toward Daoist Cang Yan.